#this is now the longest single-chapter fic I have | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

candied-cae · 2 years ago

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And Who Are We At The End Of The World? - Reunions and Secrets

Chapter 13/? - - - Read it on AO3

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] [17] [18] [19] [20]

Word Count: 13,809

Summary: Hop is racing back home to see his girl, the rest of the party is simply killing time until some parents show up. But, the three who boarded a plane from California might not be the only ones jumping into things... There just might be a few more faces coming back around...

More ST Fics

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Unfortunately, the walkie Steve handed the Byers boys had a dead battery. So the folks in the car couldn’t call ahead and tell El that her dad was coming back. Which just about made Hopper mad enough to swerve off the road. He felt like every second she didn’t know was a second she was sad or in pain. The boys assured him that, while she obviously missed him and was going to be crazy happy to get him back, she was happily watching a movie. But that didn't ease him. He needed to get back to Hawkins and let her know he was okay. And he needed to do it at that very moment.

At the house, everything was otherwise fine. Everyone was bundled together across the couch or sitting on pillows in front of it, wrapped under various blankets.

After Jonathan had to go, Argyle and Nancy were left sat together on the left, surprisingly getting along pretty well after Nancy resigned herself to the fact that he was pretty good company. His easygoing everything still confounded her, but, somehow, it made Nancy stop in her tracks and think to at least give it a try. Now that she knew he wasn't just stupid and unaware. Instead, he just chose to lean on the happier side of things anyway, and Nancy could use a skill like that. They still weren't super close, but there they were, sitting next to each other while Mr. Banks approached the climax of his character arc.

Next to that pair sat Steve and Robin, with Erica between them on the floor. Obviously, they were together, as best friends like them liked to be. Robin had even gone so far as to have her legs crossed over Steve's while El hugged onto her arm. Robin wasn't entirely sure how she managed to secure a spot in the girl's heart since they barely met before she left for California, but it made her feel pretty good anyway.

Next to El were Mike and Lucas, with Dustin sitting below them on the floor cushions. Their band of boys on the right end of the living room had included Will until he had to leave for the airport. But they still sat close together. Like they had for sleepovers from years past. They were all comfortably awaiting the arrival of some real adults and to start eating the dinner they’d put together.

And the movie itself was beginning to wrap up with that damned ‘Let's Go Fly a Kite’ scene that had Steve doing everything in his power not to sniffle. If nobody looked at him, no one would see that the last few minutes always made him tear up. He just had to keep it together. Just for a minute longer.

And then Robin looked over.

Of course, she did. Because she noticed what this movie did to him when they watched it together last time. But she didn’t draw any attention to him. She just nuzzled in a little closer to his side and rested her head on his shoulder as they watched the credits roll past a kite-filled, cloudy sky. It was nice being known like that, he decided. Nice to have someone know what you needed and how to go about it. Even if she pushed his buttons too.

As the movie was just ending, there was frantic honking coming from the driveway. The kids had just the time to get stood up and look at the front door before it was thrown open by Jonathan and Will.

“El! Come on!” Will yelled, looking like he was bursting with good news.

El was already approaching, planning to see Joyce and welcome her back, when from behind them walked in Jim.

“Hi,” he said like it was the only thing he could think to say after missing his girl for the past eight months.

And while she was slowly stepping forward a moment ago… the second she saw his face and that warm smile he was wearing, she was running right into him. Probably could’ve knocked him over if he hadn’t braced for it. And before wasting another second, she was wrapping her arms around him and noticing how differently they fit together this time. He was so thin, and she was taller, her arms longer.

But it was still him. It was still Hop.

She buried her face into him as the tears dropped from her squeezed-shut eyes. Jim also looked like he was about to cry if it was any consolation. Then, after a moment, there was a barely-said mutter spoken into his shoulder.

“What’s that, kid?” he asked her to repeat.

El pulled her head back just enough to spill out between her cries,“ I’m sorry. My- they never came back- I’m sorry I couldn’t find you-“

“Hey. No.” he pulled her in tighter as he said it,” No sorry’s from you, kid. I don’t even want to hear ‘em. I knew if there was any way you’d known, you woulda got me back, alright? I didn’t doubt that you would have gone beyond hell and back to save me. Okay? It’s not your fault, and I never thought it was. Not for one second, El.”

She tucked herself back into him as if trying to escape the rest of the world to focus entirely on the fact that he was actually back with her,” I was waiting the whole time. I always left the door open three inches. I never stopped believing you’d come back.”

He chuckled, and it shook her in such a familiar way. Filling her with the warmth of his laugh for the first time in too many months,” Oh, I know. I know you did. It’s okay now, I’m here. I’m here. I’m sorry I was gone so long, kid. But I made it back before I missed a birthday.”

She nodded her head against him and huffed her own laugh,“ You did.”

“We’re going to have a big one this year, you hear me? No hiding and no secrets this time. You and me, we're going anywhere you want to go, and anyone you want to bring can come. Okay?”

“Yeah.” she agreed while she wiped at her eyes and finally pulled away enough to really look at him,” You look so…”

“So…? Not fat?” he joked.

She laughed, but she missed the squish. Then she looked back up,“ And your hair…”

“My hair? Look at your hair.” he ran his hand over the short buzz with a sigh,“ Yeah. I kinda stole your look, kid.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, what do you think?” he asked, leaning his head down and turning to the left and right to let her make a proper evaluation.

“Bitchin’,” she decided before reaching back around his middle,” Except for this part. Don’t like this at all.”

“You don’t? I tell ya, when I go see my doctor, he’s going to say that being presumed dead was just what I needed. You just wait and see.”

She shook her head, and that was the moment Joyce came in. She and Murray struggled with some of the bags, seeing as her boys and Hopper ran to the front door without helping. But when she made it in the door, she just looked at her girl.

El’s smile brightened a little more, and she said,” Thank you.”

Joyce pretty much just dropped everything at that and surged forward to get El into her arms. There was no denying that, over those eight months they’d been without Hopper, El had become her kid too. El sniffled against her for a minute until they all came down from the emotional high of their return. Past El's greetings from them, there were handshakes and hugs with Hop and more hugs and kisses on cheeks from Joyce as they both made their rounds through the rest of the room.

That is until Hopper put a hand to his stomach and groaned,” This is nice and all, but I was promised a big supper. Can we eat already?”

They all laughed at that and motioned to the open dining room doors for the adults to trickle into. The kids moved all the bags from the doorway into the living room and brought all the food in from the kitchen. Then dinner was finally underway. It was nice. Warm. The only dinner like it the Harrington House has ever seen. It was a good change.

They didn’t talk about what happened - or, more accurately - what was happening. They knew they couldn’t avoid it for very long, and the kids really did want a plan for what they could do to keep pushing forward. But… it was suppertime. They could talk about how awful everything was later. But for that moment, they could eat and laugh at how terribly Hopper stuffed his tortilla as it burst at the seams and spilled out all over his plate.

But once they’d all had their fill, Nancy mentioned Susan. It was time to get back to business. Steve was the one to call her trailer, it was already after 8:30, but she answered quickly and said she’d be there shortly for whatever conversation it was they were going to have.

During this, El noticed that Jim and Joyce were connected by their pinkies. Not outright holding hands at the dinner table. But still, they were just a little bit tied together. Just two pinkies, barely crossed, but they said a lot. She looked at it a beat longer before finding their fond smiles and asking,” So I get to keep staying with Miss Joyce, too?”

“Uh-” Jim startled slightly. Like he’d been caught red-handed. But after a second, he simmered down and answered,” Uh, yeah, kid. You can keep staying with Joyce, too. When we aren’t homeless, that is. We both can if that’s fine by all of you,” he said around the whole table, pointedly including Jonathan and Will in the question.

“Yeah.” they all seemed to answer. Happy that their household wouldn’t be splitting apart with the good news, and in agreement that it was about time for Jim and Joyce to get to be happy together. They've been heading in that direction for a while anyway, right? Then everyone moved to the living room, so they could try and figure out more of exactly what’s been going on everywhere.

“Alright, we need favorite songs.” Nancy started as she sat down and pulled back out her notebook and pen.

“What?” Jim asked, clearly that question was just about the last one he’d have expected upon his grand return. He was in Russia for eight months, after all. Surely that sort of thing should’ve come up first.

“You’re favorite song.” Robin repeated for Nancy,” We need to write it down and everyone’s getting their own on a cassette with a Walkman before much longer.”

“Okay?” he agreed, still confused,” it’s-”

“It's 'You Don’t Mess Around With Jim',” El answered for him, a proud smile tugging at her cheeks. God, they had to hurt by then. If she smiled any harder they'd bruise. Her grin just hasn’t faltered since her dad walked through that door. Not for one moment.

“Yeah. She’s right. Obviously.” Jim agreed. It wasn’t a difficult guess. It was the song he played when they moved into his cabin together. The same one he blasted in the car when he had a good day. It seemed like it was more his song than Jim Croce’s sometimes.

They looked expectantly to Joyce next, who just sort of furrowed her brows and asked herself,” What is my favorite song?”

“What about ’Uptown Girl’?” El considered.

Joyce scrunched her nose and shook her head.

Jonathan tried to come up with something next,“ Well, it has to be something Fleetwood Mac, right?”

“I mean, probably. They are my favorite, but I’m not good at remembering the names.”

“What about ’Dreams’?” he offered.

To that, she shrugged and gave a thoughtful,“ …Yeah. Yeah, I like that one.”

“Okay, but do you just like it, or do you love it? ‘Cause, it kinda needs to be one that you really love, like a lot.” Robin emphasized.

“Um… okay, what’s that one that’s all…” Joyce asked her kids and started humming a chorus line.

“Oh! Oh! I know it… It’s- it’s-” Will racked his brain for it. The title was on the tip of his tongue,” It’s- Oh! It’s ’The Chain’! Right?”

��Okay, then that’s it.” Joyce decided,” That’ll be my favorite.”

“And Murray?”

“What is this for?” He questioned Nancy back, like something as simple as his favorite song was a sort of sensitive information that she’d abuse.

“Saving your life?” she answered.

“And if I don’t buy that so easily?”

“Alright, you paranoid bastard,” Erica cut in, having no patience for him,” Newsflash: there’s an evil mind wizard who might try to possess the box of nuts and bolts on the end of your neck. And if he does, the only hope you’ll have is that somebody in this room will have the good sense to put some music over your ears that'll snap you out of his spell. So, unless you really want to die over a song title, I suggest you cough it up.”

“I see you’re still a pleasure, Miss Erica Sinclair…” he held a snide smile for her before answering,” It’s ‘No More’ by Billie Holiday. Duh.”

“The ‘duh’ was petty and uncalled for.” she checked him.

“About as uncalled for as a five-year-old on the doomsday team?” he threw back,” What’re you going to do, color the wizard to death with crayons?”

“This eleven-year-old,” she corrected,” has already stabbed a tire on a police car and swung on a psycho with a blunt object for the cause, and she’s prepared to do a whole lot more. What’ve you done for it? Besides lying about a vacation to Alaska?”

He held up a finger at her,“ For the record, we did go to Alaska. We just also took a little trip over to-”

And then there was a knock on the front door. Susan Mayfield must have arrived. And they didn’t even get through where Jim has been, what Henry/Vecna/One was, or what they were going to tell her about any of it. At any rate, it was happening right now. Nothing they could do about it. They’d just have to follow Jim and Joyce’s lead.

Steve stood up from the living room and went to answer the door. He was the one who invited Susan over, after all. But then, he was left only to find it wasn’t Susan Mayfield standing on his front porch, but Karen Wheeler instead.

“Hi, Steve!” She smiled at him, holding a glass container with what looked like lasagna in it,” Thought we’d take the first shift to drop off some food to keep you kids fed-”

That was when her eyes slipped from his frozen expression and over his shoulder to see Ms. Byers in the living room,” Joyce? When did you get into to-”, and then her gaze fell just to the left,” Hopper?! Okay- Okay, what is going on here? He’s supposed to be… ”

“Sorry, sorry! Hard getting these all in one trip.” Claudia called up as she joined Karen in the doorway with at least three different containers of food herself.

When neither Steve nor Karen responded, Claudia turned to the other mom to ask,” What’s going on?”

And when she looked back inside and saw the same guests that had Karen stunned, she reacted in just about the same way,” Joyce? Ho-Hopper? What’re you…?”

“Um... Surprise?” was all the boy could come up with.

“Surprise?” Karen questioned back at him.

Joyce came forward to meet her at the door,“ Hi, Karen. Claudia.”

“Joyce, what the hell is going on here? He- He died. There was a service, and there were articles, and the news- And- And you mourned, Joyce. And his kid-” Karen had to close her eyes to stop her sputtering questions - her mind was clearly running faster than she could manage- to focus on what she really needed to ask,” What is going on, and why do my children and a bunch of their friends know about it?”

“Why is my Dusty-bun…?”

“Um- It’s-” Joyce tried to figure herself out, until…

“Claudia? Karen?”

Ah, there’s Susan.

“Do they know?” Susan asked Steve.

“Do we know what?” Karen echoed the question.

Jim stood up from the couch and came to the front,“ Okay, so this is happening.”

“Chief Hopper?” Susan now questioned.

“Now that we’re all up to speed on how clueless the moms out here are, can someone please explain what the hell is going on?” Karen requested.

“Seems to me,” Jim decided,” the only option here is to go over everything. From the beginning, for everyone here, until we get to where we stand now. Sound good to everyone?”

“The NDAs?” Nancy inquired from the living room.

“I’m gonna say, executive decision, fuck the NDAs. I’m legally dead, and if the suits didn’t nab me off the plane…" he shrugged," Well, way I see it, everything I do before they realize I’m back is kinda their fault for being so bad at their jobs in the first place.”

“NDAs? Suits?” Karen asked.

“Oh, don't worry, Mrs. Wheeler. We’ll cover that,” Jim acknowledged.

“Holy shit- this is really happening,” Mike said to Nancy, trying to wrap his head around his mother, Karen Wheeler, knowing about all the stuff they’ve been up to over the last two and a half years.

“Language, Mike,” she called over.

“Okay, Mom, it’s kind of crazy to think that we’re going to be inviting you into hell, but-”

“Language, Nancy!”

Steve pulled the door open further and motioned for the moms to join the rest of them in the living room,“ Why doesn’t everybody just come on in?”

“Yeah, bring ‘em all in, Steve. Let’s just tell everyone’s mothers about the goddamn Upside Down.”

“Language, Dustin!” Claudia had to say to her own. To Karen, she huffed,” Geez, you’d think we raised our kids in a barn…”

“And what was that? The ‘Upside Down’ that you’re going to be telling us about?” Karen pointed out as they all got seated in Steve's living room.

Joyce thought,“ Well… um, where do we start?”

“With me?” El raised her hand.

“Yeah, we’ll start there.” Jim agreed.

The next hour or so was filled with the coverage of everything. Everything that started way back in November ‘83, and they moved forward as chronologically as they could. The kids told their sides, adults answered most of the questions, had to excuse how they couldn't stop the kids from being involved, explained away every coverup story, filled in context for every mystery scar… It was a wild ride. There were a lot of interruptions and even more disbelief. El had to change the tv channel five times and lift it off the entertainment center before any of them started to believe they were telling truth. But when they did… oh, when they did.

“And that’s about everything that happened up until two weeks ago.” Joyce concluded,” Clearly, more has just gone on, but we haven’t even had time to discuss that amongst ourselves yet, so I guess you’ll be here while we try to figure that out, well, now.”

“You’re trying to tell me that my children could’ve died countless times over the last three years, just because… why?” Karen was at a loss for words.

Joyce swore to her,“ We always tried to keep the kids out of it. We told them over and over again to stay home, or at the middle school, and, just, not put themselves on the front line while we tried to deal with it. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but our kids don’t listen very well.”

“You’re telling me…” Karen muttered, shooting a glance at her own.

“And they saved my Will. Back when he went missing, so many people didn’t believe that something was going on. And El, she never chose to be a part of this. She got stuck with it. And this town is stuck with it. The Lab... the problem is here, it started here. And, at the end of the day, this is the crew trying to solve that problem.”

"We're the doomsday team," Erica added, using Murray's name for their group.

“And Max? She just… happened to have made friends with the kids involved and wanted to know everything herself? The reason she’s in a hospital bed right now is because last year we happened to move to the town with monsters, and she happened to find the only boys who knew about it?”

They were all struck a little silent by the question. It was Lucas who eventually answered her,“ Yeah. That's pretty much how it...”

Susan’s hand pressed into her chest, and it didn’t seem like she even saw anyone else in the room,“ If I hadn’t said that we needed a change of pace… to get away from California and the fighting… She’d be fine?”

“It’s not your fault, Susan.” Claudia put a hand on her shoulder to try and comfort her.

She stood up out of the other mother's reach,“ I was the one that said taking Billy to the Midwest might temper him. I thought a small town without so much to do might bring down his aggression and help us manage his behavior… If I had just let Neil take us to Vermont instead, we wouldn’t be…”

“Susan. You didn’t know. If you did, you would’ve never made that choice.” Karen assured her,” If I knew my kids were doing this, I would’ve packed them up the second...” Karen looked at Joyce when she realized what she was getting at. She would've made her kids leave after Will went missing. Leaving him behind for their family's good.

“I would’ve moved Dustin and me to my brother’s ages ago,” Claudia added.

“But I brought them here! If I hadn’t, they never would’ve-”

“Maybe they wouldn’t have.” Nancy gave her,” And maybe things would be a little bit better for a few of us if everyone had pulled us away from Hawkins when Will went missing…”

She shook her head and continued,“ But if you had, he would’ve never been found, and he would’ve died, scared and alone. And Joyce and Jonathan would’ve never known what happened to him. And El would’ve never stayed free of that lab. And maybe Barb wouldn’t have been at the wrong place at the wrong time because of me, and maybe she’d be fine. But someone else would’ve been in her place. And maybe all the people who were still here wouldn’t have stood a chance if we weren't here. But we were. And we noticed, and we fought back against an invading dimension of monsters with three successes and one pending results. There were losses. We know that. But we are what Hawkins has to fight for it. And I don’t regret being on the team.”

“You don’t?” her mother asked.

“No. I really don’t. I wish I’d done a better job in places. I wish I didn’t… make so many mistakes. But I don’t regret being on the team. We’re the team. And we have each other’s backs.” Nancy looked over and took Robin’s hand in hers before she realized she was even going to do it, simply remembering the vines and the fear,” We don’t leave each other behind. Even if we have to face down terrifying creatures or carry someone bleeding out of hell, we have each other. And now that you know what’s going on, you’re all on the team, too.”

Susan seemed a little far off in her head, but she sat back down while Claudia asked,“ And what does that mean? Being on the team?”

“It means, well, you help us not let the world end. Whatever skills you’ve got to bring to the table, we’ll use ‘em and find a way out of this mess. Because we don’t have any other choice.” Jonathan answered.

Karen continued,“ And what’s happening now? What’s all this… spring break business that happened?”

And thus, they went into another long hour of explaining. Now having to string together Henry Creel and Russia, which was a much more convoluted mess to sort out. It took a while, but they explained everything until everyone - all seventeen of them, as crazy as it was - knew where they stood currently on the apocalypse radar.

They also ended up eating a lot of the brownies Claudia had shown up with.

Comfort food to combat the reality of their horror stories. Or something like that.

By the end of the night, everyone was way more involved, and Lucas and Erica were left begging Karen not to tell Sue and Charles about everything. They were less keen on joining the club of kids whose parents were on the in. But she wasn’t having any of it. She wished she had known what was going on, and Erica is still only eleven, for goodness sake. They deserve to know when it concerns their eleven-year-old. The Sinclairs would be brought into the fold. And that was final.

But she wouldn’t be reaching out to the Buckleys and the Harringtons. She didn’t know them like she knew her neighbors, and both Steve and Robin were very insistent that their parents would only cause issues. Which is the same reason that Karen decided she would not be telling Ted what was going on.

She knew her husband. Knew how he saw giving to anyone else as tantamount to accepting theft. He audibly complains about feeding Mike’s friends when they were over. If he was aware of the situation… he would just up and move them. No discussion. He would just list the house and have them moved to another state without a second thought or consideration. And, as much as Karen would love to remove her kids from the risk entirely, she can’t not help. Not when other mothers’ children would still be in harm's way and they’d be leaving them worse off without the support.

So Ted wasn’t to know. Neither was Holly, obviously. Those Wheelers wouldn’t be a part of this.

The other three would handle it themselves.

And with that thought, Karen suddenly knew a little bit about how her daughter felt these last few years. Keeping such a big secret to spare her family pain and allow her to be there for her friends. She had a good eldest daughter. She’s always known so. But it was new to see it from this light. To know what was actually going on and how strong she's been this whole time.

She’s just been ‘trying to manage it all’.

Like she’d told her the other morning in the hospital hallway. Nancy’s been very alone in managing everything. But she’s had the other members of this team. And now she had her mother. So Karen was going to fight tooth and nail to take some of that burden off her shoulders. And keep her husband off her back. She'd be making sure he dropped his whole 'no keys until you can prove you'll be responsible' thing.

“And those other two should be joining up soon,” Jim remembered.

“Two more?” Steve asked, eyebrows climbing on his face to imagine their group growing even further.

“Yeah, we brought them over but couldn’t really seat them on a commercial flight, for obvious reasons. Dmitri and his son Mikhail.” Joyce explained.

“Mikhail? You don’t think that’ll be confusing?” Mike wondered.

“Would you prefer we left them to the Soviets where Dmitri would’ve been hunted down and executed for defecting because you and his son sort of have similar names, Michael?” Murray questioned.

Joyce dismissed,“ He doesn’t even go by Mike. So, as long as you didn’t decide to give 'Mikhail' a try, we should be fine.”

“So we actually have Russian friends now?” Robin asked.

“Just the two. Yuri was a bastard, so we didn’t invite him along. But Dmitri and his son were good. He was the only reason we knew Hop was alive and in Russia, and he’s sticking the thing out with us now that he’s fought the same monster and wants to retire to small-town America. And his kid was a little quiet, but we did snatch him up in a sudden helicopter ride, so I think he was just shy. Anyway, we got them to America, and I handed off my car to them in California with directions on a map on how to get here so we could help them get set up.”

“How were you planning to pass off heavily-accented, eastern Europeans as just simply 'the new guys in town'?” Erica pressed.

“You don’t know how strong their accents are.” Murray pointed out.

“You telling me no one’s gonna notice the voices of Mother Russia?” she asked back.

“Okay, they have pretty unmistakable accents, but whatever. We can make up some shit about them being double agents in witness protection or something.” Jim grumbled.

“Riiiiiiight, because people in Hawkins are so understanding and respectful of each other’s privacy.”

“Okay, from what I’ve heard, the town is clearing out anyhow. Whoever’s still kicking around can just deal with it.”

There was a little bit more chatter as they finished catching everyone up. Eventually, the moms decided it was time to return home, but they ended up agreeing to a real sleepover at Steve’s, now that they knew what their kids went through. It seemed like letting them spend time together, where they got to keep an eye on each other and know that no one was in danger, was something they just couldn’t say no to. So the three of them headed off into the night with the understanding that they’d be coming back to Steve’s with Erica and Lucas’s parents in the morning to explain it all to them too. And once everyone was together, they'd figure out a strategy for taking out Vecna. Once and for all.

They couldn't do it that night though. So everyone got ready to wind down.

The California crew changed into their newly delivered pajamas, and Claudia made the rounds to everyone's house before dropping off things for the locals. Meanwhile, Steve was getting room assignments figured out. The kids, again, banded together to camp out in the living room with plans to doze off to The Sound of Music. Steve was walking Hopper, Joyce, and Murray up the stairs to show them around the house. Seeing as Joyce’s house was in California, Hopper’s cabin was in shambles, and Murray’s place was in Illinois, they’d all be joining them in the now slightly packed Harrington house. He was in the process of offering the master to Joyce and Hopper since they were an item now and bringing up showers.

“Joyce mentioned you guys didn’t have time to stop and clean up, so I can grab you all some towels and leave you to the bathrooms.”

Jim looked over the moon to think about it,“ Oh, kid, you don’t even know how long I’ve been looking forward to a real, hot shower-” Then he suddenly stopped and grabbed Steve’s shoulders with wide eyes,” Wait- Steve.”

“Yes?” he asked.

“You’re rich people,” he said, asserting the fact without any further context.

Steve’s expression turned more confused,“ Yes?”

“Do your parents have- have one of those- those tubs with the- with the-”

“The jets?” Steve figured,” Yeah, they have a jacuzzi tub in the master bathroom.”

“Oh my god-” Hopper pulled Steve into a just short of crushing hug and smacked a surprising kiss to his forehead before nearly running down the hall, calling back," Joyce! We’re taking the dibs on the master! I LOVE RICH PEOPLE!”

Which was… Okay, was there something in the water? Because everyone kept hugging Steve, and he wasn't entirely opposed to it, but geez, it’s not the level of daily physical contact he’s used to.

Besides that display, Joyce followed in with their bags, and Steve showed Murray to one of the guest bedrooms to make himself at home. Steve went back downstairs to see the kids throwing around even more pillows and blankets and just about beating them into submission to get themselves settled and comfortable for the movie.

Steve took a vote for popcorn and ended up juggling four big plastic bowls of the stuff back into the living room. He passed them out and noticed Robin and Nancy looking over something together while Jonathan and Argyle whispered and glanced over at Argyle's bag. He thought nothing of it until, as he was trying to retake his seat by Robin for the movie, she and Nancy stood up. Said they were going to “be right back” before they broke for the dining room. Then the other two split off right after, presumably to get stoned.

All of this left Steve, once again, so very outnumbered by a bunch of children.

“Always the babysitter…” he groaned as he tugged on the blanket Erica was hogging.

“Then be a good babysitter and sit quietly. It’s starting,” she shot back, like the little spitfire she was, but she let them share the blanket anyway as the opening credits rolled over landscape shots of the Swiss Alps and the orchestra faded in.

The two California boys ended up sitting in the grass against the side of Steve’s house, just out of the view of the street or any neighbors. Argyle was sparking up a joint for them to pass, no longer worried about running out since his Mamá Isadora was nice enough to throw in his stash with his clothes. He thanked his lucky stars all the time that she was so into the flower power, peace and love stuff of the 70’s when he was younger. It was nice that she just understood that kind of stuff with him.

But right now, Jon was the one he needed to reach an understanding with. Because he’s been biting his cuticles down to the quick ever since they crossed the Indiana state line. So, once he got the joint started and took his own drag, he handed it over to his best friend and looked up at the stars. Letting a comfortable silence fall around them just long enough for Jonathan to take a deep inhale and get resolved to reach a blissful marijuana haze. Once he committed himself to getting it, he'd be cornered until they got there.

A winning strategy to make sure he couldn't escape.

“Alright, brochacho, what’re you doing right now?” Argyle asked, looking over at Jonathan as he let out a puff of smoke.

Jonathan looked back, confused, and handed over the joint,“ What do you mean?”

Argyle let him stew in the question for a second as he took his turn before giving it back and reiterating,“ With Nancy. What’re you doing with Nancy?”

“I-” he hesitated to take the blunt being handed back as he tried to deny it,” I’m not doing anything.”

“And that’s the problem,” Argyle proclaimed.

And he looked serious about what he was saying, which Argyle didn’t do often. So Jonathan tried to avoid his eyes. Rolled his own and looked away to ask,“ How could that be the problem?”

“We’ve been in your hometown for over 24 hours now. Right?”

“And?”

“And you haven’t talked to her. Not once, one-on-one.” he pointed out,” Which you kinda have to do to tell her you’re going to Lenora Community.”

Jonathan waved around his hand as he searched for a usable excuse,“ We’ve all been busy with the group, and always with the whole group, and there just hasn't been time to-”

Argyle cut through his fumbling with ease,“ You’re avoiding her, man.”

Jonathan took another draw and locked his eyes on the blade of grass tickling his ankle,“ That such a bad thing to do?”

“It’s only gonna get worse the longer it takes to talk to her. You need to tell her you didn’t apply to Emerson.”

He tried to explain,“ I- I was already floundering with how I was supposed to say it before. And that would’ve just been over the phone-”

“Over the phone wouldn'ta been right anyway,” Argyle threw in, not that Jonathan was really listening.

“-But how am I supposed to just spring this on her now? Right to her face, in the middle of this bullshit Upside Down stuff? And then - after it all blows up and I’ve hurt her - then we’re all just going to go back to California, and it’ll look like I’m running away from the train wreck I caused. Just leaving her behind because I’m not man enough to deal with the fact that…”

That he didn't feel like he was worth Nancy’s time to keep trying. Jonathan was all messed up right now, and he couldn’t seem to pull himself together, and he just couldn’t saddle Nancy with that job. He wouldn't. It wasn't fair to her. He cared about Nancy. Still loved her, in some way. But it wasn't… wasn't how it should be. And he was making it worse every day.

He took another hit, beating himself up in his head and seeming to forget his manners when it came to their puff, puff, pass now that Argyle was making him stop and think too much.

“Yeah, it’s gonna suck. But you can’t pretend like it’s not happening.” Argyle told him firmly,” She deserves to know that she’s headed to Boston alone, and you deserve to not look like you’re gonna blow chunks every time you’re in the same room because you're so guilty over it.”

Jonathan finally looked back over at him, lifting up his hand to admire the joint and ask,“ Can’t we just keep smoking Purple Palm Tree Delight? Eventually, make the problems actually blow away like the seed pods of a dandelion?”

Argyle took it from his fingers and assured him,“ It’s pretty incredible, dude, but not that powerful. It’ll make it feel like they have for a few hours, but you’re always gonna sober up, and the problem’s still gonna be there. Pushing it off will only make it suck even more.”

“I know you’re right. But-” Jonathan tried to argue.

But Argyle kept going,“ I already told you, back in Lenora, that you can’t keep lying about it. And now I know your crew of little dudes has a catchphrase about how ‘friends don’t lie’. Seems like you know what you gotta do. Even if you and Nance are hitting the rocks, you should be a good friend and be honest with her about it. Before she’s in the car driving up north thinking you’ve abandoned her outta nowhere.”

Jonathan rubbed his hands down his face and nodded into them,“ I know. I know, you’re right…”

“That it? Or you gonna try and squeeze another ‘but’ in there?” Argyle got the sentence out without breaking the moment by laughing, but just barely. He definitely smiled to himself at the phrase “squeeze another ‘butt’ in there”.

“That’s it,” he admitted,” You’re right. I need to break up with her. Sooner rather than later.”

Argyle clapped him on the shoulder and held back out the joint as his reward,“ Good boy, Jonny.”

��Can’t do it tonight though.”

He shrugged against him,“ Tonight’s practically over anyway. And you did good making the decision and saying it out loud. We can lose ourselves to the Purple Palm Tree Delight for now, but don’t let yourself get all swept up in things that you keep pushing it off again.”

“Yeah. I’ll do it.” Jonathan smiled a second before adding,” I know you’ll keep hounding me if I don’t anyway.”

“You know I will.” Argyle agreed with a self-satisfied smile and a ruffle to Jonathan’s hair.

They ended up staying outside together for a while. Enjoying the easy bliss that the bud draped over them. They were probably out there close to an hour before they decided it was too chilly and went back inside to watch the movie. The girls, however, were not doing something as simple as they were. Instead, Nancy and Robin collected themselves back in the dining room where Nancy unpacked her purse of the notebook, loose papers, and sticky notes into the table.

“So you said you were working on an article?” Robin asked.

Nancy nodded as she sorted through all the bits of her work so far,“ Yeah, the one I was starting before all of this happened. I figured, even if it’s not the same one I was planning to write, I could still put something together. Just, less about the murders as a mystery, and more about Eddie’s innocence of them. You know?”

Robin was following the idea well enough, but Nancy just poured a ton of disorganized chaos in front of her, so she wasn’t really sure where to look,“ Annnnd, this is what you have to work off of?”

“Well, it’s a rough idea right now.” she excused,” Over here, I have my interview notes from Wayne before we knew what was going on, and these pages have a couple of ideas on how to organize and frame the story, and - well, obviously we can’t talk about Upside Down stuff - so I’m still trying to decide how much of our story with the police I can use. Without making the whole thing just look like a story drummed up by a group of teenagers. Which is what it is, at the end of the day, so I keep trying to find a way to distinguish it. Other sources, or just something to make it seem more solid. More reliable.”

“And you want my help on it?” Robin clarified.

Suddenly it struck Nancy that maybe they weren’t friends enough for her to have asked Robin to do this for her,“ Is that weird? I’m sorry-”

“No, no. Not weird.” Robin assured her,” I just- I’m not on the school paper, so I don’t- I don’t know how helpful I’ll be with the whole journalism thing.”

Nancy went just a little rigid at the question. She didn’t meet Robin’s eyes for a bit. Instead, she fiddled with the papers in front of her as she explained,“ Freddie’s already gone. I saw Tonya on the missing person’s board at the high school. And Mary Pat was getting into her parent's car with half a dozen suitcases when I was leaving the hospital. I could try to track down Markus, Amelia, Lucy, Elijah, or Christina, I guess… But they don’t know the truth, so I’d be spending half the time brainstorming just trying to keep my mouth shut, all while having to convince them Eddie’s even a good guy in the first place-”

Then Nancy took a breath and looked at Robin again,“ But you already know those things. And I know you’re smart, so I’m sure you’d be a lot of help while we work on this and… I don’t know. I thought, if we put together something good enough and published it, we might be able to help Eddie get out from under everything. At least in the eyes of the people of Hawkins.”

And Nancy still looked like she was asking. Still unsure that Robin would be willing to help her out on this even though they’ve teamed up on both Dr. Hatch and putting together the original cover story. So Robin smiled and gave a joking,“ And we’re friends, so I’m obviously going to help you.”

Which pulled a grin onto Nancy’s face as she quipped right back,“ Yeah, I was kinda banking on that part too.”

“Alright,” Robin clapped her hands together and surveyed the papers before them,” So besides Wayne pointing the finger at the Creels, he’s also a character witness, like the boys are.”

“Yes, and I can use that, but I need more than just super biased quotes to pull from.”

“Well, the people who are most convinced that Eddie’s the devil are the ones fleeing the county. So we only need to put together enough of a story to assure the people who are still here and on the fence.” Robin hummed to herself,“ Um… what about teachers? Do we know any teachers that particularly liked Eddie? That’d be a little less personal and credible.”

“He was in band and drama. We can reach out to both directors and see if they’d be willing to say something good about him.”

“And what about Steve?” Robin suggested.

“Steve?” Nancy had no clue what Robin was doing bringing him into it.

“Well, the guy’s pretty famously not the kind of person who’d be tight in Eddie’s social circle, right?” she began to explain,” So a statement from him about what happened while we were all out there, it’d look better than one from the kids. Or from you being a Hellfire kid’s sister. Mr. Well-Known and Popular taking center stage to say even he’s sure Eddie didn’t do anything.”

“Yeah, something from Steve could help.” Nancy agreed.

“Is there anything else you might’ve not thought of yet?”

“Well,” Nancy considered,” Something that we didn’t have before, but have now… is Jim Hopper. If we re-introduce Hop back into the town soon and get a quote that he looked at the case and his gut says it’s not the Munson kid, he’d be a pretty official source.”

Robin seemed to brighten up seeing Nancy come up with something even though she seemed stuck a moment ago,“ See. Pretty damn well. Despite a few I-don’t-know’s.”

“We still don’t know if it’ll work.” Nancy tried to remind her.

But Robin’s belief in Nancy was pretty unshakeable,“ Well, by my count, that’s a few character statements, an inside peak from semi-heroic Steve Harrington, long lost chief Hopper’s opinion on the official report, and once the police department drops the charges… If I was reading something with all of that, I’d be pretty convinced. You’re a genius, Nancy, bask in it.”

“It happens to be a lot easier when I have you tackling the problem with me.” Nancy tried to share the praise.

“Oh, please,” Robin waved her off,” I’m just stoked I get to help Nancy Wheeler write the most important newspaper article to come out of this town.”

“Okay, a triple murder that preceded a natural disaster is probably the biggest thing to officially happen in Hawkins,” she had to admit,” But it’s still just the school paper. It’s not like I’m the editor at the Hawkins Post or anything.”

“Doesn’t matter. When Emerson sees you, Nancy Wheeler, reporting live with the first inside scoop, they are going to beg you to run your own class up there.”

She rolled her eyes at the other girl and teased,“ Oh really?”

“Absolutely. They’ll be almost as amazed as I am and throw a degree at you as soon as you step on campus.” Robin sat back while Nancy shook her head at her,“ What? You think I’m expecting too much of them?”

And Nancy couldn't stop the giggle rising in her chest, nor the automatic “You’re an idiot, Robin Buckley” that slipped out of her.

“You just said I was smart!” Robin tried to dispute.

“Maybe, but you can still be an idiot too.” Nancy continued to huff until her cheeks her red. She fanned them off when they’d settled down a bit and reached over,“ Here, take a pen and help me start drafting this thing. And if you can come up with a snappy, eye-catching title, that’d be helpful.”

Robin pulled out her extra gravely, spooky narrator voice and offered,“ Eddie Munson: More Man Than Monster!”

“Alliteration is not the only requirement.”

Next, she buzzed through,“ We Know You Think He’s A Serial Killer With Demon Powers, But He’s Just A Dorky Guy, And Jason’s The Crazy One!”

“I said snappy, Buckley! That's way too long! Come on, gimme something I can work with!”

“I’ll come up with something! Let me think on it a minute.”

They sat at the table working on it together all the way until Maria ran away from the von Trapps and the intermission started. At that point, all the kids ran off for bathroom breaks, and the girls took the hint it was about time to join them and wind down for the night. By then, Jonathan and Argyle had already returned, and Hopper had made himself comfy, looking like he was ready to doze off right there.

Steve stood up and took all the bowls of popcorn, empty except for the remaining un-popped kernels, into the kitchen to dump out and clean up. When he was focused on this task, Joyce must’ve wrapped up her shower and snuck up behind him. Somehow just suddenly coming up behind him with a kind of serious and gentle energy that said she had something to talk to him about.

“Hi, honey…” she already sounded like she had a specific thought on her mind she was getting to.

“Hi, are you both getting settled in fine?” he thought to ask while he scrubbed away popcorn butter with a soapy sponge.

“Oh, I wouldn’t be surprised if Hop just conks out on that couch, so yeah, I’d say so.” she gave a small laugh at the thought.

“That’s good.” was all he could come up with when he realized he didn’t have anything else to stall with until he finished the dishes.

“Um, Steve?”

“Yeah?”

She took a step closer to him,“ Is there any reason I had to wipe some dust off the bedside table?”

Shit.

He tried to excuse it,“ I should’ve cleaned that up before you guys got here-“

“Honey,” she interrupted him with a soft voice,” How long has it been since your parents have been home?”

Right. That… that makes sense to ask, given the evidence she found. Great. Great, great, great. How does he get out of this without just spewing a few obvious lies?

“It hasn’t been that long.” he tried anyway.

Joyce made a face like she wanted to wince,“ It’s dust… It takes a while to collect like that.”

It does, doesn’t it? Yeah. Of course, it does.

Steve tried to sound casual, like it wasn’t a big deal, and he was just tossing the numbers around to remember how long it’s been exactly,“ I guess… it’s been about three months.”

“Wait- you’ve been…” Joyce looked heartbroken for him,” Were they even home for Christmas?”

He shrugged and moved on to the last bowl, hoping he could finish it up quickly,“ It’s fine. You know, Robin came over every day that week, and we watched all of our favorites. We had a good time. Even ended Christmas Eve with It’s A Wonderful Life before I drove her home so-“

“Steve. I’m so sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I wish I’d known.” she insisted.

“Why?” he couldn’t help but ask. Because, really, why should she have? Joyce didn’t owe him a proper Christmas. He wasn’t her kid to take care of. And it wouldn't have done anyone any good anyway,” What would've been the point in making you sad in Lenora?”

She didn’t have an answer for him. At least not immediately. But after he put down the bowl on the drying rack and looked at her to try and pass back into the living room, then she spoke up,

“You know, we haven’t really talked it through as a family yet - the family’s changing, and there hasn't been a second to consider it - but I think we’re going to decide to move back over here. To Hawkins. Once everything resolves.”

“That’ll be nice. For all the kids to get to go to school together again, I mean-”

But Joyce continued,“ I bring it up because - I know it’s quite a ways away still - but I’d like to invite you to our house for Christmas this year. If your folks are gone again, and you don’t have family to spend it with.”

Oh.

She didn’t want to pressure him, so she added,“ You don’t have to if you’d be uncomfortable or anything. I just wanted you to know you’d be welcome at our dinner table and around our tree, even if it’s smaller than what you might be used to-”

“No. No, that sounds…” he struggled with how to describe exactly how warm and fuzzy the invitation made his chest feel, but he settled on,” That sounds really nice. I, uh, really appreciate the thought, Joyce. I don’t know what’ll happen in nine more months, but-”

“No, of course, it’s still really far away-”

“But I’d like to. Join your household for Christmas.” he decided anyway.

A soft smile came to her face,“ Then, I hope I’ll get to see you if your parents aren’t able to-”

“Would it be okay if I showed up anyway… even if they were in town?” he was a little shy to ask, but honestly, even if his mom and dad were there, he’d rather go somewhere where it'd actually feel like Christmas.

“Of course, sweetheart.” she assured him, reaching up to set a comforting hand on his shoulder,” Any reason at all, you’re always more than welcome to come by. When we aren’t already borrowing your home, that is.”

“Okay.” he nodded,” Thank you, Joyce. I-”

“Steve!” Dustin yelled from the living room,” Are you trying to miss the Baroness’s horrible attempt at parenting or something?!”

Joyce smiled wider, in that warm way that moms always seemed to in movies, and told him,“ We should probably head in to join them.”

“Yeah. Probably.” he agreed.

They ended up all together in the living room as the last hour and a half of the movie played through. By the end of it, the kids had fallen asleep, including El, who was cuddled up on top of her snoring dad. Joyce went back up to the master bedroom, and Murray went for the guest room he was set up in. Nancy headed for the other while Robin welcomed herself to Steve’s room since he was passed out in the pile.

Maybe an hour or so after the movie finished though, he blinked his eyes back open to realize he’d fallen asleep in the first place. Erica ended up using his lap as a pillow, so it took him a few minutes of very slow and careful movements to get out from under her head before he was able to break for the stairs and try to get some sleep in an actual bed. Instead of a car seat and sofa cushion, of course.

Lo and behold, he opens his door to see Robin all spread out like a starfish under his covers. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes as he crossed the room and had to shove over her limbs to try and squish himself into bed.

“Hey. Doofus. It’s rude to wake a sleeping lady,” she mumbled half-asleep to him, most of it went right into the pillow.

“It’s rude to steal a guy’s bed and spill all his secrets.” he fired back.

“You fell asleep on the couch, I didn’t want a sore back,” she rolled over a bit so she was speaking more clearly.

“I had a crazy morning…” he groaned.

With that, Robin seemed to wake up just a bit,” What do you mean 'crazy morning'? Explain.”

Steve felt the familiar urge to clam up, the warning to not be vulnerable, but he always knew he could ignore it when it was Robin he was with,“ My dad called. Got an earful. Kinda went off on some junk cars and shit after.”

She turned over enough to look at him,“ You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You want to-?”

“Nah. I’m tired, Rob. Just wanna go to sleep.” he looked back at his ceiling and mumbled,” But we’ll find some time to run off and talk about it later. That and what we're doing about Vickie.”

"Dingus," she shoved him before snuggling herself in a little closer,“ Sorry I told so many of your secrets today.”

“It’s fine.” he sighed and looked back at her,” You spilled a few of your own too, so I guess it’s sorta even.”

She grinned at him,“ A few.”

“But not all of them.”

She closed her eyes and hummed for a moment before nodding along,“ Nope. Not all of them. I’m a girl who likes to keep an air of mystery about her, you know.”

“That why didn’t even bring up the other reason why you like ‘Dancing Queen’ so much?” he asked.

There was a pause after the question before Robin spoke in a voice rich with the sound of her smile,“ I haven't the faintest clue as to what you're referring to.”

“You’re telling me it’s not even a little bit because we spent your seventeenth birthday together?” he dared her to deny it.

Her voice hiked a pitch higher as she feigned confusion,“ We did?”

“Oh, yeah,” he squished in closer behind her and reminisced,” Little over two weeks after Starcourt burned down when you were still so freaked out about joining the end of the world club that you didn’t even want to celebrate? You were all ‘what’s the point of anything- nothing is safe- how do I live life as a normal person anymore- I can’t handle this-’ all the time. So I convinced you to come with me, and I snuck you into a club over an hour away the night before. You were stammering the whole ride over that you weren’t even eighteen yet - not even seventeen yet, technically - so there was no way they’d let you in. But I managed it anyway. And I even got the DJ to play your favorite song for you, right at midnight. So you got to be the Dancing Queen the second you became seventeen. What? That didn’t have anything to do with that at all?”

“That happened?” she tried again.

“You’re so stupid.” he playfully shoved her messy head of hair on his pillow,” You didn’t even let me sneak you a drink, so I know you remember it.”

“Maybe I do. Sue me for trying to keep a few of our secrets just our own.”

“Never.” he hummed as he shimmied to try and get comfortable. Ended up laying his arm over Robin’s waist when a thought occurred to him,“ You know this is gonna cause so many rumors, right?”

She gave a melodramatic gasp and cried,” Steve and Robin! Sharing a bed! What ever might they do?!”

He played along with her theatrics,“ It couldn’t be… they’ll… fall asleep!” and then he squeezed his arm around her tighter for effect.

“You’re such a dork,” she told him.

“No, I’m not. You’re all the dorks. Lucas, Max, and I are the cool ones.”

“Sure, sure. You keep telling yourself that.” she reached over her shoulder to pat his head.

“It’s the truth-”

Then she smeared her hand down his face,“ Sssshhhhhhhhh, Stephen, my sweet summer child, shut up and let me sleep.”

“I’m older, and I was born in winter-” he tried to correct her, but she was smooshing his lips around before he could finish.

“Ssssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhh”

He had to shake his face to get her to back off,“ At least scoot over, Rob. You’re hogging all the bed space.”

“Don’t be afraid of some cuddles.”

“I’m not, but we’re already spooning, and my ass is hanging off the mattress. Now scoot.”

It took a few more minutes for them to get themselves situated, but once they did, Steve and Robin both felt safer than they had all week.

They fell asleep like that. Robin all wrapped up in Steve’s arms. They both ran warm though, so they’d most likely end up kicking each other away as the night went on, but that was just par for the course with them. It’s still a little crazy to him that he has someone he cares about enough to hold, and it’s not some romantic thing. All of the touch he got to have in the past has come from romance. But when it’s the two of them, it didn’t have to be about that. He can just love someone without all the other stuff.

It was nice. Simple. Easy.

Steve Harrington seems to be learning a lot about non-romantic love those days. The way he was with the kids, his platonic bond with Robin, all these Hawkins moms showing him what familial ties to their kids can look like, even extending some of it to him… He did wish he could get a handle on the romantic kind too, seeing as he felt like he was completely losing interest in it no matter who he was with. But at the end of the day, the non-romantic stuff was pretty nice too.

Those were the kind of thoughts that carried him off to sleep. Robin’s were of a similar vein. Appreciating her best friend’s snarky remarks and comfortable arms as she drifted off. But her mind circled who else she’d like to share a nap with someday. She had thoughts of Vickie, of course. Funny thing is, Vickie wasn’t the only one she considered…

But that was a secret she wouldn’t dare speak of.

The rest of the night was nice. Uneventful. No monsters or phone calls. And when they woke up in the morning, just as was expected, they were both nearly pushed off of the bed by the other in a tangle of limbs and sheets. What they hadn’t expected was the smell of cooking wafting up from the kitchen.

Because Hopper took it upon himself to make breakfast.

God, he was such a dad. A good dad. For a house of way too many kids with shitty dads, he was a good dad.

Robin and Steve shoved against each other as they woke up and muddled their way downstairs, and it didn’t take long for everyone to have gathered to eat. Jim wasn’t very thoughtful about being quiet. The sound of pans on the stovetop wasn't gentle, it was time for everyone to wake up already anyhow. Seeing everyone with bed heads and sleepy eyes around the table was pretty fun. They all ate the array of bacon, sausage, pancakes, waffles, and eggs as Jim whipped them up.

Wasn’t too much later that there was some knocking on Steve’s front door. The five parents were each equipped with a mug of coffee and welcomed into the living room to discuss… everything. Again. It went just about the same as it had with the moms the night before. But this time, Nancy was sure to get all their favorite songs, too.

Karen has apparently always loved Olivia Newton-John and had a particular attachment to ‘I Think I’ll Say Goodbye’. Claudia got stuck between something by The Pointer Sisters or Billy Joel. It was Dustin who said that, because she was borderline in love with Billy, something of his was the safer bet. So she decided on 'Just the Way You Are'. Susan could only think of Cyndi Lauper’s ‘Time After Time’ because of how much Max played it after the Snow Ball. Sue always used Diana Ross songs for her kids' lullabies, ‘Reach Out I’ll Be There’ was her favorite. And Charles always insisted that the song they played for the first dance at their wedding was the best in the world, Stevie Wonder’s ‘My Girl’.

When everyone was settled on the situation most of the kids said they’d head home with their own parents in a bit, except for Lucas who went ahead and rode to the hospital with Steve before they all split off. The two wanted to check on the patients, of course. Susan had to work, but they promised her they’d call if anything happened or after she got off to tell her how Max looked. The boys walked fast past the cameras and got checked in to visit with Max and Eddie before they broke off into the opposite rooms with a plan to check in around lunchtime and eat together if there wasn’t any change in either’s condition.

So Lucas went into Max’s, and Steve turned into Eddie’s room and greeted him as he sat down.

“Sorry, I’m late today. Planned to show up on time, at eight, but those kids’ parents are so talkative. Honestly, you’re lucky you’re missing out on all the discussion that’s happened at my place in the last twelve hours. Turns out every parent in the midwest wants to be on the apocalypse squad. Anyway, sorry I was late. I’m here now for whatever’s on tv today.”

Steve was trying to relax and sit still. He honestly was. But it sucked. Everything sucked, and there was nothing good to watch, so he stood up practically every ten minutes to flip back through the channels on the hospital cable. He sort of wished he was the kind of guy who liked reading. Lucas seemed to enjoy reading that book to Max. They talked about it on the drive over. Lucas was apparently doing different voices for each character and everything. Making a show of it for her. It was sweet.

Steve couldn’t do something like that.

On what was probably his tenth time switching around the channels, he heard something. Something like the sound of fabric moving around a little. And it came from behind him. Where Eddie was.

He turned around, but Eddie wasn’t making any noise. Didn't look like he was stirring. But his face might’ve looked a little different. Like his expression had shifted, just a little bit.

Steve abandoned the unentertaining tv set, carefully sitting back down in the bedside chair,” Eddie?”

And there it was. A scrunch of Eddie’s nose and a sound that made the whole world seem brighter.

“Mmmm…”

That’s all it was. A low, grumbling hum. But it meant he was back. Eddie was back, and they didn’t lose him. Steve didn’t fail in getting him back soon enough.

Steve leaned forward,“ Hey, hey, you coming to?”

Eddie didn’t even open his eyes as he groaned,“ Was I dreaming, or were you kissing on me last night, Harrington?”

The comment pulled what Steve would call a stupid smile across his face, but he smiled all the same. He can’t be too messed up if he’s cracking jokes, right? He rolled his eyes at the other and said, in a purposely somewhat stuck-up tone,“ It’s called performing CPR, Munson, and it was not last night, for the record. But a nurse can tell you all about that, so I’ll go get-”

Eddie turned his head over and opened his eyes to look at Steve, quickly interrupting him with,“ Well, I can’t have been out too long. I see you’re still working on those whiskers, same as I last saw ‘em.”

He’d tried to motion towards Steve’s face, only to find he didn’t get very far with the cuffs. Not what a guy likes to wake up to. At least not in this condition.

“God forbid anyone tries anything around here.” Steve huffed, but sat up to pour some water from the plastic pitcher into the cup with the straw and wordlessly held it up for Eddie to take a sip,” It’s been a couple of days. Four days exactly. Four days since you tried to pull that stupid hero stunt.”

After a gulp to wet his whistle, Eddie let go of the straw and shook his head,“ Stupid hero stunt? Nah, that doesn’t sound like me. I thought we agreed on that.”

“Yeah, I thought we did. I said you and Dustin weren’t allowed to do hero shit, and then look at the mess I find not even an hour later.” Steve sat back and put down the cup.

“Oh, this? This wasn’t hero shit.” Eddie said.

Steve’s eyebrow quirked up,“ Really? It wasn't?”

“It absolutely was not. Because - I’ll remind you - you said, and I quote, ‘Don’t be cute or play hero.' And I agreed not to be a hero. So all this…?”

Steve let a small laugh slip out before he figured,“ This was you being cute, you mean?”

Eddie thought for a second that he’d like to pull a lock of hair in front of his face to play coy. Maybe rattle off some kind of teasing response like “You tell me” or “Did it work?” But the chains pinning his hands to the bedrail insisted he went for a different tactic.

So, instead, he settled for a wolfish grin and a more confident kind of remark,“ Hell yeah, this was me being cute, man.”

Steve shook his head in a way that vaguely reminded Eddie of when Wayne caught him trying to quietly strum his guitar past 3 am back in middle school. Wayne gently scorned him, told him it was a school night and the boy needed to get some sleep. Then he took the instrument and put it on top of the cabinets in the kitchen so he couldn’t reach it. But he hadn’t been mad. It was a kind of amused, faux-disappointment.

Anyway, it’s what Steve looked like as he said,“ It was still stupid. You tried to leave a little early there, you know.”

Eddie shrugged and shifted a little in the bed,“ Wasn’t really trying to. Just thought the light at the end of the tunnel looked pretty nice ‘n all.”

“Yeah, well maybe ignore it a little longer next time. I had kids sobbing all around me because you decided to stop breathing on the way here.”

“Sorry ‘bout that. You think they’ll forgive me for it?” he looked over at Steve with pleading eyes.

“They will when they see you talking again.” Steve started to stand up,” So, I should go get a nur-”

But then Eddie interrupted him again, and pretty sharply too,“ Where are those gremlins at anyway? Can’t believe Steve Harrington is the one bothering to come by this sick guy’s bed.”

Steve got quiet and relaxed back down in the chair.

“Max got hurt real bad, she’s in another room. Hasn’t woken up yet. The kids are with their families trying to figure stuff out. Plan the next move. Hawkins was hit with a lot, so it’s a bit of a shit show all over town. And we’re the crack team here to clean it up.”

“Jesus, what happened?”

“You don’t remember?” he asked,” When the world started shaking, and everything went red while the ground split open?”

“Okay, that rings a bell. But, to be fair, I was bleeding out, man. Shit’s still a little bit fuzzy.” Eddie explained.

Steve nodded knowingly and said,“ Which is why I keep trying to tell you that I should go get a nurse-”

“Do you have to?” Eddie cut in suddenly. And there was something behind the way he said it. Steve couldn’t exactly pin it down, but he didn’t just seem inconvenienced or disinterested.

“They kinda need to look you over. Make sure there isn’t anything else wrong with you, besides the loose screws.”

Eddie turned away a little, and got quieter,“ The second you tell them I’m up… it’s going to be a whole thing, isn’t it?”

And Steve didn’t have an answer.

“It’s going to get crazy, and everything’s going to happen so fast, and it’s… gonna be scary, man...”

That’s what it was. Eddie looked scared. Steve could see it now. It wasn’t like when Eddie was ranting and raving when he’d been freaked out before. This Eddie looked small.

“And once it starts, it’s not going to stop, so just - I don’t know - keep wasting my time and tell me what’s going on before they lock me in a cell and throw away the key,” Eddie asked him.

Steve tried to assure him,“ They aren’t going to-”

Eddie locked his eyes with Steve again,“ Please? Let me have just a little bit longer?”

And Steve just couldn’t say no. Seemed to feel that way a lot those days. Maybe he spends too much time with people whose lives suck so bad he just wants to give them whatever they want.

“A few more minutes. But then an actual, medical professional needs to make sure you won’t croak on us.”

“Deal.”

Steve leaned back in the chair and started,“ Well, the Upside Down was trying to get into this side. In Hawkins, the ground split open and both sides were connected for a bit. The gate cut this huge “X” across the city which was recorded as a huge earthquake. Like record-breaking magnitude getting reported on every news station kind of huge. I mean- City Hall’s gone, the General Hospital took damage, Library is about half rubble right now. Some of the trailers were completely destroyed, including half of yours, and a line was cut through some of the suburbs, not sure how many of those houses came apart, a few of the businesses downtown were demolished, and the others are all closed down anyway… And today’s Monday, by the way, but they’ve got the high school set up as the relief center right now, so there are no classes you’re missing or anything. Like I said, shit show. Everywhere.”

“Sounds like there are a dozen other things you could be doing if you wanted to then. Like resting up yourself. So what’re you doing here? Didn’t think my display, as incredibly cute as it was, woulda been enough to turn your head.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, it’s just a lot quieter here than at my place.” Steve found himself brushing off the fact that he, in fact, had been pretty worried about Eddie the entire time.

“What does that mean?”

Moving right along, he scratched the back of his neck and admitted,“ Uh, it’s a little packed back there right now.”

“Why would your family come to Hawkins now for a reunion?” Eddie assumed.

“Oh, no. Not my family. My folks are over in Washington right now.” And after he said it, he realized he’d just set himself up to explain a little bit more about his family life than he had originally planned to tell someone he just met officially less than two weeks before.

“Washington?” Eddie asked.

And yup, they were going to have this conversation it seemed. Hopefully, Steve can make him lose interest quickly enough,“ Work. Work for my dad, at least. Mom’s just with him to make sure he stays in line.”

And Eddie just looked at him all confused.

“Stays faithful,” Steve hinted.

“Oh. So who is in your house right now?”

“Some of the Byers. Jonathan, Will, and El. And a new guy, Argyle. They all showed up a few days ago. And then we got a shipment of homeless adults in last night too. Joyce and Hop and Murray - speaking of it, turns out Hop is way less dead than we thought. And all the kids crashed there, too. Our party loves sleepovers, it seems…” Steve was lovingly shaking his head when he noticed Eddie’s wide eyes on him,“ What? Those people help save the world all the time. I wasn’t going to just let them sleep on those stiff cots in the high school. It’s a four-bedroom house, might as well put them all to use.”

“And you’re sure the Harrington’s are fine with the fact that their son is passing out their keys like candy on Halloween?” Eddie asked doubtfully.

Steve thought to himself for a moment and admitted a truth he had been trying not to think too much about over the last few weeks,“ I don’t think they’re really planning to come back to Hawkins after all this.”

“Really? Just a couple days and you’re already so sure they’re done with this place...”

“Well, it’s been…” he hummed to himself, putting on an act like he had to actually think about it. Like his mind doesn’t tally every morning he wakes up and his mom and dad are still gone. Like he doesn’t already know he hasn’t seen them for over,” Three months? Yeah, I guess that sounds about right.”

He’d tried to make it seem like some casual thing, hoped he did a better job than he had in front of Joyce the night before, but Eddie didn’t take it as something small,” Three months?”

“Yeah, my dad’s a busy guy, and I’m not a baby anymore. Once I graduated they wasted decidedly less time in Indiana.”

“The town their kid lives in has a serial killer, faces the biggest earthquake the Midwest probably has ever seen, and they don’t come home to check in?” Eddie pushed. While his parents were out of the picture, he couldn’t even imagine Wayne letting him go even a week without seeing him, even if he’d graduated.

“You give Mr. and Mrs. Harrington too much credit.”

“Damn. So you’re fucked up just like the rest of us, huh?”

“The stars; they’re just like you and me.” he ended the line with a wink.

“Jesus. And, not to be self-centered and all about me or anything, but… how is the town with the whole…?”

“The whole… suspecting you of serial murder thing?” Steve finished for him.

“Yeah, that’s the one. How are they doing with that?”

“Well, most people probably still think you did it. But, uh, we’re working on it. Well, Nance and Robin are leading the thing mostly. It’s looking up, believe it or not. They have some strategy, and the cops seemed like they were leaning our way after we gave our statements. They’ll need to take yours, too. But I think we’ll get out of this.” he explained,” But if some guys with a camera crew try to talk to you, call a nurse and get them kicked out. They’ve been crowding the front doors and trying to get into your hospital room for the last few days, apparently.”

“Camera crew?” he wondered, interest piquing.

“A news team from Indianapolis has been trying to do a feature on the ‘Satanic killings that opened a portal to hell in the super cursed small-town’. And a few other fringe groups are looking to stake their big break on your sudden fame too.”

“So…” Eddie considered,” You’re saying this is my chance to shoot to stardom? Quick, I need you to bring my sweetheart, an amp, and a mic. Help me land my career in the big leagues, Harrington.”

Steve stood up and placed a hand on Eddie’s cuffed wrist with a tight smile,“ I absolutely will not.”

Eddie scoffed and tossed his head over at the betrayal.

He let go and started heading for the door as he continued,“ I will, however, make sure a nurse comes in to look you over. I’ll also radio the kids and let them know you’re up. You’re in for a storm of love, you know? Gonna get bruises from all the hugs, I’m telling you.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Eddie called to him as he went into the hall.

And maybe Steve did originally intend to do the responsible thing and get a nurse immediately. But then he thought about Lucas. Someone who was right there already and deserved to see Eddie as soon as possible. So he just walked into the other room instead.

“Hey Lucas, you wanna take a break?” he offered, hanging off the door frame for a second as he stepped inside.

“I don’t need a break from Max. And we said noon, it’s not even eleven o’clock yet.”

“You might not need it,” Steve agreed,” But there’s something across the hall you might want to see.”

Steve thought to himself that part of the reason he wanted Lucas to see Eddie, wasn’t even for Eddie’s sake. It was for Lucas’s. Because he needed to see someone come out of a coma before he convinced himself that Max never would. Steve needed to foster a little bit of hope wherever he could with these kids.

“What?” Lucas questioned.

And instead of dancing around the good news any longer, Steve let the smile break across his face as he told him,“ Eddie’s awake.”

And Lucas all but shot up out of his chair,“ He is?”

“Yeah, he is. I’ll radio everyone else and let ‘em know, but since you’re already here, you can stop by if you want. As long as you call a nurse over after you two have a minute to catch up.” Steve made him agree to do it.

“Yeah, yeah,” Lucas took a few steps toward him until he froze and looked back at Max,” Will you…?”

“Yeah, I’ll keep an eye on Mayfield.” Steve closed the distance between them and clapped Lucas on the shoulder,” Go ahead and try talking to someone who’ll answer for a bit.”

And so they switched places.

Steve sat down in the chair Lucas had been in and picked up the book he set on Max’s sheets. He thought about maybe picking up where the kid left off, but set it back down and decided that wasn’t his thing. His thing seemed to be waxing on emotionally to sleeping people. So he crossed his legs and set himself to try and convince Max to pull through. Even though they figured she wouldn’t until Vecna was dealt with, he still wanted to try a little pep talk.

“Come on, Maxie. You’re the last one now. Can’t believe you let Munson beat you. Would’ve bet good money you were a way faster little punk than he was. So… hurry up, alright. I’ve been told you’re supposed to go to a movie on Friday. Might be patching things up with a certain ex-boyfriend you shoulda never ended things with. I don’t know what Friday you’ll be aiming for at this point. But there’s some cool stuff out right now, if you wait too long there might only be boring stuff screening. And we can’t let you and Lucas get back together with a boring movie. I really would like to see you two happy together, you know? So you need a good one. Make this old man proud and snag him up before some other girl tries to steal him. But you gotta wake up to do that… so, I don’t know, sucker punch Vecna or something and break out of this already. I think you can take him down. Way tougher than anyone else I know. Don't keep me waiting. We need you back.”

#I'M SORRY Y'ALL #I FORGOT TO POST THE UPDATE ON TUMBLR #THIS WAS ON AO3 WEEKS AGO #THAT'S MY BAD!!!#Anyway-#WE GOT THE BOY BACK! IT ONLY TOOK 90K BUT HE'S HERE FOR REAL NOW!!!#And he's flirting right out the gate #Next chapter is going to be all about the reunions so there will be lots of F E E L I N G S #This chap was the longest one so far and a BEAST to tackle. But by the end we got a lil Jargyle Ronance and Steddie all fit in #And Erica and Murray are mortal enemies my beloveds #And Robin and El are forging the unbreakable bond of being autistic girls together #And I'm roping these parents in to everything (and there may be a few hints for down the road stuff in their songs)#AND I'M BRINGING OUR RUSSIANS OVER! I HAVEN'T FOUND THEM IN A SINGLE FIC AND I'M TIRED OF IT!#And there are even a few MORE people I'm planning to get in by the final showdown - this will be Avengers Endgame kind of massive team up #And I also have big plans to write a Modern The Sound of Music Steddie AU after this one now bc I rewatched it for the few refs I threw in #I want to get this one most of the way finished before i start it though so i don't get side tracked. But it's coming.#Steve Harrington #Eddie Munson #Steddie #Steveddie #Steve x Eddie #Nancy Wheeler #Robin Buckney #Ronance #Robin x Nancy #The Fruity Four #Stranger Things #Stranger Things 4 #Stranger Things 4 spoilers #Stranger Things 4 volume 2 spoilers

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shouyuus · 1 month ago

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chapter five: true love's kiss

roronoa zoro; 4,063 words; fluff, hurt/comfort, no "y/n", enemies to LOVERS (the lovers happen now), dreams as a literary device, first kisses, possessive!zoro, happy endings, sanji is a tease but a good friend

summary: in which love does conquer all, actually

a/n: phew!!! and here we are friends! the last chapter!!!! thank u all for the lovely comments and for sticking this through! it's def my longest fic to date (and i think will be for a while... 21k is a lot of words lmfao); anyway, enjoy all the fluff! it's def earned i think!

< to the table of contents

By the time the fighting ends, the rain is coming down in great sleet-gray sheets, washing the deck of the last remnants of blood, even as the Merry tips this way and that, tossed over the waves of a careless sea.

Zoro kicks bodies over left and right, slinging them over the edge of the ship as he checks each face, grimacing as he thinks to himself — no, no, no.

“Zoro!” it’s Sanji that finally manages to drag Zoro upright, pinning him to the edge of the ship, shaking him by his shoulders, “what the hell are you doing?!”

“Her body!” Zoro shouts, shoving at Sanji’s rain-slick hands, “I have to find it —”

Nami has both arms wrapped around herself as she takes two steps forward, her bright hair stuck to her cheeks in tangerine streaks.

“Didn’t she say she’d show up at the last place she fell asleep?”

Zoro stares at her, wide-eyed, for three solid seconds before he scrambles out of Sanji’s grip and makes for the crow’s nest, taking the ladder three rungs at a time. He nearly rolls across the tiny crow’s nest as he forces his way through the trap door, his eyes whipping wildly from left to right, but there’s already a sharp, relentless dread ossifying in the marrow of his bones as he leans over the edge and shouts —

“She’s not here!”

It’s Usopp who answers, “What about your room?”

Zoro tumbles out of the crow’s nest, skidding down the length of the mast, but by the time he manages to get below decks, Nami’s already standing in his opened doorway, a hand pressed to her mouth.

Zoro races to her side and feels his breath freeze in his lungs.

Because you’re there, tucked into his hammock, your cheek pressed into his pillow, a blanket tucked around your shoulders, your eyelids fluttering as if they’d caught you in the middle of a particularly active dream.

In stumbling steps, Zoro makes his way to the edge of the bed, his shoulder bumping Nami’s as he inches by. He drops onto a wooden barrel and buries his face in his hands. Behind him, he hears Nami slump to her knees with a sound that’s caught halfway between a sob and a laugh.

Relief crackles through his veins like so much static electricity. Vaguely, he registers the sounds of the rest of the crew gathering by the door, Sanji helping Nami to her feet, Luffy making his way over to clap Zoro hard on the shoulder.

“Well, she’s for sure breathing!” he remarks, to which Usopp lets out a small, tinny laugh, and everyone follows suit. Zoro puffs out a breath and feels a saltwater sting in his throat.

He licks his lips and tastes the sea; when he blinks, his lashes come away wet.

It’s still relatively early in the day, so eventually, Sanji begs off to go make some lunch — for the recovering soul, he says. Luffy follows him, and a few minutes later, so does Usopp. Only Nami stays, her knees curled into her chest, her back against the wall, her eyes fixed on you as she counts your steady, drawn out breaths. But eventually, even she gets to her feet, reaching out to give Zoro’s shoulder a hard squeeze before ducking quietly out of the door.

Sometime in the late afternoon, Sanji comes to put a tray of food on a barrel by the bed. Zoro spares it a single glance, noting that Sanji’s included all your favorites as well as his own.

In the early evening, he reaches over for a riceball, and then another.

It isn’t till midnight that exhaustion finally takes over and he dozes into a shallow, fitful sleep.

— — —

You dream of dying.

Of falling down an endless ravine, of feeling your lungs fill and fill and fill with water. Of the sharp, silvering lick of a hungry blade, of fire as it burns slowly, creeping across your blushing skin.

You dream of terror, of your body fighting for a breath, a kick, a life, even as your mind resigns to the dull knowledge of impending death. You dream of peace, of lying down and falling asleep, of surrendering yourself to the warm, merciful dark and it’s wide, welcoming embrace.

You dream of Zoro, of the boy he used to be, of the raw hunger and determination in his eyes as he ran through his katas, of how wide he smiled when he was convinced no one else was looking. You dream of the man he is now, of the softness that had bled from him when he traced a hand along your cheek to press a strand of hair behind your ear. You dream of falling asleep next to him, of waking up to find yourself in his arms, of being cradled against his chest, of being laid gently in his hammock, of his body next to yours.

You dream.

You dream of falling, and falling, and falling. You dream of a voice, so deep it sounds like the underbelly of sound, grating out of the fathomless dark, reminding you of the bargain you weren’t even alive to make.

But your dreams always come back to dying, the act now so familiar to you that your body aches for it like a heart aches for company. You have died so many times the motion is braided into your muscles, inked into your skin, your lungs so used to giving up air that sometimes, you find yourself gasping out of a dream, clutching at your chest.

And that is how you wake — rocketing upright, fingers scrabbling at your throat, the phantom bite of Zoro’s blade lingering over your skin like the persistent itch of a healing wound.

It’s Zoro’s voice that pulls you back, his breathless, startled voice, your name tearing out of him like a curse, or a prayer.

“Y-you’re…” he seems unable to continue, the sight of you sitting up in his hammock, your eyes bright and a little glossy, your cheeks flushed with the remnants of your dreams, the early morning light pouring through his tiny window like so much pale gold, casting you in it’s relentless light.

Zoro blinks, feeling his muscles ache from the strange position he’d fallen asleep in, having roused himself so often during the night, if only to check that you’re still here, and still breathing.

“Zoro…” his name on your lips sounds like absolution, the final bit of proof he’d been waiting for before he jolts forward to pull you into his chest, pressing you to him so hard you yelp in surprise, the entire hammock swinging back with the force of his body.

He spears his fingers through your hair, cradling the back of your head, his nails scraping against your scalp as he clutches you close enough to count your heartbeats reverberating through his chest. Your hands fist in the front of his shirt as you bury your face in the side of his neck, your uneven breaths hot against his skin.

“Never,” he says, in a voice ribboned with fear and anger and regret, still holding you to his chest as if he might be able to meld your skins into one, “make me do that again.”

You let out a shattered little laugh, shaking your head as you burrow deeper into the crook of his neck.

“Yeah, I’ll make someone else do it next time.”

Zoro jerks back, his glare fierce as he narrows his eyes.

“I mean it,” he says, his fingers inching up to cup your cheeks, his thumbs pressing divots into your skin as he searches your eyes. You stare up at him, softening as you reach up to wrap your hands around his wrists.

“I’m sorry if I scared you — it was — that was the only thing I could think of to do —”

“Don’t be sorry — just promise.”

Your breath hitches in your chest as your gaze cuts away. Your hands drop but Zoro’s grip never wavers.

“I — I don’t —”

“I’ve already had to watch you die twice,” Zoro says, his fingers finally loosening as he leans down, his eyes flickering frantically over your face as if trying to commit every part of you to memory, “I’m not trying to go for a third.”

“Yeah, I know…” you reach up to smooth your thumbs over his furrowed brows, feeling them relax as you trace your fingers over and down the sides of his face. And for a moment, the pair of you are caught in the startling light of dawn, each unwilling to let go of the other, drinking each other in as if you might never get another chance.

“It’s just…” you find your gaze held still at his lips, at the way they’re parted ever so slightly, before you trace a line up the bridge of his nose to admire the skin there, kissed by a constellation of soft freckles.

Zoro grazes his fingers down to your jaw, tipping your head up, massaging at the knots at the junction of your neck and shoulders.

You let out a soft gasp that sends shivers wreathing through his body.

“Just?” he asks, almost surprised to find his own voice so husky as he swallows.

“I thought that if I were to die… yours is the last face I’d ever want to see.”

Its this admission that somehow simultaneously melts the tension in his muscles and also sets fire to his skin as if his whole body were made of nothing but kindling, your words the spark, your voice the wind that fans alive the flames.

He leans down to press his forehead to yours, letting his eyes flutter close as he tries to take a steadying breath even as the heat chases into the depth of his stomach and coils tight in his gut, making his knees feel weak.

“Fuck…” is the best he can manage, the pair of you still face to face, foreheads pressed, breaths mingling.

He feels you let out another laugh, and then — something warm and soft pressing to his lips. His eyes flash open just as you’re pulling away, looking deliciously bashful as you try to glance away. But Zoro chases after you with the determined precision of a hunter, pulling you back and melding your lips so smoothly it’s all you can do is let yourself be kissed.

And as he kisses you, you briefly wonder if this isn’t what all those deaths had been preparing you for. All those drownings just to make sure you were ready for a kiss like this — a kiss where you wouldn’t need or want to ever breathe again. A kiss that burns hotter than any fire, one that tears you open from the inside out and sews you back together again.

You can feel the force of it cracking open your ribs, his fingers digging into your flesh as if he could reach inside you and cup your heart in the palms of his hands. You almost want him to. You think it wouldn’t be such a terrible way to go.

When you finally pull apart for the first time, it’s you who chases after him, tugging him back down in an urgent, messy clash of teeth against teeth, mouths open, licking and eager and hungry.

Zoro grunts at the force of your kiss, at the wildfire burn of ravenous longing braiding through his blood, exploding in sparks of white behind his eyes till he’s reeling and dizzy from the light. And when you finally pull back for a half-drawn breath, it’s him that once again surges forward, but the hammock swings up too far, and the resulting downward momentum catapults you both onto the floor, his body cushioning your fall till his back is pressed against far wall, you half-straddling his lap, your hands on either side of his face to stop yourself from toppling further into him.

You let out a shocked laugh, even as he too finds himself chuckling. The ridiculousness of the situation finally settling in around the pair of you.

A second later, Sanji slams open the door, looking wildly around for a second before spotting you. His eyebrows jerk up as he takes in the scene, the tangle of blankets around your legs, Zoro’s hands on your hips, the clear high blush in both your cheeks.

“Oh so sorry to interrupt — I heard all this commotion and thought something bad might’ve happened,” his voice is half-teasing, half relieved exasperation. He puffs out a dramatic sigh, digging in his pocket for a cigarette and lighter.

Finding both, he takes a deep pull, letting a thin stream of smoke out through his nose before casting you both a sharp, mischievous look.

“Should’ve known it was moss-head here having dessert for breakfast.”

“Fuck off, cook.”

Sanji smirks, rolling his eyes as he saunters away from the door, leaving it to swing shut behind him, but not before calling out —

“Remember to take breaks! Breakfast’s in an hour, and I’m not savin’ you any if you miss it!”

— — —

Breakfast is a messy affair that day — with both you and Zoro slinking into the kitchen exactly one hour later, Zoro looking annoyed, and you looking understandably sheepish. The second you meet Sanji’s eyes, you flush a bright crimson and look away, but Zoro only scoffs as he drops into his normal seat and folds his arms. You slip into the seat next to his, your gaze fixed determinedly on the table before you.

When Nami arrives, she flings her arms around you, giving you a hard squeeze.

“Don’t ever do that again,” she says, pulling back with fever-glass eyes, shimmering with tears.

Zoro grunts, “I’ve already tried that.”

You resist the urge to shoot Zoro a dirty look, and instead, squeeze Nami’s arms.

“Sorry I scared you.”

“It was pretty scary!” Luffy’s voice rings out as he joins the throng, plopping into the seat at the head of the table and flashing you a massive grin, “but boy are we glad you’re okay! It’s kinda a cool power you have! Scary, but cool!”

“I wasn’t worried for a minute!” Usopp claims as he trundles in, smiling bravely as he takes the last seat. At a pointed look from Nami, he clears his throat and turns towards Sanji, “So! Uh — what’s for breakfast?”

Sanji smirks as he starts to set out an entire breakfast service, complete with eggs three ways, freshly baked brioche with a variety of homemade jams, grilled fish, sausages, bacon, a steaming pot of rice, along with miso soup, freshly squeeze tangerine juice, and hot tea.

“And an aged ale,” Sanji says, offhandedly, setting a bottle in front of Zoro without looking at him, “for medicinal reason only, alright? Don’t go looking for this kind of treatment every day.”

Zoro blinks at the bottle of ale before shrugging and popping off the cap with a finger.

“Wow, Sanji! This is amazing!” Luffy compliments, before immediately digging in. Usopp looks similarly eager as he reaches for a steaming brioche bun.

Sanji smiles as you make to reach for some eggs and Zoro bats your hand away, tugging the entire tray towards you for easier access.

Nami only smirks.

“I figured we could all use some good fuel after —” Sanji clears his throat as he settles in his own seat, neatly tucking a napkin into the collar of his shirt, “well, after a hard battle.”

His voice catches briefly before he hitches a bright smile back onto his face and serves himself a thick slice of bacon.

You pause, halfway through slicing a perfectly poached egg, your eyes caught on the golden yoke beading at the tiny puncture wound from your knife.

“Look — I’m really sorry for —”

“Don’t.”

“It’s alright.”

Zoro and Nami speak at the same time, both freezing for a second before glancing at each other and Zoro sighs, slumping back in his chair with his arms folded.

Nami purses her lips before taking a breath.

“It’s… well, it’s not alright,” she amends, staring down at her own breakfast, “but you don’t have to apologize. Just…” she finally looks up, her gaze electric in the morning light spilling through the wide windows, “let us protect you next time.”

Zoro grunts a brief affirmation as you swallow passed the lump in your throat.

“I — it’s just — it’s hard,” you admit, setting down your utensils to stare at the palms of your hands, the skin there soft and unworn, so deceivingly so. Sometimes, you hated the fact that you always came back devoid of scars — as if even that has to be stripped from you. The proof that you’d suffered, the reminders that you’d time and time again survived.

“When dying —” you force your mouth to wrap around the word, to hold it on your tongue without shrinking away, “is the only thing I’ve known for… for forever, really.”

“Mm, well,” Luffy’s slightly muffled voice breaks out from down the table, making everyone jump. He grins, swallowing a mouthful of sausage, “Shanks used to tell me that dying and living are really just the same thing in the end — you just gotta choose what you’d rather do that day!”

A beat of thin, shocked silence follows, before you break into a surprised laugh.

“Whoever this Shanks person is — he sounds like a pretty cool guy.”

Luffy nods enthusiastically, spearing another sausage with great voracity, “He was! And I think he’s right! I mean — we’re your crew now! And we’ll take care of you. So… just choose to live next time!”

Nami is the first one to start laughing, and soon, everyone follows after. The sheer ridiculous simplicity of the statement catching everyone off-guard, the truth of it sweet as freshly made mochi.

— — —

Later that day, you find yourself staring out at the endless stretch of sea at the head of the ship, the wind tangling loose fingers through your undone hair.

Zoro sidles up next to you, standing close enough for your arms to brush.

He’s rarely left you alone in the hours since the fight, since you’d woken up again in his hammock. But it’d been his turn to clean out the bilge, and he’d mercifully not asked you to accompany him for that specific little venture.

Now, he stands next to you, his body warm, his hair slightly damp from what looks like a recent wash.

“We’re goin’ after him,” he says, his eyes following yours as you both scan the wide expanse of shattered-glass sea.

“Crocodile?” you ask, though you already know the answer.

“Yeah, and Baroque Works.”

You turn to face him, the wind whipping your hair into so many thin tendrils of darkened silk. You reach up a hand to catch a few strands in a vain attempt to keep them from flying into your eyes.

Zoro twists around, leaning in to rake his fingers through your hair, wrapping them around his fist till he’s reeling you in, close enough for you to press both hands to his chest.

He watches as you fight with some internal compulsion, probably to tell him that it’s too dangerous, that they’ll never win. But finally, you seem to steel yourself, looking back up at him with a liquid fire deep in the warm darkness of your eyes.

“It won’t be easy,” you say, your voice soft, but he’s close enough to catch them, his other hand steadying itself along your hip.

His lip slants into an amused grin.

“Good. I’ve never liked an easy fight.”

You smile despite yourself, fighting the urge to roll your eyes.

“Masochist,” you say, inching your hands up to loop around his neck. Zoro smirks, cocking his head to one side, tugging you ever closer by the back of your neck.

“Maybe. But speaking of liking pain — what’s this I hear about you and the waiter makin’ stuff later on in the kitchen?”

You peer up at him with huge, doleful eyes before heaving a melodramatic sigh.

“I always thought you were the jealous type,” you lament, attempting to turn your face away but Zoro’s fingers dig into your skin, sending a strange, gooseberry ache tingling through you as you gasp, your eyes flickering back to meet his molten gaze. Heat blisters into your cheeks as something very much like desire pools in the depths of your belly.

“I’ve never been good at sharing.”

You laugh, nodding, “Yeah… that was true even when we were kids. Even though you always pretended you didn’t want anything till it was offered to you.”

Zoro scoffs, shrugging, “Figured if something was mine… it’d come to me in the end.”

“And now?” you ask, the hint of a tease threading through your voice, just enough to make Zoro’s skin prickle with want.

“Now, I just take what I want.”

“Or…” you lean in to skim your lips along his cheek, lilting your voice low enough to make him shiver, “you follow them for three whole weeks, then offer to buy them a drink at a bar, right?”

Zoro makes a half-annoyed, half-contemptuous noise, frowning as he pulls back. But before he can say anything, you’re laughing, and the sight of it strikes him breathless, the mid-morning sun draping you in orange and gold, your cheeks flushed with life and color, your body warm and soft in the circle of his arms.

You’ve never looked so beautiful — you’ve never looked so daringly, dashingly alive.

By the time the laughter trickles out of you, Zoro is also smiling. He reaches up to coax your face towards his, brushing your hair back with a careful finger.

“Guess you’re right — you got away in the end.”

You still against him, watching as he glances off towards the vast expanse of endless sea.

“But rumor has it, you’ve never let go of a mark,” you say.

Zoro’s eyes snap back to you, and the way you’re grinning up at him makes the world tilt on it’s axis around him.

“I haven’t,” he murmurs, lowering his head till your noses are bare inches apart.

“Then… don’t let me ruin your record.” The moth-wing flutter of your lashes twists tight the torque in his chest, and it takes him half a breath to realize that this must be what it feels like to fall in love, or rather — to realize that you’ve already fallen.

“Hn. Wasn’t planning on it,” he says, delighting in the tiny little shiver that shakes through you at his words. He pauses as your noses finally brush, your breath ghosting across his lips, so painfully, torturously close.

“So…” he purposefully draws out the word, letting it rumble through him, a low growl of sound. You blink up at him, curious, but pliant, and so, so terribly trusting. He allows himself a wolfish grin.

“What’re you and the cook makin’ later?”

You let out a frustrated groan and make to pull away but Zoro easily jerks you back, locking you against his chest even as you let out a surprised squeak.

“Are you going to kiss me or not, Roronoa?”

Zoro chuckles, “Depends on what your answer is.”

You flush, crinkling your nose as you glare up at him, “Sakura-mochi, the kind you like. There, happy?”

“Sure. So long as no one else gets to have any.”

Your eyes go wide, and you open your mouth to retaliate but Zoro presses in, crushing your lips to his in a searing kiss. The only noise you make is a tiny, desperate sigh as he sates himself on the taste of you, the sharp thundering in his chest quelled by the way you clutch at him, your fingers digging sharp pinpricks into his chest as you scrabble to pull him closer.

He is breathless when you break apart, and he’s light-headed with the sight of you and your kiss-bruised lips, stained dark by the pressure of his teeth. It sets something savage on edge inside him and it takes everything in him not to drag you somewhere and let the burning hunger swallow you whole.

“Like I said,” he says, his voice ragged, “I’ve never been good at sharing.”

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the next chapter (the epilogue) will be smut! pls comment below if you'd like to be tagged!!!

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ddejavvu · 1 year ago

Text

Love to Lie - Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader (Part 1) / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 (Final Part)

Summary: Your worst fear is recognized when Bradley’s jet goes down with him in it. You’re not sure why you’re still his emergency contact, you’d broken up two weeks ago, but when you rush into the hospital room, you discover that you have a chance to fix the mistake you’d been cursing yourself for. The only problem is, you have to lie to Bradley, and you discover that you love doing it if it means you get to be with him again.

Contents/Warnings: fem!reader, Mitchell!reader, angst, angst with a fluffy/happy ending, amnesia trope, hospitals and their subsequent medical details, memory loss, goose and carole are still alive because i say so

WC: 11.3K / navigation / inbox

A/N: thank you to everyone who has encouraged me in my development of this series! it's three parts long, and each part will be posted one week after the one before it. that means you get chapter 2 next week, and chapter 3 two weeks from now. and after chapter 3 is released, i will post the full fic in one single post, so that it's easier to read. this series means a lot to me, it's the longest fic I've ever finished for this account, and I would really love to hear what you think of it. Thank you to the love of my life miss jade (@luveline), for being the first person to read this (!!), and for all of your wonderful feedback that cheered me on as I crossed the finish line for this series. I don't think I would have finished it if it wouldn't have been for your support, so thank you sweetpea <3

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

It’s 11:14 AM when you get the call. Your phone buzzes ballistically beneath your pillow, where you’d stuffed it haphazardly last night somewhere close to 4 AM. For the record, you’d only slept because your eyes hurt from being open for so long. You’re certain that, after what you’d done, you deserved to ache for eternity, but you’d succumbed to sleep when it pulled hard enough at you.

Raising the phone to your ear is a chore, especially because the number on the screen is unrecognizable, but you stretch your tired, bed-ridden limbs and hold the cool glass screen to your face. It’s jarring, and you long for the stuffy warmth of the pillow again.

“Hello?”

“Miss Y/N Mitchell?” It’s a man’s voice, deep and strong through the receiver. It’s no-nonsense, and you almost worry that you’ve misfiled your taxes, that someone from the IRS is tracking you down.

“That’s me,” You rub sleep out of your left eye, harder than necessary so that your vision is blurry when you open your eye again. You’re not very gentle with yourself these days.

“You’re listed as an emergency contact for Mr. Bradley Bradshaw. He’s currently a patient at the Naval Medical Center in San Diego. He was brought in at 9:37 AM this morning when his jet malfunctioned mid-exercise, and he crashed into a canyon below.”

Your heart stops.

Your cheeks get hot, your hands start to tingle, and your stomach feels like it’s going to start turning cartwheels, sloshing your insides around until you vomit what little you’ve eaten.

Bradley’s dead, you think, Bradley’s dead, Bradley’s dead, Bradley’s dead.

“We were able to airlift him out, and he’s stabilized now-” Bradley’s not dead, “-but he’s still unconscious. His parents are here, as well as your father, if you’d like to join them.”

It takes a long time for you to speak. It’s almost a full minute, and the man on the other end has to call your name to get you to respond.

“Miss Mitchell?”

“I’ll be there,” You blurt, heaving a shaky breath as you seal a hand over your mouth. You part your fingers only to make sure he hears you clearly as you confirm, “He’s alive?”

“Yes, he’s alive and stable.” The man informs you, “He’ll recover, Miss Mitchell.”

Bradley’s not dead. Bradley’s not dead. Bradley’s not dead.

“I’ll be there,” You repeat, and for the first time in almost 36 hours, you kick the crappy motel blankets off of your legs and stand, “Thank you, sir.”

Wearing a bra again after two weeks of lazing around in bed is awful. But you’ll do it for Bradley, if only to make up for the last thing you’d said to him.

“I can’t love you anymore!” Rings in your ears, and a vision of Bradley’s hands reaching desperately for you flashes through your mind, covering up the green light ahead of you.

Someone honks behind you, a BMW. You jolt to attention, stepping on the gas and jerking into the intersection.

Easy, you chide yourself, You’re going to the hospital to visit a patient, not to be one.

You’re able to pull into the hospital’s parking lot without nearly causing any more car crashes, and you briefly wonder if you should take the coward’s way out again as you trek over the asphalt towards the hospital. You’d run two weeks ago, why not now? Why not now, when what you’d been worried about that night has actually happened?

Urged by the regret flooding your veins since fleeing, you walk on, stepping through the automatic doors of the hospital and sidling up to the reception desk.

“I’m here to see Bradley Bradshaw,” You inform the nurse there, “Uh- Lieutenant. If that… helps.”

She sends you a kind smile, filled with sympathy that you’re thankful for as you stammer and stumble your way through speaking. You’re sure you’re not the most distraught person here, and you’re guiltily thankful for that.

“Room 624,” The nurse tells you, and oh, what a sick coincidence, “Down the hall and to the left, take the elevator up and follow the arrows on the floor.”

6/24 is not only Bradley’s birthday, but your anniversary; the day you’d kissed him on the swings in his backyard with hot fudge sticking to your lips. He’d been glum about his dad missing his birthday on deployment, and, of course, your dad couldn’t be there either. Carole had done her best to brighten up her boy, but some things couldn’t be mended with gift wrap, and you all knew that.

You’d snuck out to join him that night with a sundae, offering him the serving spoon thickly coated in the chocolate. He’d accepted it with a huffy eye roll, upset that you’d managed to cheer him up even a little bit with just one spoon of ice cream.

“It sucks,” Bradley mutters around the chocolate in his mouth, the syrup sticking his words together, “I know he can’t do anything about it. But I still want him here.”

“I know,” You hum, taking a bite of ice cream for yourself, “I’m sorry, Brad. If it makes you feel any better, he’ll probably get you something, like, really good when he gets back. He’ll feel all guilty, that’s what my dad did and I got a puppy out of it.”

“We’ve already got a puppy,” Bradley gestures to the Bradshaw’s family dog, well on in years by the gray around his muzzle and his tendency to nap instead of move.

“Maybe you’ll get one that you can actually play with,” You offer Bradley another bite of the ice cream, and you only feel a little bad for making fun of Lewis. But the dog doesn’t understand your teasing, softly snoring on the porch.

“Maybe he’ll get me a car,” Bradley gushes, “A bitchin’ one, like a Bronco or something. Then we can put our surfboards in the back and go to the beach.”

“You don’t even have a license!” You elbow Bradley, laughing at his lofty dreams, “But a Bronco would be cool. You should send your dad a magazine clipping of one with your next letter and talk about how cool it is.”

“You’re smarter than you look,” Bradley muses, a smear of chocolate over his lower lip that he doesn’t lick away.

You scoff, stomping on his foot where it’s planted in the grass beside your own. He jolts away with a yelp, and in doing so, jerks the swing he’s sitting on, He catches his balance and you notice the syrup on his lip, reaching out to clean it with your thumb.

“You’ve got hot fudge on your face, doofus,” You sneer, happy to return his teasing, “You eat like a toddler.”

“I’m not the one who put three cups of it on the sundae!” Bradley insists, and his lower lip catches your thumb as he speaks. Teenagers in love, you’re hyperaware of touches like that, and your breath hitches in your throat at the contact. He notices it too, staring down wide-eyed at where your thumb hovers over his lips.

“Sorry,” He blurts, and in doing so, his warm breath fans over your hand. You jerk it away, eyes on the ground as you mumble away his concerns.

“It’s fine,” You mutter in a terrible attempt to remain nonchalant, “We’re not four, it’s not like I think you’ve got cooties or something.’

Bradley takes to the teasing, glad it’s not tense anymore, “That’s not what you say when I leave my underwear on the floor.”

“‘Cause that’s gross!” You launch into a rant, “That’s, like, personal! And they’re used too,” You shudder, handing him the sundae intent on scrubbing a hand over your face, “Nasty, bro.”

Despite your casual nickname for the boy beside you, you feel like anything but bros when his hand brushes yours. He takes the ice cream from you, and his hand half-closes around your own, sending a spark shooting up your spine.

Your breath catches in your throat again and this time Bradley hears it, looking at you through his lashes with those wide brown eyes.

Neither of you move away this time, frozen just like the treat in your joint grip.

You feel extra affection for the boy next to you today, the shared grief of losing your fathers every few months bringing you closer together. It’s what compels you to lean in, tilting your swing sideways to brush your lips over his own in a painfully awkward teenage-style kiss. Before you have the time to panic about whether you did the right thing, Bradley reciprocates, pursing his lips slightly to fit them around your top one. You follow his lead and it goes much better, a chaste kiss that’s sweeter than the chocolate staining your lips.

You’re glad you’d kissed him that day, you’re glad you had the balls to take the leap that resulted in a nearly twenty year long relationship. It would have been twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-five, fifty if you hadn’t chickened out two weeks ago, but you try not to think about that in the elevator lest you make yourself sick.

You find room 624 easily, the painted arrows on the floor leading you down the hallway that the room stands in. You wonder if you should knock first, you’re not too knowledgeable on hospital etiquette, but you decide that manners can be damned, your boyfriend- ex-boyfriend is in there.

You turn the handle and step inside, and Carole looks up from Bradley’s bedside immediately. You think she’s expecting a doctor, and her desperation for finding one breaks your heart. Her teary face splits into a sad smile, and she rushes to your side to envelop you in a hug. You let her have it because she’s grieving over her son, but you’re surprised she’s not immediately angry with you for breaking up with Bradley.

“Honey,” She gushes into your shoulder, “Oh, honey, I’m so glad you’re here! Brad’s gonna be okay, they said he’s just gonna need some help breathing until he gets stable. Then they can get him healthy and ready to go again!”

“That’s great,” You hold her close, relishing the last Bradshaw hug you’ll probably ever get, “Where’s Nick and dad?”

“Oh, they went to get food,” Carole releases you, swatting her hand in the air in an affectionately teasing manner, “You know those boys, always hungry for something.”

You laugh awkwardly, watching as she settles down by Bradley’s bedside again. She looks back up at you where you’re swaying on your feet, gesturing to the chair beside her, “Well come on, girl! Get in here!” She seems much more lively now that she has company, and you hate to think of her grieving her injured son alone.

“Oh- I, uh,” You stammer, darting for the seat beside her, “I wasn’t sure if-”

“Don’t worry,” She seems to misplace your concern, “He’s okay, sweetie-pie, you won’t hurt him just by breathin’ on him.”

“Right,” You smile, though its disingenuous with tension, “Um, so it was a mid-exercise crash?”

“Mhm,” Her face dims slightly, “Apparently there was some freak accident with one of the engines, 'set off the whole thing. And that’s two crashes in one week! First it was that Javy boy, I tell you, I think they should vet those engineers better. I mean, aren’t they supposed to catch that stuff beforehand?”

“Yeah,” You feel partially numb, but you’re not sure whether it’s emotional or physical. You’ve been trying to avoid looking at Bradley so far, using his bubbly, bouncing mom as a distraction, but now that the blonde has settled beside you your eyes drift.

He could be perceived as sleeping, if the color wasn’t drained from his face. His skin is still tan but it’s duller now, golden brown fading to a sickly, colder shade of it, like there’s no life beneath it. His eyes are shut and there’s a breathing tube up his nose; you wonder how pissed he’ll be when he wakes up to find out they’ve had to trim his mustache around the thing.

“Must be a Bradshaw family tradition,” Carole breaks your concentration, laughing weakly, her voice lined with a hint of tears, “Crashing, scarin’ their girls half to death.”

You remember the day of Goose’s crash like it was yesterday. You’d only been three at the time, freshly so. But grief like that, the panic you’d observed, doesn’t go away. It can’t be forgotten, it can’t drift out of your brain like so many memories do with age. You and Bradley had sat together in the hospital with Carole and your dad, and Nick still had the crummy plane drawings you’d done for him while waiting for him to wake up.

Carole’s usage of the phrase ‘their girls’ unnerves you. She’s been exceptionally nice to you so far, especially considering that she’s fiercely protective of Bradley, and should have kicked you halfway to Mars for ditching him like you’d done. But she’s leaning towards you in her chair, and you come to the dreadful realization that she doesn’t know you’ve broken up with Bradley.

“Now, I know you wanted to keep things hush-hush,” She gushes, happy to look at your animated face instead of Bradley’s still one for a moment. She reaches over to brace her hands on your knees, leaning eagerly into your space, “But I have to know, babycakes, how did it go?”

“Hm?” You look dazedly at her, still partially staring at Bradley.

“The proposal!” She squeezes your hands, sniffling weakly with the remnants of tears past, “I know that boy was finally manning up enough to ask you, 'should'a put a ring on you years ago."

Any other time, you'd groan at Carole's opinion on your relationship. She's been urging the two of you to tie the knot for decades, but you'd felt no burning desire to go to the courthouse. You were comfortable in your life, why spend an obscene amount of money to get a piece of paper that tells you you're in love? You knew that for free, in the way that Bradley looked at you, in the way that he memorized all of your fast food orders, in the way that his hand so often found yours beneath the sheets in his sleep. Now her teasing is a sore spot, one that gapes the wound already bleeding in your chest.

"-But when I asked him how it went he said he’d ‘share the details later’. I’m sure you wanted to make some big announcement or something, but I need this right now, honey, tell me what happened.”

She’s staring at you like she always has, like you’re the sweet little girl she helped raise when your mama had chickened out. Cowardice must run in the family.

There’s such pretty hope shining in her eyes that you can’t bear to crush it, ready to spew lies about how glorious Bradley’s proposal had gone, how you’d fallen to your knees to kiss him, how you’d shouted ‘yes!’ from the rooftops. Fortunately, you don’t have to lie to her, because the door opens and your dad and Nick step through.

“Hey,” Your dad cheers, tossing you a plastic-wrapped sandwich, “There you are, honey. I was worried you weren’t gonna show up, ‘thought you’d be mad at him or something.”

“You know she was mad at me when we went down?” Goose gestures to Carole incredulously, and you can’t see behind his sunglasses but you know he’s addressing you, “I wasn’t even flying the damn thing and I got lectured!”

He lets up, goes easy on Carole, you’re sure because he’d had to comfort her earlier. You see a slightly dark, damp patch on the left side of his Hawaiian shirt as he leans in to hug you, probably her tears.

“Good to see ‘ya, kid,” Nick rubs your back, “You doin’ okay?”

“Yeah,” You nod, voice slightly shaky as you smooth your previously-folded hands down your thighs. The movement catches Carole’s attention, and you look away before you can see her reaction to your bare ring finger.

“He’ll be fine,” Goose leans over to slap Bradley’s calf, and Carole looks like she wants to scold him for it, as if he'll die right then and there, “He’s tough just like’is daddy.”

“His daddy should go get me some tea,” Carole huffs, placing her hand over Bradley’s as if it would make up for Nick’s slap, “And take Maverick with you, I don’t want you getting lost.”

“Oh, again-?” Goose grumbles, setting his lunch on one of the plastic chairs around Bradley’s bed, “You could’a told me that before we left, honey.”

“Didn’t want it until now,” Carole insists, “Now shoo, get some for Y/N, too.”

The second the door shuts behind the two men, a stiff silence falls over the room.

Carole’s sweet voice breaks it, but it’s the last thing you want to hear, “Where’s the ring?”

You stare at the sandwich in your lap, like it’ll open face and read like a book, giving you instructions on how to lie your way through this.

“I know he asked you,” She presses on, voice pitched up with tension, “I- I gave him the ring Nick used to propose to me. That was almost a month ago. We swapped it out for a wedding band, and- and I thought Bradley could use the engagement ring for you, too. I know he asked you.”

“Carole,” You can’t bear to look her in the eyes, not the woman who’d fed you macaroni and cheese when your dad was halfway around the world in a fighter jet and tucked you in extra tight during a rainstorm so that the lightning couldn't sneak through the gaps in the blankets to get you.

“No, tell me, where is the ring?” She raises her voice, the way she used to when Bradley would leave his scooter out in the rain to rust, “Just tell me-” Her voice peters out into a weak whimper, “-tell me you didn’t say no.”

“I’m a coward,” You finally mutter as her answer, hateful and wicked, “I got scared. I wish I’d said yes, really, I- I wish I could take it back, but-”

“What did you do?” Her face crumples at your admission and she nearly shrieks, squeezing her hand tighter over Bradley’s, “Y/N, what did you do?”

“I said no!” You sob, chest heaving as you wipe away a tear from your eye heavy-handed, “I was scared, Carole. After Coyote went down,” You blearily recall the last plane crash you’d heard about, a member of Bradley’s own squadron caught in a bird strike. He’d been fine, but waiting for the news took you right back to your youth, and you’d been hit with the striking realization that it could happen to Bradley, too. It could be you in that chair, it could be your love on the line. You’d been so sick with dread that you’d backed away altogether, running away to preserve your emotions.

“I just- I didn’t want it to happen to Bradley,” You confess, “I didn’t want it to happen to me. So when he asked, I was-” You sniffle, hard, “I was so scared. I didn’t want to marry him and then lose him. For some reason this-” You suppress a sob, throat aching and chest heaving, “-dating a pilot is different than marrying one. Dating is- it’s temporary, even if you plan on it lasting forever. It’s less serious, it’s not set in stone. But marriage-” You hiccup, “-marriage is the real deal. It's like- It's like I was dating Bradley, y'know, the teenage boy who took me to homecoming because I was sad no one asked me. But- but then all of a sudden I was marrying an aviator. And that’s- that was scary! That was real. I- we’d been together for twenty years!” You gush, wiping your nose with the back of your hand, “I should have known marriage wouldn’t be any different. It’s not like we ever thought we’d break up,” You sniffle weakly, “Marriage was always sort of silly to me, 'cause we just thought we'd be together forever regardless. But I never realized how real it would feel. So I- I freaked out. When he asked me, I made up some stupid excuse, and I chickened out! But-” Your chest heaves with a sob as you finally lift your eyes to Bradley, “He crashed anyway. He went down even though I said no, and it still hurts.” You cry, face scrunched in despair, “It hurts so bad, Carole, I didn’t think it would still hurt.”

“You fool,” She huffs exasperatedly, but she reaches out to clutch your hand like a lifeline. She’s holding Bradley’s with her other, and you wish for a moment that you could cut out the middleman and hold his hand on your own. You don't feel worthy to touch him anymore. “You don’t stop loving someone by leaving them, you stop loving them by moving on. Of course it still hurts, you didn't move on; you still love him. And- and leaving him didn’t stop him from getting hurt, it just meant he probably went down wishing he got to tell you he loved you this morning, so you'd know.”

The thought breaks you, Bradley ejecting with you on his mind. Evidently he hadn’t fully accepted your breakup, not if he hadn’t even told his mom about it. You wonder if he was planning on trying to get you back, if after work today he would have come over with flowers and a thousand pleas on his lips that you didn’t deserve.

“He loves you,” She continues, tears wetting her own cheeks, “And even if you did say somethin’ stupid, I don’t think there’s anything you could tell that boy that’d make him stop loving you. Apologize when he wakes up, baby, he’ll understand. He'll be hurt, no doubt. But he’s been scared before, too, believe me.”

“I will,” You gush, nodding as she squeezes your hand and Bradley’s in sync, “I will, I promise! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“Just make it right,” She pleads, “Can’t have you two splittin’ up now, not after all this time.”

“I wish I hadn’t done it,” You weep, holding your hands to your eyes as if you can plug up the tears, “I- I just panicked! And I’ve been a wreck ever since, I- I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, I can’t-”

“Tea’s here!” The door opens, and Nick is suddenly a lot quieter as he sees you bent in half and crying, “Oh, honey.”

“C’mere,” Your dad edges around Goose, squatting by the side of your chair while Carole rubs your back. He’s always been fantastic at comforting you, which you marvel at because he was so active in his career. He wasn’t always around when you were little, but that didn’t stop him from knowing how you liked your back rubbed, your hair done, and your cookies warmed.

“He’s gonna wake up,” Your dad soothes you, wiping a tear away from your face, with the hand that isn’t rubbing your back, “Don’t worry, sweetheart.”

“It’s okay,” Carole promises, and you know she’s talking about something else entirely, “It’s alright honey, it’ll all work out.”

Nick feels a bit useless now, standing there with two cups of tea in his hands while everyone else comforts you, but he’s quick to notice a frown work its way onto Bradley’s sleeping face.

“Brad- hey! Look,” He gestures with one cup of tea, only spilling a tiny drop, “I think he’s wakin’ up.”

All of a sudden you want to go home. You’re not sure you can do this, you don’t belong here with his grieving family. You belong in your bed, kicking yourself for your cowardice and wishing you’d done better by him.

But there’s no time to flee now, not again. This time you have to brave it, you have to watch as his big brown eyes slowly blink open, a haze of sleep and medication clouding them over.

“Agh,” He groans, hand twitching by his side, “What-?”

“Hey, Bradley.” Nick leans over the bed, tea now set aside on a tiny table, “How y’feelin’ bud? You had quite the plane crash.”

Bradley takes a moment to observe his surroundings, blinking blearily at your dad, then you, then his mom. His eyes drift back over to you and they feel like they’re lasers, boring searing holes through your chest where your heart used to be two weeks ago.

The slow and steady beeping that had been long since tuned out slowly started to increase while Bradley regained consciousness. Your dad looked warily at the machine, watching Bradley’s heart rate rise.

“I’ll get a doctor.” He ducks out, and Carole stands.

“We should go,” She grabs Nick’s hand, looking pointedly at you, “We’ll give you a minute alone with him, honey.”

Nick starts to protest about being led away, something about how ‘-he came outta my balls! I can’t see him when he wakes up in the hospital?’ but Carole’s already corralling him to the nurse’s station in search of your father. If you weren’t so fond of the woman you’d be cursing her for sticking you alone with Bradley, but you know you can’t let yourself succumb to fear again; this time you have to be a big girl.

“Baby,” Bradley rasps, turning your attention back on him. You watch him weakly, eyes apprehensive as he reaches for your hand, “C’mere.”

You hesitate, and he lets out a weak chuckle, “Come on, now. You’re not gonna kill me by holding my hand.”

“Bradley,” You sniffle, reaching out for his limp fingers on the bed, “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright,” He smiles lazily, eyes drooping, “I’m okay. Comes in the job description, I guess.”

“I’m sorry,” You repeat, grief-stricken as you clutch at his hand desperately, “I shouldn’t have left, I- I wish I had stayed.”

“Baby,” His brows furrow and he laughs sympathetically, “They wouldn’t have let you stay, you know that. I work on a naval base, not at a chipotle. You can’t sit with me all day. Plus, there was no way you would’ve known I was gonna go down. I’m glad you weren’t there, sweetheart. I wouldn’t have wanted you to see that.”

All at once, your chest burns hot, blazing with panic. Is he not going to talk to you about it? Is he going to pretend nothing happened? Is he going to refuse to acknowledge what you’d said? You stammer, “What-?”

“Mr. Bradshaw!” The doctor comes in, cheery now that his patient is awake. You turn your head, still dazed and fear-stricken at Bradley’s demeanor. “Let’s see how you’re doing here. Any chest pain?”

“A little,” Bradley shifts in his bed, wincing infinitesimally.

“Probably just some discomfort due to the broken ribs. Headache?”

“Yeah,” Bradley admits with a groan, “That I’ve got.”

The doctor scribbles something down on his chart, “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Bradley strains to think, “I… don’t know. I don’t even-" He grimaces, "I don't even remember the crash, ‘just know it happened ‘cause he told me.”

Bradley raises a shaky finger to point at Nick, who’s happy to see his son gain some mobility back, even if he is worried for the boy. The three adults had filed back into the room after the doctor, and you pointedly avoid Carole’s imploring stare.

“Think hard,” The doctor commands, and you squeeze his hand like it’s a play-dough machine, like memories will ooze themselves into his brain in star shapes and heart cut-outs.

“I remember…” Bradley rasps, turning his hand beneath yours to grasp it, “Jake’s birthday party. That was-” He glances over at you, “-last night?”

“That was three weeks ago,” This time your heart rate is the one to rise, echoing dully in your ears like the soundtrack of a horror film, “Is that-” You sniffle, “Is that the last thing you can remember, B?”

His eyebrows raise and he tries taking in the information, “Yeah- uh, shit. Three weeks ago. What does that mean, doctor?”

“It sounds like you’ve developed post-traumatic amnesia.” The doctor scribbles once more on his paperwork, “The good news is, we think you have only a mild concussion. And amnesia induced by mild concussions typically lasts only up to a week or two at most. But there’s a very real chance you could remember everything in just a few minutes.”

Amnesia.

He doesn’t remember.

“What I want you to do now is to rest, and we’ll have a nurse send up something to eat. Please,” The doctor eyes Nick knowingly, “Do not feed him the funyuns you’re holding behind your back.”

“Foiled again,” Goose laughs, tossing the packet of chips onto a chair beside his own lunch, “You got it, doc.”

“Alright, glad you’re awake,” The doctor bids you goodbye, “And- a nurse will be in to run a few simple tests later. For now, just sleep and eat.”

“Will do,” Bradley tries tightening his hand around yours but you worm away from him, and it’s heartbreakingly easy to do with his limited mobility. You stand abruptly, legs shaky and heart pounding in your chest as you stumble away from his bed.

Amnesia. Amnesia. Amnesia.

He doesn't remember.

“Honey?” Bradley calls warily, face scrunching into a tired frown.

His eyes follow you as you back right into your chair, the plastic scraping against the floor with an ungodly screech. Now the attention is all on you, and you give into that dreaded fight or flight response you seem to always fall victim to.

“I need to use the bathroom,” You ramble, rushing for the door, “I’ll be back!”

“Y/N-” Bradley tries calling, but his voice is weak enough where you can pretend you haven’t heard it as you try to refrain from running down the hall. You don’t make it ten steps before Bradley’s door closes with a sharp click, and the voice of one Carole Bradshaw cuts through the silence of the hallway.

“Y/N Mitchell!”

She’s using the same tone she used to use when you’d get in trouble for pulling a girl’s hair at school, or throwing mud at a boy who was mean to Bradley. You react just like you had then, spine stiffening and limbs locking.

“Don’t you dare walk away from me,” She warns, stomping towards you in her half-raised heels, “Turn around, young lady.”

You follow her orders even if the nickname is outdated. She’s got her pretty eyes narrowed, and as much as it pains you to be on the receiving end of one of her seldom-used withering stares, it’s better than being in there and watching Bradley’s eyes shift when he suddenly remembers you’d been the biggest douche on planet Earth.

“Did you apologize?” She inquires, and you nod obediently.

“But- but Carole, he doesn’t remember-!”

“He will,” She promises, “And when he does, you’d better apologize again. He needs you right now, y’know? He thinks it’s three weeks ago, before you ran off and left'im. As far as he knows, you’re still his adoring girlfriend who he’s probably yearning to see right about now. So go in there,” She reaches for your hand, “Kiss that boy on the mouth,” She demands, “And stop running away!”

“What? I can’t-” You gush, trying to pull away. But she’s stronger than Bradley is at the moment, and her hand tightens around yours, “I can’t lie to him! Not about this, I- how long am I supposed to pretend?”

“As long as you can,” She insists, already pulling you back towards his room, a woman on a mission, “You march right on in there, and tell him how worried you were, and let his memories come back to him on his own time. He’s traumatized right now, he just doesn’t know it yet, and he needs you there. If you break the news to him now, it’ll only stress him out more. Go play nice, and when he comes around in a few minutes, you can have a real talk.”

“I don’t want to lie to him,” You lament, and she stops pulling you down the hall to narrow her eyes at you.

“Babydoll?” She asks sweetly, and fooled by her kindness, you hum in question, “I don’t give a shit.”

She’s never foul-mouthed, so it catches your attention. She holds your incredulous gaze, “You want him back?”

“Yes.”

“You wish you’d never left?”

“Yes.”

“Well as far as he knows, you haven’t.” She huffs, the fabric of her skirt flowing near her calves, “So get in there and be there for your boyfriend of twenty years, and when he suddenly remembers you aren’t his girlfriend anymore, Grovel. Sound like a plan?” She raises an eyebrow, and you tamp down the nerves rising in your chest. You nod cautiously, resolutely, and she loosens her grip on your hand. She still holds it to lead you back to the room, but she stops outside the door to speak one last time.

“I know you love him,” Her voice is softer now, genuinely sweet and caring, “And I also know you like to run when things get scary. And that’s understandable, but it’s not okay, not right now. You can’t stop loving someone just ‘cause you don’t wanna lose ‘em. It’ll hurt worse if you walk away.”

“I know,” You breathe shakily, squeezing her hand, “Thanks, Carole.”

“Anytime, sweetpea,” She smiles, tears still gathered in her eyes, “Now get in there and kiss my son.”

“There they are,” Your dad stands as you reenter the room, “You ladies have a nice bathroom break?”

“‘Had the time of our lives,” Carole nods, letting you take the seat closest to Bradley’s head. Your feet feel burdened with lead weights as you step towards his bedside, and he watches you with worried eyes. You’re sure he knows you weren’t really going to the bathroom, not with the way you’d fled, but you’re glad he’s choosing to pretend for your sake. He seems worried, though, and you curse yourself for making this about you.

“Y/N,” He reaches out for you as soon as you’re in reach, his voice still hoarse. His hand squeezes yours instantly, and you feel for the panic he's probably experiencing. He deserves a shoulder to lean on, a hand to hold, and it should be someone better than you.

“Bradley,” You murmur back, trying to stop your lips from trembling, “I- can I kiss you?”

Carole’s voice rings in your ears, and you don’t have to turn around to know she’s smiling at the two of you. Bradley pauses, then his worried eyes soften and he nods weakly against the pillow.

“Oh,” Nick teases as you brace your hand on Bradley’s bed, leaning down to press a feather-light kiss to his lips, “Lovebirds!”

The kiss is nothing but awkward. It’s hesitant on your end, because you can’t believe you get to do it again. You’d really believed the goodbye kiss you’d shared with Bradley before he picked up dinner for the two of you would be your last one, so fitting your lips over his in the hospital seems like something otherworldly. You’re careful, too, because you don’t want to hurt him, not that you think you could ever smooch him to death. He doesn’t reciprocate much, he can’t, but the familiar prickle of his mustache against your lip is a welcome feeling that makes your heart feel light again, if only for a few seconds.

When you pull away, it’s gone. Because you have to look him in the eyes, the same ones you’d forced tears out of two weeks ago, and pretend like none of it happened at all.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” You gush, voice cracking, and it feels right starting off with the truth. You can get to the lies later, the ugly little abominations you’re cooking up so that he preserves as much mental energy as possible while on bedrest. You know Carole’s right, you know he needs to heal as much as he can before you make it worse with the news, but lying feels so wrong. He’ll find out sooner or later, and what if he really was done with you? What if he hadn’t told his mom so that no family drama erupted, what if it wasn’t because he was going to try to get you back? What if he hated you, and what if he hates you even more when he knows you’re lying through your teeth to him?

“Yeah, I’m okay.” He promises, his fingers curling slowly and carefully around your own, "Are you? You ran off, I was worried."

"I'm fine," You insist, waving away his concern with a shake of your head.

He doesn't seem satisfied with your answer; he can read you like a book. But he accepts your answer, and you admire him for not wanting to pry in front of everyone. He changes the subject, glancing briefly around the hospital room, “Baby my- my phone, can I have my phone?”

“It’s here,” Your dad hands it to him, and Carole watches your eyes widen infinitesimally. What if Bradley sees his text conversations? What if he sees that you haven’t talked in half a month? What if he finds messages from someone on a dating app he’d used, a rebound-in-the-making?

What if he’s changed his background? What if he wants an answer as to why it’s probably some picturesque sunset, a jet plane cutting through the clouds above. Or maybe it’s of Lewis, he’d recently had photos restored of the dog.

What if he notices your contact name is changed to something like ‘Do not answer’? What if he realizes he’s blocked you? What if all of your pictures together are deleted off of his phone, and he wonders why?

There’s a thousand things that could go wrong.

“Coyote called,” Bradley rasps, upon first sight of his screen. Then, “Hangman. Twice. Phoenix, Bob, Fanboy, Payback, I- I should send out a message.”

“I will!” You lunge for your own phone, digging in your back pocket with suspicious urgency, “Uh, I’ll let everyone know, you just- just rest.”

“Okay,” Bradley hesitates for only a second, letting his grip go loose around his phone so that it falls back to the bed.

He seems content to let you do it, if only a little deterred by your insistence. But you’ll play the part of the fussy girlfriend, not wanting her injured love to work harder than he has to.

Nick and Pete take the time that you’re creating a group thread to question Bradley more on his memories, and every answer he gives sets your heart on edge. Your fingers feel numb as you type out ‘Rooster’s stable now, he has a mild concussion and a few broken ribs, but the doctors say he’ll recover fully. His memories are a little hazy from the past few weeks but apparently those will be back soon. I’ll send you any updates we get.’

Before anyone even has a chance to reply, you set the thread on silent. You can’t bear even getting a notification that the message can’t be sent, because you’re sure Bradley’s team aren’t too fond of you right now, and you wouldn’t be surprised if they’d blocked you in solidarity for their friend. But Bradley hadn’t even told his mom, would he have told his team? Would he even need to? Or would they notice the circles beneath his eyes worsening, the stubble adorning his cheeks from a lack of motivation to do anything productive? Or, maybe even worse, would they have seen him with another girl hanging off of his arm at a bar? Would they have caught him out to lunch with a woman and figured it out themselves?

“Hey,” Bradley rasps, effectively breaking your zoned-out worry spiral. Your eyes don’t lose their intensity but they focus on his pale face, and he offers you a weak smile, “Anyone respond?”

“Always the attention seeker,” Nick laughs, creating a distraction so perfect that you don’t bother checking the text to answer Bradley. “Should we tell ‘em to bring flowers too, Brad?”

“Shut up,” Bradley’s voice is far too quiet to be menacing, but it’s the type of teasing he always engages in with his old man, “When you were in the hospital you said I had to draw you one picture a day or you’d think I didn’t love you.”

“And I only got fifteen out of eighteen,” If Goose is capable of a withering stare, it’s what’s directed at Bradley now, “I can’t believe I bought a Bronco for a kid who doesn’t love me.”

“Alright, you two,” Carole swats at her husband’s arm, “Cut it out, don’t overwhelm him.”

“His heart’s beatin’ real fast,” Nick snickers, “But that’s probably ‘cause Miss Mitchell is doting all over him.”

The attention’s back on you, and it means Bradley’s waiting to hear your response. You dry swallow after sending Nick a good-natured eye-roll, trying to act like your heart isn’t beating ten times faster than Bradley’s.

Miraculously, nothing awful awaits you in the group chat. There’s no error messages, no scolding, no pledges of hatred for you, and it makes you think that you really might be able to get away with this for a while. Carole won’t tell, and that doctor said Bradley might not retain his memories for weeks. It’s like everyone has hit undo on what might be your biggest mistake in life, and you don’t know how to take the opportunity.

“Bob says he hopes you recover soon,” You push the panicked fog out of your head, reading in a low voice, “Hangman says he’s gonna give you flying lessons when you get back so that you,” You snort softly, “Get the hang of it, and to that, he is receiving a barrage of middle finger emojis.”

Rooster lets out a laugh, one that’s genuine and thick from his chest. It’s unlike his voice has been so far, it’s not fractured or achy, and the sound warms your heart. Some of the sickly despair that’s been coating your heart like globs of poison dries up, and you almost feel normal again when you slide your hand into his. He holds your back, and it’s like nothing’s ever happened.

You have your Bradley back; the only question is for how long.

Lunch is a sorry state of affairs for Bradley. His tray consists of chicken and gravy that runs into his mashed potatoes, and the jello they give him has a layer of cherry red liquid pooling overtop. You and Carole take turns spoon-feeding the man, giving each other a chance to mow through your sandwiches between bites.

Your dad watches out for the doctors while you sneak Bradley some of your sandwich. It’s cafeteria turkey, and honestly you’d rather go for the chicken on his plate, but he hums gratefully at the spread of mayonnaise and mustard on the bread.

“Thanks, babydoll.” He croons, a smear of mashed potatoes in his mustache that you wipe away with watery eyes at the nickname. He puckers his lips to kiss at your thumb and it’s like you’re at home on his birthday, feeding him in bed and stealing kisses between bites.

Bradley’s eyes start to droop halfway through his watery jello, and your dad stands, brushing sandwich crumbs off of his jeans.

“Alright, buddy,” He squeezes Bradley’s foot reassuringly, “I’ll head out. Probably best to let you sleep. Get some rest, and make her give us updates,” He narrows his eyes at you, accusatory, “I know you’ll be too wrapped up in him to remember we exist, but take some time away from his lips to tell me if he’s still breathing out of ‘em, m’kay?”

“Don’t be makin’ out too much, “Nick goads, standing when Carole grabs his hand and does herself, “His heart rate’ll skyrocket and the nurse is gonna think he’s havin’ a heart attack!”

‘Yes, yes, they love each other very much,” Carole hums, leaning down to kiss Bradley’s forehead. He leans into it but his hand stays in yours, and you gladly accept the same gesture from the woman on your cheek, “Let’s leave him be, okay? Brad, I’m coming back tomorrow morning,” She promises, “Your dad and Pete have some work to do in the backyard, but they’ll join us after lunch.”

The men don’t seem to have known about this yard work until now, and they share equally exasperated groans.

“And I’ll be here,” You throw in, meeting Carole’s appreciative gaze, “I’ll stay until they throw me out.”

“You could always handcuff yourself to the bed,” Your dad hums, and you pointedly ignore Goose’s comment about the pair of handcuffs you ‘probably keep in your nightstand.’ It gets him a sharp smack upside the head from your dad, and you’re sure Nick will choose a better audience next time.

“We love you,” Carole promises, squeezing Bradley’s arm as he bids her goodbye, “We’ll see you tomorrow, baby!”

“Love you,” Bradley hums, voice less gruff than before now that he’s used it again, “See you tomorrow.”

The entire time he’s been awake, he hasn’t let go of your hand. He turns to you with those sleepy eyes of his, big and brown and begging for a kiss. You lean in before you can stop yourself, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.

His heart rate picks up.

You laugh against his mouth at the increased beeping, and he’s barely sheepish as he nudges his nose against your own. You feel like you’re loving on borrowed time, like any second now he’ll be slammed with the memory of you breaking his heart, stomping all over it like it hadn’t been yours for the past 20 years - maybe all of your life.

“I love you,” He murmurs, squeezing your hand, “Y/N, I- I love you so much. I don’t remember anything,” He’s slurring his words slightly with fatigue, and you kiss the corner of his mouth as he speaks, “But I know you could have lost me forever, and I’m sure it wasn’t easy to handle.”

He has no idea how true his words are. Of course, you’d nearly lost his life to the crash. But two weeks earlier, you’d lost his touch, his voice, his gaze, his love, and you’re grateful the tears that line your eyes look natural.

“Mhm,” You nod, sniffling, “It was- it was hard, Brad.” You admit, thinking back to the night you’d left. You’d checked into a shitty motel for the night, and you’d cried yourself sick in the shower. Even after your stomach was emptied you couldn’t bring yourself to eat for two days afterwards, and you’d only given into the mini fridge after nearly passing out. Your days were long and spent regretting your decision, wondering if you’d ever be happy without him by your side, and worrying that he might be able to.

“I just keep wanting to do it over,” You gush, feeling his hand tighten around your own as you sob, “I- I wanted to take it back, to-” You swallow a sob, remembering your lines, “-to stop you from going to work. If I’d just made you stay…” Your face crumples with a gush of tears you aren’t able to hold back, and you give up on speaking for now.

“Hey, it’s not your fault,” Bradley hums, kissing the space between your nose and your cheek. It’s all he can reach from the way you’re sobbing into his pillow, and you’re thankful for the comfort you might not be able to get soon.

“You couldn’t have changed anything,” He promises, and you nestle your head into his own to absorb his soothing voice, “My plane was still the one with the defect, baby. I would have gone down tomorrow if not today. ‘S only a matter of time.”

A wave of sickness washes over you at his choice of words, and you nod, trying to regain a grip. You lift yourself up from the pillow, neck aching as you crane it to kiss his chin. He smiles at you, his eyes so genuine and sweet that it makes you want to lose your lunch; it’s an expression you don’t deserve anymore, even if you long for it. It’s only a matter of time before he remembers everything, and you don’t know what you’ll do if he doesn’t want you anymore.

“You’re tired,” You hum, and he nods against the pillow, “Sleep, baby. You need rest.” You sniffle, wiping away a tear from your eye more forcefully than you need to. You try to lean back in your chair but Bradley stiffens, and feel him tighten his grip on your hand.

“Please don’t leave me,” He begs, and more of that nausea comes rolling in. They’re the exact words he’d whimpered just next to your ear two weeks ago, keeping the door closed with one hand while the other wound around your waist. Then, you’d wormed your way out of his grip, ripping the door open despite his efforts to stop you and running off to your car. Now though, you meet his eyes, scared and desperate and lost, and you nod, scooting forwards to lay your head on his chest.

“I’ll stay,” You promise, and he raises a hand to brace it against your cheek. You turn your head to kiss his palm, and he strokes a thumb over your face, “I’ll stay, Bradley, I promise.”

The nap that you take on Bradley’s chest is the best sleep you’ve had since you left. Being in his embrace once more practically erases your undereye circles, and it takes you a few seconds after you wake up to remember that anything is out of the ordinary in the first place. Then it all comes flooding back, and you cycle through each stage of grief respectively while still slumped onto the bed. Then you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder, and you realize that Bradley’s nurse has shaken you awake.

“Hi,” The man smiles down at you, “Sorry to interrupt. I’m sure you didn’t want to wake up.”

“Oh,” You laugh hesitantly, slipping out from beneath Bradley’s hand and wiping away a slight glob of drool that had accumulated around the corner of your mouth, “No, no, it’s okay. What time is it?”

“Dinnertime,” Another nurse chimes from by the door, carrying another tray of meat and potatoes for Bradley, “Around six-thirty, Miss Mitchell.”

“You’re welcome to eat here with him,” The first nurse informs you, “But you’ll have to get something from the cafeteria, or order in. And visiting hours end at eight,” He levels you with a sympathetic smile, “But if you’ve got one bite left I won’t kick you out.”

“Thank you,” You chuckle wearily, your voice barely thickened with tears, “I appreciate that. Bradley,” You hum, squeezing his hand and stroking your free one through his hair, “Wake up, baby. They brought you some dinner.”

He comes to groggy, and you don’t blame him. He blinks a few times, then recognition washes over his face as he remembers why he’s there, and hopefully nothing else.

The nurses get busy with moving his bed, pressing buttons on the little remote strapped to the side until he’s inclined enough to eat his meal. The tray hooks into the sides of the bed so that he doesn’t have to hold anything, but you take his fork for him anyways, leaving his hands completely free.

“Thank you,” You nod gratefully at the nurses when they retreat for the door, a smear of mashed potatoes already gathered on the utensil in your hand. Bradley’s happy to let you feed him, humming at the taste of the beef they’ve given him.

“Better than the chicken,” He hums, his voice gaining back a bit of its grating quality from earlier. He’s usually rough-voiced after a nap, so you don’t worry too much about it. Typically you indulge in his raspy morning voice, but now it seems insensitive.

“Good,” You croon, scooping mashed potatoes and gravy onto a bite of the beef, “And it doesn’t bother your stomach?”

“What’s there to upset it, salt?” He grumbles around a mouthful, “Barely tastes like anything.”

“Sorry, Brad,” You hum, stroking a stray strand of caramel colored hair back into place, “I’m not supposed to feed you anything else, though.”

“I know,” He relents, lips puckering to kiss your wrist instead of wrapping around the spoon in your hand, “Not your fault, baby. But,” He rears back to takes the bite, chewing thoughtfully while you wait for his next sentence, “Can you bring me cookies tomorrow?”

You laugh, trying to keep it quiet in the slowly darkening hospital room. There’s no one around, and the door is closed, but his voice isn’t loud and you don’t want to overpower him.

“I just said I wasn’t allowed to feed you anything else,” You roll your eyes affectionately, a teasing gesture you thought you’d never be able to do with the man anymore, “What makes you think I’d bring you cookies?”

“Um, ‘cause you love me?” Bradley drawls, voice finally rising to a healthy volume. Maybe it’s the food in his stomach, or maybe it’s a switch that was suddenly flipped in his chest, but he sounds like himself again.

His words sober your fantasy intoxication, and you smile sadly at him where he lays in his bed. You set the fork down to lay your hand over his cheek, your palm soaking in the warmth of his skin that’s newly returned.

“I do love you,” You promise, leaning in to kiss him. You have to lean over his plate to do so, and you’ll worry later about any potential gravy stains on your shirt. You go slow and gentle, worried that he’ll push you away for reasons he doesn’t remember yet. But he doesn’t. In fact, when you pull away to give him some air, he catches your wrist in a surprising display of agility for his weakened muscles, and you freeze in place.

“I’m sorry,” He murmurs, mustache shifting slightly with his apology, “I can’t stop thinking about you getting that call. I never-” His voice cracks, “I never wanted you to go through that.”

“Me neither,” You feel tears pricking at your eyes again, the same that are shining in Bradley’s, “But you don’t have to be sorry. None of this was your fault, and what matters is that you’re okay now. I have you back, Bradley, I- I didn’t lose you.”

“You’ll never lose me,” He vows, and your lips sting with the force of your bite to repress a sob.

He lifts his head from his pillow, the first time he’s done it since waking up. He kisses your temple as you try not to cry, lips dotting staccato kisses against your skin as you tremble slightly.

“I promise, baby,” He hums softly into your skin as his hand comes up to hug you, “You won’t lose me.”

“I don’t want to lose you,” You cry, your fist gripping his hospital gown desperately. You want to believe him but it’s not even really Bradley talking, it’s three-weeks-ago Bradley that doesn’t remember you walking out of his life for self-preservation. It’s Bradley that doesn’t know the worst of you yet, but who could remember at any moment and cast you away.

“You won’t, I promise.” He coos, stroking up and down your back. You feel silly, accepting comfort from a hospital patient who went down in a fighter jet less than 24 hours ago, but you feel even sillier that it's the same man you’d torn to shreds days prior. But he’s comforting you, he’s rubbing your back, he’s kissing your face, and he’s promising you that you’ll never lose him, so you let him, because you love hearing him lie, even if he doesn't know he's doing it.

“You promise?” You look up at him with watery eyes that blur out his face, but you see him nod. It’s unfair to ask, not when he doesn’t have the knowledge to truly promise. He cranes his neck forwards to bump noses with you, letting you cry against his skin.

“I do, honey.” He nods, holding you close like you’d never left at all, “I promise.”

Going from crying into each other’s embraces back to eating bland mashed potatoes is hard, but you ease Bradley into it with a bite of granola bar you’d found in your purse. He’s grateful for something with flavor, and you’re glad to finally be rid of the half-eaten snack.

“Oatmeal raisin cookies, please,” Bradley begs as he chews the snack, going as far as to bat his pretty lashes at you, brown eyes shiny with hope.

You scoff, wiping a tear away from your face with a fond, albeit trembling smile, “Okay, Brad. Oatmeal raisin.”

“You’re the best,’ He hums, grinning with a mouthful of oats and chocolate. You check your phone to find that you’ve only got twenty minutes left until visiting hours are over, and your eyes dim as you glance back up at him.

“I have to go soon,” You lament, ��Visiting hours are over in twenty.”

His face fades from its pretty smile, some of the newfound color draining from his skin once more. You’re sure he’ll have a nightmare tonight, something about jet crashes and dying alone, and you hate leaving him here so vulnerable.

“I’m sorry, baby,” You sniffle, squeezing his hand, “They open back up at 8 tomorrow, so as soon as I make those cookies I’ll be back, I promise.”

“I know,” He nods, raising your intertwined hands to kiss at your wrist, “It’s okay. Not your fault.”

“I’d stay overnight if I could.”

“I’d sneak you into my bed,” Bradley grins sadly, “S’alright, baby, just get a good night’s sleep. You deserve it after today.”

“You too,” You squeeze his hand, smiling sweetly at him, “And if you have a nightmare, text me, and I’ll crawl through the window, ‘promise.”

He laughs again, and now that he’s got most of his strength back it’s a normal sound. It’s not weak, it’s not subdued, it’s perfect. It’s Bradley.

“I’d like to see you try,” He teases, and you wipe a smear of chocolate off of his lower lip, remembering the first time you’d ever done that with a fond smile.

“I’m on the sixth floor.” He reminds you, and you shrug, sucking the chocolate off of your finger.

“Meh,” You crumble up the granola bar wrapper in your fist, “I could scale that easy.”

“Oh, really? Yeah, I bet you could,” Bradley chuckles, “You’re Spider-Man, suddenly? Sticking to walls? I must have forgotten your transformation.”

“Yeah, you did,” You grin with a laugh, “Actually, while I rushed over here to see you, a truck full of radioactive spiders crashed, and I got bitten by one. You’ve missed a lot, Brad.”

“Right,” Bradley’s brows raise, eyes alight with amusement, “Those radioactive spider trucks are a real nuisance, I hear.”

Giggling sweetly with him feels normal. The kind of normal you crave, the kind that isn’t settled for, but yearned for. And you’re clinging to it, pushing the truth out of your mind and playing the part perfectly.

A knock on the door interrupts your gigglefest and you turn in time to see the nurse from before entering, a bittersweet smile on his face.

“I’m supposed to kick you out,” He jokes, holding Bradley’s chart, “And you’re free to sleep whenever, Mr. Bradshaw, we don’t need to conduct any more tests tonight. You’re just here to be monitored."

“Alright,” Bradley nods and you stand, still clasping his hand in yours. The doctor busies himself with straightening up the chairs around the bed, and you take the privacy he so kindly grants you.

“Sleep good,” You recite your pre-bedtime deployment sendoff to Bradley, the phrase having gathered dust in the back of your head since his last overseas assignment, “Sweet dreams, and call me when you can.”

“I will,” Bradley leans up to kiss you, going for your lips, then your cheek, then your chin, “You too, baby. Get some rest. I’m okay, I promise.”

“Yeah,” You beam down at him, smoothing his hair away from his forehead, “You’re okay, Brad.”

"See you tomorrow!" He calls as you leave, and you turn to nod.

"See you tomorrow, baby." You promise once more, hand on the door handle, "Goodnight."

“Sleep well, Mr. Bradshaw,” The nurse bids Bradley goodbye with a smile and a nod as you trail out behind him, and at the click of the door behind the two of you, it’s like you’re the recovering amnesia patient. Now that Bradley’s not there anymore, not smiling at you, not telling you he loves you, it’s like you can’t be sure of anything, like you’re still that imposter you’d been when you’d first stepped in. You come to the sickening realization, only after the fact, that you'd loved lying to Bradley, and it makes you feel worse. Your reverie is shattered, and the nurse beside you notices your shaky breathing as you trail down the hallway.

“Miss, are you okay?” His brows furrow in concern, and you nod.

“Yeah, just-” You smooth your hands down your pants, your palms sweaty, “It’s a lot. Being in there, seeing him like- like that. I guess I wasn’t prepared.”

“No one is,” The nurse smiles sympathetically at you, leading you to an elevator, “But he’s right, Miss Mitchell. He’ll be alright. And hopefully, his memories will restore themselves overnight. There’s a good chance he’ll wake up remembering it all.”

You’re sure that was meant to soothe you, but it’s only sent more nausea rolling through your body. You nod, forcing a smile as the doors shut between you, “Thank you, Nurse.”

Once the doors shut, you want to burst into tears. You don’t want the reception desk to see that, though, so you rush through the motions of leaving, practically running to your car. Once you’re safely inside the floodgates open, and you’re surprised you don’t trigger the horn from how hard you’re sobbing against the steering wheel.

You try to channel Bradley’s voice, ‘I promise baby, you won't lose me.’ but it makes things worse, it piles guilt on top of your sickness and makes you want to run away again. Because he’d promised you that he’d never leave you, not that he’d ever let you come back if you’d left him. And that’s what you’re worried about now.

Running away hadn’t stopped anything bad from happening, it just made you feel worse when bad things did happen. Thankful for your second chance, you swear to yourself in the stuffy silence of your car that you’ll do anything to fix this, and that you’re not going to fuck this up again because you’re scared. Love is scary, giving yourself completely to another person is scary, but Bradley’s always been good at soothing your fears, and there’s no one you’d rather give yourself to.

You steel yourself as you prepare to drive back to your motel, but second-guess it when you remember that Bradley has his phone with him. You have each other shared on Find My Friends, and he doesn’t normally check it unless he’s worried about your safety, but you’re paranoid that he’ll find your pin at a crappy motel and know something is wrong. So you punch in Bradley’s address instead, the one you used to share with him, still labeled as ‘home’, and set off.

The drive looks familiar in no time, and it reminds you of how much you’d missed it. The big oak tree on your neighbor’s lawn, the flag perpetually at half-mast because the man across the street fell while adjusting it and never fixed it, the tricycle on the sidewalk beside your front door that the toddler next door always seemed to leave on your walkway. You check the mail and feel something stabbing at your chest when your name is on one of the letters, and your house key is cold with disuse as you slide it into the slot.

You hesitate when the doorknob turns beneath your fingers. Walking into Bradley’s space will tell you exactly how he feels about what happened between you. There’s either going to be empty bottles strewn everywhere with pictures laying around covered in tear stains, or there’s going to be a hot pink bra in his bed, and a new woman’s makeup kit in his bathroom. Hell, maybe she’ll even still be there, maybe you’re about to walk in on your replacement.

But the promise you’d made to yourself in the car wasn’t for show, and you turn the knob after taking a deep breath, stepping into the darkened home.

You call out an uncertain ‘hello?’ into the place, waiting with bated breath for a woman’s voice to respond. But it never does, and you flick the light on beside the door.

You’d been right with one of your guesses.

It’s messy. Not exactly the outwardly disastrous type of messy you’d imagined earlier, but knowing all of the little things about Bradley means that you know he’s let himself go over the past two weeks. His running shoes are gathering dust by the door, which seems to suggest that he’s been lazing in bed just like you have. The living room is pristine, the pillows all arranged the way you set it up that Bradley doesn’t care to replicate, and you wonder if he’s sat on the couch at all the entire time since you’ve been gone. There’s no grocery list on the fridge and upon further inspection, the appliance is close to empty, one lonely beer left alongside ketchup, mustard, and a rotting head of lettuce. Unless he was eating the worst burgers known to man, you don’t think he’s been eating anything from the kitchen. Your heart aches for Bradley; you hope he’s been ordering food in.

Walking through the space is like revisiting a crime scene as the killer. Everything here is because of you, the pictures stripped from the walls are gone because of you, the lonely toothbrush in the dual holder is because of you, the neatly made side of the bed with its messy counterpart is because of you.

You realize that it’s your side that’s slept on, Bradley’s still tucked neatly in place, unused. You spot a red covering over your pillow, reaching for it and finding it to be an old t-shirt of yours that Bradley had raided your dresser drawers for. It’s one he’d bought you at a tourist trap on your vacation a few years ago, and it was your favorite to lounge in. You notice a dark spot on the fabric and only then realize that you’re crying, that it’s a tear that had fallen from your eye. Then it’s like everything hits you all at once, and you sink onto the mattress clutching the pillow. It smells like Bradley, and you know he’s been clinging to it every night, a thought that solidifies your sneaking suspicion that you might be the worst person on the planet.

You curl up and cry there, you don’t know for how long. All you can do is sob, soak your pillow with tears that you thought you were out of, clutch the bedsheets like they’ll reveal Bradley, hidden underneath and eager for a cuddle. This bed feels as empty as the motel’s had, maybe even emptier, because you’ve never slept in it away from Bradley. When he’s on deployment you always have a sweatshirt of his and a picture of him tucked under the pillow, but you know it won’t be there now. Now you’re alone, really alone.

Your eyes droop and you know you need sleep, especially if you’re going to wake up early to make Bradley cookies in time for visiting hours to start. But you can’t bring yourself to sleep without the picture of him under his pillow, so you stumble out of bed to fetch it from your box of memories.

Your fingers close around the slightly wrinkled photo, a shot of you in a gown and Bradley in a suit. It’s one you’d taken yourself at your graduation, high school turned college sweethearts. He had wanted admission into the Naval Academy, but in order to spend more time with you, you’d enrolled together at a university. It’s your favorite photo to have with you, and you reach out to Bradley’s pillow to slide it underneath. Upon lifting the pillow, you find a stack of pictures already there. Each one of you, most with Bradley pictured in them too. They only make you cry harder, and you recognize some as the inserts of the picture frames that had been taken down from the hallway.

It looks like Bradley hoarded photos of you, and some are stiff and stained with tears. The sight is something out of a movie, a dramatic indication of the inner turmoil of its main character. You see a shot of your silhouettes together, faces darkened by the sun streaming in behind you. You’re kissing on the beach, and without paying much mind to the structural integrity of the photo, you clutch it to your chest.

You’re a wreck. You just want your Bradley back, but your Bradley isn’t yours anymore. You want three-weeks-ago Bradley back, the one who you didn’t run away from. But he’ll probably have his memories back by tomorrow, and there’s no telling if he’d even want you to visit again. Looking at the sorry state of his apartment, you know he misses you, but whether he wants you back is another question altogether. All you can do is wait and worry, and worry you do. As you sob and heave in the bed, your brain shuts down, and eventually you drift into a dreamless, unpleasant sleep, nose still buried in your shirt that smells like Bradley.

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

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sorcerersseestars · 1 year ago

Text

LIMERENCE (part I)

Gojo Satoru x gn!reader

"I can't stop loving you, no matter how hard I try."

summary: Your long-time friend stirs feelings inside you that you never realized existed. Of course they bubble up in your chest while he’s in the midst of ignoring you and discovering his own possible romance. Your mutual friend thinks she has it all figured out—or does she?

pairing: gojo satoru x gn! reader

fandom: jujutsu kaisen

genre: hanahaki sickness au, angst, hurt/comfort, drama, slow burn!

warnings: mentions of feeling sick, being stonewalled kinda, usage of the word (Y/N) bc Gojo is too fed up for nicknames (in reality idk what else to use 😶), Gojo being an ass (common theme in my fics oops)

word count: 3.6k

a/n: This is the first part to my hanahaki au! I’ve had this in my drafts for the longest time, but never committed to writing it all out until now. This first bit is kinda slow and maybe confusing BUT hopefully I’ll be able to clear it up next chapter. Not proof read very thoroughly; will probably regret later 🫥

part ii part iii

“DON’T YOU THINK you could be a bit nicer to me?” You try, clasping your hands together as you look up at him with an odd smile—a cross between apologetic and playful. You’re joking, or at least half joking. It’s too difficult to be serious with Gojo; his habit of masking emotion with jest must be rubbing off on you.

Only one corner of his mouth raises. “Good one, (Y/N)-chan. As if I didn’t use to pay your bills.”

He doesn’t look at you when he speaks, and he walks away from you without a single glance. You frown and lightly jog a few steps to catch up to him.

“Ah, and I’m forever thankful for that!” You say, cringing at how overly peppy your tone is. “But that’s not exactly what I meant.”

“Hmm,” Is all he says. His hands are in his pockets, but he doesn’t carry himself with as much ease as usual—his posture is closed off, angular and tense.

“What I meant was–” You prompt your own answer, as he doesn’t make any move to. “We haven’t seen each other in a while. I know you’ve been really busy lately, so I don’t blame you, but I think we should go out and do something. Could help relieve some work stress too, don’t you think so?”

“Maybe,” He says, the word short yet effective in its delivery. The word was sharp in his mouth, clear annoyance shaping his tongue enough for the word to have a bite to it.

You wince. He never used to be like this. Gojo has been in a state of perpetual mirth—and one could argue levity—for the entirety of your friendship, never taking anything seriously and always looking for opportunities to poke fun at you to half-jokingly glorify himself. His expression has always been infectiously positive—never molded into anything hard or serious.

But, lately, everything you thought you knew about Gojo Satoru has faded away into your memories. He never seeks out your presence anymore, which is polar opposite from your high school days, when he would follow you around and pester you until you’d hang out with him. You actually used to get annoyed at this behavior, but you’re sorely missing it now.

You feel like you know nothing about him these days, only hearing tidbits here and there from your mutual friend Shoko. It stings to know that he obviously talks to her, and quite often at that, seeing she always has new details to spill every other day.

It doesn’t make sense to you: him and Shoko were never particularly close, definitely not nearly as close as you and Gojo were. In fact, she thought of him as particularly annoying in high school, and often swore to you that she would cut all contact with him once they graduated.

Back then, you had rolled your eyes at her antics, never believing that anybody could cut Gojo out of their life, seeing as he simply wouldn’t let them. But how else could you describe what he seems to be doing to you?

You bite your lip nervously. “Satoru? Is there something wrong?”

“Not particularly,” He says with a forced smile that’s screaming for you to shut up. You pretend like it’s not the most disingenuous smile you’ve ever seen smeared on his face.

“Are you sure?” You probe. “I mean…what’s been going on with you these days? We haven’t seen each other in forever, and you don’t seem yourself.”

“Are you sure?”

His lips are quirked up, as they perpetually are, but it’s different this time. It’s mocking. A mocking smirk that’s telling you to face reality. Do you really know him anymore?

You pause in your steps, studying his expression. You can’t see his eyes, but you wish you could. He’s hard to read with that blindfold concealing those powerful eyes of his, but it never used to be a problem. It hurts that you’re now struggling to gauge him when your emotions used to feel like one.

Evidently, you can’t answer his question. Not that he seems to care.

“I’ve really got to get going. Students to teach, curses to kill, all that,” He announces, tone low and apathetic. Bored. “See ya.”

Your breath flutters in your throat as you try to bid him goodbye. You choke on your words and only end up tentatively raising a hand. Before you can wave, his form disappears. A gust of wind greets you in lieu of a proper goodbye.

You stay where you are for a few shocked moments, not even registering the hot tears that leak from the eyes he avoided.

You wander aimlessly around campus for a while, the whole interaction replaying in your head several times over. His “Are you sure?” needles its way into your brain even when you push it away, the words hitting where it hurts every time.

Your feet find themselves taking you to an empty break room – ah, this is the one that has your favorite flavor of tea. You turn the kettle on, then eagerly dig through the tea stash. You file through the individual packets quickly and thoroughly, but to no avail. It’s gone.

With a sigh, you grab a random tea bag and throw it into your mug. Frustrated, you roughly begin pouring the now-boiled water into the mug, but it doesn’t seem that was a good idea. Your hand slips for just a split second, but a sizable splash of boiling water still manages to singe your non-dominant hand. A stream of expletives leaves your mouth, and you instantly cradle your hand to your heart.

More tears appear. At least you have an excuse this time—it fucking hurts.

You trudge to the clinic, feeling quite silly, but also seeking some much-needed relief. And you’re not exactly imagining painkillers or an ice pack—no, there’s something else. Someone else.

You hesitantly knock on the door. You feel stupid, but you really have to see her.

You crack a smile at the creak of the door. Your friend and co-worker Shoko strides out with an air of confidence you wish you held.

“What happened?” She asks calmly, eyes lazily taking in your form.

“Spilled some water from the kettle,” You say lamely. “It hurts.”

That doesn’t really constitute a visit to one of the only reverse-cursed technique users in the school, and you know it. So does she.

“Mmhm,” She raises her eyebrows. “Well, come on in.”

You shuffle in a little sheepishly, not able to meet Shoko’s eyes. Now that you’re here, you start to feel unsure about your own motive—do you really want to discuss this? Won’t it just be embarrassing more than anything else?

You stall a little in your steps as the negative thoughts invade your head. You’re startled to attention by a poke to your side—when you look up, Shoko’s playful smirk fills your vision.

“Come on over to the sink and we’ll put that under some cool running water,” She says, gesturing to your reddened arm.

You cock your head, looking between her and the sink skeptically, “No ice?”

She shakes her head, sticking her tongue out at you a bit, “Nope! Running water for burns.”

You hold up your hands in defeat, smiling, “Whatever Doctor Shoko says.”

“And I do,” She says cheekily. “So get under that water!”

“Aye-aye,” You say with a salute.

She groans, “Ugh. You guys are so annoyingly similar. Hang on a sec, I gotta grab something.”

She turns away before she can see the way your expression drops. The smile is stolen from your face, leaving behind saddened eyes and a slight frown. There’s only one possible person she could be talking about.

You sigh and turn on the faucet—your disheartened sigh morphs into one of great relief as the cold water soothes your burn.

“That better?” Shoko asks upon her return.

You nod, a small smile coming back, “Yeah, thanks Shoko.”

“Is there something else wrong?” She asks, then shakes her head. “No, scratch that. What’s actually wrong?”

You take a deep breath. How are you going to broach this subject? You wait several moments, pondering your exact next words.

“Do you think Gojo is okay?” You finally ask your long-time friend, words coming out almost cautiously.

She eyes you funnily, “Why are you asking me? As if he doesn’t chase you around the school to blab on about himself.”

You smile, but it’s tainted by bitterness.

“Shoko…Gojo hasn’t talked to me for two months,” You admit quietly. “I don’t know what’s going on.”

She stops.

“What?”

You hate hearing the confusion in her voice. You hate the pity that soon fills her eyes.

“He seriously hasn’t,” You affirm, sighing. “I don’t know what I did, or if I did anything, or…or what. I just, I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Have you tried talking to him about it?”

You sigh. “Of course I have, but he didn’t seem to take my concerns seriously. Or consider them at all. It just seemed like he wanted me to shut up and leave him alone.”

Shoko looks at you curiously, lips quirking as if she has something to say, but no words come out. Is she holding something back?

You take a deep breath, willing the horrible emotion that squeezes your throat away. You look out the window to distract yourself, watching the branches of a sakura sapling swaying in the wind. It looks alone and lost, battered by the relentless wind.

“What’s he been like recently with you?” You finally ask, your gaze still on the tree.

“Normal,” Shoko says. “Annoying as ever. Noisy as ever.”

A cluster of pink petals is ripped from a branch, swirling hopelessly to the ground. When they settle on the ground, you look back to your friend.

“He’s really the same?” You ask weakly.

“Unfortunately,” She says wryly. “Besides, why do you care? We’ve both been trying to get him off our backs since waaay long ago. Sounds like a blessing in disguise.”

“Ah, that’s true,” You admit with a weak chuckle, trying to ignore the way your heart throbs painfully. “But he’s also our friend.”

“Since when? More like a thorn in my side. Maybe he finally got the message,” Shoko smirks. “You should give me instructions for that. I’d have a lot better quality of life, you know.”

You know she’s just joking around with you, but she’s truly just rubbing salt in your wound. Not very ethical for a doctor, even if unintentional.

“Yeah,” You laugh, but it’s an empty sound. “Well, I guess I’ll get going then. Hopefully your next patient gives you an easier time.”

Shoko jokes, “Yeah, this has been my toughest job all week. You fiend.”

Your head is filled with so many questions, all of them growing louder as you walk away from your friend. Your friend who you thought would sympathize with you, but only ended up making you feel worse in the end is acting suspicious. It’s not like you’ve ever wanted to actually cut ties with Gojo, even when he used to pull pranks on you in high school. You craved for a strong friendship with him throughout all his shenanigans.

Why is Shoko acting like you hate Gojo, and what isn’t she telling you?

Before you reach the door, you decide you need to know. You stop abruptly in your tracks.

“Ieiri, you’re not telling me something,” You say softly, not looking back. “Why?”

Shoko sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose, “You don’t miss anything, do you?”

You say nothing. The door in front of you is tempting—it’s your way out of knowing the truth. Do you really want to know?

You wait tensely for a few seconds, the silence causing nerves to bubble up in your stomach. But when Shoko begins to speak, they go don’t go away.

“He hasn’t really been acting strange around me, but he’s constantly on his phone. Like always. Whenever he comes to chat, he immediately tunes me out and starts texting or loudly takes a call,” She snorts, huffing out an exasperated sigh. “I thought he was just bored and trying to make me feel disrespected as a sort of cruel joke, but I think it’s something else. I think…I think Gojo is interested in someone.”

Your head whips around, disbelief clear in your features. Interested in someone?

“Maybe that’s why he’s been acting weird. I always thought he was crazy for you, so it didn’t cross my mind until now.”

“Crazy for me?” You immediately echo back, voice hollow and confused.

Shoko shakes her head at you, “C’mon, you can’t be that oblivious. He always followed you around like a lost puppy in high school. He never said anything to me about it, but I really thought he would confess any day for years.”

“He did that to everyone…” You shake your head. “You say yourself he bugged you so much.”

She rolls her eyes. “Trust me, it was different.”

Your heart pounds in your chest. Your vision becomes foggy at the edges, reality fizzling out.

“Why didn’t you want to tell me?” You ask. “It’s not like that matters.”

You try to appear uncaring, yet it was a fight to get those words out.

“You’re a sensitive person. ‘Didn’t know how you’d react since Gojo always seemed to chase after your attention, exclusively. But it’s not like it was the other way around—should have known it wasn’t a big deal. It’s not. Guess he’s just growing up.”

“Yeah,” You agree faintly, voice devoid of emotion. Reality is slipping through your numb fingers, the information turning your world into a nightmare. You should have opened the door and ran when you had the chance.

“It’s not,” You say with a saccharine smile, one so sickly sweet that Shoko gets chills. That’s not your usual smile—not one that Shoko has ever seen you wear. “Of course it’s not.”

When you turn on your heel and rush out of her infirmary, Shoko reaches out a hand and her lips part to call after you. It’s uncharacteristic for her—the cold doctor is rarely sentimental or emotionally affected, but she saw something ghastly in that smile of yours.

The slam of the door answers her call. The truth, now imparted, comes to bite her in the ass.

It’s been a few days. You’ve been moping around the school, around your students—trying to cope with the information that you don’t even know is true. You see him across campus sometimes; he’s so easily spotted with his translucent hair and tall frame. Every time, he’s facing away from you, and your eyes fall on the back of his head. Your chest always tightens and you end up turning away, too.

You have ignored the feelings stirring in your chest, not willing to admit something that clearly isn’t reciprocated. It has been working, you suppose, since you haven’t cracked under the mental weight of possibly being in lo—

No, you can’t even think that.

Everything has been as okay as it can. It’s not until you attempt to visit Shoko again to try sort out your feelings, however, that things take a turn for the worse.

Your hand is raised as you prepare to knock on the infirmary door, but you hesitate once you hear muffled voices.

“I don’t know…I didn’t expect it at all.”

That’s Gojo’s voice. That low but self-assured tone is undeniably his.

“Expect what?” Shoko asks, sounding bored.

His reply is so soft that it passes by as just a hiss of air, so quiet that you physically startle at Shoko’s loud reaction.

“No! What? I can’t believe that!” She shouts, laughter quickly following her exclamation.

You shouldn’t be listening—you hadn’t planned to eavesdrop on your two best friends, but for some reason your ear seeks out the wall, as if magnetized.

The next three words uttered still your heart.

“Utahime kissed me,” Gojo admits quietly.

You feel like you can’t breathe. Utahime, who has always despised Gojo even beyond Shoko’s extent. Utahime, who once cried into your chest after Gojo was harsh with her at an exchange event. Utahime, who always persisted that you and Gojo were into each other during high school.

Shoko’s unbelieving chuckle cuts through your thoughts.

Shoko laughs, “Oh, yeah, okay, as if I’d ever believe that.”

There’s silence. Your heart drops at the lack of response—no teasing refute, no playful faux playboy attitude.

Shoko absorbs his unusual silence, finally interpreting his words for what they are.

She gasps loudly, spluttering, “Oh my God, you’re being serious. What?! There’s no way…”

Gojo’s voice is even and deep. “I didn’t lie. She just did it out of nowhere. I didn’t even know how to react, to be honest.”

“So you just stood there?” Shoko snorts, trying to keep up her usual sarcastic persona. “God, you’re insufferable all the way around.”

“I kissed her back,” He breathes out, voice almost weak.

Another long moment of silence ensues. You hold your breath, terrified that your panicked pants will alert them of your presence.

Shoko recovers quickly this time.

“Still insufferable,” She sighs, and you can imagine her shaking her head. “So what now? You like her or something? This is so random.”

“I…I don’t know,” He admits quietly. “I never thought she’d do that, it took me by surprise. I…I think I liked it?”

Your heart shatters. You clutch a hand to your mouth, gagging yourself, forcing back the pained gasp that’s threatening to leave your lips.

“Oh, is that so?” Shoko says drily, but the usual edge to her voice is absent. You can only imagine her expression: contorted with pity and pain, desperately trying to maintain her poker face.

“Yeah,” Gojo reaffirms. “It was nice.”

There’s silence for a few seconds as Shoko takes it all in. Then, “Is she who you’ve always been calling and texting when I’m talking to you? You’re an ass for that, by the way.”

Gojo exhales out a sardonic sniff, “You’re spot on.”

Why are you still listening? You should leave. You shouldn’t be hearing this. Pain blooms in your chest, as if thorns became lodged between your ribs.

“What about (Y/N)?”

You freeze, eyes bulging out of your head.

Gojo sighs, sounding annoyed, “What do you mean?”

“I’m not dumb, Satoru. There was something going on during high school and frankly in the past few years as well. Are you going to deny it?”

He scoffs, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Shoko. It was never like that.”

You feel like you’re going to be sick. You shouldn’t—there’s no possible way you’re actually in love with Gojo Satoru, is there?

Fuck. The thought you’ve been trying to avoid all this time has finally firmly inserted itself into your head.

You take off swiftly and immediately, and your footfalls are as light as you can possibly manage. If either of them knew you were here, you wouldn’t be able to handle the shame.

Gojo and Shoko are none the wiser to the immoral action that took place just beyond the door—so when Shoko is ready to clock out and opens the door, the presence of a school ID on the ground is nearly missed. She feels something strange crunch underneath her foot and steps away and glances at the foreign object.

You left in such a hurry that your ID flopped out of your pocket. It lays on the ground, your smiling face staring up at Shoko, who looks on in horror. She immediately knows that you heard everything. She quickly steps back onto your ID, concealing your identity with her foot.

With all the sight of his six eyes, Gojo somehow completely missed Shoko’s strategic maneuvers to erase traces of your presence. He whistles nonchalantly, not having a care in the world, apparently.

In contrast, Shoko’s mind is racing. Her eyes roam around the courtyard, searching for your form. She feels rooted to the spot—will she reveal you if she steps away? She almost forgets that she’s not alone.

“You looking for someone?” Gojo asks.

Shoko stiffens, but forces herself to relax and appear nonchalant. “Ah, I was just wondering if…if (Y/N) would still be around.”

Gojo frowns. “Hm. Not sure. Don’t they usually go home right after they get off?”

“Lately, they’ve been staying back to do paperwork,” She sighs. “Masamichi has really giving them too many missions…How come you don’t know that?”

“Haven’t had the chance to catch up, I guess,” Gojo says evasively, then quickly changes the subject. “Besides, aren’t you the same way? You coming or not? I’ve got better things to do.”

He waves his cell phone around playfully, a smirk widening across his features.

Shoko rolls her eyes, “Go ahead. I’m just going to wait here a bit and see if I can text them and get them over here.”

She hesitates for a second before adding, “Actually, why don’t you wait a sec? We haven’t all seen each other in a bit.”

Gojo immediately stiffens. He scratches the back of his head and says, “Ah, I’m actually sort of on a time crunch. Maybe next time.”

What a lie. Shoko thinks, eyes narrowing subconsciously. What is he up to?

As he trails off into the distance, the gears in Shoko’s head continue to turn. He always, always teleports home after work finishes. So why is he slowly walking around campus, head turning this way and that way as if searching?

And you! Why were you there? Why were you so affected? What is going on in your head—or rather, your heart?

Something strange is going on with her two friends and Shoko is determined to find out what.

next part

credit 🩷:

@kiyaedits - baby pink dividers, @sweetxmelody - cherry blossom divider

*note: taglist open!! comment to be tagged in part 2 :)

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo behavior #hurt/comfort #gojo hurt/comfort #angst #jjk #best buddie shoko #sad bc utahime and shoko aren’t together in this one 😤#Gojo is a hater

607 notes · View notes

lisenberry · 6 months ago

Text

We drift in and out

Chapter 3: Did I find you, or you find me?

E/NSFW/MDNI

CW: Consensual Somno, Light Breeding, Canon-Typical Violence, Angst

6k (I know, I went nuts)

10k COMPLETE!

This whole fic started with one picture of a man with hairy arms holding a baby. Everything that came after was a fever dream.

Ch. 1 , Ch. 2, AO3

You had one last night together. Eighteen short hours before a black Land Rover would pick him up and take him away. Off to catch a plane to some forward operating base in a remote, foreign place.

He’d been home with you for four months, by far his longest leave yet. With each day, you’d gotten more comfortable, wondering if maybe he’d become permanent. That instead of just playing house, you were living something real. Building something special together.

That your plans could change, and you could let the fearful part of you rest. That doubtful voice that kept you always prepared. Always on. The survival mode that kept you moving forward but also stopped you from slowing down long enough to breathe. To enjoy.

It was a skill that benefited you in your work. The single-minded attention to detail and success. And when you’d learned you were pregnant, it had kept you from giving into the panic of the unknown. But once she was born, you didn’t have a choice, but to sit with it all. The joy, and the exhaustion. Slow, blissful days had become your routine.

Now you were facing the plan again. The one he wasn’t in. You’d survive, of course, but the bleakness of it cut like a wound. You should’ve known nothing so perfect could last forever. Maybe you did know, deep down. Maybe he did, too, and that’s why you kept each other just a bit out of reach.

But you still had a little more time. A few more memories to make before it came to an uncertain end.

You popped out to Marks & Sparks for supplies to make dinner. It had become a little holiday for you in the last few months. He’d stay home with the baby, and you’d put on real clothes and do your hair and escape for a few hours to squeeze the fruits and smell the cheeses. Go aisle by aisle and daydream about new recipes to try.

Not this time. This time you hurried through as fast as you could. Wasted not a minute as you snatched up everything on your list and rushed to get back to them.

They weren’t in your apartment when got home, so you crossed the hall and knocked on the door to his.

“It’s open!” His voice rang from inside, as you tried the knob and walked in.

He had the baby’s highchair in the kitchen, and the dining room table set with fine china and candles. Music crooned from some hidden speaker, something classical you’d never heard before.

“What’s all this?” You asked, as you set down the bags of groceries on his counter.

“I thought we could eat out tonight. Something different.” He stood with his hands at his hips, and a burp cloth strung over his shoulder. A scheming smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. They didn’t crinkle at the edges the same way you’d gotten used to.

“You’re okay with me making a mess of your kitchen?” You teased. “You know I’ll use every pan and utensil at my disposal.”

Your place was lovely, but his side of the building had twice the space, and a balcony that overlooked Hyde Park. During the few times you visited, it had felt like stepping into a different world. Like a fancy hotel suite in a far-off country, in the way that it had visitors but never really felt lived in. Sanitized into a blank slate, adaptable to anyone who crossed the threshold in search of an escape from their mundane reality.

Or like a museum, it was a place that existed outside of time.

“You cook, I’ll clean up.” He leaned his hips back against the granite and opened his arms to it welcomingly.

It made sense that he’d want to spend his last night in his own home. His own bed.

“Suit yourself,” you plopped a smacking kiss on the baby’s downy head as she sat contentedly in her chair, chewing on a colorful toy.

When you turned your attention back to him, he waited patiently for his greeting. The longing with which he first looked at you and your daughter the day you’d come home was back again. It had seemed like the start of something then.

This time it felt like the end, as you pulled up on your tip toes and pressed a kiss to his lips. Short and sweet. If you hooked your arms around his neck and buried your face in his neck, like every corner of your soul was aching to do, you’d never let go.

The food would rot on the counter and the hard things would never get done.

So, you settled back down and unpacked the bags in front of you.

“Will you pick the wine? I’m making your favorite.”

In lifetimes past, you would’ve dressed up and gone to The Midland in King’s Cross for dinner. Fed each other oysters and champagne. Danced until the early hours of the morning and crashed wildly into bed. Shared a cigar afterwards, naked but for the shelter of each other’s arms.

This time, you made roast beef with fingerling potatoes, minty peas, and glazed carrots. Topped with gravy and with a side of Yorkshire pudding to sop it all up.

It’d be some time before the baby could join in on the feast, but she flailed with enthusiasm at the smells and the excitement with which the two of you ate. Oblivious to how much her lukewarm cereal and the bottle that she could now almost hold on her own paled in comparison.

In place of a West End show, there were airplane spoons and milky sneezes to keep you laughing. Something to focus on besides the future. Besides each other.

The chasm that was too deep and too far to cross, let alone name.

As if on cue, with the last sip of wine, she started to fuss. Fisted her eyes and arched her back in surrender as John rose to soothe her. You’d have many more nights to put her to bed, but who knew what awaited him. You gave him the time alone as you collected the place settings and started the cleaning that he’d promised you.

The little one sighed so heavily against his chest as she curled into him, burying her fingers in his shirt. You knew the feeling, ached for it as you silently cursed your ability to dirty so many dishes making a meal.

He was gone long enough for you to handwash the china and fill the dishwasher, and you wondered if she fought sleep, or if he simply lingered a little longer. Did he tell her a story, or share some secret that was just between them?

The polished wood floorboards creaked under his weight when he finally returned to the kitchen. There was a stiffness to his towering form, as if he was flexing under an invisible weight.

“Just in time. Everything’s already done,” you chided, gently, as you dried your hands on a towel.

“I set her up in the portable crib with the monitor. In the bedroom next to mine.”

“Her first sleepover.” You still couldn’t look at him. You hadn’t yet, had you? Not really. Not since he got the call earlier that day.

Since you’d told him he was never meant to be a part of your life. That you could live without him.

A lie that he’d surely seen through, but you needed to keep for yourself as you busied your hands and kept your back to him.

But he wouldn’t let you hide, as he stepped behind you and pulled you in.

“Don’t pull away. Please. Not yet.” He tucked his grizzled chin into the curve of your neck.

“I’m trying.” You let your head fall back against him, vaguely aware that the music was still playing. Something sad and slow as you swayed to the beat of it.

His hands rested on your hips as he spun you around to face him. If a kiss could fix everything, you gave it to him then. Did your best as you fisted his hair and pulled him down to you, while his palms roamed lower to cup your ass and lift you onto the counter.

Like meat and wine, you savored his lips and his tongue as he delved even deeper. Splitting you open and demanding more. Demanding everything.

Your shirt was over your head and his roughened fingers scratched along the skin of your back, massaging and kneading the sides of your spine while he unhooked your bra. The same muscles you’d kept rigid all day he coaxed into pliancy with each stroke as a weak moan slipped past your lips.

“That’s a girl. Be soft and sweet for me, will you?” He started off slow at the tip of your ear, trailing light, tickling kisses down the shell and to where the lobe met your neck.

It sent shivers down your arms, and your naked breasts budded to peaks as they grazed against the cool smoothness of his shirt. You didn’t want cool, or smooth, just heat and texture as you pulled it off his shoulders and wrapped your legs around his hips.

He groaned at the contact, a fierce and hungry sound as he took one of your hands and slotted it between you. Pressed your palm against the bulge in his pants and grinded against it, letting you feel the way it grew and hardened at your touch.

“Tell me you’ll miss me. Fucking lie to me, just say it,” he grated out, against your collarbone. Miss him? Lie to him? It would be a lie to say you wouldn’t. “I need to hear you to say it.”

“I miss you already,” you whined, as you slid your hands from his groin to his ass and anchored him closer to the dampening heat at your core.

“I’m right here.”

“Then take me to bed. And show me how much you’ll miss me.” It was your turn to grind against him, rubbing the bud of your arousal greedily along the lip of his fly through your thin linen pants as your tits bobbed wantonly against his furry chest.

“Not going to last long if you keep doing that, love,” he growled, lifting you up again and carrying you down the hallway. “I’d rather take my time.”

And he did, starting with his fingers, then his mouth. Drawing out each sensation like he was mapping the stars. Exploring the far reaches of your body and forging new paths until you were shaking and spent.

You marked him in return. Staked a claim on the meat of his pec with a dark red love bite as he came hard and hot inside your pulsating quim. Filled you up with a contented smile on his face, as if there was no better feeling in the world. No place he’d rather be.

“Be back before it fades, okay?” You nuzzled the hair around the spot with your nose as you drifted off beside him, his fingers lazily circling your hole to push the leaky drops of his seed back in.

Did he have hopes that it would take?

Did you?

Later, a strangled sound, like a wounded animal woke you from a fitful sleep. At some point, you must’ve turned to your side and faced away from him because he was behind you. Pulling at your hips and burying his head between your shoulder blades.

“John? What is it?”

“Just a dream. A bad dream.”

You felt the swell of his cock as he sought out the smooth shelter between your thighs. Arching against him instinctively, you curved onto your back and parted your legs as he absently rutted around to find your opening. Still brimming with the sticky spend from your last bout.

He’d always been a giver, but this one was just for him as he worked out his nightmare on your flesh, your insides, your soul. It felt like a battle. A whole damn war as he smothered you with his heavy, dead-weight body and took ground, pounding away at your sensitive, stimulated cunt.

You wondered if he was even awake, or if he was still in the dream, as he fucked into you roughly and muttered far away words. Bit back his own tears as they mixed with the sweat on your skin.

“Mine...Fucking mine...Not letting you go...Not to anyone else...”

Deprived of oxygen from his bulk on your chest, you almost blacked out with the force of your climax, caught by surprise at the way the mound of hair at his base aroused your clit into bloom with each thrust. A tenderness amidst the brutal onslaught. A divine mercy.

If you had air, you’d have screamed at the intensity of it. Spotty flashes of light broke the darkness as you felt the last of your spurting aftershocks flutter around him, soaking you both and easing the incinerating friction from the stretch of him.

You could only clench your teeth and your walls as he shuddered with the strength of his own fresh release. With his face buried in your shoulder, you knew he didn’t smile this time. The sorrow of it hit you like a blow to your heart as you felt him stiffen with awareness, the fog of sleep clearing from his consciousness.

“I’m yours. There’s no one else, John,” you panted, begged, as he eased up onto to his elbows to give you enough space to take a breath. “Only you.”

********

Before you knew it, the black Land Rover was waiting like a harbinger along the street below.

“Here’s the keys to the truck, and to my place. Just in case.” He tossed a set into the bowl you kept on the sideboard. “I know how much you’re dying to go spying in my cupboards.” He raised a amused eyebrow to match the gentle hitch in his mustache.

“I wouldn’t do that.” Except you totally would. At the first opportunity.

“Afraid of what you’ll find?”

“An expired box of Earl Grey in the kitchen, perfectly sorted socks in the bedroom. Stinky smelling beard oil in the bathroom.” You flashed a cheeky grin at the last, in an effort to keep the tone light.

If he could be strong, so could you. You wouldn’t be the one to break. No matter what you felt like on the inside. You’d save it for when he was gone.

“Beard oil? This is all natural.” As if you’d insulted his manhood, he smoothed his mustache down with two hands, in a way you’d seen him do a thousand times. He’d trained any willfulness from his facial hair with nothing but nose grease and perseverance. Molded by time and patience, like marble cliffs and silt-shined creek beds.

“But I was right about the socks though, wasn’t I?”

“And the tea.” He hitched his mouth into a smile and turned his focus to the gurgling baby perched on his hip, yapping and cooing like she was in on the conversation.

The way he looked at her gave you hope that he’d call it all off. He’d sit back down on the couch and turn on the football. Put his heavy feet up on your table and let his flight leave without him.

“I’m sure we can find some priceless antiques in there she can teeth on.” They would start coming in soon. Another change he’d miss.

“Look, you don’t have to wait.” He paused to clear the words he was looking for from his throat. “I understand if you—”

“I just got you, John,” you cut him off, saving him from the self-sacrificing speech, and looked down at her chubby fist wrapped in a white-knuckle grip around his finger. “You’re not getting rid of us yet.”

Don’t let go, sweetheart. Don’t let him go. You willed it into her with your own thoughts.

Your world had gotten so small since she was born. You’d gone from having a job that needed you, coworkers and clients with a network of responsibilities, down to having just one job.

One person who needed you.

But it would’ve been a lot smaller without him. How lonely would you have been without someone to share it all with? How much of him had seeped into your life, and your heart?

“Be nice to your mum,” he whispered against her soft head, as he kissed her cheek and passed her back to you quickly. Looking everywhere but at you. “You have Kate’s number? In case you need anything?”

You pulled him closer with your free hand to his waist, forcing him to see you. Eyes wide and blue, he looked scared. For the first time.

Anything more than a kiss to the forehead would have broken you both. You’d already said your goodbyes the night before, and again that morning. So, you simply tilted your head up to him, your own eyes kind and trusting, and felt his beard graze your skin one last time.

And then you watched him go.

********

By the third week, nothing in your apartment smelled like him anymore. Everything had been washed, and the windows had been left open too long to let in the cool fall breeze. Looking around, you realized that nothing in your home was his.

He’d come through your life with a force and left no trace behind, as if he was never even there. It wasn’t right. You wished with renewed clarity that you’d taken more pictures of him. That you’d recorded every moment.

Something to show your daughter, someday, if she ever questioned whether or not she was loved. Something you could show yourself, when your mind tricked you into believing it was just a dream.

It was the need to seek out that connection, that comfort, that had you unlocking the door to his flat and letting yourself inside. It was dark, and too quiet. Cold and cavernous, like he was the one who heated it and gave it light.

With the baby bouncing on your hip, you explored from room to room. Three bedrooms and four bathrooms. And still, you couldn’t find a trace of him anywhere there either.

His sheets had been washed since you’d spent the night. His bathroom scrubbed of any lingering soap by the cleaning company that came once a month to keep it free of dust and spiders while he was away.

Trapped in time until the next visitor passed through.

Your grief and frustration sprung anew as you moved into his office. Surely it would have something. The indent of his body in a leather seat, or the half-burnt end of a forgotten cigar.

But his chair was too firm to leave a crease, and his ashtray was clean.

There were no medals or honors hung along the walls, and the top of his desk was empty, except for one framed photo. It was exactly what you were looking for, but at the same time, something you never expected.

It was from four years before, when he’d talked you into running a marathon together for a charity for wounded veterans. You remembered the day clearly but never knew someone had taken a picture. It must’ve been at the end, because you were both dewy-faced and soaked in sweat, smiling like mad.

His arm was around your shoulder and yours was at his waist. You looked like a couple. Like you were in love. Was that how you always looked when you were together?

Was this what you’d been missing out on all this time?

Surely, there were others. You’d open a drawer and find photos of him with other people. His parents, his friends. Other women.

But as you pulled them apart one by one, you only found files of old bank statements and tax forms. Until you got to the bottom. A lone manila envelope, padded and thick.

With your name written in the wonky, hurried strokes of his hand.

Your own hands shook as you turned it over to find it sealed. He must’ve wanted you to see what was inside, or else it wouldn’t have your name on it.

Right?

It felt like paper, documents of some kind, but with something else to give it bulk. You shouldn’t have seen it, shouldn’t have gone digging through his stuff. But he’d known you were going to snoop. Had practically dared you to, didn’t he?

You tucked it back in where you’d found it. Whatever it was, he could give it to you when he came back. You’d promised him that you’d wait, and you would.

However long it took.

Just as you shut the drawer, your phone began to buzz in your pocket, jolting you guiltily as if you’d been caught. You took it out, expecting it to be just another spam call, but paused in immediate horror at the name across the screen.

(John’s) Kate

He’d saved the contact in your phone in case you needed to get in touch with him. You couldn’t think of a situation where you’d be justified in pulling his attention away from a job, but you could only think of one reason she’d be calling you.

“Hello,” you answered.

*******

Two hours later, your apartment was full. Well, there were only four guests gathered around your coffee table and perched with varying degrees of curiosity and tension along your couch and side chairs, but it felt overcrowded considering their size.

Three men that you’d never seen before, and then there was Kate. Somehow, she took up just as much space as they did. She carried herself with an air of authority that made your spine straighten reflexively.

“He didn’t tell us he had a family.” The clean cut one in the ball cap, who’d introduced himself as Kyle, spoke first as you poured him a cup of tea. “We all wanted to express our support in person.”

“There wasn’t much to tell until recently,” you smiled, slightly, trying to be a good hostess despite the circumstances.

“You’ve been his emergency contact for the last five years,” Kate added as she declined your offer of milk and sugar.

“I didn’t know that.” That was as long as you’d known each other. Did he really not have anyone else?

“He’s a very private man.” She did you the favor of talking about him as if he wasn’t gone. As if there was still hope.

“How did you know about it?” MacTavish, the stocky Scot with the close-cut mohawk intoned back to her, with a bristling hostility you couldn’t miss.

“I’m CIA. It’s my job to know everyone’s secrets.”

You thought maybe she was trying to make a joke, but her face was dead serious.

“We never would have let him—” He looked regretfully from you to your baby as the blond one with the black surgical mask cut him off with a supportive hand to his knee.

“Have any of you ever successfully talked him out of something once he’d put his mind to it?” You looked around at the faces of the men staring back at you. The people he spent all his time with when he wasn’t with you. “I’m sure that’s why he didn’t tell you. Afraid you’d treat him differently if he was a real person.”

Perhaps for the same reason he’d never told you how he felt. Afraid to make it something real. Something it would hurt to lose.

“Why don’t you tell me what happened, please,” you continued, bracing for the worst.

“A massive fuck up from the beginning, is what it was—” Kyle interjected, heatedly, before he was interrupted by a pointed look from Kate.

“It’s mostly classified, of course. So, we can’t go into details. But John requested an indefinite leave of absence about four months ago. In the interim, his team was assigned to assist another task force in a sensitive operation.” She spoke evenly as if reciting a sequence of events before a committee.

And you listened, all the while searching for the bits she left unsaid. The parts that she hid behind her narrative.

Phrases like, ‘severe loss of life’, ‘pinned down in hostile territory’, and ‘unable to ascertain status’, were cold, calculated ways of saying something went horribly wrong.

You weren’t a naïve civilian who devoured sound bites at face value. You worked with government contracts all the time. American, British. They were all the same. ‘Cover your ass,’ was their collective motto.

When she finished, you had more questions than answers. But one thing stood out in your mind. He hadn’t been home for so long by accident. He’d chosen to stay. He’d given up his team, indefinitely, to be with you.

“So, if I understand correctly, it was a massive fuck up. You him called away, despite his clear wishes to be left alone, to save your ass and theirs.” You turned your attention from Kate over to the team. “And he got you out. And you left him behind?”

He’d quit for you. But he’d gone back for them.

“Not willingly.” The one in the mask, Lieutenant Riley, spoke up for the first time. His eerily dark eyes shot daggers at Kate, as if the fault was hers.

“He knew what he was doing. We needed to reassess the objective and regroup. And I’m available to discuss it at length with you another time, Lieutenant.”

“We know he’s alive.” MacTavish reassured you. “If he was dead, they’d be broadcasting his body and celebrating all over the dark web.”

Oh, what a relief. The visual turned up bile your throat.

“And if he’s been taken prisoner or something?”

“He’s an exceptionally valuable hostage. We’ll have a few weeks at least, while they interrogate him, before he’s ransomed.”

Tortured, she meant. The bile turned to acid, and you forced yourself not to be sick.

“So, what now?” You were in a daze. Kate’s firm, rational, voice grounded you and kept you present when all you wanted to do was breakdown. To scream and cry and pound your fists against their chests to get back out there and find him.

Her position demanded it, you imagined. Judging by the tension flowing between the team, they ached to do just that. It was as if they were held back by some invisible muzzle. Reined in by years of service. One strong woman was all that kept them from charging off to take matters into their own hands.

“We’ll keep you updated as soon as we have news,” Kate answered, softer than before. Perhaps aware that her words alone held little comfort. That they were as grim as hollow condolences. “But here, standard protocol. We had it stripped of anything sensitive. There’s only a few pictures and text messages left. It’s unlocked.”

She handed you his battered old phone. The screen was scratched up, and the case was cracked enough to be useless protection. You didn’t think they even supported this model anymore. You couldn’t help but smile when you saw it.

‘It’s busted to bloody hell, but still hanging on’, he’d said about it once with a proud laugh. You prayed that he was the same, wherever he was.

“Thank you. It was nice to meet you all,” you replied, politely, suddenly anxious to be alone. To fall apart in peace. “I wish it was under better circumstances. Maybe next time we can have a drink and a proper laugh. When he’s home.”

“We’ll get him back, Mrs. Price.” It was Kyle who pulled you into a hug, as if you were family. “I promise.”

It was the first time anyone had called you that, and you didn’t correct him. In the moment, it was a comfort. A universal truth that you longed to hear from someone else’s lips.

The others followed suit with their goodbyes, but their warmth and concern were a shallow replacement for the man you were missing. Kate settled for a stoic handshake before you closed the door on them all and set your back against it for support.

The phone in your hand was heavy as you pulled it up to see his text messages, looking for any possible clue or something to keep hope alive. There were a few off color jokes between him and his mates. Notes to you about what was for dinner, and silly photos he’d taken of the baby.

One single text exchange with Kate. As if he’d deleted them as soon as they came in. Or perhaps Kate had wiped them as part of her pruning. It was from four months prior.

I hope you know what you’re doing.

Never more certain in my life.

Were they talking about you? Of his choice to leave? It reminded you of something else he’d left behind. Something you’d forgotten in the whirlwind of the last few hours.

When you held the envelope again in your hands, you didn’t think twice about ripping through the seal. Inside was a stack of handwritten letters, all dated and signed with his name.

You focused on the one on top, from the day before he’d left.

Hey love,

If you’re reading this, then something must’ve happened to me. Or your curious nature got the best of you, and you went snooping around my desk.

I hope it’s the latter because it’s time you knew, and who knows when I’ll get the courage to tell you myself. But if it’s the former, then I’m sorry.

I can’t say I’m surprised, though. There’s only so many times I can dare death to find me before it wins. You just have to know that I did my best, for whatever it’s worth.

I never felt like I could have a family. I didn’t deserve that sort of peace after the things I’ve done. I’ve taken too many lives to have any chance at a happy one. Killed too many sons to be entitled to any of my own.

It’s been my purpose. What I’m good at. And I never wanted to bring that burden home to anyone else.

Then I saw you again after I made myself a promise to stay away from you this time. You were so fearless and calm. I just wanted to be near you. Close enough that you might scare away the darkness in me.

If someone like you, and her, could trust me and see any good in me, then maybe I’m not such a monster after all.

You made me believe in fate. In something bigger that was beyond my control. I just hope that it’s not done with me yet. That it’s not done with us.

If this is the end, then I just want to say thank you and leave you with everything. Everything that I have, and everything that I left unsaid.

These letters are from all the other times I’ve done this. The other missions that called me away since we met, in the event that I didn’t come back. You were the only thing worth coming home to, and I’m sorry I didn’t share them sooner.

If you’re just being nosy, and I’m already warm in our bed with the baby drooling on my chest, I hope I’ve already told you a thousand times how much I love you. How lucky I am to have known your love in return.

And I hope you’re already wearing one of these rings. I couldn’t decide which one, so I’ll let you choose. They’ve been in my family for ages. All yours now.

All my heart, John.

The pages were flooded with salty tears by the time the jingle at the bottom of the envelope caught your attention. Five different rings. Yellow and white gold, glistening diamonds, emeralds, and sapphires. Old and new.

But not yet. You didn’t dare to touch them yet. Didn’t choose. You believed in fate, too. He wasn’t gone, and it wasn’t the end.

*******

The next days passed by in a blur, waiting by the phone. You were thankful for the baby, as she didn’t let you wallow or crumble the way you wanted to. There were still diapers to change, and bottles to fill. Smiles to fake and colic to soothe.

You wondered if she missed him, too. If she even noticed he was gone.

It was three in the morning when you got the call, and you shot up in bed, sleep quickly forgotten when you answered. You didn’t even bother to look at the caller ID.

“John!”

“Hiya, darling.” His voice was a faint groan of relief.

“Where are you?” You held the phone away from your face just long enough to see the long, foreign number with a country code you couldn’t place. “Does Kate know where you are?”

“I don’t have a lot of time. I’m in the blind. I just wanted to hear your voice.”

You flung off your covers and rushed to your computer. He was in trouble.

“I’m here. Are you hurt?”

“Not bad.” You could hear him smiling, the way the words huffed out through pained lips. It was definitely bad.

You had to keep him talking, to stay on the line long enough for you to work. The laptop took forever to start up. You hadn’t used it since you’d left your employment, and it must’ve needed a hundred updates. But you didn’t have time as your fingers trembled anxiously over the keys.

This was what you did. This was your job. You designed software that could find people. Find targets. Needles in the giant haystack that was the world.

You set the phone to speaker mode and plugged it in to your program.

“Whose phone is this, John?” It would be encrypted, you presumed. You wouldn’t be lucky enough to have its location turned on.

“An old friend. I’d put him on, but he’s not with us anymore, I’m afraid. Poor fellow took a fall.” Another gurgled laugh. “But his name was Makarov. When you talk to Kate, tell her the mission’s complete.”

“You can tell her yourself. You’re going to be fine. Just keep talking to me.”

You buzzed through lines of code, searching for the one you needed.

“How’s the poppet? Is she being a good girl?”

“She’s sleeping. She’s okay. Misses you. Can’t wait to see you.”

Got it! You broke through the encryption and pinned his location using satellite GPS.

“It’s not looking good, love.”

“Do you believe in fate, John?” You asked, as you used your laptop’s connection to call Kate.

There was a reason you’d met each other. You were certain now that nothing had been by chance. You were meant to find him. You were meant to find each other.

“Ah, went pawing through my drawers, did you? Which ring did you pick?”

“I’ll show you when you get home,” you promised as the line finally connected. “Kate! I know where John is. You have to hurry.”

You sent her the coordinates to the exact centimeter. He was deep underground, in some kind of a bunker. Or an old mineshaft. To her credit, Kate didn’t argue or ask where you got your intel.

Two hours later, you were still on the phone with him. The light began to creep slowly through the curtains, bringing with it a brand new day. But his breath had slowed, and his words came thicker from his throat.

“Just a little longer, okay?” You didn’t let him sense your fear as you quietly willed your life into him, to keep him hanging on.

Where the fuck were they?

The line had gone too quiet when you heard the blast.

“John! John, what was that?” You prayed it was the team, and not a fresh wave of enemy combatants come to finish the job.

“In here!” John’s voice, with a renewed strength.

“Bravo-7 to Watcher. Eyes on Bravo-6. We’ve got him.” You heard Lieutenant Riley’s unmistakable accent breakthrough as he got closer to the phone. “Have med-evac waiting topside. He’s in rough shape.” He switched from his comms to John. “Can you walk, Cap?”

“Well, you aren’t fucking carrying me, Ghost. That’s for bloody sure.”

“Please don’t leave me.” The tears that you finally let fall were of release. Of relief. You didn’t know if he still held the phone, or if it lay forgotten on the ground as they carried him away.

“Careful what you wish for, darling.”

#call of duty #john price #captain price #price x reader #captain john price #john price x reader #task force 141

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calypsocolada · 6 months ago

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THE GREATEST | s. gojo

synopsis: the greatest has taken in interest in you. authors note: hello. rough two weeks huh. there are no spoilers in this for chapter 261 fyi. ive decided us gojo stans should just steal him from his creator. Who's in? also i am pretty sure this is the longest fanfic I wrote. I was continusly writing for almost a week after that last chapter. OH AND the song the greatest by billie eilish is about gojo and its devastating. this fic is loosely based of the song. cw: ANGST, light smut, happy ending (he deserves it), no spoilers, death impications, fem reader wc: 6.1k

click here for my masterlist

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Gojo had never once questioned his fate. He’s known since he was able to think for himself that he was the strongest. That he was the monster people could turn to to fight the other monsters. He never minded. Not much at least. He knew it was grossly unfair. Knew such a fate pressed on anyone else would have him up in arms but… no one was up in arms for him. No one stood between him and the monsters. No one could. That should’ve hurt him and if he was being completely transparent and honest… it used to. When he was a teen and wasn’t able to hide his emotions as well as he could now. He was a weapon to everyone in the jujutsu society. A weapon and a monster and a savior and the greatest that ever lived. He was revered by his fellow colleagues. Was cheered by his students. He was the greatest weapon to ever live.

But not to you. Not in the ways that mattered to most at least.

A measly second grade sorcerer with little to no battle experience. One that spends her time mostly in the background. Wasting away with Ino. Annoying Nanami. Steering clear of the greatest. When you first came around Gojo was sort of intrigued with you. You were quite pretty, smart and had a smile that made others smile. Gojo liked that about you. He’d do his usual routine… It usually worked. Usually… Gojo would annoy you, he’d try and charm you, he’d flex his powers in front of you and buy you sweets you didn’t ask for. Nothing worked.

When he flirted you’d make this face and although he liked the face you’d make he knew you weren’t impressed with him. It was like you saw right through his bravado. Saw right through the mask he wore, right down to the raw center of him. He knew you saw something sad. He tried to ignore it. Tried to misdirect your intuition but god you were persistent. You were smart. Smarter than anyone he’d ever known. And empathic as hell. It was frustrating. Not a single soul saw him the way you did. And it was all for nothing. You didn’t like him the way he’d come to hopelessly like you. And it wasn’t for lack of trying.

Gojo really tried to make you laugh but you never laughed when he wanted you to, never laughed when he made an effort to. You only laughed when he least expected it. Never when he was loud and boisterous but rather in quiet moments. Moments when he forgot to act like the greatest. Moments when he was Gojo Satoru and not the greatest. That’s how he knew you saw right through him.

There was an instance when you completely threw him into a crisis. It was after a particularly gruesome fight. After all was said and done people clapped him on the back, congratulating him on another easy win. Gojo approached you, hoping for that same kind of hollow congratulations but you didn’t give it to him. You asked him if he was alright. Gojo remembered just standing there, remembering the full ache in his chest, the way you looked up at him with concern. No one ever was concerned for him. He replied something jovial. “Of course, don’t you know who you’re talking to?” And he smiled. But you didn’t return that smile as though he reassured you, you smiled sympathetically and replied.

“Must've forgot.” And then you slipped away. Gojo watched you walk away. Watch Ino run up and grab you by the shoulders. Watched you laugh freely and shake your head at something he said before the two of you left.

A week later Gojo had conned Nanami into having some drinks with him. They sat beside each other, Gojo talking to fill up the dead space and Nanami chugging his third drink.

“Are Y/n and Takuma dating?” Gojo had slipped into the conversation. Nanami gave him a sideways look.

“I don’t know.” Nanami replied after a moment, it sounded more like ‘I don’t care’.

“You’re with them all the time.”

“They’re with me. They bug me.” Nanami sees straight as Gojo sighs.

“So they bug you. But do they do it together?”

“What a stupid question.” Nanami admonishes, shaking his head. “Why are you asking?”

“Just curious.”

“About Y/n?” Nanami asked and Gojo couldn’t help but look over at him. Nanami wasn’t much of a gossiper, he listened but that was the extent of it. Nanami softly chuckled at the older man’s response and shook his head once more. “No.”

“No, what?”

“They’re not together.”

That was all Gojo needed. He’d never felt threatened before but after seeing you and Takuma together the other day it made him wonder. Well, more than wonder if his lack of sleep the night before proved anything.

The next time Gojo saw you, you were having a quiet lunch in the courtyard. You had a book held lazily in your hand, the other popping grapes into your mouth. Gojo sighed, he’d tried talking to you many times before but his showboating kept you further than arms length. But if he didn’t have his ego to hide behind… What did he have?

“It’s creepy to watch girls eating from afar.” You called over your shoulder. Gojo startled at the sound of your voice, his heart thumping unsteadily in his chest. You turned and when your eyes met his knees almost buckled. He thought for a moment, after his cheeks flushed red, that you smiled. It was a small smile, the corner of your lips barely turning up before you turned back away from him and to your book. He’d talked up many girls. But none of them made him stumble like you did. Nevertheless, Gojo walked forwards to you.

“Thought you were out on a mission?” He asked as you flipped the page of your book, not meeting his eyes.

“Keeping tabs on me?” She asked lazily as Gojo felt his throat tighten. He cleared it and shook his head.

“Just something I was told.” He says and you scoot over, patting the spot beside you. Gojo stood there stuck for a moment. You usually couldn’t get away from him fast enough but here you were, inviting him to spend a moment with you. You looked up when he didn’t take your offer and cracked a brow up.

“Are you busy?” You asked. Gojo instantly shook his head, coming out of his little stuttered trance. He sat down beside you and reached for some of your grapes without asking. You didn’t say anything about it, just placed your bookmark in your book and sat it down on the blanket you’d spread out. “I wanted… to ask you something?” You said after a beat. Gojo’s eyes flicked to yours and up this close he noticed two things, your eyes had specks of gold in them and there was the lightest dusting of freckles across the top of your nose. He realized he was staring at you too long and recovered by grabbing more grapes.

“Hmm, what is it?” He asks as he pops a few in his mouth.

“Do you like sorcery?” The question hung in the air for a moment. Gojo was silent. He’d… never thought about if he liked it before. Never thought about whether these powers he possessed was something he truly wanted or if it was something he needed.

“Why- do you ask?” Gojo asks, his eyes fixed straight ahead rather than on you.

“Just curious.” You said softly. Gojo couldn’t help but look over at you now.

“Of course I like it. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.” He answered and the words tasted sour in his mouth. And just like before you gave him that look, just a small squint of the eyes, your lips pursing barely. He could tell straight away that you heard his lie. You hummed as though intrigued and shifted your stare to be less piercing.

“What’s so great about it?” You asked as Gojo swallowed.

“I’m good at it. I’m the strongest.”

“Yes… everyone is aware you’re the strongest, Satoru.” You brushed off, slightly playfully. Gojo couldn’t get over you saying his name. Saying it that way, with the tiniest emotion in your voice, what he hoped was affection.

“Are you?” Gojo asked. You raised a brow, cocking your head just slightly.

“Am I what?”

“Aware that I’m the strongest.” He says as you blow out a laugh. A laugh, he made you laugh. He recorded it in his mind. He knew he’d probably not get another one of those in a while.

“You don’t let anyone forget it.”

“What do you mean?”

“You go out of your way to prove it. You kill curses that other sorcerers can easily take care of. You put yourself in harm's way over and over again just to get a slap on the back. Of course I know you’re the strongest.”

“I don’t do it for a slap on the back.” Gojo dismisses.

“Why do you do it?”

“Because I have to.”

“Because you have to?” You echo and Gojo nods his head. You stare at him for a moment, before responding. “Cause you’re the strongest.” You didn’t say it as though it was a good thing, you said it as though it was his burden. Something heavy that weighed on his shoulders. It hit him deep. You knew him too well. He felt overexposed at this moment.

“I don’t see anyone else riding my level.” He says, hoping he sounded level, hoping his voice wouldn’t betray him.

“No one’s doubting your skill, Satoru.”

“You seem as though you doubt it.”

“I doubt your intentions.”

“My intentions? What do you think I’m secretly going to let curses in to kill all of you?” He laughs sardonically, a little bitterly. Bitter that she saw him in a worse way than he originally thought. You laughed again, it was more of an exhale through the nose but it was another laugh. Two in one day.

“No. I don’t think that.”

“What do you think?” Gojo couldn’t help but sound the smallest bit desperate. This is the most you two have kept up a conversation and he didn’t want it to end. He wanted to talk to you all day, maybe all night, although that was entirely too much to ask for. It's not like he ever asked for anything for himself before. But he wanted this badly. A normal conversation with someone who seemingly didn’t hold him up on a pedestal.

“I told you already.” You said, reaching for your book. It was like an unspoken end to the conversation. But Gojo didn’t want it to end.

“Please, don’t,” He says suddenly and your hand pauses on the spine of your book. You looked over at him and Gojo knew he wasn’t fast enough to cover the desperation. You swallowed and fixed him with a look.

“I think you’re the strongest sorcerer to ever live.” You spoke as though any louder and someone would overhear you. Your voice soft and eyes piercing into his. His heart stuttered at your words. To know you did think of him. He glanced at your lips as they parted to speak another sentence. “But that’s all you think you are. Just the strongest weapon. Not a person with thoughts and feelings.” You say and Gojo can’t help but stare, can’t help but know he never tricked you, not one bit.

“That’s… dark.” He tried to laugh, and tried to lighten the mood. You gave him a smile, one that stuttered his heart.

“Sure is.” You affirmed. Your hand let go of your book as you reached in your cooler and grabbed two drinks out, offering him one. Slowly he took it. “Or maybe I’m wrong.” You say before taking a sip. “Maybe it’s not that deep.” Gojo takes a sip of his own drink and stays silent. Unsure of whether to bear his heart to you or keep quiet. The strongest would keep quiet. He’d bottle things up, after all being strong means you can take care of yourself. But Gojo found himself wanting to spill his darkest secrets to you. The cunning sorcerer that calls him out. The one he can’t look away from.

“Maybe.” He says finally and the moment is over. He feels hollow. Especially with the way you glance at him, as though somewhat disappointed that there wasn’t more to him but a smiling face and quick witted words. The age old question came back to him.

Are you strongest because you’re Satoru Gojo? Or are you Satoru Gojo because you are the strongest?

Was strength a part of his identity or was his entire being centered on strength? He certainly didn’t want it to be everything he was but that’s all most people saw when they looked at him. Gojo drank another drink and leaned back on his hands.

“Do you ever think of what you would be if you weren’t a sorcerer?” He asked suddenly. Your eyes cut over to him as you lowered your drink from your lips. It was clear you weren’t expecting that question but at the same time you knew exactly what to say.

“I’m a shit sorcerer.” You said self-deprecatingly. “So I think about it all the time.”

“You’re not so bad.” He says as you turn to look at him. There was a hint of a smirk on your lips.

“Liar.” You admonished jokingly, barely shaking your head. “I know my flaws.”

“What flaws?”

“Alright, sweet talker.”You laughed and Gojo could swear he saw a hint of red on your cheeks. You shook your head as though to keep yourself from laughing more. So this is what it was like? This is who Takuma got to sit and joke around with all day long? Gojo felt sickly jealous when that thought crossed his mind. That he’d wasted all this time trying to flirt with you when he could’ve just talked to you. Sure he still wanted more than what you’d probably give him but this slightest bit of attention could probably keep him afloat for months. You ran a hand through your hair and sighed. “You know… I haven’t told anyone this but… I’ve been thinking of quitting.” You said. Gojo couldn’t help but react. Quit? Is that something you could just do?

“And do what?”

“My parents own a coffee shop back in America, they wanted me to work there out of high school but… you know this seemed more exciting. Now the prospect of fixing someone's coffee seems more exciting than facing some horrific curses.” You explained as Gojo smiled softly, nodding his head along to your words. He thought about it. Thought about coming into work, you waved him over as you explained some gossip about the other workers. Him tying your apron on and kissing your cheek, you ruffling his hair and smiling up at him. Fixing coffee for a living. Would he be the greatest at that? “I think…” you started, snapping him out of his reverie. “I think I might do that.” Gojo’s brows shot up.

“Hmm?”

“Fix coffee. I was good at it in high school. And… I miss my family. I’ve lived too far for too long.” You said, a dreamy far off look in your eyes. Gojo can’t help but feel sort of lost. You leaving was something he never expected. People didn’t leave the Jujutsu world unless it was in a body bag. Gojo didn’t know there was another way.

“You’ve never told anybody else this?” Gojo asks as you look over at him, the ghost of a sweet smile on your lips.

“You’re… easier to talk to than I thought.” You said and Gojo raised his brows.

“What do you mean?” He asks softly.

“I just mean… easier to talk to than before. Before when you’d flirt with me incessantly.” You joke as Gojo reddens. He thought you hadn’t even noticed his attempts but not only did you notice but you avidly avoided him. Gojo bites hit to, cheeks blushing in embarrassment at this revelation.

“I’m… sorry.” He bleated, shaking his head. You laughed, biting your lip.

“I didn’t necessarily say I didn’t enjoy... some of it.” You said and when Gojo looked over at you, eyes hopeful Takuma called out across the lawn. You looked at the other man as he pointed to his watch and waved you over to hurry. “Oh shit. Sorry, Satoru. Gotta get going.” You said jumping up. Gojo followed, helping you gather your stuff up. When he handed you the blanket your hand brushed against his sending chills across his body. You gave him a kind smile and waved as you went to meet with Takuma. Gojo stared for a moment before his feet moved on their own.

“Wait… Y/n,” he called out as you slowed, turning. “If you leave… to go home. I’d like to visit… sometime.” He stumbled through his words, you made him feel like a teenager again. You gave him a look, an amused look, eyes lighting up.

“Anytime, I’ll fix you my favorite.” You said and then you turned and met with Takuma.

Gojo thought about that day all week long. Your voice swimming through his mind. How pretty you looked when he made you laugh. He didn’t flirt, or crack jokes the entire time. He just talked to you. And you seemed to like that. You seemed to like the real him. Not the him he plays up for everyone else. He thought himself into a hole so he got out of bed and winded his way through the hallways towards the lounge, a nice cup of hot tea might help him settle down. When he pushed the door open there you were. Sat at a table, sipping from one of Nanami’s cups. Gojo couldn’t help but show surprise on his face at seeing you up this late. You looked up and when your eyes met Gojo’s words died on his lips.

“Can’t sleep?” You asked as Gojo cleared his throat, nodding his head. “Me neither.” You remarked with a gentle shrug of your shoulders. Gojo fixed himself a cup of tea and sat down across from you.

“Why can’t you sleep?” He asked. You sighed, running a hand through your hair.

“I got a flight in the morning. I’m sort of— uncomfortable with flying.” You said as Gojo couldn’t help but softly smile at you. It was endearing to him that you’d lose sleep over something like that. You gave him a look and barely smirked, shaking your head.

“Where you headed?” He asks. The smile on your lips slightly falters.

“You didn’t hear?” You ask as Gojo’s brows furrow. He shakes his head. “I did it. Like we talked about a week or so ago. I’m headed home.” You say and Gojo can’t help but let his lips fall open in surprise again. Thinking about it was one thing but doing it so soon had his stomach in knots. You stared at him, drinking in his minuscule reactions. “Today was my last day.” You added as though that would soothe the pain in his chest. He couldn’t look up any longer so he let his eyes fall on his steaming cup of tea.

“Oh.” Was all he said. Anything more would’ve been too revealing.

“I— meant to tell you but… you’re so busy all the time.” You said and Gojo looked up then. You didn’t owe him your apologies.

“It’s fine. You— we talked about it. I just didn’t think you’d want to leave so soon.”

“I’ve been itching to leave for months.” You said with a small turn of your lips. “This job isn’t for the weak and although I’m not entirely terrible I’m not exactly good either.” You laughed. Gojo shook his head, he disagreed with that both times you said it, but he didn’t voice it this time cause it seemed you understood. “It might be childish but I just miss home.” You sigh as Hojo shakes his head immediately.

“It’s not childish.” He says and finally your guys' eyes meet. You’d be gone in the morning for good and Gojo hadn’t so much as gotten to know you passed a few brief talks. He felt slighted. It was his fault of course but he couldn’t help the bitter feeling that left him wanting more.

“I… wish we could’ve talked like this sooner, we could’ve been friends.” You said and it was like the nastiest stake to the heart. He knew you didn’t mean it to hurt him because you didn’t know how he felt and he couldn’t only blame himself for that.

“I do too.” He said softly. You two couldn’t look away from one another. Something dangerous growing, some tension that kept you rooted in this moment. Gojo was the strongest but you never really saw him with anyone. Sure he’d occasionally have drinks with Nanami but for the most part he was alone. It felt stupid to feel anything now, with you leaving in the morning. And unbeknownst to Gojo you had something that formed over the few years you knew him. He intrigued you, he was so strong so sure of himself one moment but there was this look in his eyes. Like a scream for help. He was constantly sent on missions alone, he’d come back battered and bruised and smiling, a smile so fake to you but so real to the others that couldn’t see past it.

You tried once, pathetically, to ask him if he was alright and stupidly gave up when he kept that mask up. You just didn’t want to step over a line and push him further away. But the years you spent here you were unknowingly doing it anyways. Dodging his obvious attempts at flirting because you weren’t sure if they were sincere or not and you couldn’t stand the thought of getting hurt. But here you were, hours away from never seeing this man again. You lied about being afraid of flights, you flew many times. The reason you couldn’t sleep was because of the ‘what if?’. What if you had flirted back years ago? Would you be hurt and jaded towards him? Or wouldn’t you have cracked through something deeper? Would you two be together? Would you be here? Watching him being used by a society that doesn’t care for him or would you steal him away from all this? Take him home and have him fix coffee at your side. Would he be happy or would he be bored? Gojo’s eyes glanced at the clock on the stove.

“It’s getting late. You should try to sleep so you don’t miss your flight.” He said, drinking the last of his tea.

There was some sort of finality to that. You nodded your head, drinking the rest of yours as well. You stood up and walked to the sink, running water and washing your cup. When you turned the water off and dried your hands, Gojo approached. He sat his mug in the sink. He paused for a moment, as if contemplating something then spoke in an almost whisper.

“Fuck it.” Before you could begin to ask he turned, hands sliding over your cheeks and bent to press his lips gently against yours. You froze. The kiss was unexpected and stomach achingly tender. Gojo kissed you as though he loved you. With gentleness and persistence. He stepped closer, your body trapped between his own and the counter.

No, no, no… you thought.

Why kiss me when I’m leaving?

But there wasn’t a bone in you that didn’t want this and the revelation was anything but not obvious. You’d know with startling accuracy that you wanted this to happen. You just wished it would’ve happened sooner. You felt the kiss deepen. Gojo ducking his head ever so closer. One hand trailing down from your face, light fingers dancing down your shoulder, past your arm around your hip, fingers gripping and pulling you flush against him. You made a soft noise, your stomach bottoming out as Gojo’s mouth cracked yours open. His hand slid beneath your butt and with ease he picked you up with that one hand and sat you carefully on the counter. The hand on your cheek slid behind your head so you didn’t bump against the cabinets. You two stay like that for a while, feeling out the boundaries that were breaking by the second.

Gojo brushes a lock of hair behind your ear and trails kisses from your lips to your cheek to your jaw and neck. Your head falls back and to the side, your hands softly gripping the front of his shirt, something to keep you the least bit grounded in the moment. You needed to be grounded while Gojo was absolutely drunk on you. He couldn’t believe this was happening, all he knew was that he wouldn’t squander this moment. When you left he wanted you to remember him. You shiver at the sudden more feverish kisses and slide your cold hand beneath his shirt. Gojo doesn’t even jump, he makes a low sound in the back of his throat.

His grip on your hip tightening just slightly before sliding around your back, his warm fingers sliding under the hem of your shirt. You arched closer to him as he moved his lips back to yours, you met his lips with the same fevered kisses as him. You gently tugged Gojo’s shirt up and he moved away from your lips temporarily to let you tug his shirt over his head. His body was scared and lean, you traced a few of his scars with a light tip of the finger and when you looked back up at him he was looking at you with a curious expression. You cleared your throat.

“Do you want to do this now? Here?” You asked, gesturing to the dimly lit lounge.

“Do you?” He turned it back on you, his voice wrecked with wanting. You could see the answer clearly in his eyes, he didn’t care where you two were. He’d want you regardless. You thought about it. Was it meaningless to do it here? Would it be better to take him to your room? You were leaving for good in the morning, would it be a mistake to have a one night stand with the strongest? But the wording of one night stand seemed cruel, seemed so unlike what you two were actually doing. It felt deeper. And if it was deeper, were you going home tomorrow with a torn heart? Your hands were still on his stomach, still pressed near a scar. You did want this… but you couldn’t want it. That was the thing all along. Satoru Gojo was going to get himself killed one day. Sure he was the strongest but you could see him wearing down. The scars weren’t healing, he looked tired. Getting involved with him was insuring yourself of a broken heart. You sighed and shook your head.

“We… shouldn’t.” You said and you couldn’t look up at him. You didn’t want to see how he would react. If you did look up at him you’d see just how much two words could break Satoru Gojo. He couldn’t mask it anymore. He wanted so badly to mean more to you. He wanted to be bare in front of you and for you not to flinch away. But you were flinching away and he knew it. It made him sick. Gojo grabbed his shirt and pulled it back on. Your hands fell away from him as you slid off the counter top.

“Can… I ask why?” He said and you knew it wasn’t about sleeping together. It was the deeper sort of question.

“Cause you’d break my heart.” You answered simply. Gojo looks at you. Break your heart? He’d rather die than do that.

“What do you mean?” He asked, his voice soft, he wasn’t angry, just wanted to understand.

“You’re… Satoru Gojo,” you gestured. “You’re the strongest. The greatest sorcerer. You… don’t make time to be anything but that.” You say, eyes meeting his for the first time since your rejection. And then he understood your meaning.

“What if I did? What if I left it behind?”

“What if?” You asked back. “You’d need something more fulfilling to fill in the gap.” You supplied.

“I found something like that.” He says suddenly.

“Like what?”

“You.” For a moment you two stare at each other.

“I can’t… I don’t want to stay here.”

“I’m not asking you to stay. I— I’m asking you to let me come with you.” Your eyebrows shot up, eyes wide. You were shocked by his words. Spoken with such conviction.

“Satoru…” you said, unable to quite grasp this statement yet.

“I mean it. I… I could go with you. Work beside you… be with you… if you’ll have me.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am deadly serious, Y/n. I’m not willing to sit here and pretend like you don’t mean everything to me. You’ve consumed my every waking moment. You’re all I can think about, all I dream about. I— I fear if I stay behind and don’t take this chance… I might as well just end up dead.”

“Oh...” But his confession was breathtaking. Your heart was in your throat, beating and causing words to falter.

“I’ll be your friend if you want. I’ll be whatever you want me to be. Just,” he takes a step closer and you have a sick feeling he’s never wanted something for himself as much as he wanted you at this moment. “Take me with you.” Your throat went dry as you gazed up at him. The things you were afraid of, of him choosing to stay, of him fighting alone and fighting to his grave had vanished in an instant with his words. So he was willing to choose between you and sorcery. Not only willing but had made his choice long ago and just now felt confident enough to let you in on it. Not to mention he’d made this decision long before your two’s lips even touched, that was a whole other story to unfold. His feelings for you were much deeper than you previously thought. Those dreams of stealing him away from the people that used him had dropped, real and tangible, in your hands. Your mind swam.

“Don’t… you think you’d get bored?” You asked, but your head tilted and there was the ghost of a smile on your lips. All the tension that had been wrecking Gojo’s body soothed right at that moment. He couldn’t help but smile.

“No. I really don’t think I would.” He answers earnestly. That ghost of a smile turned into a full formed apparition of a smile as you laughed.

“We’ll see about that.” You said and you barely got the words out before he was kissing you again. No warning, all urgency. To feel you again. “Should we go back to my room?” You whispered as the kiss grew slightly more heated.

“Mhm hm.” Gojo hummed, picking you up with ease and tossing you over his shoulder. You gasped in surprise as he walked towards your room.

“You’re an idiot.” You laughed quietly.

“What? You’d think I’d let you walk all the way there?” He asks teasingly as you dissolve into quiet giggles.

“All the way there,” you mocked with a shake of the head. “Like I don’t do it everyday.”

“Not on my watch.” He says, rounding the corner to your room.

“What— what the hell?” You heard Nanami’s voice then and your face went bright red. Gojo didn’t sit you down, just tipped his head to the blond man and kept walking. You on the other hand covered your face and silently cursed Gojo out.

“You have a filthy mouth.” Gojo said as he rounded the final corner, your room steps away.

“Set me down you idiot.” You groaned. And he did but the moment your feet touched the floor his lips were back on yours, pressing you into your closed door. The kiss was needy. He must’ve been waiting a long time to kiss you in the first place. Those first two kisses were something but this one was different. It was like he’d rather kiss you than breathe as you fumbled with the lock and opened the door.

You two tumbled inside, Gojo catching the door in his hand and pushing it shut behind you two as you stumbled towards the bed. Gojo couldn’t go another day without choking out what you meant to him, without showing you. He could feel it in his shoulders when he breathed, feel it in the uncomfortable twist and flip his heart would do around you. Could feel it swirling around in his sleepless nights. He was going to show it to you. Going to convey exactly what he felt.

He pressed his kisses harder, pushed you against the bed. Kissed any surface of your body his lips could find. Savored the noises you made. You spoke muffled against his neck, his name, the sound so sweet and utterly perfect on your lips. He never cared much for his name until he heard you speak it. He exhales sharply, his breath shuddering. He feels your deft fingers slide beneath his shirt again then to the waistband of his pants. You pause and when he speaks a shaky please you slip the pants down past his hips and he kicks the useless thing fully off. He does the same for you and suddenly you both are undressed. Equal, more or less. He kisses you a few more times to hide his nerves and just for a moment lets himself slip into the role of the strongest. He takes the lead, his hands parting your thighs as he trails kisses to your neck. He lines himself up, your hand just barely guiding him, there’s not much thoughts that go into his brain when he enters you. You both make a sound in the dark. Your hands sliding around him to his back, nails digging in there.

“Satoru…” You whimper and he has to will himself not to come right then and there. He goes slow at first, letting you get used to the size. Your bodies are pressed together, he’s practically crushing you beneath him but you wouldn’t have it any other way. One of your hands grabbed his chin, yanking his lips against yours as he picked up his pace. He swallowed your moans and vice versa. He ground his hips against yours, loving the hitch in your breath. He did it again and again until you couldn’t kiss him back anymore and he couldn’t keep his head up, it fell into the crook of your neck as you came together. you both pull back, exhausted and Gojo’s surprised when you start laughing. He stares at you open mouthed, never once after doing something like that with a girl had she started laughing after. “S-sorry,” you giggled, shaking your head. He smiles despite not knowing what you found so amusing. “That was… well I’m sure you know you’re good.” You blushed. “I just— it’s a bit unbelievable.”

“Hmm? What is?” Gojo asks as he pulls the cover up to shield you from the cold of your room.

“I was just… very wrong about you. For a long time. That’s all.” You said as you sat up, grabbing your night clothes and slipping them back on. Gojo does the same and expects that you’ll kick him out to sleep in his own room. “Hey,” you call out, patting the bed next to you. “Stay the night.” You say. You don’t have to tell him twice, he’s already practically back in your bed by the end of your sentence. You pull him close, laying your head against his chest as his arm winds around you. “I’m a clingy sleeper, just so you know.” You say and Gojo lets his eyes fall closed, a content smile on his lips as he kisses the top of your head.

“So am I.” He whispers back to you, slightly turning to pull you closer to him. He feels you hum a laugh. For the first time in years Gojo fell asleep with ease, he didn’t have to be haunted with visions of you because you were real and tangible against him. And he’d never felt more fulfilled, more excited to leave all this bullshit behind and not be the greatest for once.

#satoru gojo #gojo satoru x reader #gojo fanfic #gojo satoru x you #gojo x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu gojo #satorugojo #gojou satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #fem reader #jjk x reader #jjk

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charmandabear · 10 months ago

Text

Office Hours - Chapter Three

Summary:

Astarion surprises you by inviting you to his place... for a real date? The evening doesn't go as expected when you uncover the darkness in his past.

Pairing: Astarion/F!Reader Rating: E Word Count: 5.4k Tags/Warnings: mentions of Astarion's past, vampire bites, blood drinking, blow job, p in v sex, fluff with a very small side of angst, Shadowheart being a bit of a manic pixie dream best friend

Since y'all are insistent on encouraging my worst tendencies, here, have the longest single thing I've ever written. I think about Professor Astarion at all waking (and sleeping at this point) hours. I have other things planned, I will eventually write something else, I promise. But also... this one is now becoming a full-fledged multi-chapter fic. I'm half-considering rewriting the first few chapters so it's in third-person? I don't know though, let me know what you think.

H1ghVoltage and Zaria were both invaluable betas for this one, I appreciate you both so much. And Zaria for always providing the most perfect screenshots at the drop of a hat. This literally would not exist without you.

Read on AO3 ~ Masterlist

“Excuse me? The one you’re always going on about?” Shadowheart’s eyebrows disappear into her platinum bangs as she tucks her feet underneath her, holding up her wine glass so it doesn’t spill. The two of you met while moving into adjacent apartments a few years prior; it turned out you had both just been hired at the university, her at the Divinity School and you at the College of Arts and Sciences. Since then you’ve become fast friends, and you’re finally filling her in on all of the details of the whirlwind that has been the past few days. You hide your chagrin behind a sip of wine.

“Okay, listen, yes, but hear me out. He looks like this.” You hold out your phone and show her the English department faculty page.

“Oh. Oh,” she says in a low tone as her eyes study the screen. “Okay, you didn’t tell me that.”

“I think I was in denial,” you whine as you drop your head onto the couch cushion. “I focused on how much of an asshole he is to distract me from how hot he is.”

“And now? Will you see him again?” She tosses your phone at your feet and you lift your gaze.

“I don’t know? He made a joke about having sex in my office but I don’t think he actually meant it.” You cast a sidelong glance at Shadowheart, trying to gauge her expression.

“Scandalous,” she smiles into the rim of her glass before taking a long sip. You pick up your phone, looking at his portrait. It looks like a candid photo but it’s very clearly composed. He’s sitting pitched forward, his elbows resting on his knees. He’s looking off to the side and his brow is furrowed like he’s engaged in vigorous academic debate. It’s wildly pretentious.

You drop your phone again and angrily sip at your wine, letting the dry red flood over your tongue and coat the inside of your mouth. You notice Shadowheart eyeing you suspiciously.

“Do you want to?” she asks, and you put your glass onto the coffee table and curl your knees into your chest further.

“I… I don’t know? Like obviously the sex is good. Really good,” you add under your breath, and Shadowheart looks at you salaciously as your cheeks flush. “But whenever he says more than five words I want to gouge my eyes out.”

“Is that really how you feel, or have you just convinced yourself to feel that way?” she carefully asks. You glare at her, but you can't bring yourself to disagree. You drop your less-than-menacing expression and cover your face in your hands. You let out an exasperated sigh before suddenly gasping and looking up at her with wide eyes.

“Nine hells, did I tell you what else happened? At least one student knows. I saw her coming out of his office and she made some comment about ‘We all see how you look at him.’” You flop onto your side, burying your face in the couch cushion once again.

“Well, I suppose that answers your question, at least,” Shadowheart says reassuringly, and you narrow your eyes at her.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean if you like him enough that your students are noticing, then you have to pursue him. The worst that’ll happen is you’ll break up and you can go back to hating him.” She’s awfully nonchalant about having just described a literal nightmare.

“Excuse me, how is that possibly meant to make me feel better?” you gape at her.

“At least you get a good shagging out of the deal, right?” she grins at you, and her teeth are tinged purple from the wine. You kick your foot out at her.

“Man, we need to get you laid, don’t we?” you tease and she groans.

“Listen, you just told me that you got railed twice in three days, it’s not that good out here for most of us.” Now it’s her turn to cover her face and you laugh. You pick up your wine and stretch your legs out to nudge Shadowheart’s calf.

“Who knows, maybe there’s some hot chick in the English department that he can hook you up with.” She pushes your leg back and rolls her eyes.

“Absolutely not, English academics are the worst.”

***

You have no idea what to expect when you inevitably run into Astarion the next day. You're tempted to just work from home since you don’t have any classes, but you have another damn season selection committee meeting that you can't miss, and you'd rather be around for students to drop in if they need to.

You're on your way to the bathroom at the end of the day when you finally see him. You almost don't, at first, since you're looking down at your phone and you stop short of barrelling into him. You lock eyes and smile politely, then step to your left just as he steps to his right. You two share an awkward laugh just as it happens again in the opposite direction. After another few seconds of uncomfortable shuffling, he takes you by your shoulders and moves you to the side. You give him a thankful grin and quickly move past, trying to ignore the burning in your cheeks and the way your arms tingle where he touched you.

You get to the bathroom and close the door behind you, leaning against it to brace yourself. Your stomach is roiling, though whether it was from the embarrassment, the insatiable lust, or something else entirely, you can't quite tell. You turn on the faucet and splash your face with cool water. You stare at your reflection in the mirror, trying to will yourself into stoicism. It's a losing battle as the image of him having you bent over the sink pops into your mind. You shake your head, trying to think of something else, but that only makes it worse.

He’s pressed you up against the bathroom door and he's got your wrists pinned together above your head.

No, stop, you scold yourself. But the second you banish that image another one comes flooding in, your leg draped over his shoulder as he’s lightly sucking your clit with his fingers curled inside you.

You're dizzy with the mental image and you try to wrest it from your mind. You focus on the visual stimuli around you, the white tile, the fluorescent lights, the small blue stain beneath the soap dispenser. Eventually you find yourself back in your body and you massage your temples, trying to focus.

Your head is still reeling slightly as you make your way back to your office. You unlock the door, completely unaware of his presence behind you until you catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye. You yelp and in an instant he’s towering over you with your back up against the wall.

“Almighty gods, Astarion,” you swear breathlessly, your heart pounding more from the scare than the proximity for once. The proximity doesn’t help, however, when he tilts your chin with his knuckle and smiles devilishly.

“Come to my place, let me cook you dinner,” he purrs, and your breath quickens. But when his words finally break through the seductive tone, something in your brain stops.

“Wait, cook? Can you- do you even- how-” You still haven’t fully recovered and your mouth struggles to form words. His smile widens and you know he’s enjoying watching you splutter.

“What, do you think in all of my 350 years I've never bedded a mortal? Besides,” he trails his hand down your neck and strokes it gently with his thumb, sending a shiver down your spine, “I have other ways of getting my fill.”

You instinctively tilt your head for him, almost like you’re inviting him to bite right here and now. You manage to recoup your senses just enough to quip, “I’m sure you have plenty of experience luring cute mortals back to your place.”

You think you see his jaw tighten for a fraction of a second, but it’s gone before you can be sure.

“I’ll take it as a yes, then?” He pulls away and adjusts his glasses, his fingers sliding into his hair. You nod, not trusting the words to come out of your mouth. He pulls a slip of paper from his pocket and tucks it into the neckline of your shirt, a move that would have been unbearably corny coming from anyone else.

“See you then… lover.” He winks and glides out of the room as silently as he came in. You take a breath to steady yourself, a voice in the back of your head grumbling because of how much he has you wrapped around his finger. But admittedly, he seemed equally flustered when you almost plowed into him a few minutes ago.

Maybe not the best choice of words.

You pull the piece of paper out to see an address, date, and time. Tomorrow at 7.

Cool. Cool cool cool cool cool.

Now you just need to occupy yourself for the next 26 hours and not completely lose your nerve.

***

Occupying yourself isn’t terribly difficult with Shadowheart around. She keeps you busy all day with various errands, shopping, anything to keep you from spiraling.

Nevertheless, when it’s finally time to get dressed, you find yourself overthinking every tiny element. You stand frozen in front of your open underwear drawer trying to decide between the black lace or the pink satin.

“Shadowheeeaaaarrrrrtttt,” you call out to her in the other room. She pops her head in and gives you a pitying smile as she sees your anxiety-ridden face.

“Alright, sit, let me help,” she clinks her glass down on your dresser and nudges you until you’re sitting on your bed, fidgeting with the belt of your robe.

“Black lace, it’s sexier,” she says sagely, tossing the panties at you and you slide them on under your robe. She pulls the plaid skirt out of the shopping bag and flings it onto the bed.

“Put that on because we both agreed it’s adorable. It might be warm enough to go without tights?” she muses, then glances at you mischievously. “And since he has a track record of destroying those, maybe go with these instead.” She throws a pair of thigh highs at you and they hit you in the face. You wrinkle your nose.

“Careful,” you warn, but she ignores you. She floats over to your closet and sifts through the hangers. She pulls out a top, shifts her gaze between you and the garment a few times, then drops it on the floor. After another moment of searching, she pulls out a blousy cardigan, throwing it on the bed next to you.

“Don’t put that on yet, I’ll be right back.” She disappears before you can say anything. You’re left sitting on your bed in just your bra and skirt, and you rub your feet together with a restless energy.

Shadowheart returns just a few minutes later holding a lacy top that reads more as lingerie than an actual shirt. She returns your skeptical frown with a giant grin.

“Shade, I'm not wearing that,” you gripe, and she throws it in your face.

“Put it on before you judge,” she chides in response, and you roll your eyes.

“Fine, but it probably won't fit,” you say as you take off your bra and don the sheer v-neck cami. Other than straining around your chest slightly, the fit is fine. You put on the oversized cardigan over it and look at the full effect in your floor length mirror.

“See, told you,” she says smugly as you admire your reflection. And it's true, the underwear-as-outerwear really does bring the look from glorified schoolgirl cosplay into something a bit more refined. You give her a disgruntled sidelong glance but otherwise say nothing.

“Alright, get going. Go put your shoes on and chase that Ph D.” She pushes you out of your bedroom and towards the front door of your apartment. “Don't worry about me, I'll be here drinking your wine and masturbating all by myself while you get fucked through the end of the tenday.”

You slip on your black suede ankle boots and pleadingly look at Shadowheart one more time. You're still not convinced that this whole thing isn’t just a trip into the lion’s den.

“Go! I look forward to hearing all the gory details,” she says and plants a smooch on your cheek. She then smacks your ass as you head out the door, your yelp earning a satisfied smirk.

Sure enough, when you find yourself outside his apartment door, you can feel your cold feet catching up with you. You're about to take out your phone and text Shadowheart that you're going to leave when his door opens.

“Hello, beautiful,” he croons, and the syrup in his voice makes your mouth go dry. The sleeves of his white button down are rolled up and the first few buttons are undone, leaving his collarbone exposed. The black vest tapers in his waist and flows seamlessly into his well-tailored trousers. But the first thing you notice is his glasses.

“Your glasses are different,” you blurt, internally cursing your bluntness. His eyebrows pop up above the thicker plastic frames.

“Is that a problem?” he asks without a hint of malice in his voice. You blush and quickly shake your head.

“No I- I like them. They look good,” you stutter, looking away from the heat of his gaze. He smiles and takes your hand almost like he's leading you in a courtly dance, pulling you inside.

You look around his apartment, noticing the similarities to the hominess of his office. Big overfull bookshelves, warm-lit lamps dotted around the space, papers and other junk littered across every surface. It still surprises you that he doesn’t keep a tidy space, but at the same time you find it oddly charming.

You spot a hairless cat sitting on some mail on a table in the corner, delicately licking its paw.

“Aww, who’s this?” You approach the cat, holding out your hand for it to sniff. It hisses in response and you take a step back.

“That's His Majesty, and you're best to respect his wishes,” Astarion calls from the kitchen.

“You named your cat His Majesty?” you ask, trying to suppress the laugh bubbling in your throat.

“No, he named himself His Majesty,” he replies, returning from the kitchen with a spoonful of risotto. “Taste,” he commands and you obediently open your mouth. The steaming food coats your tongue with a tangy, savory taste. You nod at him, barely trusting yourself to speak. It tastes incredible.

You turn back to His Majesty, and you notice an empty potion of animal speaking tipped on its side near him.

“Well I'll just admire such a handsome creature from a distance, then,” you say and His Majesty preens slightly. You can hear a hum of approval from Astarion as he retreats back into the kitchen.

This man is full of contradictions. Pristine, clean cut outward appearance with a cluttered, disorganized space. Cool and disaffected, but he loves his cat enough to use potions to communicate with him. He doesn't need to eat, but somehow he’s an incredible cook? You frown to yourself; it feels like something doesn't add up.

You start scanning one of the bookshelves, wondering what else you can learn about him. If there was an organizational system, it wasn't clear. 48 Laws of Power, History of Modern Sexuality, On the Genealogy of Morality, Gender Trouble… Ayn Rand sitting next to Octavia Butler?

What the fuck does he like?

“How is my collection of books holding up in your estimation?” Astarion’s sudden presence behind you makes you jump. He presses a wine glass into your hand and ghosts his lips across the crook of your neck, sending a swath of goosebumps down your arms.

“Did I tell you that you look absolutely delicious?” he murmurs into your skin, and you can already feel yourself getting lightheaded.

“You're one to talk,” you say on a dizzied exhale, and the breath from his laugh tickles your shoulder. He puts his hands on your waist, running a finger along the inside of the waistband of your skirt. He gives it a gentle tug and you unconsciously move in the direction he’s pulling.

“Come eat,” he says, guiding you to a table with one place setting. You sit, feeling awkward as he sits across from you, a wine glass in his hand.

“Are you just going to watch me eat?” you laugh nervously. He smiles into the glass, glancing at you above the rectangular frames sliding down his nose.

“Well if you're insistent, I can have my dinner as well.” He's not subtle about leering at your neck, sparking a flicker of heat in your belly. You distract yourself by taking another bite of the risotto, which somehow tastes even better than what he fed you before.

“So what do you experience when you have… food?” you ask, trying to shift his attention off you eating. He looks up as he thinks, and you find your gaze tracing his jawline.

“It’s… sour. Like it’s spoiled. But when something is cooked well, and with high quality ingredients, it’s more bearable.”

You look down at your food, the taste dancing across your palette. It's certainly better than something you could make for yourself. But you know so little about cooking techniques besides the basics that you don’t know what the difference would even be.

“And you're drinking wine. What does that taste like?” You try not to stare at the dark red liquid collecting on his lips, but it’s hard not to when his tongue darts out to lick it up.

“Alcohol has a higher threshold for quality, so it's generally more palatable. It usually means a higher budget for these things, but it's not as though I'm spending much on groceries.” He narrows his eyes at you, but you can't read his expression.

“Well go on,” he continues, and you tilt your head in confusion. “Ask the question that you really want to ask.” Your heart starts beating a little faster and he smirks. Gods, you really hate that he can read you like that. It would be nice to keep at least one emotion private.

“What does blood taste like?” Your voice is barely above a whisper, but it's clear that he hears you. His smile widens just enough to show off his fangs.

“It depends on the person,” he replies just as casually as if you had asked him about his taste in music. “Some are sweeter, like a nice rich port, while others have a bit of a burn, like whiskey. However, you?” He places his glass on the table and stands, and you can feel the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. He crosses behind your chair and sweeps your hair to the side, lasciviously inhaling your scent behind your ear, eliciting a shiver.

“Yours is smooth with a hint of spice, like a fine aged brandy. But the finish has an addictive quality, like absinthe.” He nips lightly at the base of your neck without breaking skin.

“Such pretty words,” you exhale on a breathy moan, reaching a hand up behind you and running your fingers through his hair, pulling him toward you ever so slightly.

“Is that what you want?” he breathes into your ear, and you arch your back in your seat, panting. You can barely get out the “yes” before he sweeps you out of the chair and wraps your legs around his waist. He carries you into the kitchen, placing you on the counter and pressing your knees apart with his torso. You whine and the cool tile pressing into your ass reminds you of his touch. He slides one hand behind your head and the other around your waist, and sinks his teeth into your neck.

The initial pain surprises you every time, and your yelp is followed by his satisfied groan. You grip the back of his neck as he drinks, and you can feel the muscles working with each swallow. The feeling of your blood coursing through both of your bodies gets you high, knowing it's your blood that flushes his lips, cheeks, and ears. It's your blood flowing to his cock. The reminder of it makes you clench instinctively.

He pulls away just as you're teetering on the edge of passing out. He’s always panting after he feeds, his glasses slightly askew and a ravenous look in his eye that makes your mouth water. You pull him into a heated kiss, the metallic tang on his lips becoming a sensory reminder of the post-feeding bliss.

You pull him closer with your feet, aching just to feel him pressed against you. Your hands scramble against his back, tugging at his collared shirt. He’s wearing far too many layers and he hasn’t even blessed you with the sight of his gorgeous sculpted chest yet.

You slide a hand into the back of his collar, desperate for his skin, when your fingers brush over thick raised scar tissue. He pulls back faster than you do and your hands immediately go to cover your mouth.

“I'm sorry, I didn’t–” you begin but the pained look in his eye makes you stop short.

“No it's… it's fine. I've had those for a very long time. I… ah…” he stutters, adjusting his glasses uncomfortably, and you've never seen him so flummoxed.

“What are they from?” The question leaves your mouth before you can stop it. You're about to retract, tell him he doesn't need to answer, when he speaks quietly.

“They're from… the man who turned me. He kept me as a slave for 200 years. It’s something written in infernal, but I never found out what it said. And his death ensured I never would.” He speaks while looking down at the floor, his distant gaze indicating that he's somewhere else entirely.

“Astarion…” you breathe, and you cup his face in your hands. He smirks and snakes his arms around your waist; the mask is back on.

“Don’t worry about me, darling,” he says with a composed smile, “it was a very long time ago. I’m more concerned with tonight.” He moves to kiss your neck again but you put your hand against his chest to stop him.

“No- well, I mean yes to tonight, but… let me take care of you,” you say softly, and his careful expression slips again.

“I- well if that’s what you want.” He crinkles his brow, unsure of what to make of your proposal.

“Is it what you want?” You stroke his cheek, and it suddenly feels like this is an entirely different man standing in front of you. Hesitant, vulnerable, his usual swaggering confidence replaced with an uncertain tenderness that makes your heart pound in a way that feels wholly unfamiliar with him.

“I’m not sure,” he says, his voice dropping to just above a whisper.

“We don’t have to,” you offer quickly, “we can just fuck up against a wall or something.” The joke breaks the tension and he lets out a little giggle.

“What do you have in mind?” He looks up at you through heavy-lidded eyes, and you ease off the counter and gently nudge him backwards toward his bedroom. He follows your lead, his doubtful look shifting into something of excitement and mischief. You guide him until the back of his knees hit the bed, and you push him to sit.

You straddle his lap and run your fingers through his silvery curls. You kiss along his jawline and down his neck, placing a particularly tender kiss on his bite scar. He exhales heavily, sliding his hands up your thighs and resting them on your lower back.

You begin carefully unbuttoning his vest, followed by his shirt, untucking the hem from his pants. You slide it down his shoulders and onto the bed behind him, letting your warm hands run over the cool planes of his skin. His eyes follow your movements carefully and you take your time, tracing over every divet, every freckle and mole. You delight in his gasp when your fingers dance over his navel and down to his belt buckle.

You slip off his lap and drop between his legs, your hands continuing their journey along his hips. You plant increasingly hungry kisses above his waistband as you remove his belt and unzip his pants. He leans back on his hands as his breathing quickens, but he doesn’t take his eyes off you.

You’re struck with the irony that the last time you were between Astarion’s legs like this it was to get revenge, to make him feel flustered and speechless the way he always does to you. Now you have him, flustered and speechless, and all you want is to worship him, make him feel warm and safe.

You slide his pants down under his ass, pulling them all the way off so he’s sitting on his bed fully nude. You run your lips along his inner thigh as you palm his growing erection.

“Ah- wait,” he stammers and you immediately look up and pull back.

“Yes?” you ask, frozen by the fear that you’ve gone too far.

“I want to see you,” he whispers, nudging your cardigan off your shoulder. “All of you.”

It’s hard to believe that someone sitting naked in front of you can make you feel so exposed. You shiver as you drop the cardigan off your back, the sudden exposure to cool air making your nipples poke through the lacy top that Shadowheart gave you. You stand and he watches intently as you unzip your skirt, letting it fall to the floor in a pool at your feet. His expression gives little away, but his cock doesn’t. By the time you’ve removed the black panties, thigh highs, and cami, it stands at full attention. His knees squeeze around your legs and his arms pull you in close to him, pressing his nose against your belly. You card your fingers through his hair and down to his chin, tilting his head upwards.

“Better?” you breathe, and he nods, his eyes round and wide. You bend down to kiss him, slow and languid, before dropping to your knees again. When you pull away his mouth stays open, suspended in the shape of your kiss.

You settle between his knees and lightly kiss the head of his dick. You flick your gaze upward, monitoring his expression as you lazily run your fingers along his shaft. His glasses balance on the tip of his nose as he looks down at you, transfixed by your ministrations. You open your lips slightly, not quite taking him into your mouth yet as you softly cup his balls in your hand. You can hear his breath growing ragged, and he rewards you with an almost inaudible moan when your tongue finally wets his cock.

You wrap your lips around his tip, gently working the underside with your tongue. You run your hands up his thighs, squeezing his hips as they buck into you. You take more of him in, the warmth of your mouth contrasting with the cool, sensitive skin. He groans and tangles his fingers in your hair, a gesture that feels closer to petting than pulling.

You pull your mouth off his cock, wrapping your hand around the now slick shaft. You run your thumb along the slit, and his responding shutter makes you smile.

“Ah- enjoying yourself?” he murmurs, unable to keep his voice steady. You look up at him and drag your tongue along his entire length.

“I am, are you?” you hum, taking him back into your mouth and swirling your tongue around the tip. His leg quivers beside you, his toes curling inward.

“Mmph,” he grunts in assent, his hand twisting into your hair a little more. You slip your hands under his thighs and slide your mouth further down, letting him fill you up. His hips jerk, wanting to thrust into you, and you relax your jaw to let him. His little pants and disjointed moans send a jolt of heat down to your core, and you can feel yourself becoming wet with desire for him.

You reach down and slip your middle finger between your slick folds, your groan vibrating into him. He hisses and pulls you off his cock and into a fierce kiss. The two of you tumble backwards onto the bed, your hair encircling you like a curtain. You press your bodies together, the smoldering heat spreading into a raging wildfire. He lines himself up with your entrance as you continue your desperate assault on his lips. He slides in with ease and your cry into his mouth accompanies him bottoming out.

You push yourself up, bracing yourself on his chest as you grind into him. He plants his hands on your hips, thrusting up into you. Your head falls back in ecstasy, your hair cascading down the length of your back. You increase the pace of your rolling hips, each breath growing more voiced as you approach your peak.

“Oh gods, Astarion,” you babble, his name falling out of your mouth like a prayer. He realizes you’re getting close, he sits up and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you into him tight. He latches onto your nipple, flicking his tongue and sucking to send your pleasure to staggering heights. You arch your back into him as your arms hook over his shoulders, brushing your hands against those awful scars. Your hands splay across his back as if to say no one will ever hurt you like that again.

You pull his face to yours so that you can taste his lips as you crash over the edge. The kiss is broken up by your cries and you can feel his cock throbbing inside you, his grunts in time with his pulsing seed. You stay still and connected as the waves of pleasure ebb and flow and finally settle. The only noise left in the room is both of your heavy panting, and the telltale sound of just your heart pounding.

His hands slide down your back as you carefully pull yourself off him and you shiver as his now-soft cock falls out of you. You kneel next to him and rest your head on his shoulder, and he reaches over to stroke your jaw.

“Thank you,” he hums softly, and you press another sweet kiss to his neck. His scar.

After a moment you let out a contented sigh, then you say, “Well, I should probably gather my things and go, then.” You begin to stand to dress, but his hand closes around your wrist. You turn to him, unable to hide the surprise on your face.

“Or you could… stay. If you want.” He looks up at you through smudged and sweaty glasses and a smile tugs at your lips.

“What do you want?” you ask, and you watch him shift uncomfortably with a question that he’s not used to answering.

“I want…” he begins, hesitant. “I want to watch last year’s Globe production of Much Ado About Nothing with you. You said you like that one, right?” Your ears grow hot as you realize the extent to which he actually paid attention to you, even before you were sleeping together.

“I do, yeah. One of his best,” you say, your voice cracking slightly as you repeat his words back to him. That interaction feels like it was eons ago, when in fact it was less than a tenday.

He smirks, some of his confident charm seeping back into his demeanor. He scoots back on the bed until he’s resting against the headboard, and then he reaches out to you, inviting you to curl in next to him. You oblige, and he turns on the TV across from the bed, pulling up the pro-shot. You sink in next to him, appreciating how his chest cools your flushed cheek.

A single word gnaws at the back of your mind and you banish it quickly.

No, that’s the oxytocin talking.

It’s just been a long time since you’ve slept with someone more than once.

He presses a kiss to the top of your head and the gnawing grows more insistent.

…

Fuck.

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teejaystumbles · 7 months ago

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Against all odds (part 8)

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7

(Whenever I put this on AO3 it will probably be all one chapter and the longest single chapter fic I've ever written lol) (continues straight after Part 7)

Shame the stranger won’t want to visit the White Horse again any time soon, he thinks as he changes into his sleep clothes. It’s still a decent pub even if Hob heard when he last visited that they want to tear the place down for new buildings. It’s a shame, truly. Hob likes the old Inn. It’s one of the few constants in his life, the most important right after his stranger.

He lies down with a sigh and stares at the ceiling, trying to recall how the place has changed through time. He falls asleep before he can reach the 15th century.

Hob dreams again of the White Horse. It is 1389 and he is sitting and drinking with his mates of old, joking about Death being stupid.

A man clad all in black with a face as white as the moon steps silently up to their table. Hob’s mates ask him who he is but the man stays silent and doesn’t acknowledge them, his pitch-black eyes fixed on Hob. Hob stares. He knows him. Would know him anywhere. This is his friend, who he’s been waiting for for a very, very long time.

He ignores the others and they fade into obscurity. He says, awe and wonder clear in his voice and face, “You came.”

“We have an appointment, Hob Gadling. Of course I came.”

“But you didn’t- you didn’t want to meet…here. Any more. Am I wrong?” Hob feels confused. He knows what he’s saying is right, but it doesn’t make any sense, here and now where he has never met this man before. The stranger inclines his head.

“In your dreams I do not feel hesitant to visit this place. It is yours, and therefore a pleasant space to be in.”

Hob frowns.

“Mine? This is your place, my friend. Our place.”

“No. This is your dream of the White Horse Inn, Hob, and every human’s who has lived and visited it. But yours especially. It is not mine,” his friend says almost wistfully, “Neither here, nor in the Waking.”

“Then I'll find us a new place, or I'll build one!” Hob exclaims and jumps up. “A new Inn. One where you'll feel comfortable, a bright place, with a garden and a tree out front and sunny spots to sit and talk, or be quiet. Somewhere that is ours, yours and mine.”

“You would? For me?”

“Aye. I would do anything for you, my friend. My lord.”

Hob tastes the unfamiliar title on his tongue, repeats it again and finds it to feel perfectly right for his stranger, especially when he sees the sparkle in the man's eyes at being addressed as such. “My lord…” The words Hob knows he had been tempted to say on this day in 1389 roll out of him like a rushing river he cannot stop-

“I’d swear fealty to you, if you’d accept it, and call you my liege. My king,” and he sinks to one knee before the one who rules him.

Dream gasps as Hob’s words hit him with the force of a wave crashing into him. He vibrates with ambiguous emotion as Hob smoothly sinks to one knee before him, brown doe eyes looking up at Dream with pure honesty and - love. It’s clearly love that’s shining out of Hob’s eyes and Dream feels the flames at his mantle’s hem lick higher and higher.

What is this human doing, offering him first his blood and now his fealty?

“Oh. Hob,” he rasps, aghast. He doesn’t know what to say. He accepted the first offering. Would it be wise to decline the second? There is magic in the number Three, if he is not careful this will turn into a dangerous affair indeed. If this continues Hob Gadling could be bound to him forever. Excitement rushes through him at the thought.

His.

Someone who'd willingly be Dream’s!

He cannot do this. He mustn’t. Hob may love him, or a version of him he thinks he knows, but Hob is someone who needs to be his own man. Dream cannot imagine him as a vassal, a servant, of anybody, least of all Dream’s.

He takes a step closer and puts a hand on Hob’s head. The man gazes hopefully up at him, a smile on his face. Dream feels his chest tighten.

“You honour me, old friend. Yet I would not rob you of your freedom. You are, and should always be, your own lord and master, subservient to none. I do not wish to be your king.”

Hob’s face falls for a moment and Dream prepares himself for Hob’s disappointment. Then the man at his feet suddenly smiles again and grabs Dream’s hand, cradling it gently before laying a kiss on it.

“Shame. I think it’s too late for you to refuse, my lord, as I have already made my choice. You need not acknowledge me as yours, I will still fight for you and defend you if you are in need. If not a servant, then I am your loyal ally, and I will still offer you anything that is mine.”

Dream shivers and gapes at Hob, who winks cheekily at him and kisses Dream’s hand again. Hastily Dream takes a step back and cradles his hand against his chest.

“You do not know what you promise, Hob. You have to be careful-”

“Careful? Hah!” Hob barks a laugh and gets up from the floor. He claps Dream on the shoulder as if they’ve always been in the habit of touching each other so casually and Dream flinches, stunned.

“Sorry to say this, old friend, but when it comes to you I have never been very careful. Don’t think I can start now.”

Hob shrugs and turns to the table to grab a tankard of ale and a glass of red wine, strangely modern in the mediaeval surroundings of the old tavern, and thrusts it into Dream’s hand. Then Hob toasts him with another wink.

“To our long and lasting friendship, my lord. My friend.”

Dream, perplexed, raises his glass in turn and they both drink. Hob grins happily at him and Dream feels his cheeks flush. He vanishes the wine with a frustrated gesture. Leave it to Hob Gadling to stump him and make him accept a second gift despite himself. He needs to think about this.

He murmurs, “This dream is over,” and leaves Hob to his sleep.

Hob wakes up with the feeling of having dreamt something nice, but he can't remember more than that he was in the old White Horse. Snatches of a conversation, of making a toast, come back to him, but he doesn't know who he was even talking to. No matter. It's still better than no dreams at all. He feels much more rested after sleeping since the dreams returned. Seems like his brain is very grateful.

He gets up and throws a glance over at his desk. The journal is gone. Hob blinks. Then he grins and goes to get ready for his day.

His stranger has taken the book! Now it’s just waiting for him to return it. Oh, and come up with a new place to meet, he supposes, while he shaves and slicks his hair back for another day at the agency. Hob sighs. He really needs to get another life. He’s sick and tired of his job and this look. He likes his flat but now that his stranger and him have a new way to communicate, and his friend has no interest in entering the White Horse any time soon, maybe Hob can just up and move to another town for a bit.

He finishes his routine and goes to put the kettle on. He hasn’t taken a holiday in a while. Maybe it’s time for a break at least, if not a reinvention of Hob Gadling. He can come up with what to do next and focus on his stranger. He seems to desperately need the company of a friend, even if he won’t say it outright, and Hob wants to be that friend.

After breakfast Hob drives to work to finish up some business before he calls in some time off for a family emergency. ‘Against all odds’ plays on the radio and Hob sighs. He listens for a while as his Porsche crawls through London traffic, humiliated by the memory of putting these lyrics down to express his feelings in that first journal entry addressed to his friend. He switches stations and lands on the other extreme - Kylie’s ‘I should be so lucky’ cheerfully hits him right in the heart again. “It's a crazy situation, You always keep me waiting, Because it's only make believe, And I would come a-running, To give you all my loving, If one day, you would notice me-” “Christ,” Hob growls and turns the radio off. Just one more day. He just needs to keep his head for a few more hours, finish off some editing, talk to his bosses and then he’ll be free to wallow and pine for as long as he wants. “Get it together, Gadling,” he hisses at himself and changes gears as the light turns finally green. It’s not like his stranger is not talking to him. He’s back. Everything’s fine. Better than fine, even. He shouldn’t be hung up about things that will never change, he should focus on all the positive developments. His friend wants to meet him again, so Hob should focus on figuring out where they could meet. A park would probably be best, he thinks.

Part 9

#dreamling #1989 au #the sandman fanfiction #teejay writes

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totothewolff · 1 year ago

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Season of Love (2/?)

+18 | Toto x reader fem!teamprincipal, romance, comedy, and some good drama.

Summary: One night on a pier in Monaco, while admiring the sea under the night skies, you tell Toto: "I came to the conclusion that love is simply not meant for me." That's the answer to a question you have been asking yourself for the longest time. But what if he proved you wrong? Author's note: This is a multichapter Toto Wolff x team principal reader fic set along a season of F1. It's a very immersive story full of drivers, team dynamics, races, mystery, and smut. You just bought the Williams team, but nobody really knows who you truly are.

< Previous chapter | Masterlist | Next chapter >

Dances with Wolff Arc Chapter 2: Lights out, and away your feelings go!

Australia By mere luck, Toto had one of those sponsors' events in the afternoon, and he was wearing a Tom Ford tan suit with a white shirt, a classic ensemble, instead of his usual Mercedes kit.

And you, well, you looked so chic wearing a romantic Saint Laurent satin mini dress with an off-the-shoulder neckline paired with ribbon bowtie Jimmy Choo stilettos up to the occasion.

You wave Sam goodbye as she enters the car and returns to the hotel. And then Toto and you stay standing there, not knowing what to do next.

—So, at what time is the reservation? —Toto asks you.

—In two hours, it is downtown.

—Good. We are getting there on time, right?

—Oh yeah, we can go on my c... —You look at the empty space where your Lambo was parked - well, where Michael parked it, now empty and immediately take out your phone, shit! You left it on airplane mode. All messages and missed calls start to appear, red dots everywhere. Your assistant asked if you needed the car or if they had moved it to the hotel hours ago. Later, she sent the chauffeur to pick you up, but he couldn't reach you. He waited for you a long time and left.

—My team took my car, so...

—No worries. I can take us there.

"For sure you can!" you thought. Jesus, why were you so horny lately?

Toto then texts his chauffeur, and on your way, you two go; it was a quiet ride for a bit.

—So...

You both laugh at the back of the car.

—So our minds are connected, huh? —you joke, referring to your tendency to talk at the same time.

—It's becoming a bad habit, yes —Smiles. —I was going to ask you where have you been existing. Everyone close to me seems to know you, but they never mentioned it before; I feel left out; somehow, I have no idea who you are —Toto tells you.

—First of all, I take serious offense that neither Niki nor Sam mentioned me before; how dare they? And to answer your question in Belgium. I met Niki recently and Sam forever ago but she is pretty private so I guess that's why.

—Umh, I thought Sam and I had something special, but I'm calling it quits —Toto says. —She keeps secrets from me —putting on a fake sad face.

—Welcome to da' club. She's all Lewis's now.

Then, at the restaurant.

Toto and you were greeted by a blond supermodel-looking hostess who took you to your booked table. You entered the historical building - big old brown bricked walls, high ceilings with restored wooden beams, and dark marble tile floors - barely lit with just a couple of lights strategically placed reflected on the walls. The tables were small and intimate, and all the furniture was statement pieces - wooden carved and expensive textiles - the silverware and china were spectacular. The place was a printery back in the day, and it ended up in the middle of downtown and has now turned into a Michelin-starred restaurant.

The hostess acted extra caring with Toto, taking all the time to tenderly adjust his blindfold and explain every single step and detail of the dining experience. Since he couldn't see her, she went all handsy, relying on touch a bit much, and for obvious reasons, she tied your blindfold too tight. Really, girl?! Sorority like in where?

—So it's crucial for the experience when you give the food to each other, slowly savor the flavors and then start a conversation about each dish, what it made you feel, what reminded you of, what you thought it was, taking turns —she tells you two as she takes each your hand and makes you feel the space where a single plate full of finger food where to be placed - on top of a marble "lazy susan." —Please let me know if you need me —a lot of emphasis on "need me" and more addressed to Toto than you.

Wait, what?! Give each other the food?! What on earth?! You are so glad Toto isn't able to see you because, for sure, you are tomato red. Then you hear the hostess walk away.

—I frequent high-cuisine restaurants all over the world, yet I haven't dared with this one. It has so many mixed reviews —Toto tells you.

—I met the Chef at an auction gala for charity. He sat at our table and sold us the idea, which sounded exciting and intrigued me, so I told him I would stop by when in Melbourn —you add. He never mentioned that we had to feed each other during the experience.

A moment later, the dish arrived, and the experience began. Your hands were shaking a little bit. Your days went from ignoring Toto's bare existence to placing food into his mouth now.

—By all means, you go first —He offers you. Why did he have to be a gentleman?!

—Sure, thanks —You don't know where to start, so you pick a bite and stay there frozen when Toto notices it softly grabs your hand to guide you to his mouth to avoid you pocking him an eye with the food. Many "Oh god, oh god" fill your mind. You could sense him slowly biting the food from your fingers, his warm breaths on your skin, while hearing soft crunch noises.

He munches. And you wait, hand now resting on the table.

—Soft skin —he says.

—That is what it tasted you like?!

—No, of course not —Toto softly chuckles. —You have soft skin. The bite tasted like, amh, some sort of Gnocchi, but it wasn't. I'm not a big fan of this one and its flavor.

—So you like Italian cuisine?

—Everyone likes Italian cuisine, duh.

—Excuse you? That attitude, Sir! —you flirt, I mean, joke with him.

—Yes! I used to spend the summers in Italy with my family. It is a country that reminds me of my father. Cinque Terre has a special place in my heart.

—You miss your dad —You say before thinking, shit! Now he will assume that Sam and you gossip about him or think you Googled him. Shit! You are supposed to not know anything about him. Lol, if he knew. —It must be hard being away from family all the time with this busy schedule —Smart girl... Good save..?

He looks at you, a bit confused. —Ahm, yes. I miss my dad.

—Okay, it's my turn! —you shift topics quickly and naturally.

Toto picks up a small bite, and you wrap your hand around his wrist, guiding him to your mouth. Your thumb finger could feel his pulse, which weirdly relaxes you. You bite the food slowly, and your lips make a bit of contact, brushing the skin of his fingers.

—What does it taste you like? —he asks you. You try your best not to have dirty thoughts.

—Feet? God, this is awful —you answer while trying to chew the fucker.

Toto almost chokes on his water. Who calls feet a signature Michelin-star dish?

—I'm so hating this! I can't with pretentious places, to be honest. Uptight people are the worst!

—You tell me I live surrounded by those, but you will be fine. Why did you mention the uptight people?

—Send tips. Because there is no way an average person could have come up with this idea and this type of food! What are these flavors, honestly?!

—You are hilarious.

—Aw, thanks. What am I to you, a clown? Well, every circus needs one... I'm glad to help! Why do you keep laughing, stop!

—You are so right; F1 can be a circus! —Toto admits.

—So, what's your job at the F1 circus? No, seriously, don't laugh. TOTO STOP. Do you juggle or what? —You two keep reaching closer over and under the small table, knees now touching.

—Highly accurate! Or I could be that one guy on the tightrope! —He waves his arms.

—So meta. Listen, for us girls being the ones stereotypically called "catfight-ty," you guys...

—You have no idea! And it is just starting...

—Does the drama get too good? You are getting me excited! Don't play with my heart, Torger.

—I won't —Somehow, it sounds more profound and meaningful. Silence.

—Can we go back to the food, please? We are getting distracted from its delicious flavors —you say amidst giggles. —What? Don't you believe me? This dish is so good, "Latifi good".

Chuckles. Then you notice Toto left his right hand on top of yours this whole time.

With your free one, you pick up another portion. —Oh, you are going to love this one. Smells, uhm, so good. Wait for my soft hands to come closer —you tease Toto.

He loses it. People around you start judging you two; you are being "noisy."

—Why suddenly I don't want to open my mouth? I'm not helping you get there anymore. Find your way; if you miss it, then I'm so sorry.

—Oh, don't you worry, "Tots". I can always ask for more of these.

—Oh god, no.

The dining experience ended on the sixth small bite, thank Jesus. You two never walked out of a restaurant that fast, and none of you felt like staying to experience the drinks part, judging by the food.

But were in desperate need of refreshers. The night was now fully set, and the air was fresh. You two walk almost hand in hand on the sidewalk under the clear skies, choosing to explore the city, looking in the surroundings for a pub. You were lured by a very busy one - with live music - three drunk girls burst out of the door in a great mood, and it looked packed; then it must be good!

It was. —Do I ask to pour you a pint, too? Or are you on a diet or something? —Toto offers you on his way to get drinks. A great cover of "Your Love by The Outfield" played in the background. The singer had great vocals, and the guitarist was so talented.

—On a diet? God, no. I'm not that fit! Who gives that excuse? Who's that picky?

—There are people —Toto answers, a bit sad. You wonder if Sussie behaved like that. Of course, you don't dig.

While he goes on his mission, you find the last free table for yourselves. The place was what you pictured when someone said "pub". A classic, extensive wooden bar, tap beer, and tons of bottles on display. Small round tables, bar stools, and many empty frames hanging on the wooden panel walls mixed with art deco posters. It's nothing fancy but eclectic and cool.

As time passed, you two got drunk and the beers, too. You talked and talked and talked about everything. At least what you two wanted to share, obvious subjects were avoided. Toto didn't mention Sussie the whole time, and you chose not to reveal much about your "situation." The two of you formed a bond and had such chemistry none could explain. You were feeling so comfy with each other. He looked so happy and having a blast, and you were, too.

Then, the drinking contest started, and you sent your best knight to battle. You ended up sitting cross-legged on top of the bar with your short dress going up with your every move, surrounded by a group of people watching the spectacle - as well as the other couples of contestants - with Toto on his feet right next to you, resting one of his hands on your thighs. At the same time, you poured the beers directly into his mouth. The first one to finish a row of four pints with no pauses and successfully do "the loaded twirl" - four fast spins - then walk to ring the bell at the end of the counter - without falling - could leave not paying a penny, and win a cool metal medal too.

Toto sounded the bell first. And the place went fucking nuts.

By the end of your night out, you two couldn't even walk straight as you were being playful on the sidewalk on your way to meet your driver. At some point, you lost a heel while dancing, you knew how to move and rhythm was natural to you. Toto carried you around until a good soul gifted you his flip-flops; the poor unknown hero was so into you. Fantastic pubs and guys on flip-flops, thank you, Australia.

While rocking the stranger's flip-flops with your Saint Laurent mini dress, you were singing and throwing some moves on the street at the sound of "Notorious by Duran Duran" - it was the last song you heard the band played before leaving and got stuck in your head - it was around 4 a.m. by then.

Toto had his medal wrapped around his head, looking all stupid and hot. There is no sight of his suit jacket. He must have lost it when you took him to the bathroom - of course, you waited for him outside. He was too drunk to get there alone - or when you two started dancing, burning some of the alcohol in your systems.

There is something about him that makes you feel so many things, and you don't want the night to end. And you wanted to spend more time with him, listening to his voice, hearing his laugh, looking at his eyes, having his body near yours. You find him so attractive.

—I don't remember the last time I had this much fun; it must have been ages ago! —he says, way too loud and drunk.

—Me too! We should do this again! Are you sure it's here? —you reply, looking around. No cars in sight.

—Yes! I'm not that drunk. Here is where the pin marks —he says, looking too closely into his phone. His nose almost touched the screen, looking at the map.

—Let me see.

—Nein —He raises his phone, extending his arm, placing it out of your reach. You jump to grab it, failing miserably. You ended up bumping him instead. Balance isn't a thing for any of you at the moment. And you both get closer. At some point in the night, you two started to behave like magnets, unable to keep away from each other, all handsy. Toto places a hand on your lower back to steady you.

You aren't sure if the sensation you are feeling is the alcohol in your system or the butterflies in your stomach.

—You are so carefree. Zero pretentious. So fun. So captivating, so... —Toto says in such a dangerous voice, staring at your lips with his fingers, placing your hair behind your ear.

You two get closer.

—So..? —You beg him to continue, staring at his lips too. You take the lead and start closing the distance between you.

It's been a while since either of you had sex in your lives.

Or love.

He looks at you with desire and affection but without moving an inch. Then Toto decides to take a step back.

That distance feels like miles, and the car arrives. Ending an almost perfect night.

You feel ashamed since you overstepped and carried yourself away. None of you mentioned what just happened on the ride back to the hotel.

Spending time with you starts to feel like a necessity to him now.

Toto is standing there, left shoulder leaning against the bar wall near where the band is playing, sipping his beer, watching you dance with some strangers, glowing and smiling, and having fun among those girls while he admires your curves and body movements. You have the magic to make him forget about the rest of the world, its people, and its problems. Going out with you tonight felt like healing, like self-care.

After days of being heartbroken, Toto called things off with Sussie, which was not an easy choice. She was the love of his life, or so he thought, and after spending a significant portion of your life with someone, saying goodbye to that person is never easy.

Even if tonight was great and felt like a lucid dream, he couldn't escape reality forever. This Cinderella story had an end.

Of course, he notices the way you look at him. The attention you pay to his every word, your excitement every time you make him smile, or how you lean closer to his touch whenever the two of you make accidental - or not - contact.

But he wasn't ready for you. Of course, he would love to make a move and enjoy the whole of you, explore your every corner, trace your hips with his hands, and feel your body beneath his, making you release sounds he would love to hear. He wanted to fuck you badly, but you weren't just for a one-night stand.

You deserved someone who could fully admire you. That worshiped you. And Toto wasn't able to be that guy at the moment. He felt wounded and needed time for himself.

So, when you had the courage he lacked to make the move, knowing that if he accepted that kiss, you would wake up tangled in his sheets, he stepped back.

Seeing your surprised, embarrassed, and hurt reaction spiraled him into coming days of somber mood and turned into a quiet ride back to the hotel.

Once you reach your destination, the driver opens the car door for you, and you step out of it, praying your balance has returned. After that fiasco ending of the night, all the alcohol in your system seems to have evaporated thanks to that emotional gut punch Toto gave. You glimpse Toto catching your step, walking now as normal as you.

You two may be walking seemly normal now but your looks scream drunks, loud and clear! - messy hair and clothes, not to mention your flip flops, a thing that made you smile as you remembered the now distant memory - as you passed by a floor-to-ceiling mirror on the way to the elevators.

The bellboy pushes the buttons to open the elevator doors for you.

—On which floor is your room? —he asks.

—Oh, no, we aren't...

—Eleven —you answer a little deadpan, interrupting Toto.

—Fourteen —he mumbles.

As you two go up, you start saying goodbye, also wanting to cut the tension a bit. —It was a fun night, "Tots"! My liver may disagree, but we'll see —you smile.

—Yeah, yeah, it was, except for that horrid food —he replies.

—Let's not, let's bury that part.

He nods with a small smile. The door opens on your floor. You smile at him one last time and head out.

Toto wants to say, "Wait!" or follow you down that corridor, inviting himself to your room and bed, but instead, he remains just standing there, and the elevator goes up.

You take your time to walk down the corridor, hoping there is still a chance, till you hear the sound of the elevator's doors closing and following it, total silence, no footsteps, no movement. So you let out a sigh and get inside your room.

You are left facing a feeling of emptiness and solitude as you walk across the empty and dark suite with your surviving heel in hand, and then you toss it across the room on the carpet. You enter the shower and start washing your make-up and body off, letting your mind wander to the idea that the two of you could be there right now.

So, a bit defeated by not having Toto's naked and wet body before you, you send yourself to bed, struggling to fall asleep and shut down your brain; after a while, you feel yourself drifting away in the arms of Morfeo - and sadly not Toto's.

—He thinks I'm captivating and have soft hands —you say while giggling like a teenager, adding sugar to your Chai at the end of the counter. Already in a better mood, trying to look at the bright side of things.

—Soft hands??? —Sam replies, making a silly face and grabbing a napkin.

You two meet on your way to get Starbucks, located two buildings away from the hotel. You are still hungover and need fuel before stepping into the paddock.

—You know, never mind. I don't want to know —Sam adds, biting her bagel.

—Oh, wait. No. Nothing like that happened —you wave your hands in concern.

—Calm down; you know he and Sussie are in the middle of a time-off. Nothing wrong if it had happened. He has been in such awful moods lately that I think he needs it to happen. This time, their breakup seems real.

—Really!?

—Can you at least don't sound that excited? Oh god, you are smiling. I hate love —Sam sips her black coffee, rolling her eyes at you.

—Leave me live my fantasy, alright? —praying sign, you joke.

—Now you will be all weird around him, won't you?

—Nooo, well, maybe a little. What? Like you don't ship us.

—Puff —Sam lets out.

—Oh, you fed me way too many details about him for years and set us up last night just because, huh?

—Okay. Fair. I sold you the idea. Am I clever, or what? Listen, I care about you two a lot, and frankly, I think you are great for each other.

—Ooh, so Sam Dobrev has a heart.

—Shut up! Please don't make me regret it —she replies, all done with life.

—Hi, big guy —Sam pops her head inside Toto's office, simultaneously knocking on the open door.

—You owe me one —Toto answers deadpan. Concentrated, looking straight at his iPad, not bothering to look at her.

—Why?

—That restaurant you made me go to was horrible.

—Well, I didn't pick the place, so no whines to me, but at least the company was fantastic, right?

—Umhju —Toto mutters, still looking at the screen. Then silence.

Sam interprets that answer as I'm not telling you anything else.

—Since you are here trying to gossip. Aren't you busy? If you have free time, you could help me with several things.

—Jeez, that mood. I'm not here to gossip. Here, sign this. Niki needs it.

Toto reads the paper Sam just gave him and picks up his phone. —I need to make a call. Would you mind closing the door on your way out? Thank you.

—Okay —Sam answers slowly and exaggerates the "O" while doing what was asked. Even she knows messing with a somber Toto wasn't a good idea.

Unfortunately for you, no gossip or insights of your night out were obtained from Toto.

It was a Grand Prix victory for Lewis. And a third place for Mick, but since it was his first podium, you guys celebrated as if he had just won the race. Sadly, Millie got pulled out of the track for a technical issue with the car.

You were hoping to chitchat with Toto at the podium ceremony, make him laugh a little, and watch his beautiful smile. Well, you hoped that the entire day, actually. But he was nowhere to be seen.

Until you spotted him in the distance, there was no casual way to start a conversation with him that way, and you didn't want to be perceived as pushy or desperate going straight to him. So you let the idea die. There was no rush.

If something was meant to be, it will happen without forcing things.

Right?

Azerbaijan

On the paddock in Baku, Toto chose to behave the opposite of that night in Melbourne. Serious, professional, and borderline unfriendly - but still polite.

That caught you off guard, and it was so confusing. After spending that great time together, you thought you two were on your path to becoming friends or more if luck was on your side. You didn't get the sudden change, and it was a bit hurtful when you went to say hi to him - all warm and smiling - and he gave the cold shoulder with a blunt "Good morning" and kept on walking.

You stood there looking a bit stupid, wondering if you did something to bother him or if he was acting Austrian. Maybe Toto was feeling really uncomfortable by how you approached him at the end of that night. Damn, drunk you!

But then, a couple of hours later:

"Unknown" is typing...

—Darci told me you left your office to have lunch. But I'm here outside your hospitality and don't see you - Toto.

Your assistant gave him your number. —Hi!!! Yes, I'm here having lunch.

—Where? I'm wearing my good glasses, and I'm sure you are not that bald guy eating a salad.

—Sandro is a very nice guy. Look up, grandpa!

—The rooftop? What are you, a pigeon?

No joke in reply, just an honest: —I like the view from here. It's peaceful! Bonus points for being private. No one bothers me here or intrudes. It's my secret special place. Do you want to join?

Toto finishes climbing the ladder and goes to greet you, kissing you on the cheek. As he does so, a crazy thought crosses your mind: What if you turn your head? Is stealing a kiss considered harassment? But you don't.

You two share your homemade Yakimeshi - you love cooking even if you have a private Chef, and you are damn good at it, well, according to everyone that has eaten your food, so you ask the hotel to get you the fresh ingredients you need - while talking about the day, sharing ideas, throwing shade, and enjoying each other's presence.

—What a diva! —you reply, grabbing a portion with your chopsticks.

—I know. I expected better, but engineers... you know —Toto shrugs.

—Ye! —you agree. Sometimes, they acted, well, a little bit challenging.

Toto was acting so relaxed and casual as you expected him to be, and not what was going on in the morning. You wonder so badly why there is a change in ways, but you don't dare to ask.

"What if he has bipolar disorder?" a question that came to your mind at some desperate point during your day. Not that there was something wrong with that.

The sun is setting, and you two enjoy the view, sitting next to each other - no space in between - He places his arm around you, palm resting next to your left hand, but without making physical contact.

This becomes a routine for you two, lunching together on the rooftop of the W hospitality, away from the rest of the world, in your private little bubble. It becomes your favorite moment of the day. And Toto's, too, even if he swore he would never like routine.

Miami

—Excuse me, excuse me, how did the tire taste you like? —you tease a very solemn Lewis walking past you on the paddock while you pretend to hold an invisible mic at his face, acting like a reporter. An instant smile forms on his lips.

—Roscoe attack! —Lewis commands.

Roscoe stares at him for a second and then wanders to sniff a palm tree, not caring.

—I think your trick didn't work —you get closer to greet him with a hug.

—He is too lazy for that —he tells you while embracing you.

—You are too cute; don't listen to that man! —you say with a silly voice, addressing Roscoe, letting Lewis go, and flexing to pet the dog, rubbing around his ears, which Roscoe seems to enjoy.

It was a Qualy of hell for Mercedes. Lewis's car's back tire flew out into the air before bouncing on a safety barrier at speed, almost hitting him back. Plus, George's car ended up in the gravel after losing power.

In contrast, Williams did great. Mick was one with the car, achieving the day's fastest lap.

—Feeling better, sweetie? —you ask Lewis with honest concern, after seeing the incident unfold and how he made it out of the car really distraught.

Although you must admit that even though that whole thing wasn't funny, the memes were pure gold, so you texted Toto your pick: the one where the tire hit the space station with a photoshopped explosion, the one with Lewis's face photoshopped on a baseball player hitting a home run, but instead of the ball it was the tire and your favorite, the one with photoshopped Toto, Lewis, and George riding the tire to the sky.

—Yeah. I'm good. A positive mindset always helps, thanks.

—I think I just saw you kicking, crying, and screaming in the bathroom, Mr. Positive Mind Set —Sam joins the conversation, teasing him.

—HA HA

—So, what's the plan for tonight-A? —she asks.

—Noone human says tonight like that. Not even Michael Jackson on drugs —you tell Sam.

—We are in Miami, chica! Aren't we clubbing?! —she replies.

—Are you high?

—I will if we go out...

—You realize we are here for work, right? —Lewis asks her.

—Like we haven't done it before. What's the worst that could happen? Toto finding out? You losing the race? Toto, finding out you lost the race because you went out clubbing with us?

—Yes! —you all answer at the same time. —To all of that —you add.

—Well, not if Toto comes with us...

Lewis starts laughing like a madman. —Sam, are you suggesting convincing Toto to go clubbing with us the night before the race so he doesn't get mad if he finds out we went clubbing?

—I got lost, mate —George arrives, earing that last part, trying to figure out what the hell.

—Well, I'll not be convincing him. Y/N is.

—ME?!

—If you really love me, you will —Sam pushes you toward the Mercedes' motorhome.

Gaslighting a bit much?

How am I supposed to do this? I'm going to sound so unprofessional. Although, technically, you two went out pub-ing?? and got drunk the night before the race in Australia. Okay, that made-up word sounds terrible; let's never use it again, so there may be a slight chance to relive that.

At least you needed to practice your words before going in there since "Hi, Toto, wanna go clubbing?" wasn't an option but destiny was a bitch; you two crossed paths before you had the opportunity to rehearse. Toto was on his way back to his office; he left his badge access on his desk. He seemed surprised to see you there; you were far away from the Williams' grounds. So you are forced to improvise.

—Are you looking for Sam?

—No, not really, not this time.

—Oh. Niki?

—Nope.

—Lewis?

—You.

Toto was now standing right before you with his hands in his pockets, all tall and handsome. You liked him even more when he wore his reading glasses.

You start a bit shy; Toto has a powerful presence. —I heard Miami has excellent places, and because last time I made you join me for that awful dining experience, I thought maybe we could go out and have a good time but in a better establishment.

—Tonight?

He sounds slightly judgy. You go on: —I was talking with the guys, and they mentioned "Floyd." It sounds great...

—The guys?

—Sam and Lewis, and George...

—Ooh, they sent you? Sam!

Oh boy.

—The cocktails sound goo...

—I'm not taking my drivers drinking or to a nightclub before the race or allowing it. It's ridiculous —Toto interrupts you again.

You look at him, now slightly nervous and bummed out.

—None of us is going; it's not happening —Toto adds firmly.

Yeah... He was a pro at the top of his game. Of course, he cared about discipline, mindsets, and winning races and titles; what were you thinking?!

You nod apologetically. Your eyes look a bit sad, well, because... You don't need to explain why. Just start turning around to head back and tell them the news.

—Wait! We could go to "Basement", which has a bowling alley and a DJ. But no drinking! Not even a drop for anyone; we must return to the hotel at a reasonable hour. Do you like that? That makes you happy?

—Sounds perfect to me —your smile is big and bright. Did Toto change his mind to please me?

To make things even, you end up bringing Millie and Mick. You wanted to make clear you weren't playing unfair tactics with your opponents. You earnestly desired to spend a good time with the people you began to care about.

The place was all for yourselves. It was a club slash bowling alley with colorful neon lights reflecting on the lanes, varying intensities and colors to the DJ's beats. It was a dope place.

Lewis invites Seb. They two took bowling seriously and had a years-long competition. They show you a list of their scores on Lewis's iPhone going back to the dark ages.

Bono also shows up, and Carlos and Lando, too, God knows how.

Lando starts stretching right in front of you, warming up, and making eye contact with you while doing his poses in a bit too sexual and exaggerated way. Samanta and you start laughing at him for acting all idiot. You two sit on the bowling benches while drinking Coke and eating popcorn.

—Every group needs a slut —you tell Lando.

—I don't think you are impressing her, man —Carlos joins, watching the spectacle, on his feet.

—It reminds me of when little children warm up before jumping into the pool —you kill Lando with your words.

—You have never seen legs like this —he tells you, overconfident. All of you laugh. —But, I will fight for your heart, malady. Is there another knight brave enough to face me in a bowling fight to the death?

—But what's the prize?! —Seb screams across all lanes.

—A NIGHT with the princess —Lando claims.

—Keep dreaming, sweetie —you reply.

—A KISS from the princess —he backtracks.

—Fine! Everyone, write your names here! —Sam takes a Post-it and a pen out of her purse - an assistant's habit - and passes them around.

—WHAT?! What are you doing?

Sam starts folding the papers and mixing them up. —The council calls Sir Hamilton to the pit!! Please choose your horse and weapon for the fight (lane and bowling ball) —Sam reads Lewis's name from the paper she picks up, and then she selects another one. —Warrior Dobrev to the fight! —cheers are heard, and Mick and Carlos pat Millie on the arm and back; Vettel massages her shoulders when she stands by her approach area. —Knight Wolff to the pit! And last but not least, Warrior Bonnington, too! —there were only five lanes. —You all brave souls are to fight buffoon Norris for a kiss of the Lady. Lord Vettel and I will oversee the combat.

—Hey! —Lando complains, pouting. Then, George starts motivating him, and they start making stupid grunts and jumps before the bowling round begins.

—The battle commences now! —Sam calls.

—You really need to stop watching House of the Dragon —you tell her.

—It's official: Bono is the worst player I have seen —Vettel interrupts, watching Bono be the first to get disqualified. —Is it okay if I leave you a second? If I don't go and bother Lewis every time to time, I get anxious —Sebastian sweetly tells you.

—Go, honey —You pat his hand and let him go. You two were watching the competition unfold together.

Lando, Lewis, and Toto were really good at it, but Millie was in a league of her own.

—How can someone so tiny have such a steady grip? —Lewis tells her she was in the lane next to his.

—Lew, I gladly would share with you all my secrets if I wasn't determined to win this —Millie replies.

—So you really want to kiss her? —he is curious, and a little smile forms on his lips.

—Look at Y/N, I wouldn't mind, but I don't want to. I think all five of us here hate losing... or love winning. Well, except for Lando, I believe he truly wants to kiss her.

"Not just him," Lewis thinks, looking in Toto's direction. After years of being teammates, he could read him like a book. It isn't just Sussie who has him shifting moods. Since you appeared, Toto began to act all weird. When Lewis noticed the looks you both exchanged, everything made sense to him.

And another fantastic strike from Lando.

Millie was almost right. Lewis loves winning and hates losing, but not when friends or feelings are in the middle. A lesson Sebastian taught him. So Lewis prepares and throws the worst shot he has ever made. His bowling ball bounces, hits the gutters, and invades the next lane, instantly disqualifying him.

Hisses and laughs fill the room. Lewis turns around, shrugs, smiles, and goes to take a seat. A minute later, he feels a thumb rubs his neck, caressing it. —Sir Hamilton, my good Sir, you sure are an honorable and respectable fellow —Sebastian tells him with his best Shakespearean voice.

—Stop talking like that, please.

—It doesn't please you how this low-grade peasant talks, good Sir?

The face Lewis gives him is priceless. Vettel laughs, and Lewis slides closer to him on the bench.

A loud "AAARGGH" comes from Lando as he dramatically throws himself to the floor. Wooff, what an awful shot.

—Luck next time, Lando! —Sam teases him as Carlos and George pass by, carrying him to the benches, one grabbing him by the legs and the other by the arms. Out of the competition, he was.

Now, it was a Dobrev vs. Wolff clash.

—Make our house name proud, niece! —Sam yells at her.

—You are having too much fun, aren't you? —you tell her.

—Sorry —Sam covers her face with her hands, monkey emoji-like. —Your knight made it to the final. Good for you, girl, but Millie is ruthless, so...

—I know! I can't watch any more. I'm too nervous! I feel like I will puke if Toto wins or if he loses.

—...she misses.

—WHAT?!

Okay, okay, this wasn't happening. Oh God. Sam turns to you and gives you a smile The Grinch will envy.

—Knight Wolff wins the battle! And takes the princess! —Sam announces. You shoot her a dead glare. —...'s kiss

Cheers are heard. Then everyone gets on their feet and starts chatting and bowling. Laughs and mocktails fill the room.

You pass Lando, still lying on the bench, on your way to get a drink. Now you need tequila in your system. —Oh, I'm so wounded! Only a kiss on the lips would heal me —he tries, offering his arms to you. The kid has the material to be an actor.

—Carlos!! Lando needs you!! —you joke back in answer, smiling at him. Lando gets on his feet in less than a second. —All good, I feel better! —he tells you, chuckling.

Toto is there when you reach the bar, sipping a whiskey on the rocks. —Not a drop of alcohol, you said? —you mock him.

—And you are here to ask for a Coke, right? —he teases you.

—A Paloma, please —you ask the bartender. —You could be a professional bowling player —Please let that become a meme, you think, and an image of a Toto in a complete bowling outfit surrounded by a group of senior citizens with white hair comes to mind.

—You picture it; that's why you are smiling.

—Nooo...

He arches an eyebrow.

—Fine. I admit it! —you sit on the bar stool next to him and rest an elbow on the bar counter, smiling like an idiot and gazing at Toto until he notices it and gets on his feet.

—I haven't seen you play, let's go! —he tells you.

—Oh, if this really were the old ages and it was me who had to fight for your hand, consider yourself single for the rest of your life...

You all arrive together at the hotel and walk inside the lobby, making a lot of noise.

—Shuusshh!! Zack doesn't know I'm not in my room! —Lando whispers, looking around.

—Sure, he is hiding behind that plant, Lando. That old fart is so fucking asleep in his bed, mate! Calm down! —Vettel adds.

—Hey! You haven't kissed Toto yet —Lewis recalls and addresses you.

—Right! Give him his prize! —Mick adds.

You feel your cheeks turning red. —Are you all going to stare and make it all weird?

—YES! —everyone answers.

—You guys suck! —you complain, pretending to be annoyed at them.

—Not as much as I would like to. WHO SAID THAT?! —Millie dirty jokes, looking around.

—Millie Alexandria Dobrev! —Sam shouts, shocked. —I can't believe you...

Between giggles and two Croatians fighting in the background, you kiss Toto for the first time.

With your left hand, wrap Toto's bicep and rest your right on his chest as you reach his lips on your tiptoes. The kiss is brief, delicate, more like a brush of lips, but it is enough to make the butterflies in your stomach go wild and to still be on cloud nine when you reach your room.

Monaco

You were so excited to be officially living in Monaco. It was your first week there, and you had never lived on your own before. And since Sam also resided there, you spent lots of time together. You two were enjoying the break and touring the city around.

Miami went terrific, and that kiss still made rounds on your head.

Sam and you were walking in the area close to your new place when you turned the corner and were greeted by this scene: A furious Monegasque girl screaming at the top of her lungs in French words that did not sound nice at all and throwing objects out the window while a man on the street was trying to picking them up and reason with said girl. Some people were staring, and others were rushing to pass by.

—Is that Charles?! —Samanta asks you, stunned, pointing to the guy crouched and picking up what looked like a pair of Jordan's.

Yeah, that was Charles Leclerc. You two look at each other concerned and rush to help.

—Hi —Sam shouts among the screams in French.

—Oh, hey, Sam —Charles looks pretty embarrassed.

You quickly offer him the almost empty tote bag you were carrying and speed walk to grab an open, worn-out cardboard box from the greengrocery next door. The three of you start getting his things inside while avoiding getting hit by the last objects thrown out.

—Thank you —he says to you. —My girlfriend went mental.

All of you hear a loud bang and look up; she shuts the windows dramatically. "More like ex-girlfriend now" you think.

—Merde —you hear Charles say. —My keys and wallet are inside there, fuck!

You can't avoid feeling bad for the guy. He looks so done with life right now.

—Ahm, Charles, if you want to join us, we are grabbing lunch. We can grab some cocktails, too; I'll treat you guys. You seem in desperate need of alcohol and a chat.

—You're right, I need alcohol, thank you. I would love to.

The three of you walk your way to a restaurant Charles loves. It was pricey, but you agreed to let him pick the place since you were spoiling him and trying to lift his spirits.

—Huff, why are all the streets in Monaco inclined? —you complain after climbing the fourth hundred stairs of the day. —On the bright side, tho, I just need to live here to skip leg day at the gym.

Charles laughs. That's good!

The face the hostess makes when you three arrive and place the second-hand cardboard box with Charles's things on the fancy counter - clothes, some books, sneakers, a Funko Pop of Charles himself for some reason, and what looks like Xbox controllers, a man's most prized possession - makes it worth it almost losing your legs to get there.

—Good evening. Table for three? Right this way. Terrace, as usual, Mr. Leclerc? —she asks.

—Yes, please.

You are led to your table. It was a sea-inspired high-cuisine restaurant. The ceiling of the place had a breathtaking art installation: A whale made from bamboo wind chimes. —The waiter is on his way; here is the food and mixology carte —she offers you. It takes you a long time to read the entire selection.

—Ask for whatever you guys want; the check is on me. Don't hold back —you offer them.

—Great, then! It would be two spritzes instead of one, please! —Sam gestures with her fingers at the waiter, who is already taking your order. Sam seems so happy and excited; for someone who grew up that rich, she loves getting stuff for free.

—I would like a Tequila and Tonic with two tequila shots, please —you finally choose.

—A margarita and two shots of tequila for me. To start —Charles orders.

The drinks arrive quickly. At the same time, you hear everything about Charles' toxic relationship, giving him the space to spit it all out; as more alcohol makes it to the table, the more details you get.

After a good couple of hours of free therapy, high cuisine, drinks, relationship advice, and tragic love stories, it got dark.

—Well, it was a damn good chat! I'm glad we were able to help you, my friend. But we better go —Sam says to Charles. —I'm walking you back to your place —she addresses you. —I have to wake up early tomorrow. Toto wants me to join the Mercedes' Zoom call at 7 a.m., and I don't want to see his annoying, angry face at me.

The thought of an angry Toto makes you bite hard the tiny chocolate cake you are eating as dessert.

—Oh, no worries! It's just all the way down the street; I will get there without problems —you say while savoring the remains of your cake.

—Are you sure? —She inquires. You forgot how protective of you Samanta was, even if she was younger than you.

—Yeah, go, go. It's never a good idea to make an Austrian guy angry —You joke.

Charles choked on his drink, laughing. —Sweet Lord.

Sam giggles, hugs you two goodbye and waits for her Uber.

—It's late, I'll walk you. There are plenty of good hotels near your building and the marina; since I'm not going home, I need to book a room —Charles mentions.

—If you don't mind, you can crash at my place; there's not much furniture yet, but you are welcome to stay —you tell Charles. He seems relieved.

Charles sees what you meant with "not much" - just a small table with no chairs, one kitchen counter stool, a mattress in the bedroom, another on the living room floor, and some boxes, making the place look way bigger - as you two enter your apartment.

—I just got the keys —you excuse yourself.

—Oh wow, this view reminds me of my grandparents' apartment view from growing up —He reaches the balcony fast. —Oh, look, you can see the old side of Monaco from here! Good memories! —He ignores your comment, not caring much about the furniture or decor.

He seems in a better mood than before.

—Well, let me know if you need anything. Sleep well! —you say, on your way to your bedroom.

—Thank you, good night!

You hear noises outside your bedroom's open doors a few minutes later. Charles moves his mattress nearer the plug on the wall and connects the charger you lent him to his phone. With that change in the arrangement, you are both placed facing each other in different rooms and with distance in between.

Since none of you seemed able to fall asleep that night, you better keep chatting, each of you resting your back against the wall, relaxing, and him crossing his arms behind his head.

—So you are besties with Sam?

—Yes, she was one of the first people I met when I arrived in Belgium —you answer and look out of your bedroom's massive floor-to-ceiling window to the beautiful sea and the tiny-looking lights of Monaco. He stays silent, waiting for you to continue.

—So, how was growing up here? —You ask him and were sincerely curious but also want to switch the subject of conversation from you to him.

He tells many anecdotes of his childhood and buzz about some of the high society Monegasque families. He seems to enjoy gossip, and you are here for it.

Until you feel your eyes shutting down and fall asleep with the sound of his voice.

Two weeks later, Charles was still staying at your place; there was no furniture yet, however. By the third week, you arrive home, and all of Charles' things are filling the space. He moved "his bed" to one of the guest bedrooms and packed the living room with boxes. His piano starts serving you two at your dining "table." You always ate there, sitting, standing, taking turns: breakfast, Charles, lunch, you, etc.

He is just one box away from officially becoming your roommate. Of course, you don't mind. After many years of feeling alone, you desperately needed a friend and its company.

Charles' wireless speaker is the most significant addition to the apartment; it was never turned off, both of you being obsessive music maniacs, constantly introducing new music and artists to each other.

It is your turn to pick a song, and you want to lift the spirits while unpacking boxes and arranging things, so you turn the volume all up and hit play. Bad Bunny's "Yo perreo sola" started blasting.

You start singing and dancing to the beat, shaking it, and then Charles joins you in the chorus, singing the lyrics perfectly and throwing some great dance moves. You two start twerking.

—You know this song? Wait, you speak Spanish?! —you ask loudly, almost screaming. The music is so loud.

—My mom is Colombian. Didn't I mention that? My dad is the Monegasque one. I know my reggaeton and merengues by heart —he screams back. —I know all the good clubs in the city with this type of music, we should go and dance our asses off.

—Oh, for sure we are!

Another level of friendship is unlocked.

The three of you are inseparable. It is the weekend, and Charles took you and Sam on his boat sailing to an excellent spot to take a swim. Coronas, good music, sun, and fresh water fill your day.

You came up with a competition to see who jumped out of the boat the funniest way because you three were dumb. Charles wins by jumping and agitating his arms and legs like an old cartoon falling or very Gaga at the Super Bowl. Your stomach hurts from laughing, and your face from smiling.

After that, you all lay flat on your stomachs like iguanas under the sun, getting tan atop the boat; you don't remember a day nearby when you felt so happy. You felt at home with those two by your side.

It was around 4 a.m. and pitch black when Charles was suddenly awakened by sorrowful sounds coming from your bedroom.

He rushes and quickly opens the door, not caring to knock. He finds you crying, curled in your bed; you look like a total mess with red eyes, messy hair, and softly shaking, and Charles reacts like a headless chicken, pacing frantically around the room before getting to his senses and starting supporting a very troubled you.

—I got an idea that could help you feel better! —he tells you.

—Yeah?

—You trust me?

You nod.

—Let's go! —he offers you his hand and leads you out.

You take the lift to the basement parking lot, where Charles' Ferrari is all poorly and crocked parked outside lines of your apartment's parking spaces - that man was a great driver but terrible at parking - next to it is his powerful Ducati Panigale black motorbike is waiting for you.

Soon, you two are on his bike, crossing the streets of Monaco at full speed. Getting further away from the city and into the road. You tightly wrap your arms around him as he tells you you are entering the highway, and he begins to speed, pushing the bike's engine.

You could feel the fresh nightly ocean breeze hitting your body and entering your pores, every time more violently as you moved and Charles kept speeding up. You could see the full moon reflecting on the ocean waters. It was a clear night, with no stars in sight.

You love the rush and adrenaline of this speed ride. Charles speeds even more, and you hear the violent roar of the motor, the bike reaching its maximum. Then, in that brief moment, you get why all drivers are passionate about F1. Now you get it. Your sad tears become happy ones. You have never experienced something like this before, and it makes you feel so alive. The air feels so cold and harsh at the speed you are going that you almost feel it cutting your skin. It is a sensational feeling.

Charles then starts to slow down till he parks the bike and turns the engine off, helping you get on your feet, and you two lay on the grass after arriving at the destination.

—What a view! —you let out. The two of you are far away from the city, and you can see Monaco at the distance from the cliff you are on top of.

—This is my secret spot. I have been coming here since I was young when I felt I needed to clear my mind or wanted to escape everything. This view humbles you and calms you down at the same time —Charles confesses.

—Thanks for sharing it with me —you say to him, extremely grateful.

—It's the least I can do.

You can hear the waves hitting the cliff rock below you, and you admire the infinite ocean in front of you. The two of you sat there for a long time.

—Whenever you feel ready to talk about it. To open up about your past, who you are, or why you cried tonight, I will be here to listen —Charles offers you, breaking the comfortable silence. He is a kind and sweet person, a good person. And you aren't used to that.

He places his hand on top of yours just briefly, and you feel so happy to have a friend, to have him, no love feelings, no desire in between, just genuine friendship and honest support.

He deserves the truth, and you want to let him know, but you are afraid of the repercussions. You don't want to get judged or, worse, to lose him.

Charles has been paying attention to you these past weeks and has noticed how you avoid or change subjects whenever your past or private life gets mentioned.

Every day that passes, he gets to know you more. It is just a matter of time before the truth comes out.

To be continued... < Previous chapter | Masterlist | Next chapter >

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