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celestie0 · 7 months

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gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.8 a little cottage on the countryside

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

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, mentions of weed, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot

ᰔ chapter. 8/x (probably 12)

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

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

nav. masterlist

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1

♬.*ﾟplaylist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Great, thanks. How can I help you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, Nobie, what’s up?”

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

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

“Boo, you whore. For what class?”

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

“So definite no to hang out?”

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

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

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

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

You glance at the time. 11:56am.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sigh. “It’s complicated.”

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who reads the newsletter?” Choso asks.

Geto nudges him with his elbow. “Dude.”

“What?”

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

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

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

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

The rest of you exchange annoyed glances at that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All three of you look at him dumbfounded.

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

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

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

“So…she’s with you?” the woman asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where are we going?” you ask.

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

Your eyes widen. “No…I couldn’t.”

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

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

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

You’re instantly folding. “Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But–” you start, stopping yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

“Positive?”

“Satoru.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I will.”

“I’m glad.”

“No peeping.”

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

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

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

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

“What?” you ask.

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

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

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

“No. I love it.”

“I’m not following.”

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

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

“Your problem,” you say.

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

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

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

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

“Why’s your stuff here?” you ask him.

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

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

“But I usually sleep on the left side.”

You blink at him.

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

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

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

“Are you su-”

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

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

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

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

“When did you sneak it in?” he asks.

“Sneak what in?”

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

You swear your heart stills a little in your chest.

“Before,” is all you say to him.

He sighs. “y/n…”

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

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

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

“I play the guitar,” he replies simply.

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

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

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

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

“That’s it? That’s the reason?”

“Mhm.”

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

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

“A girl can’t be curious?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yours are just big,” you tell him.

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

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

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

“It’s okay,” you whisper too.

The silence settles for longer.

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

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

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

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

“Reasons.”

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

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

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

“Like…guilmon from digimon?

“Mhm.”

“You like digimon?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm, makes sense.”

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

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

He smiles at you. “A little cottage?”

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

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

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

He nods. “You do.”

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

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

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

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

“I asked him for it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re not bad,” is all he says.

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

“y/n,” he says, like a warning.

“I mean it,” you whisper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah, y/n! We’re over here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“When did you graduate?” you ask.

“From UTokyo two years ago,” he says.

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

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

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

He smirks up at you. “Sure is.”

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

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

You meet his gaze. “No way.”

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

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

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

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

“Yup.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Went fine,” Kai responds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t deny it.

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

He sighs. “Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“y/n,” he says, “that’s not fair.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay.”

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

“Mhm. Thanks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You just wanted a distraction from all this pain.

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

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

➸ take me to chapter nine!

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

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luciaramosc · 8 months

Text

⁎⁺˳✧༚ enchanted

pairing: carmen ‘carmy’ berzatto x afab!reader

warnings: fluff, kissing, swearing, insinuated bath time, nothing graphic

word count: 1.8k words

an: i wrote this in the trenches (waiting to be seen at urgent care) so please excuse any typos 🙈 currently gnawing at the bars of my enclosure because i’ve been sick all week, but the delulu is as strong as ever!

Carmen’s head hung low in his hands, his elbows resting on the battered desk as the knot in his shoulders weighed against him. His mind itched to grab the pack of cigarettes in his pocket, but the exhaustion seeped through his veins too heavily to even bother. His ears were entranced by the rhythmic tick…tick…tick… of the clock above the office door, but the new-found quiet had been welcomed after a day of yelling and dishing. He moved his head to rest on his palm, and his tranquil eyes struggled to flutter open. With his other hand, he began to scribble nonsense for orders that he hoped he could translate tomorrow morning, but he knew his attempts were becoming futile when he wrote “10 pd skt stk,” meaning to write “10 pounds skirt steak.”

In the midst of his battle with sleep deprivation, Carmen hadn’t even noticed the string of texts you sent his way. It was nearing 12:30am, and you had just left the bar you worked at when you pulled your phone out and invited him to your apartment for the night.

Carmy :)

12:27

Hey bub! I just got off of work and I’m heading home

Sleepover? My bed’s cold without you :(

12:31

I have a bottle of your favorite wine if that convinces you ;)

12:38

Carmyyy

Are you still at The Bear?

Okay I’m calling you

Carmen’s head slipped off his palm and lulled him awake, and his bleary eyes fought against the bright light of his desk lamp. He heard the constant buzzing of his phone, and surmised that it had to have been you calling him. His decorated hands rubbed his eyes before he shuffled papers and folders around to find his cell, but to no avail. As he heard the buzz come to an end, he huffed out a breath, and he ceased his search. Instantly, however, his phone began to shake again, and a smile graced his face at the thought of his girl missing him that much. After pushing a few more unnecessary items off the desk, he found his found phone with a picture of you illuminating his screen. He swiped his thumb to answer the call, and he pushed his phone to his ear, desperate to hear your voice.

“Baby? You okay?” you asked once Carmen picked up. Delighted, his lips curled up into a smile.

“Hey princess, I’m alright. Just got caught up with papers and shit,” he rasped out, sleepiness laced in his voice. “I’m wrapping up here though. What’s up?”

“I just wanted to see if you wanted to come over tonight,” you hummed into the line. “We haven’t seen each other much this week, and I know for a fact you haven’t slept well.” You giggled softly as she uttered the truth.

Carmen cracked a chuckle at her words, knowing that she wasn’t wrong. “Yeah, sweetheart, no need to rub it in,” he muttered in a half-dazed state. “But yeah, gimme like,” he peered down at his watch, reading 12:40, “20 minutes and I’ll be there. Is that okay, honey?”

You opened the door of your apartment, closing it behind you before locking it as you cradled your phone between your ear and shoulder. “Yeah, absolutely,” you told him as you set your bag down. “I can pop some cookies in the oven in the meantime? Unless that’s out of your league, chef,” you teased him. He could hear the smirk in your tone as you joked about the cookies.

“Haha, very funny, baby. Gonna hit me with anything else?” he asked her.

“Not right now, no,” a smile cracked at her lips. “It’s not my fault you decided to date a comedian. ‘Can’t take the flame, don’t get in the kitchen,’ or whatever nonsense you guys say.”

“Alright, not too much,” he chuckled out, the sound vibrating deep in his chest. “I’ll see you in a few, alright sweetheart?”

She bit her lip in thought before closing out the call. “See you in a few. I love you, Carmy.”

“I love you more,” Carmen said before hanging up the call. He put his phone into his pocket before running a calloused hand through his curls. His drowsy eyes scanned the room briefly, wondering where to start, before picking up the mistrewn papers and folders off the office floor. He set them in a neat (ish) pile on the desk before standing up from the rickety chair. He stepped out of the office, taking one more peek of the kitchen and dining room to ensure they looked the same as they were when The Bear closed (They were, Carmen’s just paranoid). Not soon enough, Carmen punched his work card for the night and took the keys out from his pocket, turning them in the door and locking up for the night.

As Carmen made his way back to his place to get an overnight bag, you had occupied yourself with prepping for your boyfriend’s stay. You dressed up your apartment with candles, put your speaker to play smooth jazz, and set up your bathroom with elements for a well-deserved bath for both you and Carmen. You knew that things with the Bear had been picking up for him, and while you could not have been happier for him, you knew that it took a toll on his well-being, so you were thrilled that he agreed to spend the night and relax for a moment.

Within a few minutes, the oven chimed and you got to taking the cookies out the oven, the rich smell of cinnamon and vanilla filling the apartment. You put on some oven mitts and right as you slid the hot trays onto the counter, the doorbell rang, letting you know that Carmen had made it safely to your door. “Just a second!” You called out, taking the gloves off and letting your hair out of its updo. You sauntered over to the door, and you’re met with Carmy holding a bouquet in his hands, the arranged pinks and oranges capturing your attention. “Hey sweetheart, sorry for the late hour,” he uttered, motioning the arrangements towards you. “I brought these ‘cause they reminded me of you,” he admitted with a lovesick grin on his lips as you grabbed the bouquet.

You peered down at the flowers in your hands before looking up at him, staring into his soft eyes, evidence of exhaustion painting his features. “Carmy, you shouldn’t have,” a soft pout puckered at your lips, tears swelling in your waterline. “This is so sweet, thank you bub.” You smiled up at him before pulling him inside, saving him from the coolness of the night. You closed the door behind him as he pulled your frame towards him, one hand resting on the plush of your hip as he pressed a sweet peck on your lips. “Carmy, it’s 1am, where the hell did you get these from?” you giggled out, confused, though appreciative of his gift.

“I meant to stop by earlier during my lunch break to drop them off,” he began, rubbing the back of neck sheepishly, “but shit hit the fan, and I got caught at work.”

“Well, I love them either way. Thank you, bub,” you assured him with a smile, pressing a kiss on his cheek. “Let me take your bag to my room. Eat a cookie or two, please. I know you’ve barely eaten today, chef,” she playfully demanded. You grabbed the duffel from his hands before heading towards your bedroom, delicately leaving the bouquet on the kitchen table to set up later.

You dropped the duffel bag off at the foot of your shared bed before joining him in the kitchen, watching Carmen take down two cookies in three bites. “Good for supermarket cookies, huh?” you teased him, poking his bicep. He shook his head playfully before looking at you, adoration pooling in his eyes with a smile to match. “Good for supermarket cookie,” he repeated. You grabbed one of the cookies off the tray, still slightly warm, and took a bite, savoring the taste after a long night at work. You made yourself a mental note to buy more of these christmas tree cookies before the holidays ended.

After finishing your last bite, you made your way to the sink, grabbing a vase and filling it with water for your flowers. You grabbed the bouquet off the table and began to cut the ends at an angle, taking in the scent of the tulips Carmen brought you. As you were getting lost in a rhythm, Carmen came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your frame and resting his head on your shoulder. He pressed soft kisses down your neck, trailing down to your shoulder, effectively distracting you from your work. “You could be a florist, ya know. You’ve got gentle hands and a good eye for stuff like this,” his accent hummed out in your ear.

It was your turn to softly chuckle at his words, feeling the way his hands trailed down to hold the plush of your waist and how the feel of his fingertips on your skin felt blissful. “Oh, I’m sure, Carmy,” you quipped out, taking your lip between your teeth as you moved the flowers into the watered vase. Once you were done, you moved the arrangement from the sink to the kitchen table, setting it next to the candles you lit earlier.

Carmen trailed behind you out the kitchen, resting a gentle hand on the small of your back. You stepped back into the living room and sought solace in the warm arms of your lover, his strong arms holding you flush against his frame. The two of you rocked back and forth in a gentle rhythm to the soft beats playing, simply in awe of this sweet little life you’ve been able to create. You and Carmen created a perfect harmony out of the asyncopated clutter in both your lives, but you wouldn’t mind another thing on your plate as long as it meant coming back into Carmen’s arms every night.

One of his hands rested on the warmth of your waist while the other trailed up to hold your chin, bringing your lips to meet his in a domestic buzz, sharing sweet kisses in the candlelight. You broke apart and rested your forehead against his shoulder, swaying in the lovestruck air. “I set the bathroom up if you want to take a hot bath later. I got those salts you like to put in the water that help with your muscles. How does that sound?” You whispered out, gently playing with his curls. “God, you’re so good to me,” he playfully groaned out. You placed one last peck on his lips, cradling his cheek in your hands as a smirk adorned your features. “Sounds like a plan to me, then.”

#carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #the bear #the bear hulu #carmen berzatto fluff #carmy berzatto fluff #carmen x reader

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storiesofsvu · 1 year

Text

Five Nights pt 3

Aaron Hotchner x reader warnings: teasing, language, smut, oral, face sitting. pt 3 of 4! I did not proof read this so.... apologies if there are typos or shit lol.

After the way his day had started, Aaron thought he might finally be able to feel some relief for a bit, finally knowing what it felt like to have his cock buried deep between your lips, that the fantasy would no longer be plaguing his thoughts while he was supposed to be working.

As it turned out, he was horribly wrong.

The day was a mix of spending time in the office and time trapped in an SUV with you. He was almost second guessing himself while you were driving to a scene, you were so nonchalant about everything he was nearly starting to think that he’d dreamt the whole thing. That was until you let out that adorable giggle when you caught him staring and made a joke. It was almost instant he felt his cock twitch in his pants and he cursed under his breath, taking a deep breath to try and regain focus only to lose it once again as your perfume invaded his senses.

Back at the precinct he began to let his mind wander as he made his way through menial paperwork, images from the night prior flooding into his mind, he could feel the way your cunt squeezed around his fingers, practically smell your arousal from across the room. The noises that came out of your lips while he made you come undone invaded his hearing, the way you moaned around his cock, how eager you were to do so, the pleasure you took from getting him off. He was certain you’d been wet over the idea of swallowing his cum down, which meant you were currently sitting in ruined panties. If he was so wrapped up in the sinful thoughts of what went on in your hotel room there was no way you weren’t thinking about the exact same things.

Aaron was right of course, even if you weren’t showing a single sign of being turned on on the other side of the table. You could feel the tingling between your legs when you thought back to how fucking good his fingers felt inside you, your pussy aching to be filled with his cock. You were dying to get your hands on him, part of you wishing you’d been bold enough to make a move in the car earlier. You let out a soft sigh, stretching out your body in your chair before pulling your hair up off your neck. You could feel eyes on you while you refocused on the case file and you knew they were Aaron’s, a sly grin on your lips as you scanned the text. You were back in work mode a moment later, eyes blinking a few times to clear your vision, you weren’t even aware you were doing it when the pen in your hand found its way between your lips.

“Tease.” The taunt was quiet, almost unintelligible when Aaron spoke and you glanced up, almost surprised to find the room empty except for the two of you.

“Hmm?” Your lips closed around the pen and he shook his head with a small laugh.

“Keep doing that and I’ll be hard under the table.” He muttered and a grin broke out on your lips as you giggled.

“Maybe that’s my whole plan.”

“Based on this morning’s festivities I’d say it’s time for me to return the favour.”

“What?” You chuckled, “here in the briefing room?”

“No.” He reached across the table, snagging the folder out of your hands and flipping it shut, “it’s late enough, get in the car. I need to taste that pretty little pussy.”

Aaron’s suit jacket and tie were tossed over the back of a chair, hands swiftly undoing a few buttons and rolling his sleeves up to be more comfortable. He had your pants and panties off in one smooth motion, the hem of your t-shirt tickling against your bare skin, cheeks heating at the fact that your pussy was exposed to him while still being half clothed. Eyeing you hungrily he dropped down onto the bed behind him, shifting until he was settled against the pillows,

“Well, get up here.” He teased with a grin and you let out a huff of a laugh, climbing onto the bed, straddling his waist as you settled above him, hands braced on his chest. “Uh-uh.” He spanked at your ass, squeezing it and nudging you, “I said up here.”

“Aaron I—”

“Up.” He repeated firmly, spanking your ass again before his hands gripped around your waist and practically lifted you until you were hovering over his face.

His mouth lurched upward, tongue swiping out through your folds, groaning over your taste and you let out a gasp, the sensation enough to have you dropping down so you were properly sitting on his face. His mouth sucked at your cunt, pulling your wetness out, smearing it against his lips. He sucked one of your lower lips into his mouth, slowly shifting over to the other before pulling them both in, mouth massaging at you gently. His tongue delved into your pussy, sinking in as far as he could reach while his hands groped at your ass, encouraging you to start to ride his face and his nose bumped your clit.

“Oh fuck!” You gasped, hands shooting out to brace yourself on the headboard.

His tongue swiped through you, lapping up your juices as he moaned, the vibrations pulsing through your cunt and you fluttered around nothing, starting to grind down against his face. His hands continued to roll your hips, encouraging you to pick up the pace as your breathing picked up, pleasure prickling its way through your body. His mouth slipped upwards, tongue flicking at your swollen clit and you shuddered, one of your hands sliding up your body, groping at your chest through your shirt.

“That’s it.” He murmured into your cunt, “keep playing with yourself.”

“Yes sir…” You breathed out, letting out a low moan as you pinched at your nipple right as he sucked your clit into his mouth, tongue tracing delicate patterns against it. Aaron was purposely riling your up, teasing you with his mouth so that he could get more time tasting you, he knew he would never be able to get enough of your sweetness. He also knew that he if held out as long as he could before absolutely devouring you, you would be a whimpering, dripping mess unable to resist absolutely grinding down onto his face and that was what he truly wanted, to have you use him the way he’d fucked your throat earlier.

He sucked at your clit for only a moment longer, feeling your thighs twitch under his fingers as his mouth dropped back down, his tongue swiping through your folds, moaning as he swallowed down your juices. His face shifted, stubble scratching against your skin before his teeth sunk into the tender skin of your thigh, pinching the flesh between them before sucking it into his mouth, eager to leave you with a mark so you’d never forget this night. One hand squeezed at your ass, the other one shifting between your legs, lazily playing with your pussy as you began to grind down harder onto his face. It wasn’t enough to drive you wild, but more than enough to tease you, your pussy fluttering around nothing while his fingertips dared to spread your juices around.

“Oh fuuuck Aaron…” You moaned out, your head dropping back in pleasure, your body shivering when his teeth bit into your thigh again and you whimpered, earning a smirk from him.

Once satisfied with his work, he pressed a soft kiss into the already forming mark before his tongue plunged back into you and you cried out, whines and moans getting louder and more frequent as your pleasure soared through you. Your hips rolled harder against him, grinding heavier into his mouth. He brought a hand up, spreading your pussy lips so he could get better access before blowing cool air onto your throbbing clit and you gasped, a breathy moan escaping your lips. His mouth returned to your cunt while his fingers continued to toy with your clit, pinching it, rolling it between his fingers as he ate you as deep as he could.

“Oh god.. that feels so good!” You groaned out, hands gripping the headboard tighter as you continued to ride his face. With a dark chuckle his mouth returned to your clit, sucking it between his lips as it pulsed between them and a two thick fingers slipped into your pussy, twisting and curling, exploring you as much as he could. Your cunt clenched around him, a cry breaking free of your lips as his fingers crooked, brushing right against your g-spot and he sucked your clit harder into his mouth, his tongue flicking against hit. Your body began to tremble above him, a string of swears and moans leaving your lips as fire tingled right under your skin, at a loss for words, broken down to whimpers and whines.

“That’s it sweet girl.” He cooed, lips brushing against of you as he spoke, the vibrations of his voice driving you absolutely wild as you ground harder against him, “come for me. Can you squirt all over my face?”

As if his ministrations weren’t enough, his words were nearly too much and you let out a cry at the double sensations, his mouth sucking at your clit while his tongue wrote letters against it, his fingers deep inside your cunt. The coil built up tighter and tighter within you until you cried out, your hips stalling as your orgasm rocked through you and your hips twitched multiple times, juices leaking out of your pussy. Aaron groaned out in pleasure, drinking down as much of your release as he could, taking the time to gently clean you up as you shuddered above him, his hands soothing up and down your bare thighs.

You fought to catch your breath, finally collapsing onto the bed beside Aaron, your chest heaving as your body continued to shiver in pleasure. You let out a small laugh, your arm tossed over your eyes,

“Holy shit…”

Beside you, Aaron chuckled, his hand tracing patterns onto your thigh, “you ever do that before?”

“No.” You replied breathlessly, feeling the heat creeping into your cheeks, unable to want to meet his gaze as he grinned proudly.

“Well then I better try to see how many more times I can make that happen.”

“I won’t complain about that.” You laughed, finally moving your arm to glance up at him, still catching your breath.

Aaron smirked across at you, lifting his arm to wipe your juices off his chin before he leant in your direction. He was about to pull you to him, capturing your lips in what he realized would be the first time he’d kissed you when there was a brash knock at the door and the two of you jumped apart like lightning.

“Bathroom!” He hissed and you launched around the corner faster than you realized you could even move. Aaron managed to toss your discarded clothes behind the far side of the bed so they would be unseen, grunting quietly as he adjusted himself in his pants so his hard on wouldn’t be noticed before he pulled open the door.

“Oh, hey Hotch.” Morgan shot him a grin, “y/n here?”

“What?” You asked, your head popping around the corner, “I was just about to shower.”

“Oh come on princess.” He teased, “you promised me a game of pool, loser buys drinks, you can’t skip out on that.”

“Fine.” You rolled your eyes, praying your cheeks weren’t as hot as they felt, “give me five.”

“You make it down to the bar before I get hit on and I’ll buy the first round of shots.” Morgan laughed, waving quickly before disappearing, the door swinging shut behind him.

“Fuck.” You muttered, dropping you head and pinching at the bridge of your nose before you scurried through the room, grabbing your panties and pants, tugging them back on before you managed to turn back to Hotch, repeating his original words back to him, “this isn’t over.”

You were gone through the door before he even had time to blink, a small chuckle escaping his lips as he huffed, palming at himself through his pants. It seemed like tonight would have to be another one that he took care of himself, fantasizing about how it would feel to have his cock buried deep in your dripping cunt.

“No… no it certainly isn’t…”

____________

@alexusonfire @svushots @geekyandgay98 @onmykneesformarvel @emobabeyy @daddy-heather-dunbar @mrs-ssa-hotch @hotchandspencearedilfs @mina2000alex @telepathay @darlingsfandom @ssamorganhotchner @hotchsdoormat @hopedoesntknow @thehauntingofbasingse @plaidbooks @the-hopeless-haze @niyizh @ababanana @tommyriddleobsessed @supercriminalbean @hotchs-bitch @kmc1989 @irishavengersassemble @emlynblack @ivyflowers13

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner fic

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baruque-ya · 1 year

Text

That's good, it doesn't hurt

Simon was never the type to like physical contact, and you knew that, and for Simon's slight happiness, you totally respected it.

You never touched him without asking, even to compliment him you asked if you could, when you see it like this it seems like an abusive relationship but no.

Simon has traumas from childhood, adolescence and also in adult life, when you discovered just a little of what he suffered, you felt horrible and sad for him.

Brainwashing, physical and verbal harassment, psychological abuse and severe torture, Simon was such a warrior to have endured all that in silence...but the truth is, he had no one to vent to, until you arrived.

It took Simon a long time to trust you, it took almost three and a half years just for him to finally feel comfortable kissing you, and it was still with the mask raised to his nose and he didn't show his face, and after another two years of relationship, he finally managed to show you his own scarred face

Simon felt so happy and moved when you said that his face was beautiful, and the scars represented how strong he was and that he was a great warrior to go through all that and still have the courage to move forward and not let go. the heart will be filled with hatred and revenge.

If you want to advance the relationship a little further, so does Simon, but as always, it was difficult for him to do anything like that movement so intimate, so he would leave it up to you....and in case you didn't notice, he would give you slight signs like looking at you intensely when he wants to spend time with you, or how he says your name softly in the early hours of the morning when he wants to vent, these small signs that for many would be futile, have become special for you and also a key to opening more doors for your relationship to evolve.

It was a normal night at the base, as always, you escaped from your room and went to Ghost's room, when you got there you found him sitting and without the usual skull balaclava, he was looking at some files, until his eyes slightly clear lights rose towards him.

You smiled shyly and locked the door so that no one would accidentally open it in the morning and see the man's face, you slowly walked over to him and sat on the bed a little away from him while taking a sweatshirt that you left there and putting it on due to the cold.

"Good evening, Simon" You said his name, but in a loving voice, that's how it always worked, since he wasn't used to cute nicknames, you called his name in a cute way... that way he understood that you were being loving and not thick.

"Good evening, y/n" He spoke with his usual deep voice but with a softer tone, which he rarely used with others, it was the least he did but meant a lot to you"

"Files that Price delivered?" You asked and he quickly agreed.

"Yes, I reviewed them during the afternoon, I was just rereading to see if there were any typos to mark" He said and put the papers in the brown folder and placed them on the desk, Simon looked at you and turned off the lamp, leaving only the moonlight illuminating the room, you smiled at him again and crawled onto the bed and lay down next to him. , in this case the side that was in the corner of the wall.

Simon liked you to sleep there, so he would be protecting you...in some way? for him, you would be safe, between him and the wall.

You lay down and Simon lay down next to you, but this time not on his back but face to face with you, he looked at you with sleepy and soft eyes.

Without holding back much, you reached out and brushed his hair with your fingers lightly, but you stopped abruptly when you saw Simon widen his eyes and move away slightly, as if he was automatically self-defense.

You slowly withdrew your hand and whispered, smiling.

"I'm sorry, ok? I just-"

Before you finished speaking, Simon's cold hand takes yours and squeezes lightly.

"No, I...can you do it again...?" Simon asked, his voice barely coming out and with such a confused tone, his eyebrows were furrowed as if he had remembered something. You then brought your hands back to his hair and lightly ran it through his blonde hair in a loving caress.

Simon closed his eyes as he held her wrist, but he didn't putting no force.

"That's good, it doesn't hurt...." He said and a thin tear fell from his eye onto the mattress.

And he continued breathing lightly.

"Yes dear, it doesn't hurt...." You whispered holding back the tears.

@Baruque

Help 😭 I hope it’s okay, it’s my first time writing here!

#simon ghost riley #ghost #simon riley x reader #simon riley #call of duty #modern warfare 2 #angst with a happy ending #x reader #game #y/n #brazil #brasil #anime #Spotify

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shanastoryteller · 7 months

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Hello! I remembered you answered this question ages ago saying we could, but also it's been Years, so I wanted to make sure it was still the same answer: is it okay if we let you know in the comments when we spot a typo in your work? Politely, of course! Thank you! I enjoyed the update so much!

Yes! BUT I 100% nerfed myself because I made an email folder for all the typo corrections I get so I can go back and easily find them and fix them! And then I fucking forget the folder exists and never do it rip

But I will not let the typo email folder become a graveyard! I will fix all the errors that others have kindly pointed out to me!!!

Point being yes please because I can only read my own work so many times before my eyeballs bleed but if it takes me a while I'm not ignoring it I'm just bad at things

#actual 2024 resolution is to get through the typo folder #asks #anon

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shegatsby · 1 year

Note

Hi! I saw your requests are open, so I thought I ask for a hannibal x fem!reader. Can you write a short fic where Hannibal is kind of a sub with reader, if that makes sense. it doesn't have to be specifically sexual, anything you are comfortable with.

A/n; hi! Thank you for this request, i enjoyed writing it. The fact that i wrote this at work and had to explain my co-worker that im a fanfic author… he was shooketh lol Sorry for any typos cus im writing this on my phone.

It was a tiring day for you. Working at the FBI Quarters as an archive manager had its advantages and vice versa. You get to stay in the silent office of yours and enjoy the peace but every once in a while, a jerk who used his juice to get into the FBI would mess things up and you had to pick up the pieces, reorganize and relable the documents etc. Today you had to spend extra 2 hours to finish your job and call it a day. What made you relaxed as soon as you opened the door of your shared house with your partner was that the smell of your favorite food hitting your nostrils. Automatically made you smile to yourself. You may have mentioned the hectic situation at work via text to your boyfriend Hanninal.

Dr. Hanninal Lecter was a successful man whose profession was a psychiatrist but he also sometimes worked for Jack Crawford to solve murders by using his field’s tricks. To the outside he was a cold and collective man who seemed like he had neither the tolerance nor the capacity to love and be loved.

The first time you met was a disaster. You were carrying folders to Jack’s office for a murder case and you couldn’t see who was in front of you and you collided. Like waves to a shore, wild and unbidden.

You apologized for spilling the coffee he was holding seconds ago, you suggested to take him for a coffee and to your surprise he said yes.

He had a reputation in the FBI, behind his back they called him Lord StoneHeart. Well, “Lord” because of his manners and “Stone Heart” because no one saw him smile or mention a potential girlfriend or a wife. He was a complete mystery and you were the only one who get to see his true face. A dangerously protective man who would do anything for his lover, that would be you.

After that coffee date you and him kept being in the same place in the right time, parks, restaurants, shops etc. You had a feeling that he was stalking you and the mere idea of a respectable man such as Dr. Hannibal Lecter stalking you sent shivers down your spine,well, it got you wet every single time.

Your relationship progressed even more after you moved in with him, you’ve been together for 2 years and things were going smoothly, most of the time, you closed the door rather harshly and the sound echoed in the halls of your home. You could hear Hannibal’s Hildegard Von Bingen playlist coming from the kitchen so you followed the divine voice.

He was there, white apron tied to his waist, he must’ve left work early. He had comfortable clothes but he still looked elegant, he had a charming demeanour of a royal prince.

He moved away from the counter to face you, “Hello darling.” His genuine smile made your heart jump.

He quickly came to give you a gentle kiss on your forehead and took your coat and bag. “A warm bath with your favorite candles waiting for you upstairs. When you’re finished we’ll have dinner.” If you told your co-workers about how soft and sub he can be they would laugh at your face.

“Thank you.”

After the long bath you wore your pjs and joined him for dinner, he knew exactly how to cook your fav food and also how to serve it.

When you were done with dinner he did the dishes and then gave your feet a long massage. You didn’t notice how sore your feet were untill his big hands worked their magic. “Do you want me to talk to Jack, and have him do something about this man?”

His question had a dark tone, a hint, “No, I’m a big girl. I can handle it. Thank you though.” The fact that he was ready to make that jerk disappear or pay for his recklesness made you feel things.

You wanted to change the subject, “Wanna take me upstairs and show me a good time?”

He smirked at your boldness, “As you wish my love.”

Thank you for reading. ❤️

#fanfiction #fanfic #reader insert #hannibal #hannibal lecter #hannibal x reader #hannibal x you #mads mikkelsen #reader #mads mikkelsen x reader #hanni icons #hannibal nbc #hannibal fanart #hannibal fanfic #doctor hannibal lecter #hannibal fanfiction #hannibal the cannibal #hannibal lecter fanfiction #hannibal fic

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iamnotthere-idonotdie · 7 months

Text

adored, pt. 3

…………………………………………………………………………………….

synopsis: reader and bruce continue spending time together, but a tragedy in gotham city seems to change his mind about whether this can work

warnings: bruce wayne (battinson) x reader, no explicit description of sex, one use of “fuck”

a/n: final part of this story, i was hoping to incorporate this idea that bruce is concerned about the safety of being with him, he knows his role as the batman is dangerous and anyone in association with him is in danger too, maybe he wouldn’t actually think this way but i always thought he’d be concerned about getting too close to people, again maybe that’s ooc but that’s just where my mind went, i was inspired this time by the song i won’t let you go by snow patrol (yes from the divergent soundtrack) so here’s the playlist link again if you’d like, as always sorry about the typos that are probably here

thanks by the way for the likes on the first two parts! i didn’t even think anyone would read these let alone like them so i appreciate it :) i’m working on a few other stories that are also bruce wayne/batman x reader so i’m excited to get those out, i’m hoping that over time and with more practice i’ll get better at writing, so i guess just bear with me as i work on it!

edit: link to part 2 and part 1

…………………………………………………………………………………….

you finally make your way out of bruce’s bed in the morning. you find your way out of the twisted sheets and step into the cold hardwood floor. bruce isn’t there, he must already be awake. you rub your eyes as you try to adjust to the sunlight creeping through the gap in the almost closed curtains. bruce walks in, holding two mugs of what you’re hoping is hot coffee. he hands you one and sits next to you on the bed. the two of you stay there for a while, sipping your coffee, silent, just like the last time you met.

“how are you feeling?” he asks. you think he’s still concerned about last night, about the paparazzi.

“i’m good. very good” you smile and rest your head on his shoulder.

“me too” he says softly, as he wraps his arm around you.

the rest of the day is spent with the two of you laying in bed, talking, kissing, him falling asleep multiple times. he seems exhausted, so you let him sleep, then he wakes up and pretend-scolds you for letting him drift off again. it’s a perfect day, with just each other.

sunset comes around and you almost ask if you can stay another night. before you get the chance though, bruce comes up to you and hands you a set of new pajamas and some other clothes. he says he asked his butler to go out and buy you some extra things to wear.

“thank you, you didn’t need to do this.”

“you only have your outfit from last night.”

“i could’ve gone home.”

“i didn’t want you to.”

this night is spent similarly to last, with the two of you spending it under covers, together. you think to yourself that you don’t want this weekend to ever end. you want to always stay, right here, with him.

the next morning though, bruce’s mood has shifted. you wake up alone again, but this time you’re not met with a cup of coffee. you’re not met with a good morning, a smile, nothing. you change into one of the outfits bruce gave you and find him downstairs in the living room, reading through some folder. he quickly closes it when he notices you and it sets it down on the table he’s standing next to.

you look at the television on the wall that’s playing the news, and see an anchor talking in a concerned tone.

“last night, on the edge of town, blue ridge factory suffered a sudden explosion. eleven are dead and 19 more are injured, including 3 currently in intensive care. law enforcement are still unsure about the cause of the explosion, and though they suspect it was accidental, they are not ruling out foul play.”

“oh my god,” you say in shock. “that’s so horrible.”

bruce walks towards you slowly, keeping his eyes on the television.

“what happened, do you think? do you think it really was an accident?” you ask him. you can feel a lump in your throat. all those poor people, their families.

“i don’t know.” he quietly replies.

“it’s just so sad. maybe the batman can help them with the investigation. he helped with the riddler.”

bruce just continues staring at the television.

“yeah. maybe.” he says flatly.

he walks out of the room, taking the folder from the table with him.

you’re still horrified at what happened at the factory, but you’re now also confused at bruce’s reaction to it. maybe he’s just more upset about it than you thought. you stay there, watching the news, and a few minutes later bruce comes back, no folder in hand.

“alfred can take you back home today whenever you want.” he says flatly.

you turn to him, surprised at the sudden change in mood.

“oh.. okay.”

“something just came up that i need to take care of.”

“alright.”

you get up from the couch and head towards the door. figuring that what he really means is that you should go, now. bruce’s butler has packed up your things and is coming down the stairs with it now. you pause for a moment at the door, then turn back to look at bruce.

“i had a good time this weekend. thank you.”

bruce slowly walks towards you, then gently puts his hand on your face.

“i did too.” and he kisses you. you can’t help but sense a sadness in his eyes as he says goodbye. you walk out the door, get into the car, and drive away. all the while hoping, praying, begging, that this goodbye is the last.

…

it’s been five days. no word from bruce. you’ve woken up every day hoping that this wasn’t it, that you wouldn’t become just an every-two-week hookup.

you’re sitting there at your desk, at your same job, waiting, like everyday, for 5pm to come so you can leave. you of course haven’t gone back to the bar. in fact you haven’t gone much of anywhere besides work. you just don’t see the point.

you look at the clock and see 4:59 blinking at you. as you start to gather your things, you hear the door swing open. you sigh, ready to put on a happy face for this annoying person who decided to walk in right as you’re closing. you look up from your bag though, and it’s bruce.

you’re shocked. what was he doing here?

“hi,” he says quietly.

“hi,” your reply.

“i need to speak with you” he looks concerned.

fuck. this is it.

“okay, do you want to talk here?”

“we can go back to my place.”

“okay.”

you get up from your desk and follow him outside to his car. luckily, no one’s there with cameras so you don’t have to worry about being in the news again.

after a minute of riding, bruce reaches over and puts your hand in his, silently. you hold his back and he squeezes slightly, and you feel butterflies in your stomach.

when you get back to his home, you’re appalled to see vans and a crowd of people waiting outside the gate.

“oh my god,” you say as you stare out the window at them. “what are they doing here?”

bruce seems just as confused as he looks at them too.

“someone must have seen me leave with you at work,” you start thinking out loud. “and they all decided to come here and wait for us to come.”

bruce just stays silent, clearly angry that they’ve come to his home.

you pull into the long driveway and the two of you do your best to get inside as quick as possible. you sit in the same living room as you did before, and you wait to see if bruce is going to tell you what he needed to talk to you about. he just comes and sits down next to you.

“so… what did you want to talk about?” you ask, trying to approach this delicately in case it’s going to turn into a sensitive conversation.

“it’s about this. about us.”

you wait for it, for the end.

“i don’t think it’s a good idea.”

you just sit there for a moment. you knew it was coming, but it doesn’t take away from the sting of hearing him say it out loud.

“is it because of the press?”

“partially but… no it’s just… not…”

he stutters over his words.

“what is it? is it me?”

“no… it’s…”

“then what bruce? if you’re going to cut this off then i at least deserve to know why.”

he sighs and gets up from the couch. you sit there still, looking up at him, waiting for an answer.

“i’m not safe.”

…what? what does he mean he’s not safe?

“being with me, is not safe. the paparazzi, the press, all of that can be handled. it’s the others who are the issue… i have a lot of enemies being me, having this,” he gestures around him. “and a lot of those enemies take their hatred into their own hands. i can only do so much to protect you from it. you’re not safe with me.” his voice trails off with sadness as you just look at him.

that seems a bit dramatic to you. sure he’s had issues with people before, threats and the like, but he’s always been okay. why is he now starting to get worried?

“i’m not afraid of all that. i’ll be okay.”

“i can’t guarantee that. and i can’t knowingly put you in harms way. the one thing those people know how to do is hurt, and if they see us, then they’ll try to use you against me. and i can’t allow that to happen to you.” his voice starts to rise a bit and you can tell he’s getting more and more upset.

“bruce…”

“i’m sorry.”

he looks at you with tears in his eyes and you stand up to comfort him, but he swiftly walks out of the room, leaving you to contemplate everything he just said. his butler slowly approaches you and asks if you’d like a ride home. all you do is nod as he takes you out the back door to the garage where you can leave without being seen by the hoard out front.

you cry the whole drive home. you cry over bruce, over losing him, over what he said to you. when you stop at your apartment, alfred looks in the mirror at you.

“i’m sorry about this. bruce is… well, he has some trouble letting people in. and when he does, he tries to do everything he can to not lose them. even if that means pushing them away.”

you look back at him, wondering if that’s really true.

“thank you for the ride, sir.”

“anytime.” he smiles sadly at you and you leave the car and head up to your apartment. crying in here has become an all too common practice for you. you lay in bed, tears flowing, and you eventually cry yourself to sleep.

…

it’s day six since you had that talk with bruce. day six of trying to forget him. but when he’s the richest, most famous man in the city, it becomes quite difficult to avoid reminders.

as you sit in your living room, drinking a glass of wine, in and out of crying fits, you suddenly get the urge to snap out of this self-pity and get dressed up. something about putting on a nice outfit makes you feel better, even if there’s no where to go and no one to see.

but once you get the outfit on, you get a weird feeling. you don’t know why, but something’s telling you to go the bar. maybe you need to go once by yourself to get some closure. maybe you want to listen to the music. maybe you just want a stronger drink. but for whatever reason, you leave your apartment and get a taxi there.

it’s pretty crowded tonight, your usual table is taken by a young couple. you sit at a different spot across the room, giving you a clearer view of the door. you try not to look at it as you sip your drink, but every time the door swings open, you can’t help but glance over to see who it is. it’s never him. hours go by. couples have come and gone. the band has switched to a more quiet setlist. you’re on your third drink. and you miss him. by god, do you miss him. you miss dancing. you miss his bed. you miss his rare smiles. you start to feel the tears again as you see the door open out of the corner of your eye. surely another person has left, leaving you in a near-empty bar. but you look over and you see him. he stands there for a moment, and you just look at each other.

without thinking you stand up, walk over to him, and kiss him. he holds you tightly and you fall into him, letting his embrace overwhelm you. you finally pull away from each other and you notice the camera flashes outside through the windows. you look up at him and he smiles.

“we can handle them.” he says.

“yes, we can.”

“we can handle whatever anyone throws at us.”

“yes, we can.”

he starts to pull away but you continue holding, willing him to not let you go, not yet.

he puts his arms around you again and holds you tight.

“i’m here. i won’t let you go.”

…………………………………………………………………………………….

#the batman #battinson #robert pattinson #bruce wayne #fanfic #pictures from pinterest #bruce wayne x reader #the batman (2022)#the batman 2022 #batman x reader #part 3 #part 3 of 3 #final part

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revasserium · 1 year

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these hands, like gods + oikawa 🥹

send one + a character and i'll write u a thing

these hands, like gods (and other hand-related headcanons)

ft. oikawa tooru

if you were to ask him what his own favorite feature was, he'd wink and tell you that obviously, it's his face. they don't call it a "money maker" for nothing, y'know? but you know better -- you know that he loves his hands, loves the way the can shape a game, the perfect arc of a ball in the air; loves the way they fit into the shape of you, too, late at night, when he can close his eyes and let his mind and his hands wander; he knows that they'll always, somehow, end up on you

he loves the way you fit between them too, the way your body bends and shifts at his touch, like you're his to be touched -- by him, with him

he always complains that they're too big for normal phones, that his fingers, dexterous as you know they are, always punch more keys than he's trying to hit, his texts full of random typos and the weirdest autocorrects; you have a folder of all his funniest mishaps, and this, too, he knows -- is the shape of your love

these hands, he thinks, are his rhyme and reason -- they're his bread, his butter, the paving stones for his entire future, and he takes care of them the best he can, tells you that once when he was little, he promised himself that he'd only touch the most beautiful things -- like volleyballs and really good poems and you --

he doesn't really like finger tape, but if you're the one who puts it on him, he thinks he doesn't mind it as much

your hand in his sometimes feels like coming home, and other times, he wonders how a person's hand can be so small, so slender and delicate; he wonders if sometimes he holds onto you too tight, if he'd ever accidentally hurt you -- you tell him yes, he has, but you don't mind; it's only ever proof that he wants to be closer, that skin on skin sometimes still isn't enough for him, and you've always known him to be a greedy man, to always want more, more, more...

he traces his fingers along the dips and curves of your body, worships the shape of you with both palms pressed to your skin, his lips carving himself into the hollow of your throat, the warmth of your mouth -- he wants to make himself a home there, a home inside your skin, a home he can sink his fingers into --

"you have the prettiest hands," you tell him. "i know," he says, grinning sweet and lopsided, eyes twinkling as he reaches up to bop your nose, "all the better to hold you with, right?"

#oikawa tooru #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu drabbles #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa tooru fluff #oikawa tooru scenarios #haikyuu fluff #oikawa tooru imagines #floofy floof floof #haiCUTIES #here have some oikawa headcanons bc im feeling lazy but also fluffy tonight u__u #i have a massive hand kink okay i love hands #i like my own hands the best and when i did art i could draw hands better than i could ever draw faces #i guess i have what u would call.... an obsession LOL

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venturethighs · 1 month

Text

So... they have their own computer that they sit at whenever they're at work.

They get real touchy when someone asks if they can borrow it for a minute.

There's hundreds of other computers– can't you just use one of those?! Well, they have a shit ton of information stored on their computer that isn't available on the other ones.

There is a shared file account that can pass between all computers– but *cough* someone *cough* keeps forgetting to share things when they're done typing!

So whenever someone else has to use their computer they just silently pray they don't click on the wrong folder. Or even worse, go through the tabs they have open.

Yes, that folder has a lock. Yes, it's hidden so people would have to go through multiple folders to find it AND it's inconspicuously named to avoid drawing attention to it.

But still... if they forget to close it when someone asks... then all those preventive measures don't mean anything.

So they're extra careful not to open it until they're the last one there.

"Why are you working so late?"

"Finishing up a paper. I'll clock out in an hour! I promise!" All while they're impatiently palming their pants underneath their desk.

"Just don't overwork yourself..."

They're lucky it's dark in there already, or their blush would've been so evident.

Could you imagine if someone did see, though...? *Steepling*

One day they're just minding their own business and a message pops up on screen.

Sombra: Hm. Who's the cute OnlyFans model you have inside your little locked folder?

Sombra: Can I get a link? :)

Venture: YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO SEE THAT

Sombra: I'm just kidding. I already know who it is.

Sombra: Tell them they're cute for me, will you?

Venture: FUCK OFF

It takes them like five minutes to reply because they're so angry they keep making typos. 🙂‍↕️

#rambles

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dindjarin-mandalorian · 1 year

Text

Broken Hearts and Laser Guns (Yondu x Reader)

A/N: This is one of several completed Yondu fics I wrote a few years ago and found sitting forgotten in a folder on my laptop a couple of months back, and I'm slowly making my way through them to get them all posted eventually. I'm not going to do much editing (just a glance-through to find glaring typos), and I feel like my writing has improved since then, but hopefully they'll be enjoyed. :)

Summary: Reader gets their heart broken and Yondu offers some advice.

Warnings: I don't think there are any, but if I've missed one, just let me know. It's a bit angsty due to a breakup, but nothing too intense.

You peeked your head around the door frame of one of the lounges in the Avengers compound, making sure no one was inside. Breathing a sigh of relief when you confirmed that it was indeed empty, you walked inside and collapsed on one of the couches, scrubbing your face with your hands.

You wanted nothing more than to go to your room, lock the door, and cry in private, but that was out of the question. You still had work to do and you didn’t want to let the rest of the team down just because you were heartbroken. You’d take a quick break to pull yourself together, and then try to focus on work for the rest of the day.

Dating someone who also worked in the compound had seemed like a good idea in the beginning, but after the breakup you quickly realized why it was, in fact, a terrible idea. You wished you could avoid your partner – well, ex-partner – completely, but knew you’d bump into them sooner or later. Sooner, with your luck.

You looked up toward the ceiling, doing your best to keep the tears from streaking down your cheeks. All you needed was for someone to find you crying in the lounge. The Avengers compound held a modicum of professionalism, but news about breakups and broken hearts traveled fast, and you really didn’t want to have to deal with any useless, however well-meant, sympathy from your co-workers.

You heard footsteps coming down the hallway and quickly brushed a couple of lingering teardrops from your bottom lashes, hoping that whoever it was didn’t come into the lounge.

A man strode past, glanced inside, then took a step back so he could lean against the door frame, a look of concern on his blue face. “Somethin’ wrong, Y/N?”

You shook your head and tried to muster a smile. “I’m fine, Yondu, thanks. What are you doing here?”

Yondu pushed away from the door frame with his shoulder, then joined you on the couch. “Me an’ Kraglin are gonna help out with a mission. Tha Avengers needed somebody who could get into some shady space ports, an’, well…”

He shrugged, flashing you a quick grin, and you gave him a small smile in return.

“Well, it’s good to see you.”

“You, too. But ya ain’t foolin’ me by sayin’ yer fine.” He nudged you with his arm. “Out with it.”

You sighed. You couldn’t say that you and Yondu were particularly close, but you’d spent time with him occasionally in the past when he and the other Guardians would show up at the compound for one reason or another.

And you had to admit, talking to someone who wouldn’t judge you sounded nice.

You took a steadying breath then said, “I got dumped today.”

You tried to brush it off with a shrug, but you felt your chin wobble and knew you weren’t going to make it through this conversation without crying. You avoided looking at Yondu’s face, and instead studied your boots, which were intensely interesting all of a sudden.

“Ah, damn. Hate ta hear that, Y/N. Their loss, though.”

You huffed a sardonic laugh. “Yeah, sure.”

“I mean it.”

You shook your head, still avoiding looking in his direction. “I just don’t understand what happened. I thought we were fine, you know?”

Your traitorous eyes began to leak again and you angrily brushed the tears away.

“Yeah, that always makes it harder, when it seems ta come outta nowhere.”

You gave a small nod, now focusing on your hands. You didn’t trust yourself to speak, and Yondu seemed to understand.

“Gotta say, I ain’t been dumped in a while, but that’s only ‘cause I ain’t been in a relationship in a while. Reckon I remember how bad it hurts, though.”

“It does.”

“Feels like tha world’s endin’ when ya lose someone.”

You nodded again, brushing another tear away.

“’Specially when ya don’t know what happened.”

“I just… don’t understand.” Something shifted and you couldn’t hold your tears in any longer. “What did I do wrong?”

“Sure ya didn’t do nothin’ wrong.”

“Then why?” Your voice broke on a sob and you finally met his eyes. “Why wasn’t I good enough, Yondu?”

You began to cry in earnest, leaning forward and resting your face in your hands. You tensed up for a moment when Yondu draped an arm over your shoulder and pulled you to his side, then relaxed against him, giving in to the tears.

“Listen ta me, Y/N. Yer good enough, ya hear me? If they couldn’t see that, then that’s on them. Sometimes folks jus’ ain’t meant ta be together. Don’t mean somebody ain’t good enough, just means ya ain’t tha right fit.”

You cried harder. “But I thought we fit! I thought we were fine!”

“I ain’t gonna tell ya not ta cry. Cryin’s good fer ya, so ya do it as long as ya need to. But I am gonna tell ya that ya need ta get the ‘good enough’ thoughts outta yer head. They ain’t true an’ they won’t do no good.”

You were crying too hard to form a reply, so you nodded. You knew he was right, but it still hurt and you couldn’t help the feelings of not being good enough. Why else would someone break up a seemingly good relationship?

“An’ as fer fittin’ an’ bein’ fine, maybe y’all did fit at first, an’ then maybe things changed fer ‘em. Life gets in tha way of these things, changes people, ain’t got nothin’ ta do with you. Ya need ta let ‘em go, let ‘em do what they need ta do. Tryin’ ta hang onto these things never works. Won’t make ya happy.”

You tried to catch your breath as you continued to cry, and hoped you wouldn’t start to hyperventilate. That was all you needed to make things even more embarrassing.

“I… I know. But it just… just hurts so much.”

“I know it does, darlin’. Just gotta let it hurt. Gotta get through it. One day yer gonna wake up and be okay, though.”

You gave an unbelieving huff as you tried to stem your tears.

“Yeah, didn’t think ya’d believe me, but it’s true. Ya listen ta ol’ Yondu. He knows what he’s talkin’ about.”

You sat up and lifted your head to look at him, wiping more tears away and wishing you had a tissue. “When did you get so wise, Captain?”

He grinned. “Always been wise. Don’t know why ya ain’t realized it before now.”

You hiccuped a laugh and used your sleeve to dry your eyes, even as a few more tears trickled down your cheek. “You’ve been hiding all that Ravager knowledge, I guess.”

“Guess so.”

“Ugh, I wish I had a tissue.” You knew your eyes were red and swollen so there would be no hiding this crying session when you finally left the lounge, but you at least wanted your face to be dry when you met up with your teammates.

“Oh, here.” Yondu removed his arm from around you and reached into an inside pocket of his duster, pulling out a grimy handkerchief and handing it to you.

You took it from him and gave a small laugh through the last of your tears. “It’s… dirty.”

“Yeah, well, I’m a Ravager. Might be good with advice about a broken heart, but I ain’t ever got a clean handkerchief.”

You laughed again, a little louder, as you handed it back to him, then dabbed your eyes gently with the sleeve pulled up over your hand. “Thanks, but I’ll just keep using my sleeves.”

“Suit yerself.” He grinned as he stuck the dirty handkerchief back inside his pocket. “Listen, I got an idea. We’re gonna go blow off some steam.”

You shook your head. “I can’t. I have to get back to work.”

“Come on, Y/N, when’s tha last time ya took off?”

You thought for a minute and realized it had been months since you’d taken a day off. “It’s been a while,” you admitted.

“They can get along without ya fer one afternoon. Tell ‘em yer sick an’ let’s go.”

“I can’t just lie and say I’m sick! They’ll have me in the sick bay within the hour.”

“Ain’t a lie! Yer heartsick, an’ they can’t put ya in tha sick bay if ya ain’t here. Come on, send ‘em a comm.”

You bit your lip, considering your options. “Fine.”

His grin widened as he watched you pull out your phone and send a quick email to your supervisor. It was true, they could do without you for one afternoon. There weren’t any pressing matters to attend to, and it was Friday, after all.

You slipped your phone back into your pocket. “Done. So where are we going?”

Yondu stood and held out a hand to help you up. “It’s a surprise.”

“I don’t really like the sound of that.”

“C’mon, trust me.”

Even though you knew you probably shouldn’t, you did.

You followed him outside to the airspace, but stopped walking when you realized he was heading towards his ship.

He noticed you were no longer beside him and turned back to you. “What’s wrong?”

“Are we leaving Earth?”

“Yep.”

“I can’t just leave the planet.”

“Who says?”

Realizing there was literally no one who could stop you from leaving the planet – something that you thought might have been an oversight that someone should have already considered – you shrugged and caught up with him.

A few minutes later, you were sitting next to Yondu in the co-pilot’s chair of the Eclector. You’d never been in space before and could hardly believe you were here now.

“So where are we going?””

“Told ya, it’s a surprise.”

“Leaving the planet isn’t enough of a surprise?”

“Nope.”

An hour later, Yondu set the ship expertly down in a landing field full of other ships, and the two of you stepped out into a brightly lit town. Apart from the fact that the buildings were definitely not constructed by anyone from Earth, it almost felt like a bustling city back home.

You followed Yondu to a small building, painted in vivid colors, and walked inside as he held the door for you. It took a moment for your eyes to adjust to the dimly-lit room, a contrast from all the brightness outside, and then you quickly caught up to Yondu as he strode to a counter on the other side of the room.

“Two, please.”

The man behind the counter, who had three eyes and whose skin was tinted a light purple, said, “Yes, sir. Will you require laser guns, or do you have your own?”

“Go ahead an’ give us a couple,” he said, sliding some credits across the counter.

The man nodded, reached under the counter and pulled out two laser guns, which he handed to Yondu. “You can go on in,” he said, indicating a door on the right. “The session isn’t full yet.”

“Thanks.”

Yondu handed one of the laser guns to you. “Ya ready?”

“For what?”

“Fer a laser gun battle.”

“Is this… is this like laser tag on Earth?”

“Yeah, somethin’ like that. General concept is tha same.”

“The general concept?”

“Yep.”

You stopped at the door. “Don’t we get the little vests with the targets?”

“Don’t need vests. We’re tha targets.”

“But how do we know who wins?”

“Whoever’s still standin’ at tha end.”

You looked at your laser gun in horror and spluttered, “Yondu, are these real laser guns?”

“’Course they are! Can’t protect yerself with fake ones.”

“Are you trying to get me killed? Because I guess that is a good way to make me forget about my broken heart.”

Yondu laughed. “Nah, we ain’t gonna die. I’ve seen ya at target practice, yer a natural. We ain’t got nothin’ ta worry ‘bout.”

“Yondu!”

“Ya really don’t wanna have a laser battle?”

“Not when the losers die!”

He grinned. “Fine. Then how ‘bout ice cream?”

You were speechless for a moment as you tried to comprehend his sudden shift from death in a laser gun battle to ice cream. “Ice cream sounds much… safer.”

“Then ice cream it is. I know this place over on -”

You raised a hand to stop him. “Can we please get ice cream back on Earth?”

He laughed. “You got it, darlin’.” Turning back to the man behind the counter, he asked, “Reckon we can get a refund on these guns?”

#yondu udonta fanfic #yondu x reader #yondu udonta x reader #yondu udonta #yondu #yondu fic #guardians of the galaxy fanfic #guardians of the galaxy fanfiction #gotg fic #gotg #guardians of the galaxy

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gbgamebun · 2 months

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Super Cream 64 v6 Update Patch Notes

Unless mentioned, updates listed will be featured for all versions. General Fixes/Updates

Opening logo has been updated

Dialog has been updated to address typos and new changes (thank you Saralene for the help!)

Legacy Puppycam camera has been readded and set to default. Can be changed at anytime in Options > Camera. Big thank you to AloXado320 (and SM64ex-Alo in general) for implementing this suggestion.

(PC/Switch) A brand new config file called cream64config.txt will generate instead of using the default sm64config.txt to prevent conflict with other mods. You may need to reconfig your binds and settings if you've played previous builds. The new config file is still located in the same folder as the previous config.

Game will no longer crash from landing after a triple jump. A fix carried over from SM64ex-alo.

Cheese follow code has been updated. Cheese will now spawn in the Castle Grounds and disappear when the ending cutscene starts.

Camera readjust whenever the player landed from flying in the default/lakitu cam has been fixed. Leftover code from Chao Bandstand was causing the issue back when flying put you into Wing Cap Cam. - The following levels affected will now behave properly whenever you landed: Big Boo's Haunt, any level that used 8 Directional Cam, the aquarium room inside the castle and any Eggman fight.

Levels

Melancholy Mines (formally Cavern of the Metal Cap): - Added a floor to make advancing to the upper level much easier - Removed a spot that could cause softlocks and replaced it with a wall grate.

Mission Street (formally Secret Aquarium): - Minor updates to fix some collision and remove some geometry - (PC/Switch) Added two Beatmania IIDX machines & a Pop'N Music machine in the arcade inside the theater with new music to accompany them. - (PC/Switch) "Is it me or did that strange Accelgor in the window look at me funny?"

Big Boo's Haunt: - King Boo Boom's hitbox has been adjusted to actually fit the model. - This also means the Big Boo in the merry-go-round now has that same hitbox so keep that in mind.

Music & SFX

Music have been updated for: - File Select - Melancholy Mines - Post-End Credits

Silver's voice quip has been updated to actually be from him. Previous was from Trunks from Xenoverse cause it was funny.

Added new noise whenever the player gets squished and takes damage.

All but a handful of outfits now have unique star collecting jingles, barring a few repeats with some. The few left will use the default jingle.

Outfits

Outfit selection has been updated: - (N64) Removed: Amy, Creamocchia, Klonoa and Vanilla outfits. Added: Detective, Princess, Lunar New Year and Drummer. - In addition, Drummer and Mario have unique star collecting jingles while the rest use the default. - (PC/Switch) Removed: Denji and Roger Rabbit outfits. Added: Junihotoe, Princess, Detective, Drummer, Lunar New Year, Shadow, Silver, NiGHTS, Princess Daisy, Sakura (SF Alpha), Luke (SF6), Richter, Charlotte, Mimi, Ryuta, Peppino, AVGN, Kairi (BBS), Parappa, Vanny, Madotsuki, Arle, DQ3 Hero, Sybil, Olimar, Pit, Ribbon, Rukia, Jin Kariya, Carrot, Cream (Eto Ranger), Sakura (CCS), Pomni, Tammie, Cacee, Lily, Pastel, Dina, Magenta, Midnight & Terry outfits. You can view all the selectable outfits here. - N64 version outfits viewable here. - Several outfits have been updated since v5. These may also include changes to Cheese's model: - Minor updates: Riders, Winter, Spring, Daniela - Major updates: Ichiban, Travis, Jack, Dudley, Roll, Maria, Goku, Pan, Anya, DQ3 Mage, KZ, Caroline, Pocky, Johnny and Dot.

(PC/Switch) Selecting outfits has been slightly updated: Users can press Up or Down on DPad to move up list by increments of 10. If not working by default then must be binded in Options > Controls.

There's prolly so much more that I'm missing but hey that's the jist of it at least. Links below to play and/or compile your version of choice.

N64: https://romhacking.com/hack/super-cream-64 PC/Switch: https://github.com/Gamebunn/Cream64_PC

There is a 3DS version on a certain app but it's on v3 and, as of right now due to various issues, there's no plans to porting all the new stuff over. Could change later but I'm ready to move on.

#bundoodles #super cream 64 #sc64 #cream the rabbit #nintendo 64 #pcdecomp #decomp #v6 #release

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qiangweirosa · 7 months

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late nights

" Artem receives an uncharacteristic text from Vyn on a late night. Feelings ensue.

or, vyntem drunken confessions fic i guess "

relationships: artem/vyn, background marius/luke/rosa, rosa & artem tws: alcohol, some angst wc: 4009 extra: my longest fic to date! + not beta'd, please ignore any inconsistencies

read on ao3!

Artem should have been in bed by now. He had been working late, and perhaps if he hadn’t, this never would’ve happened.

Or maybe it would have either way. He knew Vyn’s messages had a way to catch his attention no matter what the time was.

Either way, when his phone vibrated and lit up with a notification, Artem absentmindedly glanced at it. He told himself he’d check it out later, until it chimed again with more notifications.

His eyebrow raised. Why was Vyn messaging him so late?

A quick raise of his eyes informed him that it was past two in the morning. He frowned. Was Vyn in some sort of trouble? Why else would he message the senior attorney at all, and especially this late?

He grabbed his phone and opened the messaging app. Artem was greeted with several messages, lacking Vyn’s usual formal and precise typing. Instead, his texts were littered with typos, improper punctuation, and contents that made Artem’s eyes widen.

And his heart beat faster, although he’d never admit it.

From Vyn, 2:03am: Artem

From Vyn, 2:03am: Artem…

From Vyn, 2:04am: Yuore so incredibly annoynig, yoy know

From Vyn, 2:04am: Uts so ynfair

From Vyn, 2:05am: How csn you be si handsome yet so annoying

…

From Artem, 2:06am: …Are you drunk, Vyn?

Artem stared at his phone in disbelief. Vyn wasn’t the type to get drunk ever, or to even drink alcohol, if he didn’t need to. Let alone to message Artem saying such… things.

He didn’t notice he had been in a daze until his phone chimed again with a new message.

From Vyn, 2:06am: Im not durnk

Right. Of course.

From Artem, 2:07am: Go to bed, Vyn. It’s late anyway.

The response was almost immediate.

From Vyn, 2:07am: No

From Vyn, 2:07am: Youre not here

Artem ignored the way his face heated up as he read the message.

He let out a sigh as he shook his head. Perhaps if he tried long enough, he would manage to convince Vyn to go to sleep.

From Artem, 2:08am: We have a meeting tomorrow anyway, we’ll see each other then.

From Artem, 2:08am: Just go to sleep.

Once again, the response was almost instantaneous (was Vyn actively waiting for them?).

From Vyn, 2:08am: In ttoo long

Another sigh left Artem’s lips. Why was he so stubborn? Vyn had always been stubborn, but it had been working the bounds of reason, and he never went too far in his stubbornness. So why now?

Sometime during his thinking, Artem had closed his work computer and folders, and gotten up. At least he was still relatively dressed; he grabbed his keys and headed outside.

He had forgotten he had left Vyn on seen until his phone chimed again as he walked to his building’s parking.

From Vyn, 2:11am: Artem

He stopped in his tracks momentarily to respond.

From Artem, 2:11am: Yes?

…

No response.

He shrugged and shoved his phone inside his pocket, walking - albeit a bit faster, no, not out of concern or anything, of course not - to his car and getting into the driver seat.

He saw his phone light up a few times from its place on the center console, but Artem was a responsible man, he didn’t use his phone at all when driving. He was going to see Vyn anyway; there shouldn’t be any harm in checking once he’d arrived.

Artem drove as fast as the speed limit allowed, not wanting to arrive too late in case Vyn had gotten injured or worse.

A little voice in the back of his mind also wishes to see him as soon as possible.

Soon enough, Artem could see Vyn’s house appear and get closer. He parked in his usual spot in the street, right next to the entrance (Marius and Luke both had complained about having to park further from the house - Artem had told them to simply arrive earlier.).

Once he was right in front of the door, Artem pulled his phone out to text Vyn to open the door. He still tried to open the door first; unsurprisingly, the door was locked. Vyn may have been acting weird, but he wasn’t one to compromise his oh so important safety and privacy.

He was greeted with several messages he hadn’t yet seen, as he had been driving when Vyn sent them.

From Vyn, 2:14am: Are you askeep

From Vyn, 2:14am: You probabbly are

From Vyn, 2:15am: I hate you somych

From Vyn, 2:15am: Artem

From Vyn, 2:15am: Even justy our name infuruiates me

From Vyn, 2:16am: Such a perfect name

From Vyn, 2:16am: For osmoene like you

From Vyn, 2:16am: I gues sit kinda fits

A sigh left Artem’s lips. He really needed to get Vyn to bed, lest the Svartian man say something he’d most definitely regret tomorrow.

He would probably regret what he already said, but still. Artem wanted to do some damage control.

From Artem, 2:17am: Can you come open the door?

His message was left on seen, and a few minutes later he heard the door being unlocked. Artem’s eyes widened as he saw Vyn behind the doorway, his heartbeat unwillingly accelerating at the sight. Vyn was wearing one of his night robes, loosely tied around his waist. One of the sleeves was sliding off from his shoulder, revealing not only the aforementioned shoulder, but also his collarbones and his oh so alluring chest- Artem snapped his eyes back up. However, that didn’t help his case; somehow, the sight of Vyn’s face made his heart beat even faster. His hair was uncharacteristically messy and tangled, his face was flushed a light red color, coloring his cheeks in a way that Artem found probably more attractive than he should. Vyn’s eyes were glazed over, his glasses were crooked, and he leaned on the door for support.

After a murmur of his name from Vyn, Artem realized he’d been staring, and stepped inside after clearing his throat. He made sure the door was locked, before taking one of Vyn’s arms and wrapping it around his shoulder. His own arm wrapped around Vyn’s waist, supporting the pale man up. Vyn immediately leant into Artem, putting his weight on him and letting himself be led.

Thankfully, Artem already knew the way to Vyn’s room - after all, the NXX team had met up here every so often for meetings, and Vyn’s house was as organized as he was -, so the walk there wasn’t that long.

Although a part of him deep inside his heart did wish it was longer, when he finally let go of Vyn’s waist and had him sit in his bed.

Vyn held onto Artem still, his grip strong despite his intoxicated state. Artem tugged his arm away a few times, to no avail as Vyn still wouldn’t let go.

He eventually gave in with a sigh, and proceeded to help Vyn get under the covers to the best of his ability. Once that was done, Artem spoke up in a hushed tone, not wanting to disturb the silence that had settled between them.

“I’m going to bring you a cup of water.”

Only then did Vyn, although reluctantly, let go of Artem’s sleeve, allowing the senior attorney to walk to the kitchen and fill a cup with water to bring it to him.

When Artem walked back into the room, he saw Vyn staring intensely at the door through half lidded eyes, his gaze lighting up as soon as Artem walked into the room.

Artem found it odd. Vyn usually had such a strong hold on his emotions, he never let anything past his facade that he didn’t want others to see. And he had a feeling Vyn definitely wouldn’t have wanted him to see this.

Nonetheless, he walked back to the bed and sat next to Vyn, placing the glass on his bedside table to help the pale man sit up comfortably. He then held the glass to Vyn’s mouth and helped him drink it, and Artem had to consciously stop himself from becoming all but too aware of Vyn’s soft-looking lips so close to his hand.

Some of the water dripped down Vyn’s chin, prompting Artem to take one of the tissues on the bedside table and wipe it. He placed the now empty glass back down and gently wiped the water on Vyn’s chin, neck, and he paused at his collarbone, wondering if he should keep going.

His face felt hot as he quickly wiped the few water drops on Vyn’s chest, soon looking away and clearing his throat to clear some of the embarrassment.

“Alright… You should get some sleep now. I’ll get going then.”

Artem moved to stand up and leave, only to be stopped by his wrist being held. He turned his face to look at Vyn, his eyes slightly wider in surprise.

Vyn stared at him with such longing in his eyes that Artem couldn’t help but blush, his mouth parted to whisper:

“Can’t you stay?”

——

Artem had been lucky to have a day off the following day.

His eyes fluttered open later than he usually woke up at; it must’ve been around 9 in the morning.

And yet, at such an early hour of the morning, he felt as if he’d been attacked by the view in front of him: Vyn was laying on Artem’s chest, his arms resting a bit higher. His eyes were shut, showing off even further his long lashes, and god Artem could’ve sworn that he looked just angelic.

Artem couldn’t move. His heart was beating unnaturally fast, and he didn’t want to wake up Vyn either way.

(God knows that waking up Vyn earlier than he’d like could result in terrible consequences.

And Artem didn’t exactly want this moment to end.)

He closed his eyes again. It couldn’t hurt to get some more sleep, he supposed.

He stirred awake again two hours later, when Vyn himself woke up. He stretched and blinked at Artem a few times, still evidently processing the situation through his hungover and sleep clouded mind.

Suddenly, his eyes narrowed, glaring at Artem.

“What are you doing here?”

His words were spoken slowly, the anger behind them quite obvious.

“You didn’t let me go home.”

Vyn’s eyes widened, and he looked down at his position, straddling Artem’s waist. He quickly moved off, sitting on the bed and allowing Artem to sit up.

“What are you even talking about?”

Artem stayed quiet a few moments, trying to figure out how to answer. Seems Vyn didn’t remember what happened last night. How was he even supposed to recount that?

“You messaged me while you were inebriated. You wouldn’t go to sleep, so I came here to do that. And then you asked me to stay.”

“And you did?”

“Am I not here right now?”

Vyn sighed, his hand coming to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Whatever… Just go. Get out of my house.”

Artem moved out of the bed, stretching his limbs as he did so. He could feel Vyn’s glare on his back as he moved, quickly getting out of the house. Once he was in his car, he noticed how disheveled he looked. Grabbing his phone to check the time, he also noticed he wouldn’t have the time to go back to his apartment and change, then come back for the meeting. With a sigh, Artem settled on just waiting in his car, and trying to fix his appearance as much as he could.

Vyn grasped his head and walked to the medicine cabinet in the kitchen.

“God, I have such a headache…”

——

It had been about three weeks since Artem half willingly spent the night at Vyn’s house.

He wished he could say it hadn’t been that important, but unfortunately it plagued his mind ever since.

He still remembered Marius’ comment that same day, wondering why Artem looked so unusually disheveled, and even making a joke about him having had “fun activities before coming here”. Needless to say, Artem couldn’t wait for that meeting to finish.

But every night since, Artem would glance at his phone, and some part of him wished that Vyn would message him like he did that day. Of course, it hadn’t happened yet, which maybe was for the best, and-

“What’s up with you recently?”

Artem was brought out of his daze by Rosa’s voice, his work partner placing the documents in her arms on his desk. He blinked at her.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve been spacing out a lot, and you always seem to have something on your mind?” She paused. “Did something happen?”

Artem sighed in thought. Perhaps it would be a good idea to tell someone about it? Besides, Rosa was relatively trustworthy - relatively, because she was dating Luke and Marius, who definitely weren’t -, and she probably would give good advice.

“It’s.. a bit of a long story. Something happened between Vyn and I, and it's been on my mind ever since.”

He could see her stifle back a laugh at his words, before she coughed and recomposed herself. She took a seat next to Artem on his office couch, nodding to prompt him to continue.

And so he told her what happened - omitting, of course, the strange feelings seeing Vyn like that caused in him.

Rosa seemed deep in thought as he finished recounting the events of that night.

“Have you considered that Vyn likes you?”

“…What?”

His eyes widened as he looked at her in disbelief. She gave a laugh at his reaction, before elaborating.

“I mean, I’d say those messages are pretty telling by themselves, but considering the way he acted too? That seems like the only logical option to me.”

Artem stared at her in silence, before shaking his head no.

“No. There’s no way. It’s Vyn we’re talking about, Rosa.”

She raised her eyebrow and sighed.

“If you don’t believe me, so be it. But that’s the only explanation I see.”

She shrugged. The two of them soon went back to their work, the previous conversation topic forgotten.

Once they were done and ready to head out, Artem turned to ask her.

“Should I come pick you up for tonight?”

Rosa gave a bright grin as she answered.

“No, there’s no need. Marius is picking Luke and I up, so you only need to drive Vyn.”

He nodded, and they went their separate ways. Him and Rosa had been invited on behalf of Themis Law Firm to a formal event, and the other members of the NXX ended up revealing their own invitations afterwards (how did this keep happening?). So they would all be meeting up at the event.

Artem headed to the underground parking and got into his car. He first drove to his apartment to get dressed and fix his hair to look more appropriate for an event. One side of his hair was pinned back, and he put on one of his better quality suits.

Once he was dressed, he headed back to his car and typed a quick message to let Vyn know he would be on his way, before turning the car on and starting to drive towards the Svartian’s house.

He couldn’t help the way his face flushed as he came closer to the house, memories of that night flooding his brain again. He shook his head to try and stop thinking about them.

Thankfully, Vyn was standing on the porch of his house, immediately walking up to Artem’s car as it stopped and getting in the passenger seat. He didn’t seem to enjoy having to be driven by Artem, but he had to go along with it either way.

The drive to the venue was mostly quiet, only a few words shared between the two men. They went their separate ways almost immediately after arriving.

Artem found Rosa, Luke and Marius soon enough, and after a short time spent with them as well, it seemed he would spend the majority of the evening on his own. He didn’t necessarily mind, and either way, guests soon started coming up to him themselves.

He spent the evening exchanging with people who wanted connections with Themis Law Firm, and specifically with this one woman who seemed to follow him around, from how many times they’d bumped into each other.

She was... very touchy with him. More than he liked. He had told her to stop touching him quite a few times, yet she kept doing it, which was slowly getting on his nerves, if he were to be honest.

Artem didn’t see Vyn at all the entire night, almost as if Vyn was avoiding him. It saddened him, for some reason.

The woman was still standing near him, rambling off about whatever. Artem usually tried to pay attention to whatever was being told to him, but this woman had been talking to him for so long, he had stopped listening a while ago. He just hoped for this event to come to an end soon.

After what felt like an eternity, Rosa walked up to him, followed by the other men of the team, to tell him they would be taking their leave. He bid farewell to the woman, and left the venue as quickly as possible.

Once they were out and ready to go their separate ways, he noticed the way Vyn was holding onto Luke to stand. Marius sent him a quip, but he didn’t listen, his gaze trained on Vyn.

They had a short talk before Vyn started holding onto Artem and they walked to his car, waving goodbye to the other three.

Vyn was stumbling, his face was flushed and most of all, he smelled of alcohol; it didn’t take a genius to figure out Vyn had drunk quite a large amount of alcohol.

Artem sighed as he helped Vyn get into the passenger seat again. If the ride to the venue was quiet, the ride back was even quieter. Vyn seemed upset, or rather angry, and kept glaring at Artem. Although he was focusing on the road, Artem kept sending concerned glances at Vyn.

Perhaps not only concerned, as Vyn did look even more beautiful than usual. Not that Artem typically thought about his beauty, of course. It was simply an objective fact. Obviously.

As Artem drove into Vyn’s neighborhood, he noticed the man beside him shift ever so slightly, most likely only moving to be more comfortable. He parked into his usual spot, getting out of the car and circling around it to open the passenger door.

Vyn stumbled out of the car, Artem rushing to hold him up. He wrapped an arm around his waist, and reached to place Vyn’s arm around his own shoulders.

His touch felt burning. But Artem couldn’t deny how much he had craved it.

They stumbled together to the door, Artem muttering an apology before reaching into Vyn’s pockets to grab the keys to the house. He had seen before Vyn open the front door, so he had a subtle idea of which key was the one. Once he had opened the door, he walked inside, Vyn still clinging onto him.

He made sure to first place Vyn onto the closest couch, taking care to lay him down comfortably, before walking back to the front door and closing it. As he turned back to face Vyn, he saw the younger man trying to sit up and reach for Artem, incoherent words spilling out of his lips.

Artem frowned in concern. He made his way to Vyn, checking for his temperature first. It was higher than it should be, especially considering Vyn’s usual cold body temperature, but he blamed it on the alcohol for now. If it kept up, Vyn would surely be able to take care of himself.

Vyn was… lighter than he had imagined. As Artem carried him in his arms, the Svartian curled into him, his face buried in Artem’s neck and deeply inhaling his scent. Artem’s face was most likely a deep red by now, trying to ignore Vyn’s oddly affectionate touches as he carried him to his room.

For the second time, Artem made sure that Vyn was in bed, and brought him a glass of water, preparing to leave.

And for the second time, Vyn asked him to stay.

And perhaps, when Vyn glared at Artem while laying on his chest, muttering insults at him, Artem couldn’t deny how fast his heart was beating.

So much so that he found himself barely paying attention to what Vyn was saying, too focused on his face.

“And I can’t believe you’re so oblivious that you can’t even tell I like you.”

Artem’s heart skipped a beat.

His eyes widened, and his mouth opened with a gasp. Had he heard him right? No. There was no way. Besides, Vyn was drunk. He wasn’t thinking clearly.

Still, some part of Artem’s mind wished he was telling the truth.

“…What??”

“Did you not hear me? I like you, you absolutely exasperating idiot.”

…Vyn was speaking oddly clearly for a drunk man. Artem cleared his throat, looking away. He was sure that his face reflected his flustered state, as much as he tried to cover it.

This would be a problem for when Vyn wasn’t drunk.

…

This time, Vyn hadn’t kicked Artem out immediately. He had half-heartedly thanked Artem for taking care of him - in his own way, of course -, and insisted on treating him for breakfast, at the very least.

Artem was stiff. His mind replayed the events of the last night on loop, not wanting to leave him alone. He tried his best to keep his gaze off Vyn, yet he still found himself staring more than once. Each and every time, he forced himself to look away, a blush creeping up his neck.

Vyn must have noticed - of course he did, that’s his job -, because he eventually turned back to Artem, glaring at him with an eyebrow raised.

“What is it?”

A beat passed. They stared at each other, Artem debating whether or not to say it.

“You confessed to me last night.”

Another beat. Vyn swiveled around quickly, and if Artem looked closely, he could swear there was a touch of red blossoming on the Svartian’s neck. He heard him sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose before looking back at Artem.

“I hadn’t expected to tell you so soon… Or ever, as a matter of fact.”

Vyn fully turned, his usual gaze shining with only the tiniest bit of vulnerability. Really, Artem couldn’t have noticed it unless he knew what Vyn’s look was like, and-

Oh.

Perhaps now wasn’t exactly the time to be realizing how much Vyn made his heart flutter, how much he craved and longed for him. Or maybe it was. After all, Vyn was confessing to him.

“I do have feelings for you. I’m not expecting you to reciprocate, so let’s stop talking about this.”

Vyn was about to turn back around when Artem spoke up.

“What if… I do reciprocate?”

He froze in his steps.

“I beg your pardon?”

Artem found himself at a loss for words. How was he to explain what he was feeling to Vyn when he had realized exactly 30 seconds ago and couldn’t understand what he felt anyway?

“I… I’m not entirely sure yet, but I believe I may have… feelings… for you as well.”

His words were slow, and Artem was sure his face was a bright red by now. Vyn scoffed.

“You believe? Goodness, Artem… What am I going to do with you.”

Despite his words, when Artem snuck a glance at Vyn through his embarrassment, he could see a fond smile on the man’s face. He gave a smile of his own, watching Vyn step closer to him.

As their lips pressed together, Artem realized that perhaps Rosa had been right.

#my ao3 works #tears of themis #artem wing #vyn richter #tot artem #tot vyn #vyntem #vyn x artem #artemvyn

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pinkyjulien · 1 year

Text

🟨 Random CP77 Tutorials

👋 Heya!

I decided to save and stock some of my private CP77 modding tutorials, that I usually do in Discord servers threads, on my Google Drive

I'll maaaybe go through the more interesting ones and re-write them into proper tutorials, but for now I figured this could still be useful for some of y'all!

As said before, those were private discord tutos, so don't expect any seriousness and expect a lot of typos! Those are tutorials for friends, so you'll have to deal with my goofy ass ✋😌

Keep in mind that some (if not all) of these are OLD, so the methods and my understanding/skills evolve since then!

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Adding stitches to a mesh - My workflow on how I go about adding stitches to ported garments. Can also be used to add rivets / buttons / scratches!

Garment replacers with physics - For people who prefer old garment replacers over the XL additions, this will allow you to have physics enable garment as well :>

Making Fishnet Garments - How to convert any shirt, pants, garments into a mesh/fishnet

Move bones between armatures - or how to Give physics to a mesh!

Restore physics to an edited hair - Can also be used to add physics to a fully modded hair :>

Stop meshes from disappearing - Useful for modded meshes that likes to turn invisiible at a certain distance

Swap custom entities with AMM - Edit the AMM's database to add your custom NPV and NPC+ into your swappable entities :3

Use guns as garment in your oufits - Slap any guns or weapons models as accessories in your outfits

Wearable Garment Port How I port custom models into the game as wearable garments! My workflow from A to Z, as always this is just my own workflow, don't take this as THE method to port stuff :>

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Hope those can be useful! 🤙 Happy modding

▶ Link to the Google Drive Folder

#cyberpunk 2077 #CP77 #modding #CP77 modding #tutorials #tutorial

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maybankiara · 11 months

Text

PHONE SWAP (DREW STARKEY)

22: BETWEEN THE LINES

summary: Addie Mallory is just your average economics student when she meets Drew Starkey at her local Target in Atlanta. This is where the story is supposed to end – a short meeting and a picture to go – except Drew accidentally leaves with the wrong phone, and the story begins, instead. w/c: 3.3k a/n: addie and holden having a sweet moment at last...or are they? read on wattpad previous part | series masterlist

Virgin Mary | 3:47am what are the odds on this being a big mistake

Me | 8:02am 0:1000000000 Me | 8:02am stop freaking out, you’ll be fine

Virgin Mary | 8:30am Addie Virgin Mary | 8:30am i am going to Tom’s Virgin Mary | 8:31 amfor all of the fucking holidays 😩

Me | 8:35am Marianne Me | 8:36am my beloved Me | 8:36am you said you wanted this, you said that this is the best for your relationship, you said that this was the right thing to do Me | 8:36am and Tom said he wants to take this step Me | 8:37am you’re just scared bc it’s a big deal

Virgin Mary | 8:38am AND WHAT ABOUT IT 😡

Me | 8:40am it’s okay to be scared Me | 8:40am but you’ll be fine ❤ Me | 8:40am let me know when you land

Virgin Mary | 8:42am supportive bitch Virgin Mary | 8:42am ❤

◇

It’s evening time at the Weatherby-Mallory residence, and there are nearly half a dozen’s worth of cups scattered over the living room. Some are on the TV stand, next to a framed photo of the roommates and their friend group that Wes got Marianne for her birthday; some are next to the wall, far enough to avoid potential spills; and some are on the coffee table, nearly hidden between pages and pages of files, all compiled into little folders with corners sticking out.

It would be an ordinary evening for Addie, except this tends to be the setting of her bedroom, not the living room. With Marianne gone for the next few weeks, though, Addie’s life has already consumed even the shared areas of the flat, and Addie finds herself to be a bit spoiled by the newfound commodity – she doesn’t see how that tiny space was ever enough for this much work. Although, now there are Holden’s files, folded away between and over and under her own, so she may be overestimating it a little.

Her phone dings, somewhere in the pile. She drops down from the couch, a little ungracefully – her foot gets stuck in the pillow and she nearly kicks Holden’s shin tugging it out. He chuckles and she groans, and then she’s rummaging through the files until she finds the phone, its screen still lit from Marianne’s text.

‘They landed!’

‘Oh, good,’ says Holden.

‘Mhm. I’ll tell her you say hi.’

Addie’s fingers are fast at typing, even though she needs to fix a typo here and there. She asks Marianne how the flight was – it’s always a necessary question, seeing as Marianne likes flights just about as much as Addie likes clowns. Maybe even less. The one time they’d flown together to Boston, Marianne had a full-blown panic attack during one of the turbulences and Addie spent the rest of the flight trying to calm her down.

But it’s good, she tells herself. She had Tom with her.

(Or that’s why it wouldn’t be good, her thoughts say, and she shoves them away.)

‘You look worried.’

Addie huffs. ‘I’m not.’

‘You sure?’

She glances at her phone once more before putting it down, on yet another pile of papers still needing to be looked at. She gets back up on the couch, draws the fuzzy scarlet blanket back over herself, then pulls her knees close to her chest; Holden’s eyes don’t leave hers.

‘I don’t know,’ she admits. ‘Should I be? I mean, Marianne and Tom… You know they’ve not been on the best of terms. Even if Marianne says things are better now.’ She lets out a little sigh, stretching her legs across the couch, almost far enough to touch Holden’s thighs. ‘I hope they don’t kill each other.’

‘They’ll be fine,’ he says. Addie half expects him to put a reassuring hand on her leg—it feels like one of those moments—but he doesn’t. ‘They have their ups and downs, but so does everybody.’

‘Yeah, but this will either make or break their relationship.’

‘I thought you said they’ve been doing better since after her birthday.’

‘They are,’ she says. She pulls her legs back, wrapping her arms around them and resting her head on her knees. ‘I just don’t know if that’s enough.’

‘Still, it’s more than likely that this will improve things between them.’ He gives a smile that’s both soft and the sort of smile you give when you’ve said all there is to say about something. ‘Come on, work will distract you from worrying about them.’

Addie bites her lip. ‘Yeah.’

His gaze drops and he’s fully immersed into a Balance Sheet that Patty asked them to look at. His red pen is quick to run across the paper, and it’s as if any thought of Marianne and Tom has already vanished from his head.

She tells herself that Holden’s right. She’s too subjective.

But she doesn’t manage to convince herself of that, nor does she manage to get back to work. The papers are staring at her – notes upon notes of information about a client’s accounts and receipts of purchases of property involved, as he is suing a property investment company for scamming him out of about a hundred grand. At this point, Addie’s looked over the case so much that the numbers are starting to merge, the calculations are dancing on the page, and some of them even look like the letters M and T until she blinks it away.

Usually, Addie loves catching scammers. She loves fighting for the good side. She loves when she can be crunching numbers and putting them into actual economic trends of property values and similar – but it’s just not coming to her.

So she puts the papers back on the coffee table, picks up her mug, instead.

‘They were arguing a lot last night,’ Addie says and waits for Holden to look up at her before continuing. ‘He came over because they were leaving together and I heard them yelling all the way from my room. Neither of them really wanted to go like this, but they bought the tickets back in, like, October. Before all this shit went down. And they didn’t want to waste them.’

Holden glances down at the papers, then back at her. ‘Is that the only reason why they went? Because of the tickets?’

‘I don’t know. That’s what Marianne hinted at, but I still think they’re both hoping for fresh air to do them some good.’

‘What do you mean, fresh air?’

‘Metaphorically,’ she explains. ‘Different country, different setting, different circumstances. I spoke to Tom the other day and that’s kind of what he said, too. Changing where they are might be the thing they need.’

‘That’s not really how things work, though.’

‘Why not?’ Addie cocks her head. ‘They’re getting a new perspective on their relationship. Taking the next step, with her meeting his family.’

Holden lowers the files onto his lap, running his hands through his hair. SHe knows that look—the I’m going to give you all my attention now look—and waits for his eyes to meet hers, heavy and unwavering. He takes a deep breath before he speaks, his lips shut tight until he’s ready, and she’s seen him do this so many times before. Always before he says something he’s convinced is right about.

So Addie is waiting. Expecting. Not sure what she’s going to hear.

‘Look, you can’t fix a relationship that’s not really going anywhere,’ Holden says, at last. ‘Both people need to put the effort in. To be the people they need to be in this relationship, for the other person. You can change the environment the relationship’s in, sure, and maybe it works for a while, but it doesn’t change that if they’re not a good fit, they’re not a good fit. Marianne keeps the issues between them from you for a reason, and that’s because she knows the truth.’

He gives her a tight-lipped smile and then his eyes and hands are back on the file in his lap; if Addie wasn’t a part of the conversation, she could’ve been fooled that it hadn't happened. Over. Just like that.

‘Well, I think they’re a good fit. They care about each other enough to at least try to be the partner they need to be for one another.’

Holden glances at her, but doesn’t say anything other than ‘Fair’.

Addie just stared at him.

‘I’m going to make myself a cup of tea,’ she says, getting herself out of the blanket. ‘You want some?’

‘Sure,’ says Holden, not looking up from the paper he’s scribbling notes on.

The walk to the kitchen is brisk. It’s a little bit chilly out of the blanket, and she thinks she should probably turn the heating up a little – but the tea will warm her up enough. She fills the kettle and turns it on, rubbing her upper arms as she leans against the countertop. The sight of snowflakes moving in the wind past her window makes it feel even chillier.

Addie’s mind replays Holden’s words, over and over again, as she hears the papers rustling in the living room. She wonders if he’s right – if she’s just hopeful and naive, thinking that her best friend could come out of this victorious. Marianne is fighting for it. Tom is fighting for it. They’re trying, and Addie feels like that’s the bit that Holden is missing. They’re not just accepting the status quo – they’re trying to find the issues and fix them.

Or, really, Addie is starting to think that it’s the effort to be the right person for someone that is worth more in a relationship than just being the right match from the beginning. It’s about growth, and most importantly, growing with the person.

That is why she thinks Marianne and Tom will stick it out. Will see how far they’ve come when all the worries are stripped away, once in England, and why they’ll be able to bring it back all the way to Atlanta.

The kettle brews to a halt, steaming their kitchen window until she can no longer discern the snowflakes. She thinks of Drew, and how excited he was for the snow, and wishes she could go out and have fun in it – anything not to have to think about things.

She doesn’t think Holden would be too keen on it, though, so she abandons the idea. Really, maybe it’s a good thing. It’s the most productive she’s been in ages, only coming to the kitchen to brew tea or coffee, or eat, in between hours-long bursts of working on cases. She’s burned through more tea in the past few days Holden’s been here than she has in months, it feels like, but she’s also burned through as many cases. She can’t think of the last time she was so productive.

Or so tired.

Addie calls out to Holden. She pours water into the mugs, one for his coffee, and one for her tea (she doesn’t think she’ll ever fully forgive Marianne for getting her so addicted to tea when coffee is right. there.) and get back to work in the living room. Everything ends with getting back to work.

If she gets all the work for the internship done today, she could spend the next few days focusing solely on fixing up the loose threads from her thesis, and then hopefully things will remain at a constant level and she’ll manage to get everything done and over with before she goes home.

Home.

Her plane ticket is booked for less than two weeks from today, yet she can hardly picture herself coming home. She’s not been since last Christmas, and even though her family came to visit back in May, it’s not the same. She was working on her Master’s, even then, and maybe Addie is just a little bit tired of working.

‘We’re having tea in the kitchen,’ she announces. ‘We need a break.’

Holden argues they can keep working. Addie reiterates her statement, holding the mug to her chest, and he drags himself into the kitchen a few moments later, frowning at her lazily as he leans his side on the doorframe.

‘What’s the long face for?’ Addie asks.

‘We have a lot of work to do.’

‘Yeah, but we also deserve fifteen minutes of not doing it.’ She nods towards the dinner table, where his coffee sits, steaming. ‘Fifteen minutes for a cup of coffee won’t kill you.’

He walks over to the table with a defeated sigh and Addie follows. He takes a sip and huffs at the temperature, and she can’t help but laugh as she holds her hands over the steam of her tea – and when he blushes, she presses her palms to his cheeks.

‘Addie,’ he says, smiling. ‘Your palms are wet.’

Addie just shrugs. ‘They’re also really warm.’

‘They always are.’

‘No,’ she says, ‘they’re always cold when I’m working because my blood circulation is terrible and stress makes it worse.’

‘Right.’

His hands are over hers for a couple of moments before he brings them all down, and she’s back to holding her tea. Her thoughts grow calmer and the tea warms her up on the inside as much as it warms her hands – Addie feels lighter. Watches the snow fall, and enjoys the moment of peace.

‘I’m really excited to get home,’ she says, feeling a smile coming on. ‘My sister, Liyah said she’s got a bunch of things planned for us and my dad apparently has a list of things he wants to teach me before I’m gone again.’

‘Things like?’

‘Cooking, I think. Even though I have Marianne for that – or, actually, probably because of that. Probably car stuff, too.’

‘What, like changing a tyre?’

‘Ha-ha. Very funny.’

Holden shrugs, like he’s trying to say he had to do it. Even the self-satisfied grin is starting to break through, and she can’t help but smile back.

‘He wants me to get a car,’ she explains. ‘To be less dependent on other people and public transport.’

‘That’s not a bad idea.’

‘But I like public transport,’ Addie argues. She thought she knew that – that he’d be on her side in this. ‘It’s better for the environment.’

‘That’s a fair point.’ He glances around the kitchen. ‘You’ve still got leftover lasagne from Marianne left before she left, right?’

Addie nods, accepting that the conversation is over. ‘You wanna heat some up?’

Holden nods and she spends the next few minutes watching him struggle with navigating his way around the kitchen. It’s amusing, really, and she doesn’t feel bad about it – she laughs into her cup every single time he tries to find anything, and looks for it in the wrong place at least five times first.

‘I don’t know if I’m going to stay home for long,’ he says then, once the oven’s on and the lasagne is finally heating up. There’s an expression on his face that Addie doesn’t recognise – heavy. Conflicted. ‘My brother’s in his teenage destruction arc and it’s driving my dad crazy.’

‘Shouldn’t you help him out?’

‘He can handle it better than I could, even with his Parkinsons.’

Addie finds herself staring at him, comprehending this information – information that she feels like should’ve come up at least once in their just-under-two months of being together. ‘Your dad has Parkinsons?’

‘Early stages,’ he says. ‘It’s not really a big deal. They caught it early and he’s on medication, so he’s doing alright.’

‘You never said.’

‘Didn’t think it was important.’

‘Holden, it’s your dad.’ She waits for him to say something, but he’s just staring at his cup. ‘I feel like that’s more of a reason for you to stay longer. To help him out.’

Holden sighs. He leans back into the chair and she feels his legs brush hers before finding their own space under the table. ‘He’s been going fine. Jack’s only fourteen, so it’s not that bad. Besides, if I’m home and having to look after Jack, I can’t concentrate on work. I can’t risk the quality of my work dropping because of that. Don’t want to reduce my chances of Grubson giving me the job at the end.’

Addie didn’t even know that was what he wanted – but she doesn’t have the energy to deal with another bombshell. ‘It’s nice that you’re so determined and hardworking, and it’s one of the things I like about you most. But at the end of the day, no one should put work over people they care about.’

‘Well,’ he says, slowly, as if choosing words carefully. ‘Work’s what puts bread on my table.’

Addie’s jaw clenches. ‘Work won’t be by your side if things go sideways and you need someone to help you out.’

Holden has a confused face, then frowns. ‘Am I meant to read between the lines?’

‘No, I’m not—I wasn’t talking about us,’ she clarifies, feeling her heart thumping in her chest. ‘I was talking about choosing work over family.’

‘Right,’ he says.

He doesn’t say anything else. Addie wishes he would.

The oven timer runs out and he tends to the lasagne, leaving her to ruminate in her own thoughts. She refuses to – she’s thinking about Holden’s relationship with his family and his work, the fact that he hasn’t felt like sharing the fact that his single father has Parkinsons and a teenage son to look after, or the fact that he wants to stay at Grubson, even though she thought he’d said it wasn’t where he could put his degree to best use. But money talks, and so does stability, and Addie feels like she neglects to think that’s one of the most important things for people who grew up in unstable households like he has.

They eat the lasagne and her thoughts don’t shut up.

‘So,’ he says, ‘have you found any evidence of the scam in the Magellan v The State case yet?’

‘I don’t feel like talking about work,’ she says.

‘Okay.’

He helps her clean up the kitchen once they’re finished and tells her to thank Marianne for making the lasagne. They’re back to work, but Addie’s motivation is long gone, and it’s taking a lot more effort than it should to get things done. To read. To make notes. To sit by Holden and bite her tongue before she asks questions that’ll probably reveal more things he hasn’t told her.

She glances out of the window and notices the sky’s gotten too dark to see the snowflakes anymore. Her heart clenches, and she realises she’s done. She’s tired. The kind of tired that tries to drag you down with gravity and not let you get up until a year has gone by.

‘I’m going to bed,’ she announces. ‘I can’t think anymore.’

Holden looks up from the heap of papers he’s holding, taking out the pen from between his lips. ‘That’s fine, I was thinking about going home soon anyway.’

‘I thought you were staying another night?’

‘Yeah, sorry,’ he says. ‘I need to keep working, and I don’t want to bother you..’

Addie lets out a surprised chuckle. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not bothering me. You can keep working in the living room as long as you want, I don’t mind.’

‘Yeah…’ he looks around, then leans forward and kisses her on the lips. ‘It’s better I go. If I stay, I’ll just want to join you, and I’ve got too much left to do.’

‘Okay,’ she says. He kisses her again, and she feels her cheeks heating up.

In the end, she walks him out, and lies in bed alone, knowing she’s going to be alone in the entire flat, and she’s going to wake up alone, too. Thinking about everything Holden said. Think about the things he didn’t. Not only that, but Marianne is on the other side of the planet, and Addie is unable to do anything if things take a turn for the worse.

It’s not a good feeling.

◇

23: A CASE OF THE BUTTERFLIES

most people on the taglist have left/changed their urls, so lmk if you’d like to be tagged in future chapters!

#drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #outer banks #obx #drew starkey fanfiction #phone swap series #the readership isn't big on tumblr anymore but that's okay #i love the few of you who are still reading it <3

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