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lily-bisque · 20 days ago

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ＷＡＹＯＵＴＴＨＥＲＥ 𖠰 ⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

volume five — todo a su tiempo

✦ ── pairing: lumberjack!sukuna x citygirl!reader

✦ ── synopsis: taking a hike, alone, in a massive forest to escape your mundane life may not have been the greatest idea you'd conjured up—a realization you'd come to soon after you managed to lose your map miles inland. but when a lumberjack who knows the land like the back of his hand offers you a place to stay, you think maybe your life isn't so tragic after all. besides, for the sake of your safety, who knows what lingers in the shadows after nightfall?

✦ ── contents: lost in the forest au, forced proximity, bantering, angst, trauma/torture aspects, minor injuries, eventual romance, eventual smut, no use of y/n, more tags to be added.

✦ ── a/n: all of the comments and feedback i've received so far has been absolutely amazing, it always encourages me to plow through volumes! i appreciate and love all of you <3

✦ ── word count: 4.9k

archive ─ playlist

series masterlist - previous volume - volume six

art by outdmilk on twt

The following days you could only describe were bliss.

Sukuna and you had established a set—yet, unspoken—routine. You’d wake up, hop to the kitchen, and get breakfast started.

He’d disappear into the bathroom, hacking up a storm with his toothbrush and shuffle into work clothes.

You’d learned how he’d dress his eggs, that he only drank his coffee black which you scowled at upon discovery, and which mug he liked to sip from.

You even started packing him a lunch—which he called unnecessary every single time despite never turning it down.

You got comfortable in the clothing he’d bought you, despite having no sensitivity for fashion outside of red flannels and blue jeans.

If he wasn’t going to accept payment in the form of a wire transfer, you were going to ensure that you were going to pay him back through duties despite still being incredibly indebted to him.

He was a jerk, but a jerk who saved your life.

You dusted off his entire CD collection, reorganized his dining sets after polishing them, and scrubbed his tiles until they shined.

Twice.

From what you could puzzle together, it seemed that he worked down at a sawmill and treaded down the hill to reach his pick-up before heading into work. The extra lumber he’d chop on occasion, he’d leave in a lump come winter time when it’d be too cold to stand outside for long periods of time.

You’d bothered him quite a bit the next day about putting up a clothesline out back, which he found irksome but completed nonetheless that evening, along with fixing the dryer.

You thus called the clothesline useless if he was just going to fix the dryer and he flicked your forehead.

He’d hammer you about checking your bandages and curse you out when you’d forget, and you’d raid his book collection and sit beneath a tree to pass time.

Uraume was quite the companion—plopping on you to rub their mud-covered mane to which you’d giggle at.

You’d both fall asleep beneath the haze of the afternoon heat that hung sweetly in the air. Days were old, nights were young. You’d tan your shoulders, haunted by the melancholy of youth. The sky felt bigger than everything.

You’d scoop yourself three helpings of ice cream that’d dribble down your hand, Uraume lapping it up when it’d muddled around your palm.

The rusted windchimes on the patio became your favorite noise.

Nothing made sense except your virtue for stillness. You knew nothing was okay, but it felt otherwise.

You occasionally found yourself lurking near the shed, toying with the lock and peering between the slivers of cracked wood, but it was completely black inside—further frustrating your curiosity.

You’d argue with Sukuna every here and then—bickering about who’d tracked dirt in, when you’d use all the hot water before he had the chance to shower, or Sukuna telling you that you’d talked too much when you’d feel restless after being cooped up all day, your only friend Uraume who wasn’t of much help since they couldn’t actually speak back to you.

Sukuna was mean but he was sufferable.

“You ever try a root beer float?”

You had your hand resting on the side of his TV, giving it a couple of smacks to get rid of the static. Thankfully he had cable but you could tell he rarely used the old box. “Who hasn’t?”

He grunted at your bluntness, pulling a beer can from the fridge along with a pint of vanilla ice cream. “How about a root beer float with beer?”

You turned to frown at him, obviously not excited at the mixture of ale and milk. “That sounds disgusting.”

“Don’t knock it ‘till you try it, city girl.”

𖠰 ⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

“Where on Earth did you learn this?”

You shoved an orange plastic straw into your mason jar that was both foamy from the sprite and beer can you’d dumped in along with a hefty scoop of ice cream.

You were yet to be sick of ice cream.

You swirled your straw, eyeing it suspiciously as Sukuna had already spooned half of it down.

“Lots of free time,” he smirked, a line of frothy ice cream above his upper lip.

You grimaced, tossing a napkin at him and taking a sip.

You were a little pissed off that you liked it.

“Aren’t these called dirty root beer floats?” You quirked with an emphasis, metal spoon churning the thick cream. You pulled your knee up to your chest, resting your chin against the cap.

He shrugged, adjusting in his seat and reaching a long armover to the fridge. He propped it open, grabbing himself yet another can of beer to guzzle down.

You could only watch in awe at his bottomless pit of a stomach.

Pushing away your glass, you folded your arms over your knee and leaned forward. “Are you an orphan?”

He side-eyed you mid-sip, surprised at your sudden and blunt inquiry, bringing the can down just to crush it with his hand. “What’s it to you?”

You tilted your head, before retreating. “Nothing. Just curious.”

“Stop poking your nose where it ain’t belong,” he scoffed, pushing up from his seat and tossing the mutilated can into the sink.

Your nose scrunched, knowing you’d yet again managed to cross unmarked territory. Your time here was short, and though Sukuna simply seemed to be a hostile and reticent guy, you felt like there was more to him somehow. It was naive to think he’d care to express it, though. You don’t think you’ve ever met anyone more closed off than him.

There was something stewing beneath the surface of his hardened demeanor you couldn’t place.

But that was coming from a woman with forever bubbling emotions that seemed to simmer indefinitely.

You hated small talk—you’d never been able to stomach it. The feigned smiles and comments about weather or formal confabulation. You’d sworn against it after your divorce, severing most ties with a family that indulged in table talk and pleasantries.

His footfalls disappeared into his room and you huffed, peering out the window and feeling a sense of frustration, a moon-struck madness cast upon you.

Until he returned to the kitchen just moments later, a box in his hand that you’d become quite familiar with.

He got to one knee before you, resting your foot atop his muscled thigh as he undressed your ankle.

You pretended not to twitch when his calloused fingers grazed your bare skin, his touch sending shivers down your spine. You didn’t know an ankle could be so ticklish.

“My parents,” he started, nearly mumbling under his breath. “Killed a real long time ago.”

You quirked a brow, something you couldn’t decipher lurching in your chest as you shuffled in your seat.

“Joined the army with my brother. Half-brother. We got into some argument, way back, n’ I haven’t seen him since. Just left him on some mission and never turned back.”

You stayed quiet for a moment, watching Sukuna’s hands still near your ankle as those tightly etched lines on his face only dug deeper, as if the only expression he could reserve was a scowl.

You inhaled sharply, worried that you were treading on thin ice already. “What’s he like? Your brother.”

Sukuna scoffed. “My brother? Real arrogant bastard.” He placed an antiseptic wipe into his mouth just to tear it open with his canines. “Aggressive, unhinged.”

“Like you,” you quickly added with a tug of your lip.

Sukuna glanced up, a sarcastic grin coloring him before he leaned forward to flick your forehead, a gesture he’d gotten incredibly comfortable with executing.

“Ouch!” You yelped, hands flying to shield your forehead as Sukuna snickered under his breath. “The hell was that for?”

“For being a lil brat,” he jeered back, finishing up the dressing.

You slowly lowered your hands, resting them on your thighs and frowning.

“Been quite a few days now,” he started, effectively changing the subject, lowering your leg and peering up at you. “I’ll walk you down the main trail first thing. Had someone pick up my shift.”

You could feel your heart skip a beat, shuffling in your seat as you averted eye contact. “Well, I’m not sure if I’m totally healed and—.”

“If you complain too much, I'll just drag you by the ankle.”

Or in normal, non-Sukuna terms, he’ll carry you on his back like he did up the hill.

“But I-I,” you began to fumble over your words, perturbation spiking. “I haven’t completed my fill yet and cleaned enough—.”

He spoke your name curtly, a volume slightly raised above your own that it had you come to a halt in your rambles, heat warming your cheeks discomfitingly. “Tomorrow morning. Won’t say it again.”

A rock of desperation sat thick in your throat, feeling yourself develop a case of cottonmouth in real time as Sukuna retreated to his room for the evening. You fidgeted with the hem of your shirt, biting the inside of your cheek.

To put it plainly—you didn’t want to leave.

You liked it here compared to your real life in the city. It was stupid to think that you could continue to mooch off of Sukuna by sleeping on his wearing and scruffy couch and cook him two meals and think he’d allowed you to stay.

But he’d done far more than enough. Opened his home to you and fed you and allowed you autonomy with nothing in return.

You didn’t like being indebted, but you did like Sukuna’s shabby little nook in the forest.

Lamentably, your little vacation and respite had come to an end.

In all honesty, you probably could’ve walked down by day three. But you ignored your near-healed injury and deluded yourself into thinking this newfound peace was something you could continue to indulge in.

You plopped down on the couch, crossing your arms over your chest, eyes dialed in on his popcorn ceiling marked with water stains and dust.

It’d only been a few days, and though you hated how abrasive and standoffish Sukuna was, he was possibly the first person to really notice you.

His eyes didn’t rake over you and allow you to blend into the crowd. He treated you like a nuisance at times and your banter was practically never-ending, but you’d oddly found a sense of mutual understanding between each other.

Two people who felt abandoned by the real world.

You shut your eyes, dragging your hands over your face as you pulled the thin sheet over your head, attempting to shake off your plethora of emotions you didn’t have the energy to sort out.

𖠰 ⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

“Don’t even think about forgettin’ nothin’. I’m not coming all the way back up.”

You rolled your eyes, adjusting the rucksack on your back as you shuffled down the wooden steps. “I won’t. You got a switchblade I can borrow?”

Sukuna eyed you as you leaned over to tie your boots, your face shielded from him as your unnecessarily wide-brimmed hat flopped in the early morning haze. “Uh. No. You’re outta luck,” he murmured, shoving a hand into his jean pockets and glancing down the hill.

You looked up at him from the ground, unable to hide your blatant surprise. “You’re kidding. A lumberjack doesn’t own a blade?”

He just shrugged, averting his gaze and narrowing his eyes. “We gonna get goin’ or what?”

You scowled, hopping to your feet and dusting your knees off. “Wow. You really have mastered the art of deflection,” you taunted, walking past him just to nudge his arm.

He flinched at the contact, watching you pad down the trail with a permanent scowl, the ink on his face contorting with each antagonized expression.

“So,” you called out minutes later, only a few feet behind him as he’d overtaken your slow pace easily. You didn’t even try to keep up with his long strides, as if he couldn’t get rid of you any quicker. “What’s the plan if we’re cornered by a pack of mutts again?”

Sukuna only ignored you, but you could see his irritation light up in the way his fingers flexed at his sides.

Just the sound of your voice seemed to infuriate him sometimes.

You jogged up towards him, craning your head up and squinting against the harsh rays of the sun tethered high in the sky, her light filtered through flitting leaves. “No plan? Because a switch blade would be of some real relief—“

“Do you ever stop talking?”

You shrugged, undeterred. “You’ve asked me that before. You should know the answer.”

𖠰 ⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

“Are we almost thereeeee,” you whined out, hands hanging limp at your sides as you dragged your feet.

It felt like your muscles were on fire, tensing with each movement and flaring as your exhaustion only roared on.

“Nope.”

Sukuna was at your side now, irritated that you kept falling too far behind and resigning to your slow tempo.

You continued to huff and puff and bitch and moan, but as much as Sukuna hated to hear your grievances, he also enjoyed seeing you suffer in the afternoon heat.

Sweat beaded across your browline and down your spine, your top clinging to the perspiration. Your eyes hung low, as if you could pass out any moment from heat stroke and your throat had gone dry after chugging all of your water.

Sukuna on the other hand? The guy was in tip-top shape. And it drove you mad. His stamina was one to rival a wolf with.

“C-can’t we take a break?” You groaned out of breath.

Sukuna let out consecutive tsks, watching as your rucksack made you hunch over like you were about to topple a stack of dominoes. “Now how could we when we’re so close.”

You shot him a glare. “You literally just said we weren’t close.”

“Heats’ got me hallucinating,” he sarcastically defended, arching a brow at you with a sharp grin.

You opened your mouth to call him a slew of curses that equated him as crass and crazy, when your foot stalled.

You gasped, effectively tripping over your own foot as you stepped on your undrawn shoe lace, arms flying forward.

Sukuna’s eyes bulged, arms instinctively reaching forward and stepping in front of you.

And as clumsy as you were, your foot caught the back of his, pushing him backwards, your hands smacking against his chest.

You both fell with a timber-like thud, crashing into a pile of brush. You could hear Sukuna wince and grunt as he broke your fall.

His massive hands were around your waist, your face stuffed into the crook of his neck and accidentally taking in his scent—cigarettes and a woody musk so undeniably him.

The two of you were still for a moment—could’ve been mere seconds, could’ve been minutes—until you inhaled sharply and pushed off of him, falling to the side with an unceremonious thunk!

Sukuna stared at the sky, arms flopped to his sides lazily as you scrambled over words, heat rising from your nape all the way to the crown of your ears. “I- Sorry I didn’t mean to—,” you stopped yourself, eyes fixing on his palm.

He seemed to have sliced it open against brush, a bleeding wound the size of your pinky across the front of his hand.

“Oh my god, your hand,” you gasped, fingers reaching out to smooth a finger near the broken skin, but Sukuna seemed to beat you to the punch.

He sat up quickly, tugging his hand away from you like you’d burn him if you came into contact and getting to his feet. “Christ, woman. I’m fine.”

You furrowed your brows, swallowing a thick lump of contrite lodged in your throat. “Are you sure? Your hand looked—.”

“We going or what?” He interrupted, a deep contempt and frustration brewing on his face, like he’d tasted coffee somehow even more bitter than his regular order.

He scoffed at your momentary silence and picked up his pace down the path, fingers flexing at his side again.

You bit your lip, scrambling to your feet and hurrying after him.

Though, you made sure to never fall too far behind this time, just a few paces behind him.

𖠰 ⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

For the duration of what was left, you kept your gaze lowered on the floor before you, occasionally kicking a pebble and watching it scurry away.

Sukuna kept his pace manageable. But he didn’t utter a word to you.

The tension was more than palpable—like a thick, tempestuous cloud hanging over the both of you that neither of you dared to acknowledge.

Your heart never really slowed to a resting pace—whether that be from another unbridled argument with Sukuna or the exertion of the walk. You didn’t dare attempt to decipher which possibility it may be.

You picked at the skin around your nails, feeling like a little kid who’d gotten in trouble and blindly followed their parents around.

Thankfully, this was the last you’d be seeing of him. No more stifling arguments that left your skin flaring.

“My truck is just down the road.” Sukuna suddenly broke the silence, his pace coming to a stop.

“What?” You squeaked out immediately, peering up at him from the rim of your hat.

He gave you a strange look, cocking his head to the side reluctantly. “Uh, we’re here. I wouldn’t mind giving you a lift back to—.”

“No!” You interrupted, shaking your hands in front of you. You hadn’t even noticed how long the two of you had been walking, the rushing sound of cars from a nearby freeway augmenting your senses.

Sukuna narrowed his eyes, gaze dancing across you. If you were any less lucid, you could’ve sworn you’d seen remorse coloring him.

“I’ve got it figured out from here. Thanks, Sukuna,” you breathed out slowly, a wide smile across your cheeks that pinched the skin uncomfortably.

He couldn’t shake off the odd feeling churning in his chest, coughing it away and averting his gaze with his hands planted on his hips. “Suit yourself.”

You glanced at the open road, just past it was a gas station where you’d be able to rest before calling for a ride.

“I’d say see you around but we both know how unlikely that is,” you admitted with a dry laugh, goosebumps littering your body in a cold sweat.

He side-eyed you, jaw clenched as he mulled over something in silence.

But you could barely take it anymore.

“Goodbye, Sukuna,” you whispered, any louder and it wouldn’t be a promise.

He brought a hand over his hat, before bowing his head, real lumberjack-like.

“Bye, city girl.”

𖠰 ⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

You nearly passed out at the rest stop, chugging three bottles of water and splashing your face in the restroom before plopping on one of those window seats.

The cup of ramen you downed had your head lolling, belly satiated and brain fuzzy as you waited for your phone to charge up.

Halfway through day three with Sukuna, your phone had died and you didn’t care to charge it.

Not like you could anyway. You didn’t bring a charger and Sukuna had a phone at least several generations behind with a cracked screen. You wondered if he even cared to use it.

Your phone buzzed on and, lo and behold, fifteen missed calls and twenty texts ranging from your boss to your colleagues.

And one missed call from your mother.

Great.

You skimmed your fingers through your hair, ordering an uber. Truthfully, you didn’t want to deal with any of this until you slept for ten hours minimum but you didn’t have the luxury to ignore all of your issues as much as you’d like to.

So you hopped from your seat and rolled your shoulder, dragging your feet to your rideshare.

𖠰 ⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

“Look who decided to show up.”

You rolled your eyes at your peach-skinned boss, stepping into the shabby building with flickering neon logo lights nestled between a 24-hour convenience shop and a hole-in-the-wall bar and karaoke.

“I already texted you and called to apologize. Please don’t make my migraine worse,” you shot back, rolling your neck as exhaustion still seemed to plague you. You plopped down on the weathered couch, the familiar sinking feeling having you toss your head back and groan. “Is Shoko out on a run?”

She padded over to you, half of her face shielded from the milky braid she was so adamant on wearing all of the time. To be quite frank, you didn’t know what the other side of her face even looked like. Which was odd for the duration you’d worked under her. “She’ll be back in a few. You do understand these are grounds to fire you, yes?”

“My god, Mei Mei. We both know you’re not going to do that,” you sighed, feeling like there were bare canines skimming over your nape, any harder and they make break your irritated skin. “Take three days out of my pay. Happy?”

She bristled, turning on her heel and leaning against her desk. “She was worried sick,” she started, tone flat and monotonous. “Filed a missing persons report and everything.”

You bit your lip, eyes dialed in on the chipped rim across the room beside the grey and lifeless metal lockers. “You sure you weren’t worried sick?” You attempted to break the tension, though you knew the answer.

She scoffed incredulously. “I was. Worried that I’d somehow have to find someone as competent as you looking to be a modern day scullery maid,” she sighed out, peeling documents from her desk to skim over.

You huffed, grabbing your bag and shoving up from your seat to rake through your locker. “When’s the next service?”

“45 minutes from now. Rest up, it’ll be some back breaking work.”

𖠰 ⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

She wasn’t kidding.

Your first day back on the job after your accidental get-away was to some dilapidated house on the edge of town. Some affluent couple with too much free time decided to delve into flipping-culture, enter your cleaning company to fix up the place before they got to work on the infrastructure and furnishing.

For the following five hours, you scrubbed, brushed, mopped, sponged, wiped, squeegeed, buffed, shined, and polished the place until every limb of yours nearly gave out.

Shoko didn’t mind keeping close company the entire time, scolding your ear off and pinching you.

“Do you know how awkward it was to call your mother? Do you?” She huffed between scrapes of the bathroom tub, removing the age old grime. “She said you’d probably gone on some bender after—.” She halted herself mid-conversation, worrying her lip between her teeth.

You glanced over your shoulder with knitted brows, hand stilling against the mirror. “After what?”

Shoko bit the inside of her cheek, slowly continuing her movements like she was inconspicuous, regretting ever uttering a word.

“Sho. What are you talking about?”

She slowly turned to meet your gaze, a sheepish smile on her lips. “Naoya sent her an invitation, too.”

Your mouth hung open, the rag in your hand effectively falling into the sink. “Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck,” you cursed under your breath, snapping your gloves off. “Of course he fucking did.”

You pulled your phone from your pocket and hurried out of the bathroom, striding into some empty bedroom littered with old couches draped in plastic, heavy drapes shielding any source of light.

The only illumination in the room was your phone, lighting up your face as you frantically searched for her extremely buried contact and hit the call button.

You folded your arms, leg bouncing as you heard the line buzz, before it clicked on.

“Mom! Hi, I just saw your message—.”

“Where on Earth have you been?”

You froze, nails digging into your biceps. “Let me explain, o-over dinner. Tonight?”

You could hear her sigh on the other side, voice nothing but crestfallen. You could imagine her lounging in the living room, legs folded while she perused whatever tabloid she could find around the house resting in her lap, phone pressed to her ear.

All while wondering what she’d done to deserve a daughter like you.

“I have plans. I’m just trying to understand why I could not reach you.”

You swallowed thickly. “I went for a hike, mom. I got lost and—.”

“Is it because of Naoya? Did the wedding invite bother you?”

And God, did you hate how she just knew these things. How could she be so certain and understanding but lacking any sort of sympathy for you?

”No one wants to see a wedding invite from their ex-husband,” you tersely stated, knuckles whitening against the tight grip on your device. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m not going.”

You couldn’t mask your dejection.

“Like hell you aren’t. The Zenin’s invited us, and so God help me if we aren’t in attendance. Especially after all they’ve done for us,” she firmly spoke, skimming her fingers through her wiry hair.

Even after your divorce, the Zenins still offered to take care of your family. You’d turned down their hush money since the start, ensuring you wouldn’t spread the fine details of your muddled relationship, but your mother enjoyed her early retirement and stuffing her pockets.

You gritted your teeth, your discomfort only manifesting into blinding anger. Your lips tightened upwards and curled inwards, wrinkles littering the crease in your forehead. You wanted to scream at your mother, incoherent and inconsolable until you couldn’t anymore.

The relationship you held with your mother was too violent for tears. A woman who’d clipped the wings of her offspring and watched her stumble clumsily, never offering a hand to ground her. Built upon your own wreckage. Swallowing the words you so wished you could utter.

She hadn’t been your mother in a long time, really.

You don’t know when it happened. Maybe when she’d haggled you for your too-short skirt when you were thirteen and barely growing into yourself.

Maybe it was when you’d gotten accepted into your dream college and she could barely display an ounce of pride.

Maybe it was before you’d walked down the aisle, expressing your worries of having a small wedding that she only silenced you with a tut of her tongue.

Maybe it was after your father passed. Her blinded by grief and rage brought upon you like a monsoon, shoving you and gutting you beneath the tide.

Maybe it was when you told her you couldn’t bear children, not after trying for months and your husband's tone only becoming more and more clipped with each passing moment.

Maybe it was when you’d come to her at four in the morning, crying when you’d found evidence of his infidelity and she’d only given you that same blank stare she wore, telling you that every man slips up and to turn a blind eye.

You hadn’t understood the severity of the situation you were in until it was too late. Marrying a man who so desperately wanted to continue his lineage.

And when he couldn’t? He’d just find it elsewhere.

Who said you didn’t want that as well? A child to call your own. A pathetic part of you thought this marriage would save you—sweep you out from under your feet and carry you to a higher standing.

You thought that after all those years of gutted self-esteem, that a lavish white wedding would slap a bandaid on it.

It was pitiful.

But what hurt the most was that you had no one on your side. Not your mother, not your father, not even a lover. No one to stand beside you when it all felt like it was tumbling down.

You wiped the vain tears from your cheeks, clearing your throat as you chose not to resign to your emotions, a tactic you’d taught yourself. “Okay, mom.”

You hung up, ignoring her calls of protest on the other line.

There was really no arguing with her, you saw no point in it.

You still had time before the wedding, enough time to build yourself up to someone untouchable by their comments. Comments not just from the Zenin family, but from your own kin.

You shoved your phone into your pocket, sniffling and blinking back the last of your tears.

No use in crying over it now.

Padding back into the bathroom, you watched Shoko spray away the suds she’d worked up. “Hey, I was gonna ask. What was the name of the guy you stayed with?” She queried, wiping her forearm against her forehead.

You averted her gaze, focusing on the sink you needed to bleach. “Sukuna.”

She chuckled to herself, making an ‘ouhhhh’ sound that you smacked her for, drawing a cigarette from her pocket and thumbing the sparkwheel.

No matter your protests, she assumed that this mystery man was your secret lover.

You snagged the lighter from her before she could get a chance to light it.

“Hey! I was using that,” she pouted, lower lip jutting as she frowned.

“Uh huh. No smoking indoors and on the job. Do you want to lose your job?”

She scoffed, snagging the lighter back. “Funny coming from you. Smoke detectors were turned off for cleaning and repairs.”

You huffed, snapping a new set of gloves on.

The sound of fire kindling had your stomach lurching, sent into a volley of somersaults.

The smell was even worse.

Of course she had to be smoking Marlboro Reds.

679 notes · View notes

onceuponaoneshotfanfic · 5 months ago

Text

Just Promise You Won't Forget We Had It All

I'm Bright Baby Blue, Falling Into You

Chelsea!Roy Kent x Coach's Daughter!Reader

2.9k words

Warnings: Language, no Ted Lasso characters except for Roy, extremely protective father, angst and pining, fluff

Tears welled in your eyes as you stood on the pavement next to your dad’s car, loaded down with all of the things that would fill your room at school. Your mum was rummaging around the boot of the car, quadruple checking that you’d packed enough sweaters for the fall term. Your brother loitered nearby, impatient for you to leave so he could run back inside and get back to the computer game he had been forced to walk away from so he could say goodbye to you; he’d already given you a hug and tolerated a kiss to the top of his head, but your mum insisted he stay until you and your father drove off.

The night before- your last night in London- Roy had invited you out; he wanted to take you to a ridiculously expensive dinner to celebrate your new term, and his quip about having dessert at his place went straight between your legs. But of course, your father decided your last night before taking off to school should be spent at home, just the family. This was, of course, after he made a big show of cutting back that tree outside your window, claiming he’d been meaning to cut down the branch Roy typically used to sneak in. So, despite your mother’s best efforts to persuade your father to let you out after a painfully quiet family dinner, you were taking off to Southampton without getting to say goodbye to Roy Kent.

You were nothing short of completely miserable.

“Let’s get on the road, then,” your father called cheerily as he climbed in on the driver’s side. “Bet you can’t wait to get back, eh?”

The words caught in your throat. No. For the first time, you didn't want to head back to school, away from home and Chelsea and summer and Roy Kent. Away from holding his hand and running through the garden gate in the moonlight, away from him clamboring up that tree and through your open window just to lay in your bed until the sunrise, away from the smiles and winks he’d sneak to you during training, away from late-night drives and kisses in the front seat of his car, away from his laughter and his kisses and his hands and his jokes and the summer you spent by his side.

Before you could formulate a satisfying answer that didn’t betray the absolute agony that had made a home in your chest, a familiar car pulled up behind your father’s. It had barely come to a stop when the driver’s side door opened and Roy stepped out, his own crumpled face matching the expression you had been wearing all day. Without so much as a glance in your father- or anyone else’s- direction, he rushed over to you, taking you in his arms and hugging you close.

“You came,” was all you could manage to choke out as you squeezed him back, fingers clutching his leather jacket.

He nodded, face buried in your hair. “Fucking ’course I did,” he assured you. “Had to make sure you didn’t forget the mix cd.”

A snort flew out of your mouth as you laughed through the tears that had finally begun to fall. “It’s in my backpack,” you promised him. You pulled back, beaming through your tears, memorizing the sight of his brown eyes shining at you. “And I’ll be playing it while I unpack.”

“Good, good.” Roy’s hands rested firmly on your hips, not paying any mind to your family’s eyes on you. “Fuck, I’m gonna miss you, princess.”

“Be a good boy while I’m gone, Kent.” You pulled him back to you, holding him tight so you could whisper in his ear, “Don’t you dare prove him right.”

His breath tickled your skin as he let out a shallow chuckle. “Never. And you don’t let those uni lads steal my girl, alright?”

“Never,” you echoed.

It was far too soon when Roy gave one last squeeze and released you, his own eyes bright with tears that he blinked back rapidly. But you were rewarded with a kiss to your lips, the kind of kiss you knew you’d be thinking back on often in the days to come. To hell with your dad, you thought as you pressed yourself against Roy and tasted that sweet affection. To hell with anyone that’s not Roy Kent.

At least Roy had the good sense to eventually let you go, offering you that lopsided smile that had engraved itself on your heart. “Princess,” he murmured, something in his face changing. His eyes rapidly roamed your face, the cogs in his head turning. His voice was more gentle than you’d ever heard, just above a whisper. “Listen, I-”

Honk!

Your father leaned out his window, frown etched sharply on his features. Rather than bark at you the way he'd been doing lately, he simply furrowed his brow, a silent command to get in the car. Or more likely to get away from Roy Kent.

A groan slipped past your lips as you ducked your head in embarrassment. Leave it to your father to interrupt whatever important- probably romantic- thing Roy wanted to tell you.

But Roy was completely unbothered. He just let out a tiny huff of a chuckle and kissed your forehead. “Alright, get going,” he sighed gruffly, wiping away the tears that still steamed down your warm cheek. “Can’t miss me if you don’t leave.” He offered you that cocky grin you loved and a wink that made your heart skip a beat.

“Bye, Roy,” you murmured before taking a step back, a step away from him and towards Southampton and fall term.

“I’ll see you soon,” he said firmly, loud enough for your father to hear, the first time you'd ever seen him truly defiant in front of his manager. “Fucking promise.”

With a tiny nod, you walked over to the passenger door, where your mother waited with a gentle smile and open arms. She hugged you tight and let out a soft chuckle. “You’re in for a hell of a car ride,” she warned you.

“I bet,” you muttered. But then you glanced over your shoulder, back at Roy, who offered your brother a small fist bump before turning his gaze back to you. “But it’s worth it.”

The moment you were alone in your room, you fished that mix CD out of the front pocket of your backpack. Doing your best to forget the stony way your father had helped you unload your things and the way he glared at the Chelsea poster he’d spotted in one of your boxes, you quickly plugged in your CD player and hit play, eager to hear the mix you had promised Roy you wouldn't listen to until you were back at school.

I think you’re so mean, I think we should try

I think I could need this in my life

As you sat on your bed, you remembered the first song from that night in Roy’s car, from the night he asked you to be his girlfriend. In your mind, it was kind of “your” song with him. Maybe it was because of the way Roy had held you in the front seat of his car while it played in the background, maybe it was something in the desperate lyrics. But damn, it made your eyes sting as you listened, reminding you of how much you already missed Roy.

Deciding you needed to move about and be productive before you turned the afternoon into sitting and pining, you shot up off the bed and began to unpack your things, relieved to have something to focus on that wasn’t wishing the handsome footballer was there with you.

At last, you dove into the box with the poster that had so offended your father. You unrolled it, smiling at the familiar sight of the men clad in bright blue. Of course, your eyes found that gorgeous bearded face, the one you’d spent hours staring at on this piece of paper. Reminding yourself that this same man was yours, you grabbed some tacks and pinned the poster on the wall above your bed; you knew Roy would take the mickey out of you about its placement, just like you knew your father would be red in the face at the sight of Roy’s picture on your wall. But you simply couldn't bring yourself to care.

“Oh, you’re a football fan?” A friendly face filled your doorway, eyeing your poster with interest. “I prefer Arsenal myself, hope that’s not too much of a problem. My boyfriend likes Chelsea, if that earns me any points.” The girl stuck out her hand, which you shook eagerly. “Jessica.”

You offered your name and a smile, already liking the obviously chatty girl you’d be sharing the room with; there was an ease about her that was hard to resist.

Her eyes returned to your poster. “So who’s your favorite player? Let me guess, that absolute dish Roy Kent?” she teased affably.

Your cheeks burned red; well, she was going to find out sooner or later. “He actually is.” You coughed into your hand before adding, “He’s… also my boyfriend.”

When she realized you weren't joking, her mouth formed a surprised, open-mouthed smile as her eyes lit up with realization. “Oh!” Further realization brought a furrow to her brow. “Oh gosh, that means your dad-”

“Coaches Chelsea,” you finished for her with an awkward chuckle. “Yup, that's me.”

“Wow. Okay.” She let out a sharp breath. “You’ve had quite the summer then, haven’t you? I mean, with your dad finding out about your relationship through a press-” She stopped herself, wincing. “You probably don’t like talking about that, do you?”

Wearing your own grimace, you shook your head. “Not particularly,” you admitted.

Jessica offered an apologetic grin. “I’m making a shit first impression, aren’t I?” She shook out her shoulders and stuck her hand out. “Let’s try again. Hi, I’m Jessica, and I know nothing about stranger’s private lives.”

You couldn’t help but giggle and shake her hand. “Nice to meet you, my dad coaches a professional football club, and I spent my summer sneaking around with his star midfielder.”

“Well,” Jessica finally mused as she released your hand, “maybe if you tell your dad you’re sharing a room with an Arsenal fan, he’ll get over the whole 'secretly dating Roy Kent' thing.”

Jessica’s smile was contagious, drawing out one of your own. Even if you were miserable- over your dad’s continued iciness, over missing Roy- at least you could take solace in the fact that you’d made a new friend.

Angela had stopped by to see how you’d settled in and to introduce herself to your new roommate; much to your relief, the two seemed to really hit it off, so much so that Jessica suggested the three of you grab a pint to celebrate the new term and new friends. A perfect idea, you all agreed.

The three of you made your way down to your favorite pub with ease, much more familiar with the trek to get there than you would ever admit to your parents. The walk was all giggles and gabbing and waving at familiar faces that passed by, with a heaping of teasing about your summer with Roy Kent.

“I still can’t believe you finally nabbed him!” Angela gushed as the three of you settled at a table with pints in hand. She turned to Jessica, as if they’d known each other forever, rather than less than an hour. “This one has been in love with Roy Kent since he first came to Chelsea. Honestly, it’s been a little pathetic to watch.”

Blushing furiously, you kicked your best friend under the table with a playful scoff. “Pathetic!” you echoed, your outrage loud enough to cause the couple at the table behind you to turn and look.

Angela nodded, clearly unfazed by your annoyance. “Oh, absolutely. You’ve been insufferable to watch.” With a wicked sparkle in her eyes, she straightened her shoulders and cleared her throat. She batted her lashes and pushed out her chest flirtatiously, raising her voice several pitches. “Oh hi, Kent! Great match today, you were brilliant.” She let out an obnoxiously girlish giggle, the kind you had never giggled in your life, thank you very much. “Are you heading to the changing room? Need some help in the showers?”

Before you could give your friend a piece of your mind- with the help of some swear words that would make even Roy and the lads at Chelsea blush- your mobile rang in your purse. Settling for a dirty look in Angela’s direction, you fished it out and held it up to your ear, too annoyed to bother looking at the name that flashed on the screen.

“‘lo?” you huffed, wondering what you'd forgotten; surely it was your mum asking if she should mail some overlooked items or just wait until you come home and get it yourself.

A deep chuckle hit your ear. “Don't tell me school’s already shit then?”

Your entire body softened as you closed your eyes, picturing that smirk you knew Roy was sporting. “Hey,” you breathed, in a voice suspiciously close to the impression Angela had just been doing. “Sorry, just thought you'd be my mum.”

“Oi, you better answer the phone nicely when she calls,” he teased. “She invited me in for tea and a slice of cake after you and your dad left.”

Disbelief echoed in your laugh. “Did she really?”

Yes, you could just picture it. Your father speeding off, leaving behind a cloud of annoyance and disapproval, along with your embarrassment. Your brother, scurrying back inside to get back to the video games and crisps your parents had made him set aside. And your mother, amiable as ever, turning to Roy Kent with a soft smile and a simple “Fancy a tea?”

“I only stayed for a little bit,” Roy explained, thrilling your heart with the idea that he’d accepted the invitation. “Had a meeting with my fucking publicist. But your mum was lovely.” He cleared his throat. “Don’t think anyone’s mum has ever invited me to tea, actually. It was nice.” The pause on his end was thoughtful. “She said I seem to make you quite happy.”

The girls were going to give you such a hard time about the dopey smile you wore. “You do,” you assured him, eyes trained on the pint in front of you, the bubbles reminding you of the joy that fizzed in your chest whenever you heard Roy’s voice. “Quite happy indeed.”

“Glad to hear it.” There was another pause on his end, a heavier one now. “I just wanted to tell you… I fucking miss you already.” He cleared his throat, reminding you of the early days of your romance, when he’d put up that dour front, the one that protected him and his heart and his feelings.

“I miss you too,” you whispered, knowing your friends could hear the sentimental words and would definitely razz you for it. “Thank you again, for coming to say goodbye.”

Roy's voice lightened significantly, probably thanks to your soft tone. “Of course.” He cleared his throat, a much less tense cough this time. “Should let you go enjoy your mates. I'll call you tomorrow, alright, princess?”

I'll call you tomorrow.

In the back of your mind, you had been quite unsure about what your relationship would look like, with Roy back in London and you in Southampton. If you were being honest, you'd refused to entertain the thought too much. Some small part of you had worried that Roy would start to lose interest, that you'd begin to fade from his mind and this romance would begin to fizzle.

But Roy's firm promise began to squash down every one of those fears.

“I'll talk to you tomorrow, Roy,” you murmured, resisting the urge to kick Angela under the table when you caught sight of the teasing kissy face she was making.

Before you could hang up, Roy's voice was in your ear again. “Hey, princess?”

“Yeah?”

“I…” He hesitated, a brief moment of quiet that froze the breath in your lungs. “I fucking adore you. You know that, right?”

Your heart- no your entire body- trembled at his words. Sure, you’d had boyfriends and other fellas confess their feelings- even confessing their love- but something about Roy Kent telling you he adored you felt different. Like he was saying something heavier than the sweet words he murmured into the phone, something that burrowed into your chest and settled there contentedly.

Realizing Roy was waiting for your response, you closed your eyes and whispered, “I adore you too, Roy.”

The bashful breath he exhaled was barely noticeable, but damn it was adorable. “Have a good night babe. Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Bye, Kent.”

Once your mobile was tucked back into your purse, you allowed yourself to look at your friends, whose sharklike smiles were almost sharp enough to burst your love bubble.

Almost.

“Go on,” you groaned good-naturedly, not actually all that mad to be teased about getting a phone call from Roy Kent. “Give me your worst.”

The rest of your night was spent giggling over pints, allowing your friends to do their best impressions of both you and Roy, a smidge grateful when they turned to discussing upcoming classes and their own summer adventures. But, in the back of your mind, your imagination kept wandering to that gruff voice that you had to admit- you already missed.

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