#BLINDSIDED CHAPTER TWO THIS IS BEAUTIFUL...

[navybrat817]

Hold You Tight: Part 16

Pairing: Club Owner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: The owner of The 107th wants you to be his girl whether you like it or not.

Part 15 | Series Masterlist | Part 17

Chapter Word Count: Over 5.4k

Chapter Summary: Bucky tries to pull you closer when you want to pull away, and someone else in your life my not take no for an answer.

Chapter Warnings: DARK AU, arguing, tension, slight harassment, kissing, reference to stalking, inner turmoil, manipulation, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), more warnings to come.

A/N: More Hold You Tight! Thank you for sticking with me! Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky traded lazy kisses with you as your tears slowed, and you had no idea if it was his mouth that had your heart pounding and the crushing weight of everything that surrounded him. It was so much to unpack. Every encounter with him seemed to be that way. Something blindsided you or suffocated you, but you hadn't been at all prepared for what he just shared. And how could you? He didn't keep photos of his mother around, and you hadn't gone poking around online.

Would you have found out the truth if you had?

He followed your lips when you pulled away. “It’s okay,” he whispered, pulling you back in.

It wasn’t okay. Nothing was okay. Though it partially made sense now why he was moving so fast. He believed if he met you then that you would've fallen in love and been together to this day. Because he didn't seek you out then and lost so much time, he was packing everything into a rushed time span. Dating, meeting his friends, getting you into his place. He was moving things along at an accelerated speed, and you were barely keeping up with the ride.

“No.” The muffled word against his lips somehow rang out loud and clear enough for him to stop, but you put a hand on his chest in case he tried to lean in again. “Why are you punishing me?”

His eyes rounded. “You think I’m punishing you? Jesus, why would you think that?”

“Because of how you went about all of this. I know you were desperate, and I get the drive behind some of your actions now,” you said, which you refused to excuse. You got it but couldn’t excuse it. “Your response of ‘where’s the fun in that?’ when I said you couldn’t just ask me out like a normal person? You almost seemed to delight in intimidating me. Why?”

If you saved his mom, why do this?

“I didn’t delight in that. I played it wrong,” he admitted in a quiet voice, surprising you. “I approached it like…”

“Like everything else in your life where you have everyone under your thumb through fear. You did the same thing to me.” You laughed just a little. “In a way, it worked because I’m officially afraid to try to leave you.”

Had things blossomed between you two organically, you’d like to believe that things would’ve been better. Healthy. There was always the chance that a relationship might’ve come to an end because life was like that. But if he frightened you enough to stay forever, he’d never have to worry. The stars would still align as far as he was concerned.

“I don’t want you to fear me or what we have,” he whispered, reaching for you as you scooted back.

“What we have? Tell me, do you think your mom would be proud of your actions to obtain me or ashamed?” You couldn’t believe that was the kind of man she raised, to put fear into the heart of the person he supposedly loved.

He flinched. Actually flinched. You might as well have raised a hand to him. “She…” He swallowed. “She would’ve wanted us together.”

“Like this? By you not giving me a choice?” you asked, pushing yourself up. “I need to go home.” There would be no getting through to him and this revelation was doing your head in. One cup of coffee wasn't enough either.

He got up to follow you. “Why are you rushing off?”

“I have a shift today, and I have to go home and shower,” you said, grabbing some of your things. “Don’t worry about dropping me off. I’ll get a cab.”

“What? No, you-”

“You put money in my account, so it’s not like I have to worry about paying for it. And it’s not like I’ll be alone either since you’ll have me followed whether I want it or not,” you said as a matter of fact.

“You’re putting a wall up,” he said, frowning as you grabbed your phone charger before he could. “Don’t shut me out, please.”

“I’m not shutting you out. I’m trying to process the gigantic bombshell you dropped on me,” you said, stopping to look at him when he grabbed your arm. “Bucky-”

“This has been a lot, all of it, but we can’t go back and change it, and you know I can’t let you go because we’re meant to be together,” he said, his eyes searching yours. “You feel it. I know you do.”

How many times would he say that until you agreed? “Just because you think fate stepped in-”

“Fate brought you into my club, but I gave it a much-needed push to bring us together after leaving things to chance for so long,” he said, tugging you closer and putting his other hand on your cheek. “You can’t tell me you don’t care about me in some capacity. You’re just afraid to admit it because it isn’t conventional in your eyes, but you don’t have to be afraid of how you feel.”

How could you truly fall in love with him when he orchestrated everything from the start? “Feelings or not you’re still going to force me to move in with you soon, and that scares me,” you said. Your wings would forever be clipped.

“We should’ve been living together and married by now,” he argued, keeping a tight hold on you. “I know I’m making you move in sooner than you want, but beyond safety it’ll give us a chance to really know each other before we get married.”

Talk of marriage had your heart thudding. The man would probably force you to marry him sooner than you wanted. “You said you already know everything about me,” you said. At least he thought he knew you. The vision of you he built up in his mind scared you, too. He couldn’t keep you on that pedestal.

“But you don’t fully know me yet, and I don’t know what it’s like to live with you. The experience will bring us closer together.” His smile was full of hope. “We can read together, do movie nights, dance in the kitchen.”

“Bucky-”

“We can exercise together, in and out of bed,” he continued, your breath hitching as he rubbed his nose against yours. “Don’t you already feel closer to me now that you know we're meant to be?”

A quick knock on the door followed by a long one saved you from answering. “It isn't check-out time, is it?”

“No. That would be Ray,” Bucky headed to the door and kept you back a small distance before he answered. The man really was protective, wasn't he?

“I’m sorry to intrude,” Ray said, giving you a polite nod before he leaned in and whispered something to Bucky. Whatever was said to him made his face harden. The entire change in his demeanor worried you.

“Kotyonok, let’s get your bag and get you back to your place so you can get ready for work,” he suggested, his smile tight.

“What’s the matter?” you asked.

“I’ll tell you later,” he answered, kissing your forehead. “And before we go, I know you suggested taking a cab, but please let Ray take you back to your place. It would make me feel better.”

The hint of a plea in his voice and the look in Ray’s eyes kept you from protesting. “Fine, Ray can take me home. Just give me a second to change out of these pajamas,” you said, a bit surprised that Bucky wasn’t offering to take you home himself. “But you are going to tell me later what’s going on, right?” you asked.

“I will, but I need some answers myself first. Get changed. I’ll get your bag,” he said, gently guiding you to the bathroom so you could change and officially ending that conversation.

Ray was still by the entry door once you came out, looking a bit stiffer than usual, too. You stole a glance at Bucky as the three of you headed to the elevator, catching the anger etched in his features as he gripped your bag handle tight enough that you thought it would rip. They were leaving you in the dark about something. You weren’t sure if you could take any other bombshells.

“Ray may need to pick you up from work instead of me, but I’ll message you if that’s the case,” Bucky said, fixing his hair in the elevator reflection. “And… we may need to talk about your girls’ day out.”

“What about it?” you asked, already knowing where he was going with this.

“If you can cancel or reschedule it,” he replied.

You stared hard at him. Where was that coming from? “No, it's tomorrow, and I’m not cancelling or rescheduling. And don’t you dare use Zemo as an excuse to get your way,” you snapped. Even if it was a valid reason, you didn’t want to hear it.

His jaw clenched, but he looked sad as he glanced at you. “I just don’t know if it’s a good idea.”

“We talked about this. If it’s a safety issue, Ray agreed that someone could watch out for me. That should keep me safe,” you reminded him. You’d be fine. “Right, Ray?”

The blonde stared straight ahead. “That isn’t my decision,” he said apologetically.

Your shoulders slumped. For a short time, you thought he could be on your side or at least help give you some slack. “Right. Because you don't get to make decisions, and neither do I. You’re a bodyguard, I’m just a doll,” you said, looking straight ahead, too, and pulling your hand back when Bucky tried to take it. “Please, don’t.”

“Kotyonok…” Bucky sighed as the door opened. You marched out, not waiting for either of them. “Wait.”

You headed straight for the desk, feeling sadder when you didn’t see Natasha. “Checking out, please,” you said, sliding the room card over to the woman standing there.

“Of course. I hope you enjoyed your stay.” She looked behind you likely at Bucky before giving you a smile. “Ms. Romanoff also wanted to remind you that you have a place here if you need one.”

“I’m sure I’ll take her up on that soon,” you said, turning your head to glare at Bucky. While his expression was stoic, his eyes told you he didn’t want you to be upset with him. “And make sure she adds an inconvenience fee to the damaged wall bill. She’ll know what I mean.”

“I’ll be sure to do that,” she smiled. “Take care.”

Bucky was hot on your heel and you didn't make it two steps out the door before he had a hand on you. “You’re upset with me. Putting up more of that wall.”

You didn't speak until Ray walked past you to get his car. “You’re trying to get me to cancel my day out with my friends, after you went through the whole charade of buying me a new dress for it and everything. And after what you told me about your mom.” You took a breath to try to calm down. “Yeah, I’m upset, and yeah, you’re supplying me with the very bricks to build that wall.”

“I said we may need to talk about it, I didn’t flat out say you weren’t going,” he corrected you. He might as well have. “I know it means a lot to you, but-”

You held a hand up. “No. There are no ‘buts’ in this. For all you keep taking from me, I don’t ask for much. I really don't,” you stated. In fact, you’ve shown lots of restraint. “Who knows how many moments I’ll get like this with my friends once you move me in.” He wasn’t about to take this small thing from you after everything.

He titled his head. “You think I’ll keep you from them?”

“Part of me thinks you will, yes. Because as soon as I think that there’s hope, the second I think that we could be closer together while you loosen the reins, you say or do something that puts me back in your full control,” you said. He had to see that. “And every time you do that, like you are right now, it makes me want to push you away.”

“And you can push all you want, but I’ll just pull you closer,” he smiled, making you huff when he actually did so. “I’m not afraid to let you burn me.”

“You keep saying that. Give me a match or a lighter and we’ll test that theory,” you said. He burst out laughing, the sound loud in the morning air as your eyes widened. “Why are you laughing?” you asked incredulously. How could he laugh when you were still worked up?

“Because even arguing with you makes me happy,” he sincerely stated. “And now all I want to do is find a way to put a smile back on your face.”

You exhaled. He was so in love with the idea of a relationship with you that arguments appealed to him? Anyone else would've walked away by now.

“You’re infuriating,” you whispered when he touched the corner of your mouth and made it twitch in a small smile. “Impossible.”

“I know,” he whispered back, running a hand through his hair. “Listen, you’re tired and you’re overwhelmed, which is completely my fault. Am I right?”

“Yes,” you sighed. He hit it right on the nose.

“And maybe I was rash in suggesting that you cancel your plans, but I need to take care of a couple things before we discuss that more,” he said, leading you to Ray's car before you could protest. “You just have a good shift, okay?”

He was placating you now, and it was sadly working. “Fine,” you said, touching his hand, the metal one. “I don’t think I said so earlier, but thank you for finally telling me the truth,” you said, calmer than you were moments before. He should've told you from the start, but it couldn't have been easy reopening old wounds regarding his dad.

His gaze softened. “Thank you for letting me.”

“And whatever Ray told you or whatever’s going on, just breathe, okay?” you begged.

He took a deep breath. “I’ll just think of you and it’ll help,” he said, adding in a low voice as he pulled you against him. “And this.”

This was nothing like the slow, languid kisses from minutes ago. This was dominant, claiming, threatening to rob you of the air in your lungs, like he wanted you to feed your own breath into him. He either forgot Ray was there, or he simply didn’t care.

By the time Bucky stopped kissing you and helped you into the car, you didn’t want to look either of them in the eye.

“I love you,” he whispered, kissing your temple and shutting the door as your heart flip flopped. God, he was insufferable. Confusing. Obsessed.

“You're certainly keeping him on his toes,” Ray said, not driving off until he made sure Bucky was in his vehicle, too.

“Someone has to,” you said, staring out the window. “I’m going with my friends tomorrow. I don't care if he makes you drag me back,” you said. Unless your life was in some sort of immediate danger, there was no reason for you to skip out on meeting up with the girls.

“So you’re aware, the suggestion of you moving your day out has nothing to do with wanting to control you. He’s upset because of the news I delivered and he wants to keep you close,” Ray explained, making you feel a little bad.

“So, that news was the reason why you both changed your tune, and you can't tell me what that news is,” you guessed. If you were in some sort of danger though, surely Bucky would’ve said so. “He told me about his mom. How I saved her.”

Silence filled the vehicle. “So, you know the truth,” he said after a minute, his voice neutral. “Are you okay?”

“I’m trying to be,” you answered carefully. You really were.

“That’s all you can do,” he said before adding under his breath, “No good deed goes unpunished.”

You snorted. “I guess I'm living breathing proof of that.” It was ironic how an act of kindness put you on this path. “And as much as I don't like to wish pain upon people, I hope Bucky's dad got whatever he deserved.”

Winnie, from the short time you knew her, was nothing but wonderful. Bucky said the dahlia painting in his office served as a reminder that he would never do to you what his dad did to his mom. He would never set you up to take the fall for anyone else, wouldn’t let someone else hurt you if he could help it. He would forever stand by you.

Was pushing him away doing you any good?

“He did,” Ray promised you. “And I say with complete sincerity that I hope today is very uneventful for you after the time you've had.”

Your nose scrunched as you laughed. “So do I, Ray. So do I.”

Ray was kind enough to wait outside of your place as you showered and got ready for work, and didn't push you to talk more before he dropped you off at the shop. He was even kind enough to stop so you could get another cup of coffee. It helped improve your mood.

“There she is!” Kate smiled when you walked in. “Little miss not-so-single anymore.”

“Hey,” you giggled before you paused. “I didn't know you were working today. Did you switch shifts with someone?”

“God, the schedule’s all messed up. Mrs. Crandle called out for some business thing-”

“Business thing?” you asked, your brows pinched. She hardly ever took time off for things like vacation let alone a business thing without informing her staff.

“Yeah, I’m not really sure about all the details, but Lorraine ended up switching the whole schedule around. Mya’s coming in later, and I had to come in early, and your shift’s ending early.”

“What?” you frowned, checking the schedule to make sure. She was right. Your shift today was almost cut in half. “Would’ve been nice to get a text or something.”

The assistant manager wasn't bad to work with, but she could be a little forgetful with things like that. If Bucky hadn't just put money in your account, you may have been more upset over having half a shift cut. After the night and morning you had though, maybe an afternoon off wouldn't be so bad.

“She probably forgot since you were coming in at your normal time. Who knows?” Kate shrugged. “You know, I half expected Clark to be here waiting for you. Seemed really eager to see you yesterday.”

“Yeah, about that.” You looked toward the door, your body tense in anticipation even though he wasn't there. “Why did you tell him I was working today?”

“He’s kind of a regular, and I didn't really think about it. Then Mrs. Crandle brought up your boyfriend and…” Her face fell as she stopped cutting stems, which made you feel bad when she glanced your way. “Crap, I did something wrong, didn't I?”

You weren’t about to go into specifics regarding your personal situation. “I just don’t want customers to know when my shifts are unless I’m specifically working on an order or event for them, okay?” you said, hoping she understood that it was a general request.

Bucky was not getting in your head about your safety.

“Okay, as long as you aren’t mad,” she said. You gave her a smile to assure her that you were okay. “So, tell me about your new boyfriend.”

You filled her in as much as you could to make it sound believable, just like you had with Addison. Like her and Mrs. Crandle, Kate was excited for you. And they would never know the full truth.

As your shift went on, you were surprised you hadn't heard much from Bucky. It was for the best though. He was clearly dealing with something. As much as you didn't want to defend him in your mind, it had taken a lot for him to talk about his parents. To show you some of the damage done to his body. It was a vulnerable moment. Did you owe it to him to be vulnerable, too?

Wait, why did you owe him anything?

“Heading out?” Kate asked once your shift was up.

“Yeah,” you replied, glancing at your phone. You wondered if you should text Bucky before you decided against it. You'd let him know once you got to your place that you wouldn't need a ride. “Just call me if you need me to come back in.”

“Don’t worry about that. Enjoy the rest of your day!” she smiled.

Satisfied when you didn't see Bucky or Ray’s car waiting for you either, you decided to take a walk. It was a nice day, and you needed the fresh air. You hoped the weather was nice for the winery. You’d have to take photos to look back on what was going to be a fun time.

“Hey!” you heard someone shout after a few minutes of walking.

You stopped when you spotted Clark waving at you from the other side of the street. You barely waved back before he joined you. “Hey. What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I was just in the neighborhood,” he smiled, pushing his glasses up. “You done working already?”

“Yep,” you said, adjusting your bag. “And I should really-”

“Could we talk for a minute?” he asked.

You hesitated before nodding. “Sure,” you said, falling in step beside him.

“You know, I actually went to the shop to buy you flowers yesterday. I was going to buy you some roses,” he smiled.

Oh, God. “You were?”

“Yeah, but you weren’t there and… It doesn’t matter,” he smiled, shoving his hands in his pockets. “But I was thinking… Maybe we could grab a coffee sometime? My treat.”

The hopeful look in his eyes made a pit form in your stomach. “Clark, I’m seeing someone,” you said, his blue eyes dimming. Hadn’t Kate said that Mrs. Crandle brought up that you were in a relationship? “It’s fairly new, and I don’t want to mess things up,” you explained, though he wasn’t owed an explanation.

“I didn’t want to believe it,” he mumbled, kicking a small rock on the sidewalk. “Well, if it’s fairly new, I'm sure you can get coffee with other people.”

“Get coffee with people? Yes. But this kind of sounds like a date, and I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m sorry,” you said. That would feel like cheating even if you didn't consider it a date, and you weren't that kind of person.

“Then we won’t call it a date,” he grinned.

Maybe you were feeling paranoid, but there was something weird behind his smile. “You just got out of a relationship, and I don’t want to send mixed signals by agreeing to go with you.”

His smile shook a bit. “It's just a coffee.”

“Is it?” The longer he stared, the more odd things felt, and you didn’t like it. “Listen, when you find someone else to give flowers to I’d be happy to pick some out for you.”

“I don't understand.” He laughed, but it sounded bitter. “You’ve always been nice to me.”

“Well, yeah. You’ve always been kind, too, when you come into the shop.”

“Too nice for someone like Bucky Barnes,” he muttered, his smile disappearing completely.

You gaped at him, almost faltering in your step. “What did you just say?”

“I said you’re too nice for someone like Bucky Barnes,” he said louder, his ire clear as day. “You think I don’t know about his reputation? He’s dangerous, and you’re too good for him.”

“How do you know I’m dating him?” you asked. And what did he know about his reputation?

He was quiet for a moment. “Mrs. Crandle said his name, and she has no idea what kind of man he is,” he said, making you feel uneasy. “I don’t think you do either.”

Oh, you knew plenty. “I appreciate your concern, really, but it’s nothing for you to worry about.”

“Well, I do. And I just don’t see why we can’t have one cup of coffee together,” he said, flashing a smile again. “It’ll be fun.”

“Because you know I’m seeing someone,” you said. He knew it before he bumped into you, but was still pushing for you to go with him. “And I also kind of make it a rule not to date customers,” you added, stopping when you got to your building. You walked faster than you thought.

“Well, rules should have exceptions, right? And if Bucky cared so much, where is he? Why wasn’t he waiting to pick you up and take you home?” he pressed, his eyes narrowing when you dug into your purse. “Maybe he doesn’t care about you as much as you think.”

Your next breath came out shaky. He hadn’t raised his voice at you, but you didn’t appreciate the third degree, or the implication that Bucky didn’t care. “Because he’s a busy man who sometimes works both days and nights. I don’t expect him to drop everything just to take me home.”

“If you took a chance on me, you’d never have to worry about things like that.”

You were starting to feel nauseous. “Well, sometimes I like the quiet after the bustle of the shop, so walking helps me decompress. And I can't take a chance on you when I’m seeing someone else.” Why was he being so pushy?

He took a small step closer. “You know, it’s dangerous to walk home alone.”

You took a step back, your keys between your fingers. “You’re right about that,” you agreed. The only reason you did so today was to take back a little control, which didn’t seem so smart now.

“I can start walking you home if you want,” he smiled, towering over you. Was he always so imposing? “When’s your next shift?”

You managed a smile in return, but it was extremely forced. “Clark, that’s really not necessary, but thank you for the offer. Enjoy the rest of your day.”

He gently took your arm when you turned toward the door, worry crawling up your spine when his hand tightened a fraction. You suddenly wish you had Bucky or Ray around. “I really don’t mind.”

“My boyfriend will mind, and I’m sure you can understand that. So it’s a no on the coffee and the walks home,” you said gently but firmly, pulling your arm back and rubbing the spot where Clark grabbed you. He wasn’t listening. It somehow felt worse than Bucky and you couldn’t pinpoint why. Was it because Clark tried to act nice? “It’s been a long few days, and I’m going to get some rest. Have a nice day, okay?”

His eyes narrowed again, but it was his chilling smile that unnerved you. “I’m sure I'll see you again soon. We’ll have to get that coffee,” he said, walking off before you could say another word.

You rushed into the building once he was out of sight, your hands shaking. It may have been from the confrontation or the combination of everything. Maybe Clark was just lonely and latched on a bit because you were nice. Hadn't Bucky done something similar?

But if Clark wanted to see you, why hadn't he just gone into the shop if he knew you were working?

Double checking your locks once you were in your apartment, you took a breath and stared at your phone once you sat down. You had to talk to Bucky. He answered within a few seconds of you calling.

“Kotyonok, is everything okay?” he asked, sounding both happy and concerned to hear from you.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?” you asked, hearing a few other men speaking in the background.

“Because you’re calling me and not texting. And you sound a little off. What’s wrong?”

“Everything’s fine,” you lied. How did he recognize that you felt off? “I just wanted you to know that the assistant manager changed my shift, so I went home early.”

“Wait, you’re already home?” he asked. The background noise suddenly stopped. “Did you get a cab? Please tell me you didn’t walk back to your place.”

“…Fine, I won’t tell you that.”

Bucky let out an impressive string of curse words as you pulled the phone away from your ear. “That’s not safe. You know it isn’t,” he hissed, but you knew he wasn’t actually angry with you. Just the situation. And bumping into Clark today and Zemo the day before, he had a bit of a point. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you? Because I said it may not be a good idea to go out with your friends.”

You closed your eyes. He was not going to make you feel bad. “I just needed a breather, okay? And I made it home just fine.”

“But did you? How do I know someone didn’t follow you?” he asked. Clark’s face flashed in your mind when you stayed quiet. “…Kotyonok, did someone follow you?”

“No one followed me that I know of,” you said. You really didn't have any idea. “But… I did bump into Clark. He was in the neighborhood.”

“Clark? That guy from the shop who tried to give you flowers just happened to be in your neighborhood when I wasn't around?” he asked, fury seeping into his tone as you winced.

“I… I’m sure it was a coincidence,” you said. Placating him in this wasn’t going to work, but you had to try.

“That isn’t a fucking coincidence and we both know it. Did he say anything? Try anything?”

You shut your eyes. It would be like ripping off a band-aid. “He asked me to go get a cup of coffee with him, but I told him I was seeing someone.”

He chuckled humorlessly. “He asked you out?” he asked, making you shift in your seat. “Why the fuck do I not have a file on him yet?!” he snapped at someone in the background.

“I’m working on it, boss!” you heard someone promise. “Should I call-”

“No. I’ll call him myself,” Bucky growled.

Who was he talking about? “Bucky, it’s okay. The guy asked me out and I said no,” you assured him. You weren't going to go out with Clark. “I’m sure women throw themselves at you every day and you turn them down.”

“They don't ‘bump’ into me in my neighborhood. And had you told me you were leaving early, I could’ve made sure this guy didn’t go anywhere near you. I don��t even want him near your shop until I know more about him,” he said, his anger not lessening. “If he tries anything, I will tear him apart piece by fucking piece,” he promised you, the intensity in his tone making your throat go dry.

“That isn’t necessary,” you whispered.

He sighed. “Why would you deliberately put yourself in a spot like this just to prove a point? Be pissed at me, I can take that, but do not risk your safety,” he said, adding in a quieter voice, “I couldn’t take it if something happened to you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, hating how guilty you felt, how worried he sounded on your behalf. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to worry you,” you said. It was stubborn and dumb on your part, and now you were afraid that Bucky really would try to cancel your day out tomorrow. You couldn’t let him. “I’ll make it up to you, okay?”

“Make it up to me?” he asked. That seemed to get his attention. “How are you going to do that?”

“I’ll…” you began, steadying yourself. Natasha said you had power, and maybe you’d have to test that sooner than you expected. “Stay at your place tonight.”

You could hear a pin drop from the quiet. “You’ll stay the night?” he asked, his voice moving like lava through your veins.

“Yes,” you whispered, hammering the nail in the coffin.

“Give me two hours and I'll come get you,” he said, his voice strained, eager. “Be ready.”

“I will be.”

God, you hoped you knew what you were doing.

Oh, Clark. He's a problem now, isn't he? What do we think Ray told Bucky? And what's going to happen when you spend the night? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

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[thepinkpanther83]

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I draw fanart and write fanfiction. I've been posting sporadically for years, but I would like to eventually get it all organized together here in my masterlist. I will separate fandoms for convenience. All my blorbo banners and graphics are made by me in Photoshop.

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I take story requests for one-shots in my Asks, but ask nicely, I'm only one person and am pretty busy like 100% of the time. I do this for fun and stress relief in my limited spare time. If I choose to take your request, (I most likely will) I'll fulfill it as I have the time, whether that's in a day or 14, is at my discretion, so don't rush me. 😅 If you do have a story request, give me something to work with, a decent prompt goes a long way in inspiring my writing, more than just a few words. I write both SFW and NSFW stories, depending on your request. (If you want NSFW, you must specify you want it). Note: Since I've opened up my requests, I've since been flooded with them, so please bear with me. 😅 I also take requests for story continuations and follow-ups on my pre-existing stories, but you need to put in a request in my Asks, and give me a decent prompt idea of what it is you want to see. 🫶🏻

Find me on AO3 here.

Stranger Things Eddie Munson FanFictions

Requests Truth or Dare or read on AO3 (*One Shot*) (Fluff) Sleepy Confessions or read on AO3 (*One Shot*) (Fluff) The Cherry on Top or read on AO3 (*One Shot*) (Fluff) The Girl Next Door or read on AO3 (*One Shot*) (NSFW) Steal My Heart, Steal My Name or read on AO3 (*One Shot*) (Fluff) Mean Streak or read on AO3 (*One Shot*) (NSFW) Firelight Confessions or read on AO3 (*One Shot*) (NSFW) All The Things That Break Me or read on AO3 (*One Shot*) (Fluff) Student Body: "Winter Break" or read on AO3 (*One Shot*) (NSFW) Friends With Benefits or read on AO3 (*One Shot*) (NSFW) Spider-Munson or read on AO3 (*One Shot*) (Fluff) The Stray or read on AO3 (*One Shot*) (Fluff) Stolen Kiss or read on AO3 (*One Shot*) (NSFW) Curl Me Up, Stroke Me Slow or read on AO3 (*One Shot*) (NSFW)

Short Stories

The Stray (*Complete*) (Short Story) (Fluff) Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Read on AO3

The Girl Next Door (*Complete*) (Short Story) (NSFW) All 5 Chapters In One Read on AO3

Longer Reads

Student Body (*Complete*) (NSFW) Chapter One: “Army Crawling” Chapter Two: “Pushing Boundaries” Chapter Three: “Extra Credit” Chapter Four: “Post-Nut Clarity” Chapter Five: “Seal the Deal” Chapter Six: “Two Steps Forward, One Step Back” Chapter Seven: “Unlawful Detention and Other Rewards” Chapter Eight: “Pillow Talk” Chapter Nine: “Exit Ticket” Chapter Ten: “Class of ‘86, Baby!” (Part One) Chapter Ten: “Class of ‘86, Baby!” (Part Two) Read on AO3 More Student Body Student Body: "Winter Break" or read on AO3 (*One Shot*) (NSFW)

And They Were Roommates (*Ongoing*) (NSFW) Chapter One: “Moving In” Chapter Two: “Our First Day” Chapter Three: “Awful Documentaries” Chapter Four: “Band Practice” Chapter Five: “Blindsided” Chapter Six: “The Entreaty” Chapter Seven: “The Blind Date” Chapter Eight: “A Man On A Mission” Chapter Nine: “Late Night Chicken & Other Cruel Tortures” Chapter Ten: “Side B Confessions” Chapter Eleven: “Airing Out Dirty Laundry” Chapter Twelve: “Redemption, Bras, and Burnt Toast” Chapter Thirteen: “Walk of Triumph (And Slight Shame)” Chapter Fourteen: “All Tangled Up” Chapter Fifteen: “Costumes and Catastrophes” Chapter Sixteen: “Sanctuary in the Storm” Chapter Seventeen: “The Hellfire Club™” Chapter Eighteen: “Man Flu” Chapter Nineteen: “Soup, Sickness, Stardom” Chapter Twenty: “A Feast for the Dysfunctional” Chapter Twenty One: “For Keeps” Chapter Twenty Two: "Title TBD" *Coming Soon* Read on AO3

TMNT FanFictions

Resonance Series The Harmonic Equation (*Complete*) (NSFW) / (Donatello) * Chapter One: "Frequency Unknown" * Chapter Two: "Harmonic Anomaly" * Chapter Three: "A Song For Two" * Read on AO3 The Feral Harmony (*Complete*) (NSFW) / (Raphael) * Chapter One: "Discordant Duet" * Chapter Two: "Reverb of Fate and Fire" * Chapter Three: "Dissonance and Desire" * Chapter Four: "The Savage Interval" * Read on AO3 The Silent Duet (*Complete*) (NSFW) / (Leonardo) * Chapter One: “The Muted Muse” * Chapter Two: “Nocturne for the Marked” * Chapter Three: “The Echo Labyrinth” * Chapter Four: “The Siren’s Pulse” * Chapter Five: “The Rising Crescendo” * Chapter Six: “Clash in C Minor” * Read on AO3 The Golden Melody (*Coming Soon*) (NSFW) / (Michelangelo) * Coming Soon

[cinnamanz]

# MAMMA MIA — chapter six!

there’s always been one rule in the group: don’t bring up y/n. no one really knows why, but it’s clear sophia would rather leave her ex-best friend in the past. once inseparable, their friendship dissolved after a summer camp that no one talks about, and y/n vanished, moving god-knows-where without so much as a goodbye. some say it was a fight. others say it was something more. only sophia knows the truth—or maybe not even she does. now, as the third year at dream academy begins, sophia is blindsided by y/n's unexpected return. gone is the familiar, easygoing childhood bestfriend she remembers. in her place is someone sharper, colder, and—unfortunately for sophia—hotter than ever. (who gave her the permission to look so fine?)

wc: 506

JUST LIKE OLD TIMES

SOPHIA SAT STIFFLY AT THE DINNER TABLE, her fork clutched in one hand while her eyes kept drifting—against her better judgment—toward y/n. the last time they’d seen each other, they were 15, attached to the hip and laughing like there was no tomorrow.

the last time they’d spoken… well, it was when sophia had made that confession. a crushing wave of teenage emotion that had spilled out of her lips and turned her world upside down.

now, eight years later, y/n sat across from her, poking at her food, her once-bright eyes now guarded and distant. impossibly grown, impossibly beautiful, and impossibly… awkward.

her hair was cut differently now—though tousled—, her posture straighter, her smile—well, there wasn’t one. she used to talk a mile a minute, but now, the silence surrounding her was deafening.

she was so different. so cool. looking away, it was all sophia could do not to stare, and she was failing miserably.

y/n caught her gaze and raised a brow, a small “what?” falling flatly.

“n-nothing,” sophia stammered, dropping her fork with a loud clang onto her plate.

carla, sophia’s mom, chimed in cheerfully, blissfully unaware of the tension thick enough to cut. “so, y/n, how have you been? it’s been so long since you and sophia talked! i can’t even remember the last time you were both together.”

y/n barely reacted, her fork pausing mid-air for only a second before she answered. “i’ve been fine. busy.”

sophia’s stomach twisted. busy? that was it? eight years, and all y/n could muster was busy?

carla continued, her smile unshaken. “well, that’s good to hear! you know, sophia was so upset after you moved. she talked about you all the time. it was like you never really left.”

y/n’s gaze flicked up briefly, holding sophia’s for the first time all night rather than looking away immediately. her expression was unreadable—detached, cool, and devoid of any warmth. sophia felt her throat tighten as y/n’s eyes lingered for a second before dropping back to her plate.

“yeah,” y/n said quietly, her voice carrying no emotion. “i guess it’s been a while.”

sophia felt the words catch in her throat. she wanted to say something—anything—but she couldn’t figure out if she wanted to yell or cry. y/n’s nonchalant tone was infuriating, as though those eight years hadn’t meant anything, as though sophia’s confession and the silence that followed didn’t matter.

“you know,” carla chimed in, completely missing the tension, “it’s so great to see you two in the same room again. just like old times, huh?”

this time, sophia laughed bitterly under her breath. “yeah. just like old times.”

when y/n’s eyes flicked up again and met sophia’s own, for the first time all night, her cold facade faltered just slightly. it wasn’t much, but it was enough to make sophia’s stomach twist again.

they both looked away, the silence hanging heavier than ever. maybe this wasn’t like old times at all. maybe it couldn’t be.

masterlist ✮⋆｡˚📽️ next

@zindoriyo @goofymickeyr @saysirhc @kathleenmikaelson @soobnotfound @jjjaliyah @meganskiendielsbtc @magixpracticality @phamapple @sed7ction @1luvkarina @linnnsworld @hotluvlet @bauzer @saranglasses @kkoga @chaesitonmyface @arihiu @peanutbutterlover05 @kristalag @ssamlovr @sunshinez4 @meiyaes @solentient @jsxjmn @reey0w @vrtualstar @justtluvrr @fruityg0rl @cyberbonesworld @danisluvv @haerinkisser @lafortezalover @cassiespoiler @skz-xii @ninguitar @kimminjswife @yeetaberry127 @p1hbrook @hazel-tanthamore22 @caitlynglazer @minjvers @tormaa1 @nwjnsloona @itzkatflixs @namojoon @falling-intoo-deep @waitsobs @nyssalvr @blushmimi TAGLIST CLOSED.

[thehighpriestess1]

Make a wish : Secret spilled

Warning: Dark themes. Kissing scene. Mentions accident. Yandere themes

Genre: Angst, fluff

Pairing: Gojo x y/n, Nanami x y/n

word count : 20k+

Ask box | Previous chapter | fic masterlist | Other works

Geto and Shoko sat in heavy silence on the worn-out couch, the air thick with unspoken concerns. Gojo had called them both out of the blue, demanding they drop everything and come to Kyoto. He hadn’t given them much to go on—just that it was serious. Shoko hoped this would finally explain his erratic behavior, the way he had been distant, distracted, and lost in thoughts he refused to share.

Geto, on the other hand, hated being blindsided. Ever since they were kids, Gojo had shared everything with him—the good, the bad, and the unbearable. There was no secret too big, no pain too deep that Gojo couldn’t unload onto him. And yet, this time… nothing. No hints, no warnings. Just silence. His fingers curled into the fabric of his pants as he exhaled sharply, trying to swallow his frustration. He had never been good at waiting, and the longer Gojo kept them in the dark, the more uneasy he felt. They had been through hell together. They had seen each other at their absolute worst. So why was Gojo shutting them out now?

The door creaked open, and Gojo walked in, tugging at his tie as if it were suffocating him. He looked exhausted, more so than either of them had ever seen before—like he hadn’t slept in days, maybe weeks. His usual effortless swagger was gone, replaced by a sluggishness that weighed him down. He barely managed a weak, “Hi,” before dropping onto the couch across from them. His head fell back against the cushions, eyes closed, as if he were trying to organize his thoughts.

Shoko and Geto exchanged a look.

Gojo’s fingers trembled slightly as he rubbed his temples, his mind racing. Now that they were here, now that the two people he trusted most were sitting right in front of him, how was he supposed to say this out loud? Where did he even begin?

Finally, he straightened up, his usually vibrant eyes clouded with something unrecognizable. He looked at them—no, he pleaded with them.

“Hi?” Shoko echoed, raising an unimpressed brow. “You called us all the way here just to say ‘hi’?”

“Shoko—”

“No, Suguru.” She cut Geto off sharply. “This is ridiculous.” Her sharp gaze snapped back to Gojo. “What the hell is going on with you? I want to know. Now.”

Gojo’s gaze dropped to the floor, his hands clenching together. His breathing was unsteady. “I… I don’t know how to tell you.” His voice was quiet, almost fragile.

“Try,” Geto said, his tone softer this time.

Gojo inhaled deeply, forcing himself to steady his shaking hands. “Alright,” he murmured, bracing himself. “What I’m about to tell you is going to sound impossible. Completely unbelievable, even. But I can prove it happened.” He hesitated, then added, “And I owe you both an apology, though you won’t understand why just yet.”

Shoko frowned, leaning forward. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Gojo exhaled sharply. “I met Y/N five years ago… in 2021.”

Geto blinked. “Gojo. This year is 2021.”

“Please, just let me finish.” Gojo’s voice was almost desperate now. “At first… it was just physical attraction. She was—” He stopped for a second, as if even thinking about her was enough to break him. “She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. But over time, I fell for her. Not just her looks, but her kindness, her sincerity—everything about her.”

Gojo swallowed thickly, his throat burning as if the weight of his own words was choking him from the inside out. His hands trembled in his lap, his fingers twisting together, gripping so tightly it felt like they might snap. His eyes, usually so vibrant, so full of an effortless confidence, were now hollow and glassy with unshed tears. He wasn’t even sure where to begin. His voice cracked when he finally spoke, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. For the next two hours, he unraveled everything. Every single horrifying, twisted, desperate thing he had done over those five years.

He told them how it started small. Lies so insignificant they barely felt like lies at all. A half-truth here, a manipulated circumstance there. He convinced himself it was harmless. That he was just making sure you stayed close, just guiding things in the right direction. But control is a hungry thing. It grows, swallows you whole, and before he knew it, he wasn’t just nudging fate—he was rewriting it.

He controlled who you saw, who you spoke to. He made sure the people you loved—the ones who could have pulled you away from him—saw you as someone untrustworthy, someone difficult, someone selfish. He whispered poison into the ears of those around you, twisting narratives until even you began to doubt yourself. And when you had nowhere else to turn, when the world had become too unkind, too lonely—he was there. He was the only one left. The only one who truly understood you. It wasn’t love. It was possession. And it destroyed you.

Gojo's voice wavered as he spoke, his guilt crushing him under its weight. His confession was a slow, agonizing bleed. He told them how, at first, he didn’t even realize what he had done. He had been blinded by his own obsession, so drunk on the idea of having you, keeping you, that he had ignored the way you began to wither right in front of him. He ignored the exhaustion in your voice, the way your shoulders curled inward, the way you stopped fighting back.

And then one day, you broke.

You shattered into something unrecognizable, and it was his hands that had done it.

His fingers curled against his palms, nails biting into his skin as he forced himself to say it—how in the end, he had pushed you too far. How you had looked at him with hollow, empty eyes, the love you once held for him long gone, and how you made a choice he never thought you would. A choice he wasn’t sure he would ever forgive himself for forcing upon you.

Shoko’s breath hitched. Geto sat rigid, his expression unreadable.

Gojo wiped a shaky hand down his face, exhaling unsteadily before forcing himself to continue.

He explained how fate had interfered, how some force greater than him had dragged him back to this moment. A second chance to undo the irreversible. A cruel gift. A punishment disguised as mercy.

“I was given a chance to fix it,” Gojo murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “To fix me.”

The room was thick with silence. It suffocated him, wrapped around his throat like a noose.

Shoko stared at him like he was something utterly foreign, something beyond comprehension.

Geto looked at him, expression dark, unreadable.

Then—

“…What?” Shoko’s voice was flat, empty of its usual dry amusement, devoid of even disbelief.

“How can you prove any of this”, Geto asked.

Gojo looked at Shoko, “There is going to be a fire at the hospital, and you were supposed to get injured..badly. You ended up in a coma for three months and your recovery took even longer”.

“We-When is this fire supposed to happen?”. She asked.

“Today”. Gojo replied flatly. “In about two hours”.

Shoko didn’t want to believe him. But what if, what if… “What caused the fire?”.

Gojo shrugged defeatedly, “I don’t know. We never found out”.

“What if you cause this fire in order to prove your story?”. Geto asked.

It pained Gojo not being believed by his own best friend but he couldn’t blame Geto. “I know I have done terrible things but I am not a monster. I will never kill innocent people to prove a point”.

Gojo met their gazes, his own eyes wide, pleading.

Please, please believe me.

The suffocating silence continued to press down on them, heavy and unrelenting. The waiting was unbearable.

Shoko let out a sharp breath, rubbing her temples. “I need a shower,” she muttered, pushing herself up from the couch.

Geto stood as well. “Yeah… me too.” His voice was low, distant.

Gojo didn’t look at them as they left. He simply sat there, fingers laced together, staring at nothing in particular.

Shoko stood under the hot spray of the shower, steam curling around her, but the heat did nothing to ease the tension in her shoulders.

Her mind was an unrelenting storm, replaying Gojo’s words over and over again.

I was given a chance to fix it. To fix me.

It was insane. Impossible. Time travel? Fate meddling? It sounded like something ripped straight out of a bad sci-fi movie. And yet… something about the way he spoke, the way his voice cracked, the way his hands trembled, made it hard to completely dismiss.

What unsettled her the most was the raw guilt in his eyes. She had known Gojo for years—seen him at his best and worst—but she had never seen him like this before. So stripped of his usual arrogance. So completely defeated.

What if it’s true?

She clenched her fists, the water running over her skin. She didn’t want to believe it. She wanted to call him crazy and be done with it. But something deep inside her gnawed at that certainty.

What if he really had been a monster in another life?

And what if this was his punishment?

Geto leaned against the shower wall, letting the water beat against his back as he closed his eyes.

Gojo’s story made no sense. None.

And yet… he couldn’t shake the way his best friend had spoken, the weight behind his words. Gojo had always been impulsive, reckless, but never this shaken. Never this desperate.

But more than that, what unsettled Geto the most was the implication.

If Gojo had really done all those things—if he had lied, manipulated, and ruined someone just to keep them close—what did that say about him and Shoko?

Would he have done the same to them, given enough time?

The thought made his stomach twist.

He pressed his palms against his face, exhaling sharply. He hated not knowing what to believe. He hated that a part of him was even considering the possibility.

But he needed proof.

If Gojo was telling the truth, they would get it soon enough.

Shoko stepped out of the bathroom, wrapping a towel around her hair. She grabbed a comb and sat in front of the mirror, dragging it through her damp strands when—

Buzz.

Her phone vibrated on the table. She frowned and picked it up.

A notification from a news alert.

Her breath hitched as she read the words.

Fire breaks out at local medical facility in Tokyo metropolitan area. Cause still unknown.

Shoko’s blood ran cold.

She read it again. And again. It originated on the 15th floor, right where her office was.

It couldn’t be real.

Her fingers trembled as she clicked on the article, scanning through the details. The fire had started exactly when Gojo said it would. People had been injured. If she had been there, just like he claimed, she would have been one of them.

The comb slipped from her fingers, clattering onto the floor.

No. No. No.

She shot up, her legs moving before she could think.

She stormed into the living room, her breath ragged, anger and unease rolling off her in waves.

Gojo was sitting there, slouched on the couch, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. He swirled it lazily, staring at the rippling surface, his expression unreadable.

“Gojo!”

He barely lifted his head. “Back already?” His voice was quiet, distant.

Shoko’s fingers curled into fists. “The fire. It happened.”

Gojo hummed, taking a slow sip of his drink. “I know.”

Something in her snapped. “FUCK!!!! FUCK FUCK FUCK!!!”

He finally looked at her then, and something in his gaze made her freeze. It wasn’t smugness, wasn’t satisfaction at being proven right.

It was exhausting. Guilt.

Shoko’s breath came in short, shallow bursts. She wanted to scream at him, to demand answers, but the words tangled in her throat.

Geto walked in a second later, towel draped over his shoulders, his face unreadable. But one glance at Shoko and the tense set of her jaw told him everything.

He inhaled sharply. “It really happened, didn’t it?”

Shoko nodded stiffly.

Geto turned to Gojo, his expression darkening. “Then tell us everything. Right now.”

Gojo exhaled, leaning back against the couch.

“You won’t like it,” he warned.

Geto’s voice was quiet but firm. “Tell us anyway.”

And so, he did.

This time, neither of them doubted him.

But neither of them knew if they could ever look at him the same way again.

Thick silence settled over the room once again. The only sound was the faint clinking of ice against glass as Gojo slowly turned the drink in his hand. His usual carefree smirk was nowhere to be seen. Instead, there was something hollow in his eyes—something lost.

Shoko stood rigidly, her hands clenched by her sides. Geto, now fully dressed, leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching Gojo intently. Neither of them spoke. They didn’t know how.

Gojo finally broke the silence.

“I know how this sounds,” he murmured, voice quieter than they’d ever heard it. “I know you probably think I’ve lost my mind. And I don’t blame you.”

Shoko let out a sharp exhale, still trying to wrap her head around everything. “This—this is insane, Gojo. How the hell are we supposed to process this?”

Gojo chuckled bitterly, rubbing a hand over his face. “You think I haven’t been losing my mind over it? You think I woke up one day and just accepted this as my reality?” He shook his head, voice thick with something dangerously close to desperation. “I went through hell. I became hell. And then I woke up here. Back at the start. Before I ruined everything.”

He looked up at them, eyes pleading. “I shouldn’t even be telling you this. I know that. But I—” He stopped himself, clenching his jaw, his hands gripping the glass so tightly it was a miracle it didn’t shatter.

“I risked losing you both by telling you.” His voice dropped even lower, barely above a whisper. “I know that. But I can’t do this again. I can’t lie to you two. Not this time.”

Shoko inhaled sharply, her chest tightening.

“I had everything,” Gojo continued, his fingers digging into his knees. “I had her. I had you two. And I destroyed it. I thought I was invincible, that nothing could break me. But I broke her instead. I broke everyone around me.” He exhaled shakily, gripping his temples. “And when I finally realized what I had done, when I tried to fix it, it was already too late. She was already gone.”

Shoko flinched at the raw anguish in his voice.

“She left?” she asked hesitantly.

Gojo let out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “No. I drove her away. Slowly. Piece by piece.”

He glanced at Shoko then, something unreadable in his expression. “And you… you hated her.”

Shoko frowned. “What?”

Gojo swallowed hard. “I made sure of it.”

Her stomach twisted. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Gojo exhaled. “You and Y/N… you were close. Best friends, like sisters even.” He swallowed. “She relied on you. Trusted you. And you cared about her too.” His voice lowered. “But I couldn’t have that.”

Shoko took a slow step back.

“I told you she was trying to get with Geto,” Gojo admitted, voice hoarse. “I planted the idea in your head, twisted things just enough to make it seem real. You believed me.” He let out a bitter chuckle. “You started seeing her differently. You distanced yourself. And when she needed you most… you weren’t there.”

Shoko felt like she had been punched in the gut. Though she didn’t know why y/n was, she felt a sense of responsibility towards her now.

“No.” She shook her head. “No, I wouldn’t—” But even as she said it, doubt crept in. She could see herself believing in Gojo. She had trusted him for years.

“I made you hate her,” Gojo whispered, guilt evident in his voice. “And it worked.”

Shoko felt something bitter rise in her throat.

Geto let out a sharp breath, his hands clenched into fists. “How far did you go, Satoru?”

Gojo let out a slow, shaky breath.

“I turned people against her.” He closed his eyes. “I isolated her. Made sure the only person she could rely on was me.” He looked up at them, his expression unreadable. “And I did the same to you, Shoko. I made you question yourself. I twisted the truth, made you think you were overreacting. All so you wouldn’t push her to leave me.”

Shoko felt sick.

Geto exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “And now?” His voice was cold. “Now that you’ve reset everything, what do you want from us, Gojo?”

Gojo swallowed. “I want a second chance.”

He met their gazes, his voice raw, desperate. “I don’t deserve it. I know that. But I want to do things right this time. No more lies. No more manipulation. I want to be better. And I need you both with me.”

Shoko’s fists clenched. “You don’t get to just ask us to…to believe all of this. This is too much to process!”

“I know,” he said softly. “I’m not asking for it. I just… I don’t want to lose you both again.”

The silence stretched on.

Geto exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “We’re not going anywhere, Gojo. Even though what you are saying is true..in my opinion you haven’t done anything. I believe you.”

Gojo let out a weak, relieved chuckle. “Thank you” he murmured. 

Shoko sat on the couch next to Gojo and grabbed his drink, taking a long sip, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I ..don’t want to..but I believe you too. I have people to check up on but I am here for you. I know you are not a bad person. You are fucked up in your own way but not a bad person. I agree with Geto that you haven't done anything to us so I will support you”. She rubbed Gojo’s shoulder gently. 

Gojo placed his palm over hers’ and gave an understanding nod. “Thank You”.

“But why are we here? In Kyoto?”. Geto raised a brow, half knowing the answer.

“Because she is here”.

Geo hummed and sat down opposite to him, “So you acquired Golden Ratio for…her?”.

“Yes”.

“How much did you spend on this acquisition?”. 

“30..30 million”. 

Geto nodded and smirked, “30- for a loss making company?”.

“Yes. I didn’t care about the profits”.

Geto smirked, “Of course you didn’t”.

You woke up 15 minutes before your alarm and sighed, staring at the ceiling. The weight in your chest was familiar now, pressing down as if it had been waiting for you to wake up. You had no motivation to go to work. Not because you hated your job—no, the work itself was fine—but because you would see him.

Gojo had simmered down over the past few days. No teasing remarks, no playful interruptions, no effortless intrusion into your space. He only spoke to you during meetings—strictly business, nothing more. And it bothered you. More than it should have.

You turned on your side, hugging your blanket closer. What did you even want? When he was around, he overwhelmed you. When he kept his distance, you found yourself searching for him but just to avoid him…right? His presence annoyed you. His indifference annoyed you. He annoyed you.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand, cutting through your spiraling thoughts. You reached for it with a groan, squinting at the bright screen. But the moment you saw the name, the weight on your chest lifted, even if just a little.

Nanami: Coffee before work?

A small smile made its way to your lips.

y/n: Yes :)

Excitement replaced the lingering haze of your morning gloom as you threw off the blankets and got out of bed. You needed this. A moment of normalcy, of quiet understanding, something stable. Nanami.

You took your time getting ready, slipping into a soft, knitted blue dress that hugged your frame just right. Something about it felt comforting, like a shield against the uncertainty lingering in your mind. You brushed your hair quickly, not caring too much about perfection, and grabbed your things.

Before heading out, you scribbled a note for your mom, letting her know you were leaving early. Then, with a deep breath, you stepped outside, the morning air crisp against your skin.

Maybe today would be easier. Maybe coffee with Nanami would settle your thoughts. Maybe you wouldn’t think about him so much.

Maybe.

When you reached the coffee shop, Nanami was already waiting, standing tall and composed with two to-go cups in his hands. The early morning sun cast a golden glow on his sharp features, making him look even more refined than usual.

"Hi! Good morning!" you greeted, slightly breathless, brushing stray strands of hair from your face.

"Good morning, Y/N," he replied, his voice as steady as ever. His gaze flickered downward, scanning you with subtle concern. "Where’s your bike?"

"Flat tire," you sighed. "So I basically ran here."

He chuckled—just a small, barely-there sound, but you caught it. Nanami wasn’t the type to be easily amused, yet somehow, you always managed to crack through his stoic exterior. There was something about you—your carefree energy, your effortless charm—that he found… different. He never indulged in unnecessary interactions at work, but with you, he wanted more. He didn’t want to be just your colleague.

"Here you go," he said, handing you one of the cups.

"Oh, you didn’t have to," you said, feeling a twinge of guilt for being late.

"Don’t worry about it. It’s a latte with two sugars. I hope I got it right."

Your heart warmed. He remembered. He noticed things about you. You smiled up at him, and for a moment, Nanami just looked at you—calm, patient, unwavering.

"It’s exactly what I wanted," you said softly.

The two of you started walking toward the office, sipping your coffee and chatting, completely oblivious to the sleek black car crawling past on the street.

Inside the car, Gojo saw everything.

He saw how you ran up to Nanami, how you smiled—that smile. The real one. The one you used to have around him. The one he had brushed aside too many times. He watched as Nanami handed you coffee like it was the most natural thing in the world, like he’d done it a hundred times before.

Since when?

How long has this been going on?

Were you close enough that Nanami knew your coffee order by heart? Was this a new thing or a routine? 

Gojo clenched his fists on his lap, his jaw tightening as bitter jealousy curled through his veins. That should be me.

He thought about all the mornings you had made breakfast for him, the way you used to greet him with that same warm smile, only for him to brush past you without a second glance. He had taken you for granted, thinking you would always be there—patient, waiting, endlessly giving.

But you weren’t waiting anymore.

And the way Nanami looked at you, the way you looked at him—it made Gojo’s stomach twist.

His driver pulled up in front of the office, but Gojo didn’t move. He lingered in the car, gripping his knee, watching through the rearview mirror as you and Nanami walked side by side, effortlessly in sync. You laughed at something Nanami said, and the sound hit Gojo like a punch to the gut.

You used to laugh like that with him.

His fingers twitched. His heart pounded. A sharp, searing pain spread through his chest.

It wasn’t easy watching someone you had loved—and treated carelessly—be treated the way they deserved by another man.

And worst of all?

He had no one to blame but himself.

As you walked into your office, the sound of hushed giggles filled the air. Maya, Hitoshi, and Suzume were sprawled on the couch, their faces lit up with mischievous excitement. You raised a brow as you set your bag down.

“I guess this is the new hangout spot?” You plopped down in the empty seat next to them, sensing an ambush before they even said a word.

Maya barely let you settle before exclaiming, “We saw it!” She shot a look at the other two, and they nodded eagerly.

“Saw what?” You asked, lifting your coffee cup to take a sip.

Suzume bit her lip, barely able to contain her excitement. “Same cups! You and Nanami!” she squealed.

You choked on your coffee, coughing violently as you waved a hand in protest. “No… nothing,” you managed between coughs, trying to regain composure. “Nothing is going on. We just met for coffee.”

“Yeah, right!” Hitoshi scoffed, crossing his arms. “No one—and I mean no one—has ever met Nanami outside the office.”

Maya nodded sagely. “We’ve tried. Trust me, we have tried. But he always shuts us down—politely, of course.”

You nodded along, unsure of what to say. It wasn’t like you had forced Nanami to get coffee. But before you could come up with a defense, Hitoshi leaned in, eyes sharp.

“So how did you convince him?”

You hesitated. Should you tell them the truth? That Nanami had asked you? Maybe a little white lie would be better—

Too late.

Maya’s eyes widened as the realization hit her. “Oh my god. He asked you.”

Hitoshi and Suzume exchanged wide-eyed looks. You opened your mouth to protest, but no words came out.

“Yes, he did,” you finally admitted, exhaling. “But it was just work talk.”

“Work talk happens at work,” Suzume pointed out, leaning forward. “This wasn’t just work talk. I—we swear we won’t tell anyone, but you have to tell us everything!”

“There’s nothing to tell,” you insisted. “Really. We just meet for coffee before work… sometimes.”

“How many times?” Maya asked, eyes narrowing.

“T-Three times. Only.”

“Thrice?” Maya threw her hands in the air dramatically. “We work five days a week, and you’ve had coffee with him three out of those five days?!”

Put that way, it suddenly didn’t sound so innocent. But you weren’t sure what it was, either.

“I get it, okay? But there’s nothing going on,” you repeated, feeling heat rise to your face. “Now, can I please get back to work?”

Your three interrogators groaned but begrudgingly stood up, tossing exaggerated eye rolls and scoffs your way as they exited.

You let out a breath, shaking your head as you turned to your desk.

The thought of something more with Nanami didn’t scare you. You didn’t get butterflies around him, but you felt happy. At peace.

And that, in itself, was something.

The community centre project had quickly become more than just another assignment—it was personal. This wasn’t just about your career or proving yourself; it was about creating something meaningful for the people who needed it most. You poured yourself into every aspect of the marketing plan, obsessing over the details to ensure its success. You wanted people to see the centre the way you did—to understand its potential, to feel excited about what it could offer.

That’s why the idea of the viewing event had come to you. If the elders and children could physically see a miniature model of the centre—each room, the football field, the library, the recreational areas—it would make the vision real to them. It wasn’t just about presenting facts; it was about helping them imagine themselves there, making memories, building a community.

But there was a problem. The scale you envisioned for this event was far beyond what the budget allowed. The logistics, the setup, the presentation—it all required resources you simply didn’t have. And that left you with a dilemma.

You hesitated to bring it up to Nanami. He was always rational, level-headed—he would assess it logically, not emotionally. If he rejected the idea outright, if he told you it wasn’t feasible, you weren’t sure how you’d handle it. Would it feel like a failure? Or worse—would it make you question everything you had worked for? 

The air in the conference room was thick with tension, but you forced yourself to focus. You had poured everything into this proposal, perfecting every detail, knowing exactly how much it could mean for the community. You had spent sleepless nights envisioning the event, picturing the joy on the elders' faces as they saw the reading rooms, the excitement in the children’s eyes as they imagined playing on the football field.

Nanami sat across from you, composed as ever, his expression unreadable. Gojo, on the other hand, was watching you with unsettling intensity. No blindfold. No cocky grin. Just those sharp blue eyes, studying you as if he could see right through you.

You hated that he was here. Hated that he was in charge now.

Taking a deep breath, you began your pitch. “This event isn’t just about unveiling the project. It’s about making people feel like they already belong in that space. If they can imagine themselves walking through the halls, sitting in the library, watching their kids play—it won’t just be a building to them. It’ll be theirs.”

You stole a glance at Nanami, hoping to see some sign of approval, but his expression remained unchanged. “While I understand your passion for this,” he said, tone firm but measured, “we have to be realistic. The budget is already stretched, and this event—while well-intentioned—isn’t necessary.”

Not necessary.

The words landed like a slap. You had been prepared for pushback, but hearing Nanami dismiss it so easily hurt. You admired him, respected him. But right now, it felt like he was telling you that all your effort, all your ideas, didn’t matter.

You opened your mouth to argue, but before you could, Gojo leaned forward.

“Nanami,” he said, his voice smooth but authoritative, “you’re not seeing the bigger picture.” His gaze flickered to you, and your stomach twisted. “This isn’t just about the logistics. It’s about momentum. You don’t get real engagement from people by throwing a few flyers at them. You get it by making them feel something.”

Your breath caught slightly. That was exactly what you had been trying to say.

Gojo turned his full attention to you now, and for the first time, he wasn’t teasing, wasn’t smug. He was serious.

“The way you described it,” he continued, voice softer, almost thoughtful, “I could see it. The way the kids would run to the football field. The way the elders would sit in the reading corner, finally having a space that feels like home. It’s not just a concept to you. It’s real. You’re not just selling an idea—you’re inviting them in.”

Your heart fluttered.

It was ridiculous. It was Gojo. You didn’t want his validation. You didn’t want to feel this strange, warm twist in your chest just because he—of all people—understood you.

And yet… this was a side of him you hadn’t seen before. A side that actually listened.

You clenched your hands beneath the table, grounding yourself. No. You couldn’t let yourself forget who he was. Gojo was arrogant. Manipulative. The kind of man who played with people like pieces on a chessboard.

So why did he sound so genuine right now?

You shook the thought away as Nanami exhaled sharply, clearly frustrated. “And how do you suggest we handle the cost, Gojo?”

Gojo smirked slightly, but his gaze remained steady. “I’ll fund it.”

You stiffened. “What?”

Gojo turned back to you, expression softening in a way that made you hate the way your breath hitched. “I believe in your idea.” His voice was lower now, quieter, like it was meant just for you. “And if funding is the only problem, consider it handled.”

Your chest tightened. This was the last thing you wanted—to owe him anything. You had spent months avoiding Gojo, keeping your distance, but now he was the only one fighting for your idea.

“I—” You hesitated, battling the war inside you. You should say no. You should push back, tell him you didn’t need his help.

But the thought of your proposal being discarded, of all your work being wasted, was unbearable.

“Don’t stress about the clearances either,” Gojo added, his voice smooth and assured. “I’ll take care of those.”

Nanami let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine. But keep it within reason.”

Relief flooded you, but it was quickly overshadowed by something else—an uncomfortable awareness of the man sitting across from you.

Gojo was still watching you, his expression unreadable, his lips curving just slightly, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

You stood abruptly, gathering your papers, needing to put space between you and whatever this was.

“I’ll get started.”

You turned to leave, but before you reached the door, Gojo’s voice followed you.

“You’re welcome.”

You didn’t look back.

Because if you did, you might have to acknowledge the way your pulse had quickened—and the terrifying realization that, for the first time, you weren’t sure if you hated him for this.

You had barely made it back to your desk, heart still pounding from that infuriating meeting, when your phone buzzed.

Nanami Kento – Office. Now.

You exhaled sharply, running a hand through your hair. You didn’t need this right now. You needed a minute to breathe, to process, to forget the way Gojo’s words had stirred something unfamiliar in your chest.

Still, you pushed yourself up and made your way to Nanami’s office, your pulse steady but your frustration simmering just beneath the surface.

When you entered, Nanami was standing behind his desk, arms crossed, his gaze unreadable. The door clicked shut behind you.

"Sit."

You hesitated but complied, folding your arms across your chest. “What now?”

Nanami exhaled slowly, like he was trying to contain his frustration. “I need to know if you’re absolutely certain about this event.”

Your patience snapped. “I wouldn’t have pitched it if I wasn’t, Nanami.”

His brow furrowed, but his voice remained measured. “I’m not just talking about your passion for it. I mean, have you really evaluated the risks? The logistics? The long-term impact? This isn’t just about getting people excited—it’s about whether this event is actually worth the cost.”

You leaned forward, your voice sharp. “I’ve done the background work. I’ve looked at every angle, every possibility, every outcome. I know what I’m doing, Nanami.”

He sighed, rubbing his temples. “I’m not saying you haven’t put in the effort. But throwing money at an idea without proper validation—”

“Proper validation?” You scoffed, shaking your head. “You think I’d bring half-baked ideas to the table? You think I didn’t think this through?”

Nanami’s jaw tightened. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?” Your voice wavered slightly, frustration morphing into something more vulnerable. “Because it sure as hell feels like you don’t trust my judgment.”

Silence.

Nanami exhaled, his hands balling into fists at his sides. He looked at you then—really looked at you. The way your eyes shone with unshaken determination, the way your shoulders were squared, unrelenting. You were so certain about this, so damn sure of yourself, and he should’ve been proud.

But all he could think about was him.

Gojo had taken one look at your proposal and, without hesitation, decided to make it happen. No back and forth, no weighing options—just effortless power, effortless money. Gojo could give you what he couldn’t, and that truth sat like lead in his chest.

But he couldn’t say that.

He wouldn’t say that.

Instead, he settled for the one thing he could justify. “I just think you should step back and look at this from all angles. We should evaluate it properly before jumping in.”

Your hands clenched. “I did evaluate it, Nanami. I wouldn’t have come to you if I hadn’t.”

He held his ground. “There’s more to this than just feasibility. There’s strategy, long-term vision. If we put this money into the wrong thing—”

“It’s not the wrong thing!”

Your voice cracked, and for the first time, real hurt bled into your expression.

“I worked on this for weeks, Nanami,” you said, quieter now. “I thought you, of all people, would understand why this mattered. I thought you'd believe in me.”

His throat tightened.

He did believe in you. That was never the problem.

But it was too late to say that now.

You scoffed softly, shaking your head. “Guess I should’ve expected this.”

The words stung more than they should have.

You turned abruptly, striding toward the door, and before he could find the words to stop you, you were gone—storming out of his office and leaving him in the silence of everything unsaid.

You couldn’t believe that Nanami didn’t believe in you. He always believed in you.

You sat on the worn wooden bench in the small garden near the parking lot, gripping the paper cup of green tea with both hands as if its warmth could steady the storm raging inside you. Your argument with Nanami replayed in your mind, each word gnawing at you.

Were you being too selfish? Was Nanami right? Did you just sell your idea to Gojo because it was the easier thing to do?

You took a slow sip, trying to swallow down your doubts, but they clung to you, refusing to dissipate.

“Are you okay?”

The deep yet familiar voice pulled you from your thoughts. You turned around, ready to answer, but the words lodged in your throat the moment your gaze met his.

Gojo stood there, a bento box in hand, his sharp blue eyes locked onto you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. The sunlight caught in his white hair, softening his features, but you knew better than to let it fool you.

Damn him.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, voice steady despite the way your pulse quickened.

“I eat my lunch here,” he said simply, as if that explained anything.

“Why here?”

Gojo shrugged, settling onto the opposite end of the bench. “I like the sun.” He opened his bento box, pulling out a pair of chopsticks before glancing sideways at you. “What about you?”

You exhaled, watching him cautiously. This was the first time you were alone with him in years. And somehow, the space between you felt suffocating—thick with everything left unsaid.

The memories came uninvited. The way his fingers once traced lazy circles on your bare skin. The way his lips felt when he whispered your name like a prayer. The way he used to make you feel like you were the only thing that mattered.

And yet, you weren’t.

Now, all you could do was sit there and watch him eat, his expression unreadable, while your own heart threatened to tear itself apart. Why did you hurt me? Why couldn’t you just love me? Why was I not enough?

Gojo felt the weight of your silence. He could feel the heat of your presence, the way your every breath unsettled him. It took everything in him not to close the distance between you, not to reach out and brush his fingers against yours. But his control was hanging by a thread.

The way you sat there—legs crossed, throat bobbing as you sipped your tea, the curve of your mouth just barely upturned in a frown—sent something dangerous curling in his stomach. He hated this distance between you.

Hated how he wasn’t allowed to touch you anymore.

I will make it up to you. I will show you that all I need is you. I will love you the way you want to be loved.

A single tear escaped the corner of your eye, but you caught it quickly, turning away before he could see.

“I just needed some air,” you murmured.

Gojo swallowed a bite of his food. “Are you upset about what Nanami said?”

“Yes,” you admitted, though that wasn’t the full truth.

Gojo hummed, setting his chopsticks down. “Why? People will question your ideas. You need to defend your ground and find someone who believes in you. It’s not that complicated.”

You stared at your tea, the warmth now forgotten. Find someone who believes in you? You had—once. And then he broke you.

You should’ve left. You should have walked away. But somehow, your body refused to move, as if something invisible tied you to him.

Gojo shifted slightly, his knee brushing against yours.

You sucked in a sharp breath, cursing the way the slightest touch of him still sent a shiver up your spine. Your body still remembered him, no matter how much your heart told you to forget.

He didn’t move away. Instead, he leaned in just a fraction, his breath warm against your skin as he spoke. “Why aren’t you eating?”

You forced yourself to focus, blinking away the heat curling low in your stomach. “I’m not hungry.”

Gojo chuckled, extending his bento box toward you. “Have some strawberries. They’re in season.”

You stared at the neatly arranged fruit, then at his hand—those long fingers, the same ones that had once traced promises along your spine, the same ones that had held you.

Your throat felt dry. “No, thank you, Mr. Gojo,” you said coolly.

His eyes darkened slightly, but he simply pulled back, taking a slow bite of one himself. The way his lips wrapped around the fruit made your stomach clench. He chewed thoughtfully before speaking again, voice low and deliberate.

“Suit yourself.” He licked the juice off his thumb before tilting his head to look at you. “Just know that strawberries don’t deserve your hate. Someone else does, but not them.”

Your breath hitched.

The way he was looking at you—it wasn’t playful, it wasn’t teasing. It was dangerous.

And damn you, because for a moment, you wanted to cross that distance.

You stood abruptly, forcing your expression into something impassive. “I’ll take my leave, Mr. Gojo. Enjoy your lunch.”

Gojo leaned back against the bench, watching you go. His lips curled, but it wasn’t quite a smirk—it was something softer, something almost hungry.

“Ms.L/n”. Gojo called out, stopping you in your tracks. Ms.L/n felt unfamiliar on his tongue. You were Mrs.Gojo. But that can be taken care of later.

“Yes?”. You turned slowly.

“Eat something. You look like you have iron deficiency”.

You were too stunned to speak. Did he know? He couldn’t have known.

“Bye-bye,” he said, voice rich and deep.

“Bye”. You whispered and left.

And for the first time in a long time, you weren’t sure if you hated him for staying or for letting you walk away.

Suzume, Maya, Juno, and Hitoshi stared blankly as Nanami joined them for lunch, surprised by his rare appearance.

“Afternoon, everyone.”

A moment of hesitation passed before they all bowed politely, acknowledging him.

“It is so cool of you to join us, Nanami-san!” Hitoshi exclaimed with enthusiasm.

Nanami let out a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. He rarely ate with the team—not because he didn’t want to, but because he had always drawn a firm line between himself and his subordinates. He had his principles. He believed that distance was necessary. But today…

Today was different.

He was here for one reason. You.

Ever since your argument in his office, his mind had been an absolute mess. He had hurt you—not once, but twice. And for what? His own stubbornness? His own inability to deal with the fact that Gojo Satoru could swoop in and hand you the world on a silver platter while he could only offer cautious reasoning?

He had been unable to focus on anything since.

Coming here had been his weak attempt to make it up to you. He had hoped—perhaps foolishly—that he would find you sitting with the others. That he could sit across from you, maybe ask how you were doing, maybe… apologize, even if he didn’t know how.

But to his disappointment, you weren’t there.

Suppressing the frustration bubbling inside him, he cleared his throat. “How has work been?”

The responses came quick, casual.

“Good.” “Alright.” “No complaints.”

Nanami nodded, though his mind was still elsewhere. He glanced around the cafeteria once more, but there was no sign of you.

Trying to distract himself, he asked, “How are you all adjusting to the… new firm?” He kept his tone even, but a slight bitterness seeped into his voice despite himself.

Domain Dynamics. Gojo’s firm. The company that had absorbed Golden Ratio, that had claimed everything he had worked so hard to build. That had claimed you.

“Not too bad,” Hitoshi replied with a casual shrug.

“Some of them are actually quite cool,” Maya added.

Nanami arched a brow. “Oh really? Like who?”

“Miwa is really nice,” Maya said thoughtfully.

Hitoshi snorted. “She’s just saying that because they both have blue hair.”

That earned a round of laughter, even from Nanami.

“That has nothing to do with it!” Maya defended herself. “She’s really cool and sweet.”

Nanami turned his attention to Suzume. “What about you?”

Suzume blushed slightly at being singled out. “I’ve mostly interacted with Mr. Gojo… and I think he’s very cool.”

Nanami’s grip on his chopsticks tightened.

He forced his expression to remain neutral. “Why… is he so cool?” He kept his tone light, almost teasing, though deep inside, he already knew the answer would irritate him.

Suzume tilted her head thoughtfully. “He’s quick to make decisions, and he’s very kind. Once, he brought smoothies and pastries for the entire admin department to thank us for our help during the merger.”

Of course he did.

Nanami clenched his jaw as an unsettling weight settled in his chest. Gojo wasn’t just good at winning people over—he was effortless at it.

Nanami had spent years proving himself with diligence, logic, and hard work. Gojo, on the other hand, barely had to lift a finger to make people adore him.

“I see,” Nanami said, his voice a little too stiff, his smile too forced.

He had lost his appetite.

“I will take my leave now.” He picked up his tray of half-eaten food and stood up.

He was about to place his tray on the conveyor when Hitoshi suddenly jogged up to him.

“What’s wrong, Hitoshi?” Nanami asked.

Hitoshi stuffed his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels. “Y/N is in the garden.”

Nanami stiffened.

He furrowed his brows. “I didn’t ask.”

“I know.” Hitoshi’s lips curled into a knowing smirk. “Just thought you should know.”

Nanami didn’t respond. He simply placed his tray down and walked away.

But he was already heading toward the garden.

As Nanami stepped into the open courtyard, the fresh air did little to clear the storm brewing inside him. His eyes immediately scanned the area, searching for you.

And then—he found you.

His footsteps faltered.

You were sitting on a wooden bench, a cup of tea in your hands, your posture tense yet unmoving.

And beside you—far too close for Nanami’s liking—sat Gojo.

Nanami stopped in his tracks, staying in the shadows, just out of sight.

His stomach twisted uncomfortably as he took in the scene before him.

Gojo was leaning slightly toward you, his bento box in hand, his expression unreadable. His sleeves were rolled up, his hair slightly tousled. Those piercing blue eyes, focused entirely on you.

Nanami’s jaw clenched as Gojo extended his bento box toward you.

Don’t take it.

He felt a bitterness rise in his chest. Don’t take it. Don’t let him win.

For a moment, you hesitated. Nanami could see the way your fingers fidgeted, the way your lips pressed together in thought.

Gojo, ever patient, held the box a second longer, watching you with an amused expression, as if he already knew you were going to give in.

Nanami held his breath.

Then—finally—you shook your head. “No thank you, Mr. Gojo.”

Nanami exhaled. He hadn’t even realized he had been holding his breath. A small, almost ridiculous sense of relief washed over him.

But then Gojo simply chuckled, pulling the box back. “Suit yourself.” He rested his cheek against his palm, smiling lazily. “Just know that strawberries don’t deserve your hate. Someone else does, but not them.”

You let out a small laugh, and Nanami’s stomach twisted all over again.

Gojo was teasing you.

And worse—you were responding to it.

Nanami’s grip on his tie tightened.

You were supposed to hate Gojo. You were supposed to stay away from him.

But here you were—sitting with him, talking to him, laughing with him.

For the first time, Nanami realized the extent of Gojo’s pull.

It wasn’t just about money. Or power. Or reputation.

Gojo had a way of getting into people’s heads.

And now… he was getting into yours.

Nanami clenched his fists.

This wasn’t just frustration.

This was jealousy.

And the worst part?

Gojo didn’t even have to try.

Nanami had never felt this way. Ever.

But seeing you on that bench with Gojo, watching him lean in just a little too close, his voice dropping into something only you could hear—it made something raw and primal twist inside him.

It made him want to march over there, grab Gojo by the collar, and remind him—with his fists—that there were some things money couldn’t buy.

He rubbed his face with his palm and took a deep breath, willing the jealousy away. Gojo can buy everything under the sun, but he can’t buy you.

At least, that’s what Nanami hoped. Prayed.

Your affection, your time, even your anger—they should be reserved for people who care. Not for people like Gojo Satoru, who could give you the world just because it amused him to do so.

Nanami sat at his desk, exhaling sharply as he picked up his phone.

His fingers hovered over the screen, typing out a long, carefully constructed apology—then he deleted it.

He typed something shorter. Then erased that too.

He didn’t know how to talk to you.

And it was driving him insane.

Just the mere thought that he had hurt you was unbearable.

A soft knock on his door snapped him out of his frenzied state, and he groaned inwardly. Great. Another issue to handle—one that would be far less important than what was truly consuming his mind.

“Come in,” he said, voice flat.

The moment you stepped through the door, his breath hitched.

He stood up immediately. “Y/N.”

You shifted on your feet, not quite meeting his eyes. “Nanami-san, I… wanted to apologize for how I stormed out earlier.” Your voice was softer than usual, almost hesitant. You pressed your lips together, the tension evident in your posture. “It was childish and unprofessional of me.”

Nanami let out a slow breath, his shoulders easing. You’re apologizing?

He didn’t deserve it.

He walked around his desk, closing the distance between you. His hand twitched at his side, hesitating—don’t touch her—but then…

The image of you smiling at Gojo’s jokes flashed in his mind.

And suddenly, caution no longer mattered.

Nanami reached out, taking both of your hands in his, his grip firm, warm—possessive.

Your pulse quickened.

“I’m the one who should be apologizing,” he said, his voice lower now, rougher. His thumbs brushed over the back of your hands, slow and deliberate. “I should not have dismissed your idea so blatantly. It was… unkind of me. I’m sorry, Y/N. Please forgive me.”

You stared at him, wide-eyed.

“It’s fine,” you managed, though your voice was unsteady. His hands felt too good around yours, the warmth of his skin sending a shiver down your spine. “I understand where you were coming from. I shouldn’t have rushed it.”

Nanami exhaled, a small, genuine smile gracing his lips.

“Thank you for understanding.”

Of course you would. You were smart. Sensible. Rational.

You weren’t his, but standing this close to you, feeling the way your hands fit so perfectly in his… for a moment, it almost felt like you were.

And then he realized—he didn’t want to let go.

The tension stretched, thick, crackling in the air between you.

Nanami’s gaze flickered to your lips. Slightly parted. Soft. Inviting.

He wasn’t supposed to want this.

Not here.

Not now.

Not with Gojo still lingering in the background, stealing the moments that should have been his.

His jaw clenched.

His grip on you tightened, his fingers curling around your wrist, like he could anchor you to him.

He wanted to make you forget.

And then—

Your breath hitched as Nanami dipped his head lower, his lips ghosting over yours. Hesitant. Testing the line between restraint and surrender.

“Nanami—”

You barely had a chance to whisper his name before he erased the space between you.

The kiss was slow, deliberate—yet devastatingly deep.

A quiet gasp left your lips as he pressed closer, the warmth of his body radiating through his shirt. His hands slid up, one cupping the side of your neck, his fingers threading into your hair, keeping you right there.

You should have pulled away.

But you didn’t.

You leaned in, hands fisting his shirt, body arching toward him as if the space between you was too much to bear.

Nanami groaned softly against your mouth, the sound low and needy.

And then—

A knock at the door.

Both of you froze.

Your breath was ragged, lips still so close that you could feel the heat of his breath against your skin.

But reality crashed in hard.

Your eyes widened as you stumbled back, your hand covering your lips, as if you could erase what had just happened.

Nanami’s chest rose and fell rapidly, his jaw tightening, his hands clenched into fists to stop himself from pulling you right back in.

The knock came again.

You took another step back.

“I—I have to go,” you whispered, your voice shaking.

Nanami didn’t stop you.

Didn’t want to stop you.

Because if you stayed a second longer, he wasn’t sure he’d have the willpower to let you go again.

You had managed to avoid both Nanami and Gojo for the rest of the day. It hadn’t been easy.

Nanami had tried to catch your gaze during the last meeting, his brows slightly furrowed, his usual stoic expression tinged with something else—something softer. You had kept your head down, pretending to take notes, refusing to let yourself look at him.

Gojo had been harder to escape.

You could feel his eyes on you, following you like a shadow. He didn’t say anything, didn’t try to stop you. But every time you turned a corner, every time you walked into a room, there was a flicker of white hair in the distance, a presence that made your breath hitch in your throat.

By the time you made it home, exhaustion had seeped into your bones. You had barely taken off your shoes before collapsing onto your bed, your body sinking into the mattress as if it had been waiting for this moment all day.

And yet—

Sleep refused to come.

You tossed and turned, shifting between the cool and warm sides of the pillow, but nothing helped. Your mind was still back in that office, in the lingering heat of Nanami’s lips against yours, in the deep blue of Gojo’s stare as he watched you leave.

You kissed Nanami.

And you liked it.

But why did it feel like something was missing?

You groaned and rolled onto your side, staring at the dim glow of your bedside lamp.

Tomorrow was the weekend. At least you wouldn’t have to see either of them.

At least you would have time to think.

Because the truth was terrifying—

You weren’t sure if you liked Nanami because of who he was or because he wasn’t Gojo.

And you weren’t sure if you hated Gojo because of everything he had done—

Or because of something you weren’t ready to confront yet.

The night air was crisp against your skin as you stepped out of your apartment, the city buzzing softly around you. You hadn’t planned this. You hadn’t planned anything. But sitting in bed, drowning in your own thoughts, had felt unbearable.

So you decided to drown them in something else instead.

The local pub wasn’t particularly fancy, nor was it the type of place you usually went to. But it was quiet enough, dimly lit, and filled with people who didn’t know you. That was all you needed.

You slid onto a barstool, ordering something strong and burning, the kind of drink that numbed your lips before it reached your stomach.

One glass turned into two.

Two into three.

By the fourth, your mind had finally quieted.

“Drinking alone?” A smooth voice pulled you from your haze.

You turned, blinking at the woman who had taken the seat next to you. Dark brown hair, cigarette between her fingers, and a knowing smirk playing on her lips.

“Yeah,” you admitted, tilting your empty glass towards her. “Looks like you are too.”

She shrugged, taking a slow drag from her cigarette. “Bad day.”

“Same,” you sighed. “Terrible, actually.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Wanna talk about it?”

You exhaled sharply, running a hand through your hair. “I kissed my boss.”

The woman snorted. “That bad, huh?”

“I don’t know why I did it,” you groaned, pressing your forehead against the bar. “Well, I do know. He’s stupidly attractive. And kind. And so different from…” You trailed off, gripping your glass a little tighter.

Shoko hummed, swirling her drink. “Different from who?”

You ignored her question and let out a drunken sigh. “But you have to understand,” you slurred, “Nanami is gorgeous. Like, unfairly handsome.”

Shoko smirked, taking a slow sip. “Oh?”

You nodded eagerly, propping your elbows on the counter, leaning in as if confessing a deep secret. “He’s tall—like, big enough to just—ugh.” You groaned, dramatically resting your head on your arms. “And his voice? So deep. And don’t even get me started on his hands, I mean, they’re so—”

Shoko lifted a brow. “So?”

You let out a dreamy sigh, waving your hand dismissively. “Strong. Capable. The kind of hands that could ruin you in the best way possible.”

Shoko stifled a laugh. “Sounds like you had a good time.”

You groaned, sitting up. “I wish. But no. It was just a kiss. A very, very heated kiss.” You pressed your fingers against your lips, as if still feeling the remnants of Nanami’s touch.

Shoko exhaled smoke, amused. “Under what circumstances did this very, very heated kiss happen?”

You groaned again, hiding your face behind your hands. “Ughhh, it was so bad. I stormed into his office to apologize for snapping at him earlier, and then he was all ‘I should be the one apologizing’ and holding my hands, looking at me—” You huffed dramatically, throwing your hands up. “Next thing I knew, I was pinned against his desk, and we were kissing.”

Shoko let out a low whistle. “Damn.”

“I know,” you wailed, knocking back another sip of your drink. “And now, I don’t even know if I like him for real or if I just—just—” You waved your hands vaguely, frustrated. “If I just want to forget someone else.”

Shoko gave you a long, knowing look before taking a drag from her cigarette.

“Well,” she mused, exhaling smoke, “if it makes you feel any better, I’m drinking because my best friend just told me that he came back from the future just to make a girl fall in love with him.”

You blinked.

And then you lost it.

A loud, tipsy giggle bubbled from your lips, turning into uncontrollable laughter.

“Wha—what?” You wheezed between giggles, clutching your stomach. “That’s insane. That’s so much worse than my problem.”

Shoko smirked, clearly amused by your drunken state. “Tell me about it.”

You wiped at your eyes, still giggling. “Who even does that?”

“Apparently, he does.” She sighed, taking another sip. “Idiot.”

You extended your hand suddenly, still grinning. “I like you. What’s your name?”

She eyed you for a moment before shaking your hand.

“Shoko.”

“Nice to meet you, Shoko,” you slurred. “I’m Y/N.”

Shoko’s fingers twitched around yours.

Her smirk faltered.

Her eyes darkened with realization.

Because this was the Y/N Gojo had been talking about.

A wave of Panic settled over her. There was no going back now. “How about some more shots?”. She cheerfully raised her glass and to her relief you agreed.

After the 4th shot, Shoko was convinced that you were hammered out of your mind, but sadly she was too. She couldn’t leave you here all alone because firstly you were a drunk woman in the middle of the night and secondly Gojo would kill her. So she excused herself and stepped out of the bar,

Wrapping her coat around herself with one hand she dialled Gojo with the other, “Pick up pick up!”.

“Hello”. Gojo’s voice seemed tired on the other end.

“I need help”.

“What happened?!”. He asked worried.

“I need y/n’s address”.

“Shoko…why do you need her address?”.

Shoko took a deep breath wondering how to explain this, “I ran into her at this bar and-”

“And what?!”. 

Shoko could hear drawers opening knowing that Gojo would be on his way here now. “I told her about your time travel thing and then I panicked and got her drunk and now she is too drunk and I don’t want to leave her alone so please send me her address so I can drop her. I feel terrible!”. She spoke in a single breath.

“Stay right there! Keep an eye on her! I am coming! Send me your location now!”. Gojo replied, his voice laced with anger and worry.

Shoko pulled the phone away from her ear for a second, cursing under her breath. She snuck a glance back at you.

You were slumped against the bar, head resting on your folded arms, giggling to yourself over some incoherent thought. The bartender had already stopped serving you, looking increasingly concerned.

Shoko exhaled sharply. “I’m at the Lantern Lounge. Sending you the pin nooooowwwww.”

Shoko let out a breath of relief when she saw the blur of white hair pushing through the crowd. Gojo was impossible to miss—towering, commanding, and radiating pure, pissed-off energy.

“Over here!” She waved him down, stepping aside as he approached.

Gojo barely spared her a glance. His eyes locked onto you.

You were still seated at the bar, your cheek resting on your palm, lazily twirling the straw in your untouched water.

Gojo clenched his jaw. “How bad is it?”

Shoko sighed. “Bad. But not catastrophic. She laughed at me when I said it.”

Gojo let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “So she doesn’t believe it.”

Shoko hesitated. “Not yet.”

That was enough to make his stomach drop.

He turned to her. “Why the hell did you let her drink this much?”

Shoko rolled her eyes. “She was already half-drunk when I found her. I just made sure she didn’t die.”

Gojo ran a hand through his hair, muttering a curse. Then, without another word, he strode toward you.

Shoko watched as he approached, something tight twisting in her chest. She had known Gojo for years, but this… this was different.

The way his face softened when he reached out—

The way his hand hovered over your shoulder, unsure whether to wake you gently or just pick you up—

The way his lips parted, as if he wanted to say your name but couldn’t—

Shoko had seen Gojo Satoru in many forms. Arrogant. Unstoppable. Infuriating.

But this?

This was a man in love.

And if you remembered even a fraction of what she had said tonight…

Everything was about to change.

“We need to drop her home. Geto is in the car. Go.” Gojo’s voice was firm as he adjusted your weight in his arms, holding you with an ease that made it seem like you belonged there.

The warmth of his body seeped through the fabric of your clothes, making you instinctively relax against him. A soft sigh left your lips as you unconsciously nuzzled into his chest, your breath warm against his collarbone. You mumbled something incoherent, words swallowed by the thickness of sleep, before your body went completely lax in his hold.

Shoko, who had been watching quietly, shook her head in amusement before making her way toward the car. Gojo carefully placed you inside the backseat, his movements calculated and delicate, as if handling something fragile. He lingered, ensuring your head was positioned comfortably before sliding in beside you.

The moment he was settled, he shifted closer, cradling your head against his shoulder with a familiarity that neither Shoko nor Geto could ignore.

“23-5 Sakuragaoka,” Gojo instructed, voice low yet steady, as Geto started the car.

Geto glanced at the rearview mirror, his sharp gaze flickering toward you before settling on Gojo with intrigue. “So this is her,” he mused, an entertained smirk playing on his lips.

“Yes.” Gojo’s answer was clipped, his attention fixed solely on you. His fingers brushed against yours absentmindedly, and he frowned at the coolness of your skin. Without hesitation, he shrugged off his cashmere coat and draped it over your shoulders, his hands rubbing gentle circles against your knuckles to bring warmth back into them.

“Do we become her friends?” Geto quipped, his amusement barely contained. “I mean, Shoko already went on a drinking spree with her. I think I deserve a fair chance to get to know her too.”

“All in good time,” Gojo murmured. His thumb still traced the back of your hand, and his eyes never left your face. “Shoko, what was she talking about?”

Shoko exhaled, hesitating for a beat before deciding to tell him, “She was talking about how she kissed someone. A guy named Nanami.”

Gojo’s jaw tightened. His gaze snapped up to meet Geto’s in the mirror. There it was. The confirmation.

“What else?” His voice was even, but Geto could hear the sharp edge beneath it.

Shoko shifted in her seat. “She was praising him. Saying how kind he is. How handsome.”

Gojo scoffed, leaning back against the seat, his arm still curled protectively around you. “Probably the alcohol.” The words were dismissive, but the flicker of something unreadable in his expression betrayed him.

The car rolled to a stop in front of a traditional two-story Kyoto house. A warm porch light cast a soft glow onto the stone path leading up to the entrance.

“This it?” Geto asked.

“Yes.” Gojo exhaled before stepping out of the car, moving swiftly to your side. He gathered you into his arms again, adjusting his hold so the coat remained wrapped snugly around you. Shoko and Geto followed closely behind.

Shoko rang the doorbell, pressing it gently twice. The three of them waited in silence.

A few moments later, the door swung open, revealing a woman with tired yet kind eyes.

“Yes?” She squinted slightly at the unfamiliar faces.

Shoko stepped forward with a polite smile. “Hi, we’re Y/N’s friends. She got a little too drunk, so we brought her home.”

“Oh! Please, come in, come in!” Your mother quickly stepped aside, eyes landing on you with concern. “Oh god, is she okay?”

“Yes, she just fell asleep,” Shoko reassured her.

Gojo’s grip on you tightened slightly as your mother’s gaze softened. A lump formed in his throat. She didn’t know him—not in this lifetime—but he knew her. He remembered her kindness, her warmth. And seeing the worry in her eyes made the guilt settle even heavier in his chest.

“Hello, ma’am,” he forced out, his usual confidence faltering for the first time in a long while.

Your mother gave him a quick nod before motioning inside. “Please, bring her in.”

Gojo stepped into the house, instinctively glancing around despite already knowing every corner, every detail. He carried you through the hallway, his footsteps quiet against the wooden floors.

“Where do I—?” He hesitated, pretending to be unfamiliar with the layout.

“Oh, her room is upstairs to the right,” your mother directed kindly.

He nodded and ascended the stairs, his movements careful. The moment he pushed your door open, a wave of nostalgia hit him like a punch to the gut. Everything was as he remembered. Even the faint vanilla scent in the air was the same.

His mind racing with thoughts he had no business thinking. You had always felt right in his arms, and tonight was no different. The scent of you, warm and intoxicating, wrapped around him. Even in this life, even in a room that he wasn’t supposed to recognize, everything about you called to him. His throat went dry as he took you in, lying helplessly in his arms.

He lowered you onto the bed with deliberate slowness, as if savoring every second he had with you before reality would inevitably tear you away again. His fingers brushed against the soft skin of your cheek as he tucked your hair away, his touch lingering longer than necessary. You looked peaceful, lips slightly parted, chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. 

Gojo swallowed hard, exhaling through his nose as he carefully pulled the blanket over you. He should leave. He knew he should. But instead, he knelt by the bed, his fingers finding yours, brushing over the delicate curves of your knuckles.

“Sleep well, Y/N,” he whispered, but his voice came out more like a plea.

You stirred slightly, your brows furrowing as if fighting off a dream. Then, in the softest voice, you murmured, “Sa..Satoru.”

Gojo stilled. His entire body went rigid at the sound of his name leaving your lips. His grip on your hand tightened involuntarily. His heart pounded, erratic and unforgiving.

“Yes, love, I’m here.” He brought your hand to his lips, brushing a kiss over your fingers, lingering against your skin as if he could brand himself into your very essence.

Your lips parted again, barely forming words, but he caught them. “I… kissed…”

Gojo clenched his jaw, a bitter taste flooding his mouth. He knew exactly who you meant. Nanami. The name burned like acid in his veins. “I know, love,” he murmured, his voice lower, rougher. “It’s not your fault, okay?” His other hand cupped your cheek, his thumb ghosting over your skin, reveling in the way you instinctively leaned into his touch. His pulse thrummed wildly.

“You are mine,” he whispered, his lips so close to your ear that his breath sent shivers down your spine. “No bad man can take you away from me. I will keep you safe.”

A soft, breathy hum left your lips in response. It was nothing more than a drunken murmur, but to him, it was permission, an unspoken tether between the two of you that had existed far longer than you even knew.

His fingers slid down to your jaw, tilting your face just slightly toward him. His gaze dropped to your lips—soft, slightly parted, and so damn inviting. A dangerous thought crossed his mind, dark and consuming. If he leaned in just a little closer, if he just… He sucked in a sharp breath and pulled away abruptly, cursing under his breath. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling harshly as he forced himself to stand. Not like this. Not when you didn’t know. Not when you weren’t his—not yet. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, his entire body coiled tight with restraint. He had spent too many nights imagining what it would be like to hold you, to kiss you, to have you, and now, the temptation was right in front of him, so maddeningly close. He turned on his heel and walked to the door, forcing himself not to look back. If he did, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to leave. But as his hand hovered over the doorknob, he heard it again, soft, barely above a whisper.

“Satoru…”

Gojo squeezed his eyes shut, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. “It’s alright my love. We will be fine”.

He had come back to make you his and he wasn’t going to stop until he did.

When he returned downstairs, your mother was waiting for them in the living room, looking relieved.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely, eyes filled with gratitude. “For bringing her home safely. I really appreciate it.”

Shoko waved a hand dismissively. “It’s nothing. We just didn’t want her ending up alone somewhere.”

Your mother chuckled before looking at all three of them thoughtfully. “If you’re free tomorrow, you should come over for lunch. It’s the least I can do.”

Gojo stiffened for a moment, a pang of nostalgia hitting him again. It had been years since she’d offered him something so simple—something so warm.

“That sounds great,” Geto answered smoothly before Gojo could refuse. “We’d love to.”

Your mother smiled warmly. “Then it’s settled. Thank you again. Please get home safely.”

Gojo swallowed thickly before nodding. “Goodnight, mo’—” He almost slipped again. “Goodnight, ma’am.”

You woke up the next day with a familiar scent engulfing you—clean, crisp, with a hint of something unmistakably expensive. Cashmere and something else. Something distinctly Gojo. Your head, however, felt like it had been cracked open and stuffed with cement.

“Fuck,” you groaned, bringing a hand up to your temple as the pounding in your skull made itself known. What the hell happened last night?

“Oh, you’re finally awake.”

You cracked an eye open, only to see your mother standing in the doorway, balancing a laundry basket on her hip, her expression a mix of relief and exasperation.

“I was so worried about you! How dare you put me through that?!”

You winced at the sharpness of her tone, rubbing your eyes as you tried to sit up. “What do you mean? What happened? What time is it?”

Your movements felt sluggish, but as your vision adjusted, your gaze landed on a familiar coat draped over your arm. A coat that wasn’t yours.

Oh no. No. No. NO. Panic shot through you like a bolt of lightning.

“You went out and got drunk, but luckily, you have good friends who dropped you home,” your mom continued, completely unaware of your spiraling. “Now get up, it’s 11:40 already!”

Your mind was still reeling, trying to piece together fragments of hazy memories, when her words fully registered.

“My friends?!” Your eyes snapped open completely now, every ounce of drowsiness evaporating. “Which friends? Maya? Suzume? Hitoshi?”

Your mom shot you a look that made you feel like you had just said the dumbest thing imaginable.

“No, Y/N. Satoru dropped you.”

Your stomach flipped.

“Satoru,” you echoed, the name sitting uncomfortably on your tongue. 

“Yes, Satoru. Why do you drink so much that you can’t even remember? You worry me,” she scolded.

You swallowed hard. This was bad. Very bad.

“Wait, wait, wait… was it just… him?”

Your mother sighed heavily, shifting the laundry basket in her arms. “There was another girl… Soko Ieri… and Suguru Geto.”

Your breath hitched.

You went out drinking with Shoko. How did that even happen? You went out drinking with Gojo’s best friend too. NOT GOOD. You might have spilled a crucial secret in front of both of them. You fucked up.

The words came back from the future echoed in your head, overlapping with laughter and the distant clink of glasses. Fuck. Did you confess? Fuck. Your eyes darted back to the coat, fingers gripping the expensive fabric as your stomach twisted. Did you tell Gojo about the kiss?

Your mom, still unaware of the inner turmoil threatening to consume you, huffed. “Why are you just sitting there? Go take a shower. They’re coming for lunch.”

You barely registered what she said at first, still staring blankly at Gojo’s coat. Then, the words sank in. Your head snapped up. “Who’s coming for lunch?”

“Your friends, Y/N! It’s the least I could do when they dropped my drunk daughter home at two in the morning!”

Your soul momentarily left your body. You scrambled to grab your phone, dread pooling in your stomach as you saw a series of unread messages. From Nanami.

Nanami: Hello, Y/N. Are you free to talk? Nanami: Can we meet today? Nanami: Please talk to me, Y/N. I need to talk to you. Nanami: I will be stopping by your house at 1:00 PM today. Nanami: I am sorry, but I need to talk to you.

Your heart pounded. Oh, you had really fucked up. Within twenty-four hours, you had kissed Nanami, possibly told Gojo about the future, and were now set to have lunch with your ex-best friend who didn’t even know you, your ex-fiancé who probably now knew too much, and your ex-fiancé’s best friend—who was way too perceptive for his own good.

You were so screwed. Should you invite Nanami for lunch too?

Fuck it. You shoved Gojo’s coat off, threw your blankets aside, and rushed toward your bedroom door.

“Moooommm!” you called out.

“Yes?”

You hesitated for only a second before deciding that there was no salvaging this disaster. Might as well let it burn in one big explosion. “My boss, Nanami Kento, will also be joining us for lunch. Is that okay?”

Your mother, ever the gracious host, barely hesitated. “Yes! Shower first! Please!”

You exhaled sharply before hurriedly typing out a message to Nanami.

Y/N: Hi. Sorry for replying late. Come over for lunch at 2:00. Mr. Gojo is also coming with some of his friends. Long story, but I’ll explain everything later.

You hit send before you could second-guess yourself. Then, without wasting another second, you grabbed your towel and bolted for the bathroom. You needed the longest shower of your life.

Nanami was the first to arrive—twenty minutes early, as expected.

Your mom greeted him with a warm smile, her usual hospitality on full display as she led him to the dining table, where her finest china sat perfectly arranged.

“Y/N has told me so much about you. It’s so good to finally meet you,” she said, her voice full of warmth.

Nanami, whose chest tightened the moment he saw you approach with a glass of water, forced a polite smile in return. “Thank you for having me.”

Before you could say anything, the sound of bubbling from the kitchen caught your mother’s attention, and she quickly excused herself, leaving you alone with him. The silence that followed was suffocating. You set the glass in front of him, lowering yourself into the chair beside him with a deep, shaky breath. “Hi.”

Nanami didn’t return the greeting. Instead, he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

“Y/N, what the hell is going on? Why is Gojo coming to your house?”

You flinched at his tone—firm, demanding. It only made the unease in your stomach churn harder.

“I… I couldn’t sleep last night, so I went out to get some drinks. Alone.” You hesitated, trying to piece together the mess in your head. “But then I met a woman there, and we started talking and drinking, and that’s all I remember.” Your fingers toyed with the hem of your baby pink cardigan, twisting and untwisting the fabric. “My mom told me Gojo and his friends dropped me home, so I guess she knew Gojo…”

Nanami’s brows furrowed. “Wait.” His mind was already working through the inconsistencies. “How did this woman know that you knew Gojo?”

That part you hadn’t considered.

You definitely remembered drinking with Shoko. Alone. But how did Gojo and Geto end up involved? Had you told Shoko about the time travel? Had she told Gojo? A sharp pang of anxiety shot through you. You had to find out.

“I don’t know,” you exhaled, rubbing your temples. “I’m hoping to find out today.”

Nanami sighed, shaking his head. “My god, Y/N. This… this is incredibly irresponsible.”

You snapped your gaze up at him, irritation sparking in your chest. “Irresponsible? That’s what you have to say?”

His jaw clenched. “Yes! You went out and got drunk with a stranger. God knows what could have happened—”

You let out a short, disbelieving laugh, leaning back in your chair. “I am a grown woman, Nanami. I can take care of myself. Instead of asking me if I am okay, you are lecturing me about how terrible my decision was, like I don’t already know it!”

His expression remained unmoved. “I know, Y/N. But it was a reckless thing to do.”

Oh, that pissed you off. You wanted reassurance, understanding—hell, even the smallest bit of comfort. Not this. Not him acting like you were some child who didn’t know better.

“You know what else was reckless?” you shot back, your eyes narrowing. “Kissing my boss.” That shut him up.

His throat bobbed as he sighed heavily. “About that—”

“Was that a mistake too?” you pressed, tilting your head.

“Well, no, but—”

“But what?” You cut in, your voice rising slightly. “You have no idea how terrible I feel about last night, Nanami. And instead of listening to me, instead of supporting me, or—I don’t know—just offering some fucking kindness, you’re sitting here lecturing me!” You felt your throat tighten. You sniffled, furious at yourself for it, but even more furious at him.

“Please,” your voice wavered, “stop treating me like a kid.”

“y/n-”.

Nanami’s voice died down as the doorbell rang.

Your mother greeted the three of them warmly, just as she had the night before.

“Oh, you’re all here! Come in, come in!” she said, ushering them inside. “I hope you’re all hungry—I made plenty.”

Shoko smiled. “Wouldn’t miss it, Mrs. L/N. Thanks again for having us.”

“Of course, dear! And thank you for taking care of my reckless daughter last night.” She threw you a pointed look before turning back to them. “Now, make yourselves comfortable. I’ll get some drinks.”

But Gojo wasn’t listening. His sharp gaze had already landed on Nanami. The sight of him sitting next to you—too close for Gojo’s liking—sent a fresh wave of irritation surging through him. His jaw clenched as he took in every detail. The way your chair was angled toward Nanami. The way his arm rested just a little too comfortably on the table near yours. The way you looked at him, your brows slightly furrowed as if you were still caught in whatever conversation you had been having.

Something dark and possessive curled in Gojo’s chest. She was going on about how she kissed someone called Nanami. Shoko’s voice from last night echoed in his mind, and his grip on the back of the chair tightened. He hated this.

He hated the way Nanami was sitting there so calmly like he had any right to be this close to you. Like he had any right to you. Geto, ever the observant one, immediately noticed the shift in energy. “Satoru.” His tone was low, a warning. Gojo exhaled sharply through his nose before forcing a grin, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Nanami-san,” he drawled, stepping closer. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Nanami looked up at him, unimpressed as ever. “Likewise.”

Your stomach twisted.

Oh, this is bad.

You could feel the tension crackling between them like static before a storm, and you knew—without a doubt—that this lunch was about to be a disaster.

“Hi, I am Shoko Ieri”. Shoko walked over and extended her hand.

You shook her hand warmly and all the memories of the two of you came flooding in. “Nice to meet you Shoko”. You turned to Geto, “You must be Mr.Geto”.

“Suguru is fine”. Geto smiled warmly and shook your hand. 

Luckily your mom didn’t notice this short exchange otherwise you would have to build another castle of lies. 

Shoko and Geto make their way past you and follow your mom to the dinner table while you and Gojo stand in the hallway. The silence hung thick and neither of you knew how to break it.

Gojo scanned your face for any sign which would indicate you knew his secret and you scanned his face for the same. 

“Thank you for last night, Mr.Gojo”. You smiled politely.

“Not a problem”. Gojo replied. Remembering how you softly said his name, how you leaned in his touch, how comforting and right you felt in his arms. “Please call me Satoru”.

You chewed the inside of your cheek as you pondered over his request. Gojo saw the tension on your face, “Well you know. Me dropping you at night merits a first name basis relationship, right?”. He added jokingly, hoping to relieve some tension.

You chuckled, “I guess you are right..Satoru”. You smiled and let him inside. You were going to keep a keen eye on him this entire lunch.  As you walked into the dining room, you weren’t surprised to see your mother already fussing over Gojo.

“Oh, Satoru, dear, you must have been exhausted after carrying my daughter around last night!” she said, setting an extra serving of food onto his plate.

Gojo chuckled, his usual cocky grin slipping into something softer. “It was no trouble at all, ma’am. Y/N’s not that heavy.” He threw you a teasing look, and you rolled your eyes.

Your mom swatted his arm lightly. “Such a gentleman! You looked after her so well. I don’t know what I’d do if something had happened to her.” She sighed dramatically. “I swear, she never thinks about how worried I get.”

Gojo, ever the opportunist, placed a hand over his heart. “Don’t worry, ma’am. I’ll always make sure she’s safe.”

Your mother beamed. “Such a sweet boy. You must come over more often.”

Nanami, who had been silently observing the exchange, felt something unpleasant twist in his gut. He hated this. He hated the way Gojo so easily wormed his way into your mother’s good graces. The way she practically doted on him. The way you weren’t even arguing about it.

Most of all, he hated that he could sense something was off with you. You hadn’t even looked at him since your last conversation, and it was obvious you were still upset. But instead of turning to him, you were sitting there, smiling—smiling—at whatever joke Gojo had just cracked. Before Nanami could dwell on it further, Gojo made his next move. Just as everyone took their seats, Gojo smoothly slid into the chair right between you and Nanami.

“Hope you don’t mind, Nanamin.” Gojo smirked, leaning back lazily in his chair. “Thought I’d sit here.”

Nanami’s eye twitched, but he forced himself to stay composed. “Not at all.” This insufferable bastard.

On the other side of the table, Shoko and Geto shared an amused look before quietly digging into their food. Conversation flowed easily at the table, mostly thanks to your mother and Geto.

“So, what do you all do?” your mom asked, genuinely curious.

“I’m a doctor,” Shoko said casually, sipping her tea.

“Ah! A respectable profession. Good for you, dear.”

Geto smiled. “I run a few sports clubs in Tokyo.”

Your mom looked impressed. “That’s wonderful! And you, Satoru?”

Gojo grinned, lazily swirling his spoon in his soup. “Well, my company recently acquired Golden Ratio.”

Your mother gasped. “Oh! I read about that deal in the news. That’s incredibly impressive, Satoru! To achieve such success at your age, you must be very talented.”

Gojo flashed a proud smile, sending a knowing look in Nanami’s direction. “I try.”

Nanami clenched his jaw, forcing himself to take another bite instead of responding.

You, on the other hand, were drowning in your own thoughts, I need to find out how much Gojo knows. Did Shoko tell him about what I said last night? But then there was Nanami. He’s still acting like my babysitter instead of listening to me. Why is he so frustrating?

And Gojo. Satoru. Your eyes flickered to him. He was chatting effortlessly with your mother, cracking jokes, making her laugh like he belonged here.

And that was the problem. Because he did belong here. Once. Not now. Not anymore.

Nanami clenched his jaw as he caught the way you were looking at Gojo, mistaking anger for affection. It made his chest ache in a way he wasn’t ready to acknowledge. 

Your mother suddenly stood up, dusting off her hands. “I should bring out some more food. You all keep eating—I’ll be right back.”

As soon as she disappeared into the kitchen, you turned to Shoko, “I hope I didn’t do something embarrassing last night.” You tried to keep your tone light, but the question held weight.

Shoko looked at Nanami for the briefest moment before shaking her head. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

You frowned, sensing something off about her answer. But before you could press further, Gojo leaned in slightly, his voice teasing.

Nanami stood up as your mother returned with a steaming pot in her hands. “Let me help with that,” he offered, stepping around the table to take the dish from her.

“Oh, Kento, you’re such a sweetheart,” she gushed, giving him an appreciative smile. “Unlike someone I know.” She shot you a pointed look.

You groaned. “Here we go.”

“Y/n is alright”. He responded with a polite smile.

“I’m just saying, Y/N,” she huffed, as Nanami helped her place the food on the table, “you never tell me where you’re going, and you’re always out at the oddest hours. Do you know how much I worry?”

Nanami, feeling unexpectedly warm from your mother’s praise, smirked as he took his seat. “Well, she does act like a child sometimes,” he teased, glancing at you.

You instantly shot him a glare. “Excuse me?”

Gojo, who had been watching the exchange, leaned back lazily in his chair. “I wouldn’t say that,” he said, voice smooth yet firm. “She’s not a kid. A little impulsive sometimes, sure, but she’s pretty responsible.”

Your mother pursed her lips. “That’s hard to believe.”

Gojo chuckled. “I mean it, ma’am. You don’t have to worry too much. Y/N’s brave, independent, and more capable than she gives herself credit for.”

Your chest tightened at his words. There was no teasing in his voice, no sarcasm—just pure certainty.

Shoko smirked, setting down her drink. “You’re talking about her being responsible? That’s rich coming from you.”

Geto chuckled. “Yeah, remember that time you got lost in Shinjuku because you insisted you didn’t need a map?”

Gojo groaned, covering his face. “That was one time.”

Shoko ignored him. “Or how about the time you ate that entire bag of wasabi chips on a dare and nearly died?”

Geto shook his head. “He does act like a kid. Pretty often, actually.”

Your mother laughed, clearly enjoying the conversation. “Sounds like you give your friends a hard time, Satoru.”

Gojo pouted dramatically. “I think they just like ganging up on me.”

The table filled with laughter, the mood light and easy. But not for Nanami.

He didn’t miss the way your expression softened at Gojo’s words earlier. The way you actually listened when he defended you.

Nanami clenched his jaw, shoving a bite of food into his mouth to keep himself from scowling. He wasn’t trying to lecture you. He wasn’t trying to belittle you. He just wanted what was best for you. But somehow, everything he said just kept backfiring and worst of all? Gojo was making it look easy.

As the lunch wrapped up, Gojo stood, effortlessly stacking the empty plates in his hands. Your mother looked up, mildly surprised but clearly pleased.

“Oh, Satoru, dear, you don’t have to do that,” she said warmly as he carried the dishes into the kitchen.

Gojo shot her a charming grin over his shoulder. “How could I not? You went through all that effort to feed us. Least I can do is help out.” He set the dishes in the sink before turning back to her with a casual air. “Besides, if I help, maybe I’ll secure my spot as your favorite guest.”

Your mother chuckled, shaking her head. “Oh, you’re already miles ahead, dear. Such a polite young man. If only my daughter had half your sense of responsibility.”

Gojo’s grin widened, but there was a flicker of something sharp in his icy blue eyes. He leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. “Careful now, ma’am. If you like me that much, you should just make me your son-in-law.” The words were spoken lightly, teasingly, but something about the way he said them carried weight.

Your mother laughed, shaking her head. “Oh, Satoru, you’re too good for y/n.”

Gojo smirked, tilting his head. “You say that, but I think I’d be a great addition to the family.” His voice was smooth, but his fingers drummed lightly against the counter—restless, impatient. She swatted his arm playfully. “You’re too much. You need to ask my daughter first. She is a hard one to convince”.

“Oh don’t worry about that”. Gojo winked. Helaughed, but as he reached for another plate, his grip was just a little too firm. His mind, despite the easy smile on his face, was far from lighthearted.

As the afternoon sun dipped lower, the lunch finally came to an end. Your mother, ever the gracious host, sent everyone off with warm goodbyes and an invitation to visit again. You walked outside with the four of them, the crisp air cooling the lingering heat from the dining room.

Shoko lit a cigarette the moment she stepped off the porch, inhaling deeply before exhaling with a satisfied sigh. “That was nice. Your mom’s great.”

You chuckled. “She likes you guys. Maybe a little too much.” Your gaze flickered to Gojo, who still looked smug from all the praise he had received.

Shoko smirked. “Can’t blame her.”

As you all reached the sidewalk, you turned to Shoko. “By the way… how did you know where I lived?”

Shoko glanced at Geto, then back at you, exhaling another puff of smoke before answering. “You told me at the bar.”

Your stomach twisted. “I did?”

She nodded. “You mentioned working at Golden Ratio, so I called Gojo to ask if he knew you. Turns out, he did.”

Relief washed over you. You hadn’t said anything about time travel. Thank god.

“So, you really don’t remember much, huh?” Shoko asked, tilting her head slightly.

You hesitated. “Not really.”

She let out a small breath. “That’s good.”

You narrowed your eyes playfully. “Why? Did I do something embarrassing? ”

Shoko grinned. “Nothing too bad. Just some, uh… very honest conversations.”

“Like what?”. You asked. Your heart racing at the possibilities.

“How you found the blond one attractive”. Shoko smirked

You groaned. “Fantastic.”

She chuckled, then nudged your arm. “We should do this again—minus the whole blacking out part.”

You smiled. “I’d like that.”

“Wednesday? Coffee?”

“It’s a date.” You smiled.

Meanwhile, Geto stretched his arms above his head, looking at the two of you. “I’d say this was a successful lunch. Your mom might start adopting Gojo at this rate.”

Gojo rolled his eyes. “She has great taste, what can I say?”

You scoffed, shaking your head. But before you could fire back, Gojo stepped closer to you, his hands slipping into his pockets. The others continued chatting, but his eyes were only on you.

“Thanks for the lunch, Y/N.” His voice was smooth, but lower this time, like it was meant just for you.

You swallowed. “It wasn’t just me. My mom did most of it.”

Gojo smirked. “Still. I enjoyed myself.”

There was something in the way he said it, something in the way his eyes lingered on yours—too intense, too knowing. You were acutely aware of how close he was, how easily he could lean in if he wanted to.

And god, he wanted to. He wanted to tilt your chin up, wanted to kiss that stubborn little mouth of yours in front of everyone—Nanami included. He wanted to make it crystal clear who you really belonged to.

But he held back. Barely. Instead, he reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers grazing your skin for a second too long. You sucked in a sharp breath, your heart slamming against your ribs, shivers ran down your spine.

He grinned. “See you around.” Then, just like that, he turned and walked away, Geto and Shoko following behind. You let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

Nanami, who had been watching the whole exchange from a few feet away, clenched his fists at his sides. Because Gojo hadn’t just thanked you for lunch. No, that had been a claim. A warning, And the worst part? You hadn’t stopped him.

You watched Gojo, Geto, and Shoko leave and all the memories came flooding. They hurt. The taunts. The lying. The manipulation. You were not going to fall for his honey traps again. Even if your body betrayed you, your heart was going to be like a fortress. You thought about how he had made your mom swoon over him again. Was he going to turn her against you again? Lie to her about her own daughter? Buy her affection? You knew what he was capable of. Maybe you forgot for a while when you saw him but now you remembered and you hated his guts. You didn’t just want to stay away from him. You wanted him to pay.

As Gojo, Shoko, and Geto disappeared down the street, you let out a slow breath, trying to steady yourself. The air still felt charged from whatever the hell had just happened between you and Gojo. Before you could figure out how to make him pay, Nanami’s voice broke the silence.

“Y/N.”

You turned to him, still a little dazed. “Yeah?”

He ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tight. “We need to talk.” There was something about the way he said it—serious, urgent.

You exhaled, nodding. “Fine. There’s a coffee shop down the—”

“No.” Nanami cut you off, shaking his head. “Not in public. We need to be alone.”

Alone. That one word sent a shiver down your spine, but you ignored it.

“Okay,” you said carefully. “We can stop by the office. I need to grab a file anyway.”

Nanami nodded once. “Let’s go.”

The walk to his car was silent, and the moment you slid into the passenger seat, the tension only thickened. The engine hummed as Nanami pulled onto the road, but neither of you spoke.

You stole a glance at him—his grip on the wheel was a little too tight, his jaw locked. You knew that look. He was frustrated. Agitated. With you and for some reason, that irritated you even more. By the time you reached the office, the silence had stretched unbearably thin.

The building was eerily empty, the usual hum of employees replaced by the distant buzz of fluorescent lights. The weekend lull made everything feel heavier—more private.

Your heels clicked against the polished floor as you walked into your office, flipping on the light. Nanami shut the door behind him, and the soft click of the lock sent a strange pulse through your body. The office was suffocatingly quiet, the only sound the faint hum of the air conditioning. Nanami stood by the closed door, his arms crossed, his jaw clenched.

You stood opposite him, arms folded, mirroring his defensive stance.

“Alright,” you said, breaking the silence. “Talk.”

Nanami exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “You’re upset.”

“No shit,” you snapped, irritation bubbling beneath your skin.

His eyes flickered with something—guilt, maybe. But mostly frustration. “Y/N, I—” He let out a heavy sigh. “Why are you acting like this?”

Your brows shot up. “Are you seriously asking me that?” You scoffed, shaking your head. “Nanami, you always do this.”

“Do what?”

“Get…I don’t know…weird”.

“Weird?”. Nanami raised a brow.

“Yes”.

Nanami’s breath was ragged, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides as he tried—really tried—not to let his emotions get the best of him. But it was impossible. You were standing there, fire in your eyes, pushing him, challenging him, and all he could think about was how much he wanted you. How much he had always wanted you and how much he fucking hated it.

He hated that you had this power over him. Hated the way you got under his skin, the way you made him feel things he wasn’t supposed to feel. Most of all, he hated the way Gojo looked at you. Like you were something to be treasured. Like you belonged to him.

Nanami had seen it at lunch—the way Gojo had effortlessly slipped into your space, the way he spoke about you, defended you.

And the worst part? You let him.

You let Gojo sit beside you, let him charm your mother, let him tell her not to worry about you like he had any right to. Like he knew you better than Nanami did.

It made Nanami sick and now, here you were, looking at him like he was the villain. Like he was the one making this difficult.

“You don’t get to decide what’s best for me, Nanami.” You continued when you received no answer.

Your voice was sharp, cutting through the thick silence.

He exhaled sharply, trying to rein himself in. “I am not doing this to control you, Y/N.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “Then what are you doing? Because from where I’m standing, it sure as hell feels like you’re trying to manage me instead of listening to me.”

He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration mounting. “I don’t want to fight with you.”

“Then stop treating me like a child!”

“I treat you the way I do because someone has to be responsible!” His voice came out harsher than intended, but he didn’t stop. “Someone has to think things through. Someone has to make sure you don’t—”

“Don’t what?” You cut him off, your eyes narrowing. “Don’t make a decision you don’t agree with?”

Nanami’s jaw tightened. “I don’t agree with reckless choices, Y/N.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Reckless? You think I’m reckless?”

He stared at you, his hands curled into fists at his sides. “You went out drinking last night and barely made it home in one piece.”

Your eyes flashed. “But I did, didn’t I?”

“Because of Gojo!”. Nanami snapped.

“So what?!”Your breathing was ragged, “So what if it was because of Gojo? Are you upset because you thought I was being reckless or are you upset because Gojo dropped me home?”. 

His stomach twisted, shame creeping up his spine. He knew he had brushed you off last and had dismissed you when you clearly needed him. And yet—

He couldn’t shake the image of Gojo carrying you in his arms.

Like he was the one who had been there for you. Like he was the one who should have been there for you. The thought made Nanami’s blood boil.

You continued unable to stop the feelings pouring over you, “I invited you today because I wanted someone at the table who was..my friend. Whom I know and who understood me! I want some…care. Some reassurance, how hard was it for you to just say ‘it’s okay y/n, I am here’ or “Don’t worry y/n, we will get through this together’ or just ask me how I was doing! I was dying inside and you didn’t even notice it..Instead you called me a child in front of everyone! In front of people I barely knew! In front of my own mother! In my own house!”.

“You don’t understand,” he muttered, his voice lower now, more strained.

“Then make me understand,” you shot back. “I am really trying here, Kento. Failing at times, I agree. But I am trying”.

He let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it fucking matters,” you snapped. “You’re standing here acting like you know what’s best for me, but you won’t even tell me why you care so damn much.”

Nanami inhaled sharply. “Because I do.”

Your breath hitched.

His hands clenched. His pulse pounded in his ears. His restraint was hanging by a thread.

“Because I care about you, Y/N,” he admitted, his voice rough, like the words physically hurt to say. “And I hate it.”

You sucked in a breath, eyes widening.

“I hate that you make me feel this way,” he continued, stepping closer, his frustration pouring out unchecked. “I hate that every time I see you, I want you. I hate that I can’t stop thinking about you. I hate that Gojo looks at you like he already has you.” His voice was practically a growl now, laced with something dark, something possessive. “I hate that I don’t know if he’s right.”

“But he doesn’t! I am not a fucking trophy in the game between you and Gojo! And if I was so swooned by him I wouldn’t be standing here pouring my heart out to you! My mom invited them but I called you. I wanted you!”

Silence filled the room, heavy and suffocating.

You stared at him, your lips parted, but no words came out. Everything was said and Nanami realized, with a sharp pang of regret, that he had said too much.

This was wrong. This was messy. This was exactly why he had spent so much time trying to push it down.

His jaw tightened. “This was a mistake,” he said, his voice cold now. “That kiss. This argument. All of it.”

Your heart clenched. “Kento—”, Your voice cracked, “Please don’t say that”.

“We work together,” he cut you off, stepping back. “And that’s all this can be.” The words tasted like ash in his mouth, but he forced them out anyway.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep your expression neutral. “Fine. If that’s what you want then that’s all we shall be. I..I like you. I wanted to be with you. I enjoyed every moment of the walk from the coffee shop to here. Tell me, look at me, and tell me that none of it mastered”.

“It didn’t. We work together”.

A beat of silence.

And then Nanami turned and stormed out of your office, slamming the door behind him. The door slammed shut, and with it, the last shred of your composure shattered.

You barely made it to the couch before your legs gave out beneath you. Your breath came in short, uneven gasps as the weight of everything crashed down all at once. Nanami was gone. Not just from the office, but from whatever fragile thing had been forming between the two of you.

Your vision blurred with tears, hot and unrelenting as they spilled down your cheeks. You tried to hold them back, pressing your palms into your eyes, but it was no use. A broken sob tore from your throat, shaking your entire body.

Why? Why was this happening again? Why couldn’t you ever have what you wanted?

In one life, you had wanted Gojo to see you, to love you the way you had loved him. You had wanted him to fight for you, to make you feel like you were enough. But he hadn’t. He had broken you instead, left you alone in a world where you were supposed to be his.

And now, here you were again—wanting something that was slipping through your fingers before you could even hold it.

Nanami had walked away before anything had even begun and it hurt you. 

The worst part was that you knew he cared. You could see it in the way he looked at you, hear it in the way his voice wavered when he was frustrated, feel it in the tension between you when neither of you knew how to close the distance.

But he still left. Why couldn’t he just stay and fight for what he wanted..just ask what you wanted? 

You were ready to give this a try. You called him for lunch because you wanted him there, you didn’t think the kiss was a mistake. Yet He still looked you in the eyes, told you this was a mistake, and walked away.

A choked sound escaped your lips—somewhere between a sob and a laugh, because wasn’t this just fucking poetic?

You clenched your fists against your lap, your nails digging into your skin as your shoulders trembled. You were so tired.

Tired of wanting things that were never yours to begin with. Tired of hoping for something real, only for it to slip away. Tired of men who claimed to care, only to leave when it mattered most.

Your chest ached, deep and raw, like something was breaking inside you.

And maybe it was.Maybe this was just another piece of you shattering, another scar you’d have to carry.

Maybe this was what it meant to love and lose and keep moving forward, even when it felt like you were walking through fire. But right now, you couldn’t move.

Right now, all you could do was curl into yourself on that damn couch and let the tears come. Your chest was still heaving from the force of your sobs when your phone buzzed against the coffee table. The sudden vibration startled you, yanking you from the depths of your grief.

Gojo. His name lit up the screen. You let it ring.

You couldn’t deal with him right now. Not when your face was tear-streaked, your voice raw, and your heart a mess of tangled emotions.

But the buzzing started again.Persistent.Relentless.

Something twisted in your gut. Gojo didn’t call twice unless it was important. With a shaky breath, you swiped to answer, trying to force the tremble out of your voice. You cleared your throat and spoke as clearly as possible, “Hello?”

The moment Gojo heard your voice he knew it. 

Gojo’s entire demeanor shifted. Gone was the playful lilt he usually carried, replaced with something sharper, something entirely too perceptive.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was low, steady. Controlled in a way that only made it more dangerous.

You swallowed hard, gripping the phone tighter. “Nothing. I’m fine. Why did you call?”. 

Gojo wasn’t having it. “Where are you?”

You hesitated.

“Y/N.” His tone left no room for argument.

“The office,” you admitted finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

A beat of silence. Then the sound of tires screeching.

Your brows furrowed. “Gojo, where are you—”, The call ended.

You stared at the table in front blankly, phone still pressed against your ear, before slowly lowering it.

He had hung up and he was coming.

You didn’t know whether that should terrify or comfort you.

Your hands trembled as you rummaged through the small makeup pouch tucked away in your desk drawer. You had always kept it here for emergencies—though you had never expected one of those emergencies to be covering up the aftermath of a breakdown.

You dabbed concealer under your swollen eyes, brushed some powder over your face, and swiped a bit of lip balm on, hoping it would mask the evidence of your tears. Your reflection in the office window was passable—at least, to someone who wasn’t looking too closely.

Just as you reached for a file, trying to compose yourself, the door burst open. Gojo.

His presence filled the space instantly, an overwhelming force of energy that made the air in the room shift. He didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there, his sharp blue eyes scanning the room before locking onto you.

You could feel his gaze sweep over you—your slightly puffy eyes, the way your shoulders were still tense, the stiffness in the way you moved.

His jaw clenched. “Y/N.” His voice was quieter than you expected. Controlled.

You forced a small, casual smile and held up the file you had grabbed. “Gojo, what are you doing here? I just needed to pick something up.” You tried to cover up.

He didn’t move. Didn’t blink and then, in an instant, he was in front of you. Too close. Too knowing.

He reached out, fingertips ghosting over your jaw, tilting your face up just slightly. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to make you look at him.

“You’ve been crying.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement, edged with something dark. Something dangerously close to anger.

You swallowed hard, trying to pull away, but his hand didn’t move.

“It’s nothing,” you whispered.

Gojo exhaled slowly, his thumb brushing the curve of your cheek before he let his hand drop. But the tension in his shoulders didn’t fade. His entire body was taut, like he was restraining himself from doing something reckless.

“Who was it?” he asked, his voice a quiet storm.

Your stomach twisted. You shook your head. “Gojo, please. Just let it go. Can you just tell me why you are here so I can go home?”. You said in a single breath trying to make him believe that you were your usual self.

His eyes flashed. “Not a fucking chance.”

You took a shaky breath, your fingers tightening around the file in your hands. You didn’t want to talk to him. You didn’t want to talk to anyone, really. But he was here and despite everything—despite how tangled and messy your emotions were, despite how much of your pain could be traced back to him in another lifetime—he was still Gojo.

In this timeline, he hadn’t done anything to you yet. Yet.

The word made your chest tighten, but you shoved the thought aside. Right now, he was just standing in front of you, watching you with a patience you didn’t know he possessed. His usual cocky grin was nowhere to be found, his teasing remarks absent. Instead, there was something else in his expression—something you couldn’t quite place.

Concern. You should push him away. You should tell him to leave.

But you didn’t. Because God, you just needed someone right now. A friend and maybe—just maybe—you could rely on him. You exhaled slowly, setting the file down on your desk. “It was Nanami,” you admitted, voice quieter than you intended.

Gojo’s expression barely shifted, but you felt the way the air in the room changed, like a string had been pulled too tight.

“What did he do?” His voice was deceptively calm, but you knew better.

You shook your head, suddenly feeling exhausted. “It’s not like that. We just—” You let out a humorless laugh. “We fought. About everything. About how he never listens to me, how he treats me like I don’t know what I’m doing. And I—I just got so angry.”

Gojo’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Sounds like he pissed you off pretty badly.”

You scoffed. “That’s an understatement.”

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze sharp. “And then what?”

You hesitated. “Then he said… this was a mistake.”

Gojo went still.

His fingers twitched at his sides, his jaw tightening just enough for you to notice. “What was a mistake?”. Gojo asked but he knew. 

“We kissed,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Gojo didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

He tilted his head, as if processing your words, before he let out a slow hum. “Oh?” he said, feigning curiosity. “And then he called it a mistake?”

You didn’t notice the slight strain in his voice, but it was there. “Mmhmm”. You sniffle and took a deep breath.

Gojo stayed quiet as you spoke, his face a picture of perfect calm. Too calm. The kind of stillness that wasn’t peaceful—it was dangerous.

“He called it a mistake,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. Your hands trembled slightly, gripping the edge of the desk like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

Gojo nodded once, slowly, as if he were simply processing your words. As if this was just another conversation. “I see,” he said evenly. But inside? Inside, he was seething.

He had been angry before. He had known rage, known what it felt like to have fury curl hot in his veins, to feel it claw up his throat, demanding release.

But this? This was something else entirely. Nanami had touched you. Kissed you. Had his hands on you and then he had dared—dared—to call it a mistake?

Gojo clenched his fists beneath the desk, where you couldn’t see. If you caught sight of the way his fingers trembled from the sheer force of holding himself back, you’d know just how close he was to losing control. He wanted to destroy something. To hurt something. No—he wanted to hurt Nanami.

Not just because he had kissed you. Not just because he had the audacity to think he could have you. But because he had made you cry and that? That was something Gojo would not forgive.

"Y/N." His voice was steady, almost gentle. But there was something else beneath it, something dark. “That wasn’t fair to you.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “I just don’t get it,” you whispered. “I— I don’t know why I keep ending up here. Wanting something, thinking it’s finally within reach, and then watching it slip away before it even begins.It’s like I am cursed. Like I am living the same story again and again”

Gojo’s jaw ached from how hard he was clenching it, his fingers itching, burning, for something to break. You had always belonged to him. You just didn’t see it yet.

And maybe, if he had been just a little different—if he had been less selfish—he would have let you go. But he wasn’t and he wouldn’t.

Gojo exhaled slowly, measuredly, the only outward sign of his anger. “It’s not you,” he said, his voice too soft, too careful. The kind of quiet you only got before a storm. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You let out another bitter laugh. “Didn’t I?”

Gojo’s vision blurred at the edges, red-hot rage pulsing in his veins, but still, his voice stayed steady. “No, you didn’t,” he said. But this time, his words were firm. Unyielding. Because he knew exactly what you were thinking.

That maybe it was your fault. That maybe if you had done something differently, Nanami wouldn’t have walked away and Gojo hated that because he knew the truth. The truth was that Nanami was a fucking idiot.

And Gojo wasn’t sure if he was more furious at him for hurting you— or at himself for letting it happen.

Because if Nanami had just held on to you—if he had been worthy of you—Gojo would have stepped back. If he knew that you were genuinely happy with Nanami he would have stepped away for your happiness. But Nanami had hurt you. 

He wouldn’t step back now.

And now, looking at you, eyes rimmed with the evidence of your heartbreak, Gojo knew—Nanami never deserved you in the first place and if Gojo had anything to say about it, no one else would ever get the chance to hurt you like this again. Ever.

Still, he kept his voice even, steady. “You deserve better,” he said, his eyes locking onto yours like he was branding the words into your soul. “And one day, you’ll see that too.”

And when that day came? Gojo would make damn sure that no one stood between you and him.

Gojo took a slow breath, forcing the burning rage in his chest to the back of his mind. As much as he wanted to storm out of the office, track down Nanami, and make him pay for what he’d done to you, that wasn’t what you needed right now. You were what mattered.

Not his anger. Not his jealousy. You, And right now, you were breaking apart right in front of him. So he moved.

Slowly, deliberately, like approaching something fragile—like if he made a wrong move, you’d shatter entirely. His arms came around you, strong and steady, pulling you against him. The moment his warmth wrapped around you, something in you cracked.

You stiffened for half a second, your mind catching up to what was happening. To the fact that it was Gojo holding you. Your past with him flashed behind your eyes—everything that had been, everything that could have been, everything that had never been.

There had been a time when you had wanted this more than anything. To be his.

To have him hold you like this—not just because you were falling apart, but because he wanted to. Yet, despite all the pain, all the history, all the complications—you leaned into him.

Because right now, you didn’t have the energy to fight it. You just needed someone to hold you together.

So you pressed your forehead against his chest, his scent—clean and familiar—surrounding you, his arms tightening around your waist. And then, finally, the dam broke.

A sob ripped through you, raw and desperate, and Gojo felt it more than he heard it.

He felt the way your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, gripping him like he was the only thing keeping you upright. He felt the way your body trembled against his, the weight of everything finally crashing down on you. Gojo hated it. Hated that it was Nanami who had made you cry like this.

Your breath hitched, and then the sob came—raw, broken, the kind that made your entire body shake. Gojo’s grip instantly tightened.

One arm locked around your back, anchoring you against him, while the other cradled the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair, pressing you closer, closer, closer.

Like he could take the pain from you. Like he could absorb the pain. Like he could fix this.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice low, steady, filled with an honesty that even he wasn’t used to.

But he meant it. He always had.

Your hands fisted in his shirt, clinging to him like he was the only solid thing in the world, and his heart clenched at the desperation in your touch.

“You’re okay,” he whispered, his lips brushing against the crown of your head. “I promise, you’re okay.” His hand stroked soothingly down your back, slow and deliberate, trying to ease the tremors racking your body.

You sobbed harder. Gojo only held you tighter.

“Just let it out,” he said softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And he wasn’t.

He wouldn’t. Not this time. Not ever again.

So he just stood there, letting you break apart in his arms, his grip never faltering, his warmth steady and unwavering.

Because if he had anything to say about it, you would never have to stand alone again.

Fate stood at the corner of the office, watching the two of you embrace. He had been here for a while, just invisible. His friend next to him sighed. “I told you. They will find each other again”. He scoffed, “That’s only because you had to go and give the white haired idiot his memories”.

“It’s only fair game! And I did it because I could tell he was being drawn to her. He just didn’t know who she was”.

He shook his head in disappointment. “I thought she would choose something different. Humans really don’t change, do they?”.

“Humans can change. This experiment will prove it. He will change and she will see it”.

Fate tilted his head and smirked, “What about that guy?”. He motioned towards a blond man standing on the far side of the lobby looking in. “He doesn’t seem happy, does he?”.

His friend followed his gaze, “Yeah. He fucked up. But my bet is still on the blond”. 

“We shall see my friend, we shall see”.

@commandertorindhepard @inlove-maze @starlightanyaaa @missybrat @lem-hhn @valleydoli @definetlythinkimanalien @luckyangelballoon @sheep-infog @gojoprincesss @kanaojacksonofc @bubera974 @ginginha @mari-ho14 @mashtura @bitchycloudstrawberry @sleepykittyenergy

[nubiawrites]

chapter thirteen

Pairing: Aaron Pierre x Black Original Character

Warnings: Slow burn. 18+. Alcohol. mentions of Oral sex.

Summary: Spotted... Iriye and Aaron share a few moments out and about, leading to them being blindsided by some truths being revealed and others still in the dark.

Notes: So the following three chapters will be some of the funnest or heartbreaking ones. I'm excited to see where these two go. Also, if you haven't, I posted a poll for you guys toi answer because I have thoughts about the ending of this first part of the series. answer the poll here.

MASTERLIST

“Stop,” Iriye giggled as she felt Aaron kiss her cheek. “You’re distracting me during my turn.” She set up the pool stick in alignment with the cue ball. Her and Aaron had meant to head back to his place after work that day but they were both hungry. In the food search, they found a cute little dive bar and a few wings and wine. Later, Iriye talked Aaron into a few pool games.

“You can’t keep getting away with this,” Aaron joked as she nailed another of the balls into a pocket. 

“What can I say? I’m smooth,” Iriye stated. “At least my dad taught me one valuable thing,”

“You and him used to shoot pool?” Iriye nodded.

“He would pick me up after school and take me to this pizza place that had one. We would share a few slices, and he would show me how to play. If I could beat him, he would give me twenty dollars, and I was really good,” Iriye lined up another shot. “I could probably show you a few things,”

“Oh, I know you could,” Aaron grinned at her. She focused on her shot but seeing Aaron stretch, that dangerous sliver of skin peaking out of his waistband. She faltered a little and missed her shot.

“You are so rude,” Iriye chuckled before grabbing her wine glass for a sip. 

“Whatever do you mean, love?” Aaron said, lining up his shot and making it.

“Booo” Iriye chuckled. Aaron came over to her, his glasses on his face and his hat covering him up. He moved to her, pulling her close as he put the pool cue down.

“I don’t appreciate the booing,” Aaron leaned in closer, wrapping his arms around her.

“Well, I don’t appreciate the cheating,” Iriye pouted. Aaron kissed her softly.

“Just trying to keep up with you,” He stated, rocking them to the music playing in the bar. “So, you decided whether or not you’re gonna take the job with the TV show,”

Iriye was brought back to reality, groaning softly as she tucked her head against his chest.

“I’m still thinking about it. Technically, I have till the end of the week to get paperwork signed and such if I want it. Plus, I’m waiting on the Paradise Lost production schedule to be finalized,” Iriye stated.

“We should be getting it any day now,” Aaron pulled back to look at her.

“I know. I know. I gotta figure it out,” Iriye said. “Because technically in terms of my control, I can work on both things since the deal for the movie was in play before this show popped up,”

“But what about work-wise and emotionally… how do you feel?” Iriye looked into Aaron’s beautiful eyes, and a small smile appeared.

“Excited and nervous,” She explained. “This is a big moment for me. I’ve worked so hard for this.” 

“I know you have, and I’m excited for you. You deserve it, Iriye,” Aaron smiled. “Whatever you choose, we will make it work. I mean, say you split your time between here and my place in London during the film shoot,”

“Your place in London?” Iriye raised her brow at him. Aaron leaned back against the pool table.

“I was thinking-no. I was hoping you would want to stay with me in London. At my place,” Aaron mentioned as she let his hands slide to her ass, Iriye chuckling at the move.

“You want me to move in with you?” She asked. 

“Just for filming if you wanted to,” Aaron stated. “And depending on how that goes, we can discuss terms if you would like. You know, rules and such,”

“Aaron…” Iriye chuckled.

“Sorry. It’s too soon. I get if it is,” Iriye silenced him with a kiss. She pulled back and looked at him through her lashes. 

“I want to. Even if it’s just for filming, we can figure out afterward if we want to do something more permanent…” Iriye knew those words should have scared her, but it felt right.  And seeing the grin on Aaron’s face… it just made her more excited.

“I need to get you home so we can properly celebrate,” Aaron whispered against her cheek before kissing it. “.//I’m going to close out the tab,” he moved to kiss her hand before pushing her water closer to Iriye. She pouted, knowing she didn’t drink much, but he wanted her to be good enough to drive. 

Iriye watched him walk away, sipping the water so she could sober up. She was looking around, catching someone looking at her. They turned away, and Iriye shook it off, thinking nothing of it.

“Are you ready?” Aaron asked as he returned. After a moment, Iriye was re-racking the balls for the following players. 

“I am,” Iriye said, taking his hand in hers and heading out of the bar with him. He drove them back to her car at the lot, and then they returned to his place.

They made it to his place at the same time, Aaron guiding her inside his apartment, and Iriye falling into comfort in his space. She took her shoes off, dropping her bag on the counter. Before she could protest, Aaron picked her up.

“What are you doing?” Iriye giggled as Aaron carried her towards the bathroom.

“I need a shower, and so do you,” Aaron said, placing her on the counter. She giggled. She pulled her socks off, and Aaron came closer and helped her tie her hair up so it didn’t get wet. She pecked his lips as a thank you before helping him pull his shirt off.

“You are something,” Aaron stated as Iriye pressed her lips against his chest before nuzzling her head against him. 

“I can’t help it. You’re making me soft,” Iriye pecked his lips again and hummed. She let her hands trail over his arms, tracing the lines of his tattoos. She slipped off the counter, pressing against him before she passed by to head for the shower and turned it on.

When she turned back around, Aaron’s hands went to her top, unbuttoning it and slipping it off, leaving her in her bra.

“I like that you trust me enough to be that way around me,” Aaron admitted. Iriye hummed and kissed him once more before they stripped each other of their clothes. The room began to fog up, and Iriye pulled him into the shower with her.

Hands began to cleanse the other’s skin as Iriye and Aaron worked together to get cleaned off for the night.

Iriye moaned softly as Aaron chased the water that was rinsing down her neck with his lips. 

“You’re gonna leave a hickie,” Iriye giggled as she felt Aaron's mouth on her neck. His hands trailed up to her breast, cupping them, and she moaned, pressing back into him.

“It’ll be our little secret,” He teased her. Iriye let her hand drag down the side of his neck as Aaron sucked the skin into his mouth. She whimpered as he bit softly. Her lips looked for his and she turned to kiss him fully. 

His hands slid down her sides as she caged him against the shower wall. She kissed down his chest playfully, feeling his length jump against her skin. But she pulled away, giggling. 

“I’m not about to risk the hard work I achieved with my Dyson,” she joked, putting more soap on a washcloth and scrubbing her body. She saw how Aaron looked at her as she used the washcloth to run over her body as she got cleaned. “What?”

“Nothing… I just never thought I could get this lucky,” Aaron stated softly. Iriye paused, and a shy smile spread across her face. Iriye kissed him again.

After making out in the shower and the water started to run a little colder, Iriye and Aaron got into his bed. Iriye was tucked into his side as he ran his hand through her hair.

“You smell good,” Iriye whispered against Aaron’s chest, feeling her body relax. 

“You smell good, too. I think my body wash smells even better on you,” Aaron whispered. She giggled softly to herself, and she nuzzled closer to him. She felt her body drifting off as she knew she was safe with Aaron. “Iriye?”

“Hm,” Iriye hummed.

“Good night, love.” 

“Night. I love you,” Iriye breathed as she closed her eyes. 

Aaron shifted carefully, looking at Iriye. He was about to ask her if she meant her words, but she was too peaceful as she was asleep. He pushed some of her hair behind her ear and watched her till he fell asleep.

The next morning, Iriye woke up to the bed empty, and she ran her hand in search of Aaron. She got up and moved to the living room, where she saw him eating his oatmeal and hot water for breakfast.

“How did you sleep, love?” Aaron asked, her going behind him and pressing her body to his back as she hugged him.

“It was going great till you got up and left me to work out,” Iriye kissed his shirt through his back, not even minding the slight sweat. “You had a good workout?” 

“I did. I’m just glad I didn’t have to rush. I’m not filming till tonight, and tomorrow, I have that charity event the studio is making me go to,” Aaron explained, Iriye’s hands moving under his shirt and feeling his taut abs.

“You’re just booked and busy, Mister Pierre,” Iriye purred as she felt his warm skin. “Anyway, we can pencil in some time together,”

“I always have time for you, baby girl,” Aaron turned in her arms and kissed her. “Even when your breath is a little funky,”

“And on that note,” Iriye moved away, but Aaron pulled her back, kissing her deeply. “Morning,” She said as she pulled back.

Aaron lifted her to the counter. She saw her phone going off, and she moved to turn it over to silence it.

“So what are you doing till you have to go for your call time?” Iriye asked him, feeling his hands on the outside of her thighs. He pulled her closer.

“Hopefully kissing and cuddling you. Maybe even,” He wiggled his eyebrows at her. “Letting me taste you,”

“Mhm… one of those can be arranged,” Iriye stated. She felt her phone going off again and grabbed it just as Aaron kissed her. He began kissing down her neck and chest before making his way to her thighs. She pressed her power button to silence the call and hummed, letting herself fall into the kisses he always gave her. He was taking his time kissing between one leg and the other.

Just as Aaron was getting closer to the sweetness at the apex of her thighs, Iriye felt him stop. 

“Wait, what?” She tried to keep him, but Aaron stood up, checking his phone. “Just put it on silent.”

“I would but it’s Tamara. She’s calling me,” Aaron said. He handed her his phone and she answered it, trying to stop him from leaving his knees.

“Tam, now is a bad time,” She told her friend as she felt Aaron get up. Iriye landed a kiss on his chin. He stood between her legs, rubbing the outside of her thighs.

“Hey, you’re not getting any weird tags, right?” Tamara asked.

“Um, no. Should I be?” Iriye raised her eyebrow.

“Tell Aaron to check his Instagram,” Tamara stated. Iriye shrugged, putting his phone on speaker. 

“Check your Insta,” Iriye grabbed her own phone, and Aaron took his from hers. A few clicks and scrolls, Iriye watched as Aaron’s face grimaced. “What?”

“It’s you,” Aaron breathed. “Someone snapped a picture of us, together.” He handed the phone to her, and she looked through the gossip post Aaron was tagged in. She studied, seeing the details and trying to see what was said.

“I mean, I think the good thing is no one knows it’s you. It’s truly blurry. Someone’s old ass iPhone,” Tamara stated. Aaron rubbed his chin, and Iriye moved to her phone to find the post.

“Don’t look at the comments,” Aaron warned Iriye. She looked over the photo, going through all of them, and for the most part, she didn’t seem to be in direct view of the camera. She saw there was a video and she clicked on it. It was more focused on Aaron, having gotten her backside as they kissed.

“I mean… it could be worse. At least we weren’t too tipsy,” Iriye breathed. 

“Iriye,” Tam breathed. 

“We’ll call you back later, Tamara. Thank you,” Tamara said, and Aaron hung up. His attention turned fully back to Iriye. “You okay?”

“Do you think I should lock my account. You know. To take precautions,” Iriye asked, biting her lip nervously.

“I think it’s what you want to do. I’ll support whatever you want, but the most crucial part is that no one has connected that it’s you.” His hands went to her arms, giving them a comforting rub. 

“That’s important,” Iriye said. Aaron leaned forward and kissed her head, her eyes shutting. 

“I promise. Everything will be alright. I think our best defense is just to let people speculate,” Aaron stated. 

“Thank god I’m a nobody,” Iriye teased, and Aaron frowned, her chuckling. “I’m kidding. Fix ya face,” She cupped his chin and kissed him a few times. Aaron fell into the kiss, wrapping his arms around her. 

They pulled away, heads resting against one another. 

“You’re just… you’re special to me, Iriye,” Aaron whispered.

“You are to me, too,” Iriye said, kissing him again.

“Iriye?” She looked up at Aaron, his blue eyes peering deeply into her brown ones.

“Yes, baby,” Iriye noticed Aaron was fidgeting, his jaw clenching. “You’re not mad about this, right? I mean, I know it was my idea to grab a drink and all,”

“I’m not mad at all. I just don’t want this to be something that comes between us,” Aaron voiced.

“And it won’t,” Iriye slipped her hands to his cheeks. “It’s still us. Aaron and Iriye. Maybe the world knows about us. Maybe they don’t. But it’s none of their business. Just ours,” She said, tucking her head against his.

“Okay,” Aaron kissed her cheek and then her lips. She wrapped him up in a hug, rubbing his back.

“We should order food and stay in until you have to work. It’s a night shoot, so you’ll be tired,” Iriye stated. She slipped off the counter and pulled him back to bed.

Aaron rested one hand behind his head as he listened to an audiobook while Iriye sat up, choosing to get some work done on her laptop. It was pure comfort for them to be in each other’s presence.

Iriye checked her phone when she heard it ringing, not wanting to disturb Aaron as he relaxed. She got off the bed and saw it was her manager calling.

“Devery, what’s up?” Iriye answered.

“Are you crazy?” Devery said, his tone exasperated. You told me for years you wanted to go into television. Now it’s handed to you, which you deserve, and you turn down Samuel Arenas’ offer? “

Iriye bit her lip, eyeing Aaron, who looked so relaxed with his eyes closed and headphones in. She slipped out of the room to continue talking. 

“It was a good deal,” Iriye started.

“A great deal! With potential for growth to the producer role,” Devery stated. 

“It just didn’t feel like the right move as of right now. And the conflicts of shooting in the UK and then going back and forth to LA,” Iriye tried to make up an excuse.

“Samuel was willing to have you in virtually,” Devery sighed. “Was the money not enough because we can negotiate it for you. I know we can,”

“It was great, honestly. But my head is just somewhere else right now,” Iriye admitted. “I wanna see how things wind up with the film. I’m working on some new things, and I’m sure we can have me with my own show instead of working on someone else’s.” 

“I know we can. But um… I sent you an email from Samuel. There’s this fundraiser Warner Brothers is hosting on the lot. He’s invited the writing team to the show and has included you. I guess it’s an effort for you to change your mind or shut him down in person,” Devery stated.

“Can he do that?” Iriye asked.

“He got you on the list so he can,” Iriye rolled her eyes.

“He doesn’t give up,” 

“Neither do you,” Devery stated. “I’m going to follow your lead on this. But I haven’t sent the paperwork back declining the offer since you still have time to change your mind. I know you will make the best decision for yourself.”

“I promise, I am Devery. Thank you. I’ll go. Now, I gotta find a dress,” Iriye said.

“Happy hunting,” With that, Iriye hung up the phone and returned to the bedroom. She stood at the doorway for a moment, taking in Aaron. He seemed to be everything she didn’t know she needed.

Iriye crawled over him on the bed, his hands already settling for her hips as he peeked an eye open at her. His hands reached for her shirt, and she stopped him. 

“You okay?” He asked her as he looked into her eyes.

“I’m good,” She said. She leaned down to rest her head on his chest. “I just wanna lie here a bit before I have to head home,”

“Head home?” Aaron asked, taking his headphones out.

“I’m going to a charity event tomorrow… the same one you’ll be at,” Iriye stated. “I gotta find a dress and put myself together,”

“Oh. I guess I have a better reason now to go,” Aaron kissed her head, and her nerves died down a little. She was focused on the present, being in his arms for once. @wildwomanalereyia @teenage-aria @skvrpion @absentmindeddreamer @blackpinup22 @liv10002 @styleismyaddiction @jungwonsgfs @hooliemooliedonutshawp @hippiesandpeacesigns @blowmymbackout @justagirlwho-believes13 @caribbeangyalsworld @melovedorks @moihasarrived @ashanti-notthesinger @xx-mintyxx @iluvchrisbrown @ash-ketchumzzz @deijalee @pyramidlight @xosharieee @kaylaahisthebestest- @chaniceandrea @kimmivlixx @saveadanc @kaylalb @queenbritbrat @kceeee @naughtynolly-blog @myawesome56 @chainingxday @nononoks-blog @kinginwithbreezy-blog @apple123cg @jazziejax @lauren1000000 @withoutmusiclifewouldbflat @venusincleo @loveschrisbrown20 @brwnskingirlll @iamfredtina @cozyashhh @modelmemoirs @kimiasinterlude @rpayn22 @mscarter123 @lolola22267 @thesweetestdrug @valarghoulis @nyifly22 @zimsilandela @teheeboo @blveeeeeee @5starsirl @yassbishimvintage @23jammy @prettiegal @vadeadiugularis @gabbywontlose @pinkkycherrish @slashervalley @aqueenwasmadehere @lee-jennie @wuzzzgoood

[soft-girl-musings]

Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps - CHAPTER 1 (Strangers In The Night)

Noir!Jake Lockley x WOC Lounge Singer!Reader

written in collaboration with + header by @mrs-lockley

chapter 2 chapter 3 chapter 4 chapter 5

cross-posted to ao3

tags: late 1940s Noir AU, Reader is WOC coded but with no physical description besides being slightly taller than Jake while wearing heels, no use of Y/N

wc: 2,222

fic summary: Of all the gin joints in all the world, Jake Lockley walks into yours. Unfortunately for him, it's not quite the start of a beautiful friendship.

A/N: can't believe this is the product of covid-induced hcs and thots between me and @mrs-lockley, thank you so much for encouraging this buddy (also @lunar-ghoulie if i had a nickel for each time you've sent an ask/dm about a WIP and it ended up being where i put all my energy, i'd have two nickels. which isn't a lot but it's hilarious that it's happened twice).

----------

On nights like tonight, Jake Lockley regrets his choice of profession.

It’s a dreary November evening, darkening by the second as the New York streets grow damp and cold. The wise had decided not to venture out; the blindsided rush across slick pavement to whatever shelter they can find. The desperate stay on the clock and curse their luck.

He should know by now that when a client says they’ll be “just a minute,” it’s a boldfaced lie: even if they have every intention of being efficient, he’s been stranded on the curb more times than he can count.

So he keeps the meter running. He’s seen the duds his regular client has on each week; the man could afford to fork over a few extra bucks. Might even build character.

The steady rhythm of the rain had been fine at first, but after half an hour parked beneath the neon sign of The Paper Moon– hat, coat and gloves doing nothing to ward off the chill creeping into his cab– every raindrop taunts him in his isolation.

To hell with this.

He shuts off the engine, pops his collar, and braces himself before stepping out onto the street. The rain falls fast and hard, so he rushes toward the brick exterior of The Paper Moon. He’s never been inside, but the glowing crescent of the sign had piqued his interest the first time he’d dropped his client here. He may as well see what all the fuss is about.

The doorman– a tall, dapperly dressed unit with a neutral grimace– casts a wary look his way. Jake ducks into the alley beside the building. Guess it’s exclusive.

Through the rain he spots a side door with a meagerly covered stoop, upon which is hunched a smaller, yet equally well-dressed figure. The young man’s tawny complexion pops against the emerald green of his just-too-big blazer, mist gathering in the dark brown waves slicked back from his creased brow. He grips a cigarette between clenched teeth, stuttering curses around it as he strikes a flimsy matchbook to no avail.

“¿Necesitas un fuego?”

At his offer, Jake is met by startled, impossibly wide brown eyes. The shock turns to glee as his face breaks into a toothy smile.

“Sí– sí sería genial, señor.” He makes room on the stoop, his dimpled cheeks betraying his youth. Jake pulls out a lighter and deftly lights the end of his cigarette, earning another dimpled grin after a few christening puffs. “Muchísimas gracias.” 

“No hay problema.” 

He lights one of his own, the smoke mixing with the fog of his breath as he holds out his free hand. “Jake.”

“Mauricio.” His newfound companion grips his hand and shakes vigorously. 

They sit in silence for a few moments, their subtle exhalations and the slowing rain the only sounds between them.

The mood is disrupted by shouting from the other side of the door, followed by clattering and the unmistakable sound of someone falling. The door behind them flies open and a lanky, dark skinned man in a matching green blazer pokes his head outside.

“You’d better get your tail in here, Maurie. She’s in one of her moods tonight.” 

“Rats, alright,” he groans, taking one last drag of his cigarette before stamping it out with his heel. Mauricio straightens his blazer and pushes a hand through his hair. He pauses at the door and looks back at Jake. 

“Do you wanna come inside, dry off for a spell? We put on a mean show,” he swears. The kid's face isn't one Jake imagines people say “no” to very often.

“...Yeah, alright. Thanks.”

“Great! There’s a couple of tables toward the back that should still be free, you can sneak in there no problem.” Mauricio holds the door open a bit wider for Jake to step through. “If anyone gives you any trouble, just tell ‘em you’re with me.” With a wink and another winning smile, he darts off to follow the other blazer.

Jake finds his spot easily enough, taking in the atmosphere as he weaves between tables and patrons. So this is The Paper Moon.

The building’s drab exterior is deceptive: inside is a small lounge, bustling with activity and humming with life. Richly draped walls envelop the space, with ornate lamps and soft candlelight radiating from every table. The room looks as warm as it feels, a welcome relief from Jake’s prior solitude. 

He takes off his soaked coat and loosens his tie. Across the room Jake sees his client– a cold, calculating Mr. Wesley– who gives a curt nod, as if granting his permission to take a load off (for now).

He orders a drink from a slightly bewildered waiter and continues to survey the space. People of all shapes and sizes occupy tables and barstools, with the chatter of at least three languages creating a dizzying buzz around him. The crowd dies down when stage lights flash on at the far end of the room.

Out marches the band: the guy who'd clambered to the back door sits at the piano, cracking his knuckles before playing a few notes on the keys; an older man with a similar complexion props an upright bass in position, riffing along with the scattered piano melody; an impressively mustachioed fellow polishes the mouthpiece of his trumpet; Mauricio settles in behind a set of drums, waving a stick in the air when he spots Jake.

As warm as he's gotten after coming inside, the temperature seems to skyrocket as the click of heels and the shimmer of the last band member crossing the stage sends his heartbeat right into his throat. In walks– no, floats – a vision, evening gown the same color as the richly painted lips that curl into a smile as easily as breathing. Something Jake seems to have forgotten how to do.

He can’t take his eyes off you.

----------

There’s something in the air tonight.

Maybe it’s the smoke lingering on Mauricio’s jacket (you’ve told him time and time again how smoking before a show irritates you; he must have snuck a pack backstage), or maybe the weather has you out of sorts. Whatever it is, you’re one false step away from losing your cool. Which, of course, cannot happen. Not onstage.

As the band warms up, you take one last look in your compact mirror, blot your lipstick, and take a deep breath. It’s showtime.

The moment you step onstage, you turn on the charm. Nothing can touch you up here. Not when there’s music to play, a band to lead. A night to make unforgettable.

You approach the microphone and smile. “Hello again, darlings. Did you miss us while we were away?”

Applause and cheers echo back to you from the audience. There’s a distinct two-toned whistle that rises above the noise, but you don’t think anything of it.

Not until you scan the crowd and see something– someone – that doesn’t belong.

Lounging at the previously unoccupied back table is a man you’ve never seen before. Which wouldn’t be a problem if you didn’t know the face and name of everyone who enters your club.

His eyes stay trained on you as you nod to the band to begin. One outlier a bad night will not make– you’ll deal with him later. For now, you let the caress of the opening notes ease the new tension in your body, and you start to sing.

With six shows a week, one would think the routine would become tedious. Quite the opposite: any night you play the same standards with the band is bound to be a good night. The chemistry between you and your boys is perfect– even on an off night like tonight, you still manage to follow each other and make the same hour of music sound brand new.

You lead one song, then another, completely in your own world. Of course, the constant cheers and occasional audience participation don’t hurt. But just when you hit your stride and forget your troubles, that whistle rings out above the noise.

The stranger's on the edge of his seat, rapt attention never leaving the stage. Seems innocent enough, but you’re still on high alert.

The set comes to a close, ending with a vibrant flourish. The band improvises a steady beat as you take a sip of water, then smile once more into the microphone.

“Oh, stop. Really…. well, alright, you can keep going,” you croon at the crowd as they cheer louder. 

You gesture to the band. “Let’s give a big round of applause to The Jays, what do you say?”

“On piano we have the dazzling Jackie Thomas,” you call out as he trills a fancy melody a little louder than the rest. “Followed by this absolute Adonis on the bass, Benny Hayes,” you add as the smooth licks of his instrument sound out a reply.

“Let’s hear it for Leo Castellón and his magnificent mustache on the trumpet,” you tease as he blasts out a tune. “And our baby bird on drums, Mauricio Farrés!” You raise your voice as the youth bangs out a closing rhythm. 

“And as always, I’m Ms. Songbird. We hope you’ll join us again soon, my doves. Goodnight!”

The band plays themselves out as you descend downstage to the front of the room. Time for the next act.

You know how to work a crowd both on and offstage; hospitality is as much a part of the gig as the music. Tonight’s a full house, but you take your time gliding past each table, front to back. Does everyone have their preferred drink? How’s the food? Was the music to their liking? All questions you ask with genuine interest, but you know the answer: everything is perfect.

"Hey, little songbird," a voice calls above the noise.

Everything except him.

You've been avoiding the back table for a while, trying to collect your thoughts before confronting him. No time like the present, I suppose.  

You turn to see the outlier standing by the table he’d commandeered, a shimmering bundle of rhinestones dangling from his hand. The glint of a grin catches the low light the same way your traitorous earring does.

You touch your ear and your face grows hot. “Where did you–”

“Fell off as you floated by the last few tables, angel.” 

Your heels tap out a warning as you approach. Toe-to-toe, with the added height of your shoes, you practically tower over him. Your brow furrows as you size him up: too forward to have something to hide, too laissez-faire to be up to any obvious trouble. All the same, you don't trust him.

You look him up and down; he does the same. "You're not very tall, are you?" More of a challenge than a question as you reach for the rhinestones in his hand.

Leaning back against the table, jewelry dangling just out of reach, his sly smile grows. "Well, miss, I tried to be."

"Right." You snatch the earring back before he says anything else. "I see you also tried to be discreet, and that didn't go so well for you, did it Chuck?"

"Actually, it's–"

“–club policy to check your coat at the door. Something our hostess would have insisted upon, meaning you– ” you emphasize as you lean in, fingertips pressed to the tabletop by his side, "–slipped in under the wire." You search his face for anything to betray his intentions. "Now how did you manage that?”

The stranger lowers himself into his seat, hands raised in surrender. "A little backstage access, courtesy of your drummer there." He nods toward the stage: you catch a glimpse of Mauricio clumsily ducking back behind the curtain. You'll scold him later.

His gaze shifts across the room. “See that fella over there– the one who looks like it'd kill him to smile? I’m just waiting to drive him home, like I do every week.” He grins again, that same look in his eyes. A look that sets you on edge. “Just a humble cab driver, miss– nothing up my sleeves.” 

“Didn't know cabbies could be so exclusive,” you say, still eyeing him. James Wesley has been a regular for a few weeks, but you've never met his driver.

“With what he tips? Doll, I'd do damn near anything he asked.” The stranger chuckles, sipping his drink.

You know what he means: the wait staff has noted a major uptick in gratuities since Mr. Wesley has started frequenting the lounge. 

“Very well,” you offer stiffly. It all checks out, but you get the feeling there's something he's not telling you. “I hope everything is to your liking.” 

You turn to leave, but he takes your hand before you can go far.

“Oh believe me, it is… Ms. Songbird. ” A wink and a smile play on his lips as he swiftly presses them to your knuckles, letting go just as fast. You storm away before giving the satisfaction of showing how flustered you are. 

“Mr. Manalo,” you beckon a waiter as he passes. He stands at attention. You gesture to the table you’d just left, not bothering to look and see if his eyes are still on you.

“Watch out for this one, will you? I get the feeling he isn’t just here for the music.”

----------

A/N: !!!! every story i write becomes my new favorite, but Noir!Jake has carved a pretty special spot in my heart this autumn. so excited to share more of him with y'all!

as always, thank you for reading :)

addtl tag list: @fandxmslxt69 @shadystarlightgentlemen @casa-boiardi (lmk if you'd like to be added to/removed from this wee tag list)

[sk1fanfiction]

(ch. 15 review) — it’s the way i kept trying to prolong this chapter 😭 anyway. i love inconvenienced tom (i’m sure dumbledore does too) like it’s so him to sleep way after curfew but complain about being called to do something during his “sleep time” and then i love how absolutely irritated he is once he enters dumbledores office and sees his two nightmares — harry & mini abraxas reincarnate being there. him using a silencing spell and dumbledore lowkey approving is just hilarious, harry’s a bit too loud for everyone’s taste apparently. i seem to have forgotten that voldemort is gorgeous? but did malfoy not clock the identical faces?… also tom riddle experiencing empathy??? and for abraxas’ clone?? oh dumbledore (and maybe ruby) what have you done to the poor guy ! the parvati and lavender fight… that’s so sad i know she’s in love with her but saying mean things to your friends is never nice and i feel so bad for lavender bc yes she’s a bit boy obsessed (although tbf cedric is beautiful) she’s still a good friend and she’s just a teenage girl !! also ruby doing nothing to help, i feel you girl, it’s awkward getting between two close friends arguments. i also did not realise that draco and pansy were officially dating oops. ALSO DAPHNE AND ANTHONY?? i did not expect that at all idkw but personally i’m thinking good riddance oops, jk but i don’t mind them together but poor ruby she’s a bit confused and bitter (although there is a perfectly handsome single guy who is literally in a blood vow to protect her so, she shouldn’t be too disheartened idk). nice to see blaise getting complimented on his bone structure yearly, it’s quite phenomenal. HARRY AND CHO MY CUTIES, he’s a little awkward and nervous but he’s got the spirit !! lastly that note… i’m wondering who wrote it and i’m leaning towards tom bc of their conversation in the forest when she ran away and also his affinity for participating in writing things for the potters during valentines. ooh and nott is such a dick i kind of love that for him.

I ended up prolonging this chapter to >7k to wrap up dangling plot threads so that's valid (the next one that I accidentally posted earlier is more normal length -- that'll be up on Sunday after I proofread it).

That's on me for giving Tom one of my most unserious habits (pretending to 'go to bed early' so people won't bother you for three hours). Harry is definitely (canonically) too loud (controversial but I like OOTP CAPS-LOCK!Harry). Truly the stuff of nightmares.

Malfoy (nor anyone else who has seen them both, like Narcissa) did indeed not clock the identical faces (Clark Kent effect, ig).

Also I haven't given Voldemort a physical description except for his red eyes in a while (since Three Can Keep A Secret, I think?). That is on purpose, because I couldn't decide whether or not I wanted OG/Snake Face Voldemort. But I came to the conclusion that (I think this is canonically correct?) he got the snake attributes from the regeneration potion in GOF, and in RFMD he gets regenerated by the Elixir of Life, and then Jadis from Narnia lives rent-free in my brain and I was thinking about that scene from The Magician's Nephew where she eats the forbidden apple or whatever, which makes her Beautiful in An Eldritch Way and decided to go with that...

Tom?? Experiencing empathy?? He begs to differ and says it is totally for strategic reasons.

Honestly, I do feel bad for making them fight :( Lavender is a good friend (will never get off my Justice for Lavender Brown soapbox) but the whole situation is just so messy. If I were Ruby I wouldn't know how to intervene either.

I was never sure if Draco and Pansy dated in canon, but I decided, what the hell, I've never done a proper Valentine's Day chapter before, so, why not. And on the note of Daphne and Anthony yeah that was intentional blindsiding (I think the only times they were seen together were Ancient Runes class and the junk shop and both were Ruby-centric things). Confused and bitter -- that's exactly why I said jealousy, jealousy is required listening for this chapter (for Parvati, too).

There is a perfectly handsome single guy who is literally in a blood vow to protect her

👀

I can't decide who would be more horrified by this proposition.

Blaise loves that for himself, too. I was re-reading OOTP to figure out Harry and Cho and then I realised that their #1 pastime is actually talking about sports 🤦🏾‍♀️

Of course it's Tom. Who else lives in the intersection of loving to fuck with people and misuse stationery for nefarious purposes?

[skzhocomments]

Dear Diary, - Kim Seungmin Fanfic - Chapter 21

General Masterlist

Story masterlist - please consult it for the summary of the story, trigger warnings etc.

Wattpad | AO3

Chapter 20 | Chapter 22

---

Chapter 21

Chapter word count: ~2.8k words

---

2nd of October

            Dear Diary,

Do you know what fucking sucks?

Being genuinely happy for once and naively thinking it’s going to last, and that nothing would ever change.

I thought that everything finally settled into place.

Seungmin and I had the greatest summer ever. After Yuna’s wedding, we went on a two-week trip to a very nice sea resort. We relaxed like never before, we ate to our hearts content, we talked about everything and anything late at night, we took enough pictures to fill albums, we went to parties and danced, we had sex, we hugged, held hands and kissed.

We had it all, really, and it was perfect.

After that, we went to my hometown and stayed with my parents for the remainder of our summer holiday. We had a really great time with them. My parents love him so much, it’s insane. They already consider him part of our family, jokingly asking us when we’re going to get married since our friends married so young. We laughed it off, of course, neither of us ready for that big step, but still, my heart started beating faster each time they’d joke around in anticipation that this would actually be our future one day, when we’re both done with our education and we both have stable jobs, and maybe a house, and a pet or two.

It was beautiful, really. It was so fucking beautiful; I wouldn’t have changed it for the world.

But right before we were about to head back to the city, Seungmin told me we needed to talk.

Fuck, it makes my stomach drop and my blood boil just thinking about it again. I fucking hate remembering this, but for the sake of immortalisation in this stupid diary, I’ll think about it again and write it down.

He had this extremely serious look on his face, and his expression was so apologetic, it scared the shit out of me. I had no idea what bomb he was going to drop on me, but I was sure it was going to be bad.

I wasn’t ready at all for what he was about to say. I literally never saw it coming.

You see, before our exam session, I knew for a fact that he was supposed to work full-time for his father’s company, to prepare for when he would inevitably inherit it just after finishing uni. That was the plan, initially – something we’ve talked about many times before.

So, of course, I’ve been wondering the whole time how he was able to take so much time off work, to not go to work once during the whole summer since it was so important for him to show his father that he’s capable of inheriting his business.

Now, I know why.

Allegedly, his father was planning on expanding this business to more than just our country for many years now. But so far, he didn’t have the opportunity to do so.

Well, the opportunity came up.

His father decided to open a new branch in some big city in the US, and since Seungmin has to prove his worth to inherit the big thing, he has to go over there and oversee and actively manage that branch. If the branch will be successful and turn on a profit, he will inherit the whole company.

His father gave him 3 years.

3 years with him gone in the States, far away from his home, and far away from me.

And you know what pisses me off the most? The fact that he knew of it since the start of our last exam session.

He knew from the fucking beginning of summer, but he didn’t tell me. Not during our late-night talks, not when my parents were talking to us about our plans for the bachelor’s degrees and for our third year, not fucking once.

He didn’t say shit.

I was completely blindsided.

His rationing was that he didn’t want to ruin my summer. He wanted us to spend as much time with each other as humanly possible without me having this in the back of my head the whole time.

And now?

Now he’s gone.

He moved to the US last week just as I moved back into the dorms for my third and final year.

I asked him what will happen to his degree. He said his father arranged for him to attend another University over there, so that he can still finish it.

I asked him if I could come with him.

I stupidly asked him if we could find some way, anything for me to come as well, but there was nothing we could do.

He told me he wants to really focus on the business, and for me to finish the degree I started.

“That’s what you should do.”

“You shouldn’t follow me, Bee. You should finish your degree and when I’m done with my work and you’re done with Uni, we’ll think of something.”

That’s all he said.

But what is there to think about, other than the fact that I want to be with him?

He didn’t want either of us to have to give up what we’ve worked for so hard, and I see his point of view, and I know he’s right, but it’s so unfair. It’s not like he could’ve made any other choice. It’s his future at stake; it’s everything he was born for.

But what about me? What about us?

All I know is that it deeply hurts to be here on my own, with no direction in mind and nothing else to think about but him. I feel empty inside.

We didn’t break up, if that’s what you’re wondering. I know that everything I’ve said so far points towards that, but no.

We didn’t break up, but we might as well just have.

How would a distance relationship work, when we’re looking at a 13-hour time difference? When would we even find time to talk?

How would a distance relationship work when we’re supposed to spend three whole years apart, with the occasional Christmas and Easter time off when he’d be able to fly back home and visit?

Fuck, it hurts so bad.

I really don’t know what to do. I’ve been trying to look for master’s programs in the US, so I can somehow move there after I finish my degree and continue my education just as initially planned, but so far, I couldn’t find anything good enough.

It’s so fucking expensive, and I can’t put my parents through such a big financial burden. After my dad’s heart attack, his doctor advised him to take it easy, and to even look into a potential early retirement, so they’re now only keeping the bakery open in the morning, and they were planning on closing it for good in the next two years, as they have enough savings to last them for the next two decades provided they’d live just as they’ve been living until now.

I didn’t tell Seungmin about the programs I’m looking at, but if I did, I’m sure he would be excited. He’d probably suggest living together and he’d help me out financially if I asked, but it doesn’t feel right to take, take and take.

I feel utterly hopeless right now, but I don’t want to give up on us when I know that what we have is real.

Fuck…

I’m crying again. It’s honestly hard to keep writing. I can’t even see the paper anymore.

All I’ve been doing is cry ever since he stepped on the plane, and I feel so fucking pathetic and useless.

And what hurts the most is that Seungmin seems so… stupidly hopeful about this whole thing.

He is certain we’ll make it work somehow, but how could we? Things have never felt so out of control before.

Anyway, I could write and write and write a million pages about how hurt I am right now, how much it pissed me off that he didn’t say anything the whole time, only to rip my entire world to shreds with this information he’s been withholding. But honestly, my head hurts, and no matter how much I’d write about it, it wouldn’t change shit.

I’m so heartbroken.

            Phoebe

“Bibi, over here!” Yuna excitedly stands up, signalling me to her table.

“Yuyu, it’s so good to see you!” I hug her tightly before we both sit down in the small café.

“Right?! I missed you so much! We have a lot to catch up on, don’t we?!”

“We certainly do.” I chuckle. “How was your honeymoon?”

“God, it was absolutely perfect!” She claps her hands once in delight, before starting to tell me everything she’s been doing, the places she’s visited with Jeongin, and how she settled into her new home with her husband.

“I’m glad you had such a great time.” I smile, jealousy bubbling up in my chest.

I know it’s wrong, and I know I shouldn’t feel jealous, but seeing how happy Yuna and Jeongin are together feels like a slap in the face, a harsh remainder that Seungmin is a few thousand kilometres away.

“Now, tell me about you, Bibi. How are you holding up?” She asks carefully, her expression a blend of sympathy and regret.

“Oh, you know… I’m good. Just adjusting to the new normal, I guess.” I shrug, trying to seem indifferent, because if I were to tell her how I’m really feeling, I would just burst into crying again.

“You liar… Your eyes are swollen up. Have you been crying?” She frowns.

“No.”

“Liar.”

“Sorry… I just… I don’t really want to talk about it. It hurts.” I avert my gaze, taking a deep breath in.

“Seungmin is so fucking cruel to just leave like that.”

“What was he supposed to do, Yuyu? He couldn’t just tell his dad no and give up on everything he’s worked for.”

“I know, but still!” She exclaims, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “I would’ve been so pissed off if Jeongin did that to me.”

“I’m just a girlfriend, and that’s his whole future, so…”

“Shut up, don’t ever call yourself just a girlfriend!” Yuna snaps at me suddenly, making me widen my eyes.

“But it’s true…”

“No. You are his girlfriend, and he should’ve thought of something. He can’t just… leave.”

Hearing her say this, I can’t hold my tears back anymore. I go right back to sobbing, which must come at a shock to Yuna, who’s never seen me like this before.

She stands up and comes to me to hug me, but once I start crying, it’s hard to stop and compose myself.

“I’m so, so sorry, Bibi…” She says gently, caressing my hair. “But we are all here for you, and you can always go visit him, and he’ll come back, and-”

“It’s three fucking years, Yuna. Three years.”

“I know…”

“What am I supposed to do, wait for him to come back for three whole years while I pretend that everything is fine and that we don’t live on different fucking continents?!”

“Do you want to wait for him?” She asks, pulling back and looking at me, handing me a tissue that I use to wipe the tears away.

“I do, but… it’s so fucking hard. He’s just been gone for a week, and it already sucks, and I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this on my own… Fuck’s sake…”

“You know what would really help you take your mind off things?”

“What?”

“A party!”

“A party? You’re insane.” I shake my head.

“Come on! We haven’t been to one in ages anyway. We’ll go dance and drink the pain away.”

“But-”

“Please! There’s one on Friday! You know… the usual drill. Frat house, our friends, alcohol… come on, Bibi, it’ll be fun!”

“Fuck, I don’t know…”

“Please? For me?” She looks at me with doe eyes, and although a party is the last thing I’d want to do, I decide to accept.

Maybe she’s onto something, and maybe it’ll really help.

~

“Hey stranger.” Seungmin says as soon as I pick up.

“Hey! It’s good to hear you. How are you, Minnie?”

“Just woke up and preparing to go to work. You know, just the usual.”

“Right. What time is it again? 7AM?”

“Yeah. I’m so glad the office is close to my apartment, otherwise I’d lose it. Traffic is insane over here.”

“Sounds terrible.” I laugh.

“What are you doing, love?”

“Just putting on some make-up.” I sigh.

“Going anywhere?”

“Yeah, Yuna invited me to this party tonight…”

“You don’t seem very happy about it.”

“I’m…” not, I wanted to say, but instead, I lie “very excited to go, actually. The first week was quite overwhelming, so a party sounds like a good idea to unwind a bit, you know?”

“Yeah. Sounds fun. Drink responsibly though, I won’t be there to take you back to the dorms this time.”

“Unfortunately.” I chuckle, trying to not burst into crying again.

“But hey, you said the week was overwhelming. Anything you want to talk about?”

“Not really, no…”

“Alright…”

“I just miss you, Minnie.”

“I miss you too, Bee. But hey, we’re going to be alright, okay?”

“Mhm.”

“I’m serious. I’m just a phone call away. It’ll be just like that summer after your surgery. We’ll talk every day, I promise.”

“Yeah… okay.”

“So, don’t forget, if you ever want to hear my voice, just reach out. I’m here for you.”

“Okay.”

“I should probably go. I have a meeting at 8 with some potential investors, so I should get to the office earlier today.”

“Alright. I hope it goes well.”

“Mhm. Me too. I’ll let you know. Send me a text tonight when you get back home so I know you’re safe, and we’ll talk tomorrow, yeah?”

“Okay. I will.”

“Have fun! I love you.”

“I love you too.” I smile briefly before ending the call, and once my phone goes dark in my hand, I start crying again.

I’m so fucking pathetic.

~

The frat house is bustling just as usual, and bodies of people are moving erratically on the dance floor, blending into one another as they let the music carry them.

I never cared much for dancing, and tonight, my only purpose is to get shit-faced drunk and forget about everything.

So, the first thing I do is greet everyone I know, and the second thing I do is grab a red cup and fill it to the brim with some cheap alcohol that I down in one gulp.

“Woah, easy there.” Chris approaches me, putting a hand on my waist and looking at me concerned.

“Look who showed up.” I smile seeing him. “Care for a drink?”

“Of course, why else would I come here?” He chuckles. “How are you, kiddo?”

“Ew, don’t call me that. You’re not that much older than me.”

“Seungmin didn’t rub off on you, then?” He laughs, pointing to how Seungmin’s always calling him old.

“Nah, you’re fine.” I chuckle back. “There you go.” I hand him a beer, and he raises it in the air in a mock-toast before taking a sip.

“I love cheap beer.”

“Could never be me.” I reply, pouring myself a shot and downing it.

“I’m serious though, Phoebe. You should drink… a bit less. You just got here, and we have the whole night ahead.”

“I guess.” I shrug, but don’t listen to him whatsoever as I pour myself another shot.

“Seungmin would kill me if I told him I let you down 3 shots in a row.”

“What, did he ask you to keep your eyes on me?” I raise an eyebrow unimpressed.

“Not really. Just… he’s a bit worried, you see?”

“Why?”

“Because he’s not-”

“Here. Yeah, I figured.” I reply sarcastically, pouring myself another shot.

“Hey, I’m serious.” He places his hand on mine, trying to stop me.

“So am I. Mind your own business.”

“But-”

“Bibi, you came!” Yuna walks in the kitchen and hugs me from behind, giving me the perfect opportunity to down my fourth shot.

“Yeah, wanna dance?” I turn around and smile brightly, grabbing her hand and dragging her away to the dance floor.

I don’t want to think anymore, so I start dancing, and the drinks begin taking their toll on me, cursed be my low alcohol tolerance.

The room is spinning, but Yuna seems oblivious. We’re laughing together at nothing, we dance, she spins me around and I stumble on my feet only to get back, and fuck, I’m not having any fun, but I’m good enough at pretending.

I don’t want to think.

I grab some more shots for us, and the alcohol is burning my throat, and my vision gets blurry, and nothing makes sense anymore.

I don’t want to think.

Walking home is hard. Chris is here, holding my waist, helping me back to the dorms.

I don’t want to think.

I don’t even get undressed when I walk in my room. I just drop onto my bed and close my eyes and try not to throw up.

I don’t want to think.

I pick my phone up and dial Seungmin’s number, and he picks up after it rings 3 times.

“Yes?”

“I’m homee~” I sing, a slight chuckle playing on my lips.

“That’s good. Listen, Bee, I’m in a meeting and can’t talk right now. Do you need something?”

“Just to hear your voice. I miss you.”

“Okay. I really can’t talk right now. I’ll text you later?”

“I can’t believe you left, Minnie. I feel horrible.”

“Sorry, I’ll call you back later and we’ll talk. Sorry!”

The call gets disconnected seconds later.

I don’t want to think, but I can’t stop thinking. Nothing can make it stop.

I start crying again, and I manage to exhaust myself to fall asleep somehow.

~

Chapter 20 | Chapter 22

[transistor-rhythm-909]

watching the dungeon chill episode on Twilight Syndrome + Moonlight Syndrome and getting absolutely blindsided by the ending of the Telephone Call chapter again, its SUCH a good example of a simple concept executed perfectly

readmore'd for spoiler reasons (just in case anyone following me wants to check out TS blind)

to give as much context as is necessary; this portion of the game has you play as just one of the game's trio of protagonists, entirely within her home, and has her dealing with weird phonecalls that are- fairly obviously- supernatural in nature (which isn't surprising- by this point in the original TS duology the protags have 100% confirmed supernatural shit is real). one of the weird calls the protagonist- Yukari- keeps getting is of a girl very robotically repeating "hey" over and over. over the course of the story, Yukari remembers a girl she used to play with as a kid that was fairly sickly, named Sachiko, and that they'd made some sort of promise together. some of the phonecalls you get in this chapter are legitimate, including one from Yukari's mother (who's not home at the time) informing her that Sachiko had succumbed to her illness and passed away. Yukari and the player put two and two together and realise the girl on the phone is Sachiko

all of which leads to a beautiful scene, with voice acting- which is used very sparingly- where Sachiko both confirms she has died, and says "i couldn't keep our promise; i'm sorry", before saying farewell and passing on.

as said, very simple concept, but what makes it work so brilliantly is the voice acting. Sachiko's VA is deliberately doing a very robotic and detached voice, to evoke the idea of a spirit removed from its body, still aware, but unbound by emotion. Yukari's VA, who's gradually become less bright and confident over the course of the story until now, speaks softly and gently, and though there's still a hint of shock at what's happening, there's no fear. it ends with Sachiko saying "i have to go now; bye bye", and Yukari responds with simply "Bye bye, Sa-chan", but both lines are delivered so perfectly that its just such an emotional slum dunk that it carves my heart out

(skip to 9:17)

[lemon-natalia]

Harrow the Ninth Reaction - Chapter 36

ohhh we’re one week away from the Emperor’s murder now!! things are heating up

‘Ortus’ the First’s callsign is G.P.!!!! not O.P.!! and though Harrow knows that the initials represent the two names, she doesn’t filter it out because its not the full name ‘Ortus’!

also, the Emperor’s callsign is ‘J.G’ for John Gaius, but i hadn’t previously considered that the ‘Gaius’ name might be connected the double naming with the Lyctor practice of using the cav’s name as well

and the Resurrection Beast is coming, how very ominous. what’s even more ominous though is the Locked Tomb Body’s reaction to it, she seems excited and knows it, which doesn’t feel good. i don’t think she’s a monster like the Emperor claims, but that doesn’t necessarily mean she’s good either

wow Harrow’s devotion to the Body is also something, and very much onesided. she assumes that the Body leaving means she’s done something wrong, transgressed somehow

hmm, the ‘barathron’ and ‘bathyrhoic’ are the first things i can think of that have a reference to ‘ba’ in their names, like ‘Ortus’ was beginning to say earlier, but i also feel like that doesn’t necessarily fit in the context of whatever he was talking about?

‘as we speak languishing in Hell!’ well i was wrong they do actually have a concept of Hell here

i feel like it can’t be as obvious as the traitor being one of the other Lyctors, i don’t trust these books aren’t gonna give some blindsiding twist lol.

i feel like it for sure won’t be Ianthe though, since not only is she the overly obvious suspect with Corona being with the BoE, but i don’t think she would necessarily even turn traitor for Corona, being a Lyctor is too important to her. i feel like as long as Corona’s not actually being hurt, Ianthe will prioritise her Lyctor role over her. plus Ianthe had her own agenda & reveal last time, idk if it would happen again

waiiit i just had a thought - given Harrow’s completely forgotten why she wrote the letters at all… could she have been the traitor and then forgotten it? but i don’t think that’s all that likely either

… did Augustine just call Ianthe ‘duckling’?? 🦆

love the way the Emperor just responds to half of what people say with ‘thanks’, its so mundane

‘each Beast is quite unlike the other’ ‘it was a humanoid creature with a beautiful voice that held me under the water’ no mention of the ninth RB here, i can’t remember if its fate has already been mentioned, but if they can look almost like humans, could the Ninth beast be the Locked Tomb body thats been talking to Harrow?

God apparently doesn’t believe in sin … okay

‘So who wants a bikkie’ me. me after hearing all that about the mouth of Hell 💀

[wowbright]

Chapter 14: Shatter

Figureskating!Blaine/designer!Kurt Olympics AU for december klaine fanworks challenge. Also on AO3.

Kurt missed Blaine. He missed his smile and his voice and the way he bashfully batted his eyelashes and his smell—oh, he smelled wonderful, like fresh air and ice and perfectly ripe raspberries with a dash of cloves and sandalwood, everything melding together into a distinctive blend that Kurt just wanted to bask in. Kurt could just be going along innocently minding his own business, and suddenly he would get a sweet whiff of something that reminded him of Blaine, blindsiding him, and he was left there, pining and desperate to touch Blaine, or at least to feel his presence.

Like just now, as Kurt guided a seam through the sewing machine, and a bit of Blaine’s scent wafted up from the fabric he had donned and doffed a dozen times now, each time imbuing the fibers with a little bit more of his heat and himself. It struck Kurt right in the center of the brain where the on-off switch for longing was located.

Kurt's mind flooded with images: Outside at the Garden of the Gods, Blaine’s body outlined against the pink rock, his eyes dancing, those nonsensical and beautiful words bubbling out of his mouth (You make me feel like I'm new) and everything inside Kurt that had ever yearned to be close to another person, and even parts of him that had never yearned for it, seemed to well up within him like a wave tumbling toward the shore. In the tea room, everything disappearing but Blaine’s face and his smile and his warmth—a warmth so strong it radiated out across the table and the silverware and the bergamot-scented air and nestled right around Kurt’s heart. And those eyes, once again, earlier this morning in the studio, watching with rapt attention as Kurt worked, as if there was something beautiful and exquisite in the way that Kurt thought and the way his hands moved.

This morning. It hadn't even been a full four hours since Kurt had seen Blaine, and he ached for him. They hadn't been able to have lunch together, that was all. Everyone was getting ready to leave for Sochi, and on top of that there were interviews and prerecorded television spots and photo shoots to contend with. If Kurt thought this was bad, it was going to be much worse in Sochi. But at least in Sochi he would have a dizzying array of landmarks and languages and street signs he was completely incapable of deciphering to busy his mind.

The door swung open. Kurt did not have to look up to know it was not Blaine. Blaine approached doors more cautiously, and he did not stomp his feet when entering a room. “Another package for you,” said the familiar voice,  world-weary and cantankerous. “What's with all these packages? You didn’t have enough fabric in that trousseau of yours? I needed two strong men to carry that in when you first got here. Gay Blaine is strong, but he can’t skate in all that.”

“Hello Becky.” Kurt looked up at Sue’s assistant. “You seemed to enjoy watching those two strong men carry in my ‘trousseau’ very much. So I don't see what you’re complaining about.”

“They were okay. My boyfriend’s hotter.” Becky threw a large envelope onto the table next to his sewing machine.

“Hey, careful! You never know what's in those envelopes. What if it was a package of custom-made glass sequins?”

“They would shatter,” Becky said drolly. “Duh.”

“Exactly. And it's not like I would have time to order new ones at this point.”

Becky huffed. “But it’s not sequins. It's fabric. See?” She grabbed the package, wriggling and scrunching it to demonstrate its malleability. “Also, one side of the envelope is clear. I can see what's in it.”

Kurt snatched the package away from her. He hadn't noticed that. “Well, it's the principle.” He opened the envelope and out slid three sheer yards of perfection. He didn’t realize he was audibly cooing until Becky asked him if he had eaten a pigeon for breakfast.

~~~

The rink was chaos. Cameras and reporters and complicated sound and lighting rigs were joined by sundry aides and assistants and managers and publicists zipping about, chattering, and making lots of racket. Stepping in from the outer corridor, Kurt felt like a mole who had been forced out of his underground burrow. The lights, the clashing colors, the noise—everything was so loud and blindingly busy.

He scanned the arena, hoping to find Blaine’s reassuring presence in all this mess. That's why he was here, after all. Becky’s package was potentially the final puzzle piece in Blaine’s free skate costume, and Kurt wanted to get Blaine’s thoughts on it before he started ripping apart the most recent iteration of the ever-evolving ensemble in order to incorporate the new fabric this into the back and arms. Well, technically, he was supposed to get Sebastian’s thoughts, too, and Sue always had an opinion, and if Mike and Kitty or the McCarthy twins were nearby, they would certainly wander over with their thoughts—

Kurt closed his eyes and took a deep breath. If he couldn't shut out the noise, at least he could make the room go dark and give himself a few seconds to adapt and gain his bearings.

“See, here's what's gonna go down, Mr. Ben Israel. Two choices: you stay here and I crack one of your nuts, right or left—that's your choice—or you walk away and live to be a douchebag another day.”

Kurt blinked his eyes open and turned toward the voice. Not even ten yards to his left, the McCarthy twins were sitting across from a bushy-haired reporter. He, in turn, was staring fearfully at a skinny, stiletto-heeled woman in a white Hugo Boss business suit who loomed over all of them.

“It’s a fair question!” the reporter squealed. “I was just giving them the opportunity to respond to the very real cultural phenomenon of McCarthy twincest fanfic and its implications for—”

“Out.” Santana Lopez said it calmly, quietly, pointing toward the door that Kurt had just walked in. It was the most terrifying he had ever seen her.

Kurt did a quick two-step to the side as the panicked reporter bolted past him. “Well hello, Satan!” he exclaimed cheerfully as he regained his footing. He would have said ‘hail Satan’ if he hadn’t been in such shock.

Santana's jaw dropped. “Lady Hummel! What the hell are you doing here?”

“I could ask the same of you.” Though as he said it, he recalled her drunkenly going on about ‘putting clients on ice’ more than once. He’d always assumed it was her way of wishing she could dispose of them like a mafia boss disposes anyone who inconveniences him, or at least shoving them in cryostorage with a note not to revive them until long after she was gone.

“You know Berry’s not my only star, right? If I had to spend 24-7 at her beck and call, one of us would end up dead, and it wouldn’t be me.” Santana eyed him suspiciously. “She didn't send you here after me, did she? Because she can’t stand me being away from her side for more than two minutes?”

“I’m not her errand boy,” Kurt said. “Besides, I haven’t talked to her in weeks.”

“How will you keep your spot as Rachel Berry's gay bestie with that attitude?”

“Oh, I resigned from that position long ago after all my workers comp claims for trauma on the job went unfulfilled. I'm here on my own. Working. Like you.”

Santana's eyes lit up. He could never trust that expression. It meant mischief more often than joy. “Come to think of it,” she said, her eyes wandering around the rink, “I do remember something about you being Blaine Anderson's sloppy seconds.”

“Oh no, Kurt’s not sloppy at all!” Mason popped up from his seat, bouncing on his toes and clasping his hands together in the tell-tale pose of someone wanting to dish. “Blaine adores him, and with good reason. Kurt is an amazing designer. I know you’ve been in talks with Johnny Weir to design our costumes next season, but we’ve been having second thoughts about that.”

“We have!” Madison jumped up beside her brother, her feet actually leaving the floor. “Kurt’s way more original.”

“What the hell, Hummel? Have you been blowing pixie dust up my clients’ asses when I wasn't around?”

“I know nothing about this pixie dust of which you speak,” Kurt answered smugly. “They simply recognize talent when they see it.

Santana huffed. “Next thing I know, they're going to tell me they want to defect to Sebastian Smythe like Chang and Wilde did.”

The twins wrinkled their noses in unison. “No, we need you,” said Madison, turning to her brother to continue the sentiment.

“The way you deal with all those creepy reporters, Santana. You’re perfect,” said Mason. “I mean, I'm sure Sebastian would do his best to defend us, but let’s face it—he’s aggressive, but you’re terrifying.”

 “And we’re neither, which is why you complement us so well,” added Madison.

Her brother looked at her. “You’re a little terrifying, Madison.”

“Only to you.”

~~~

When Kurt finally found Blaine, he was sitting next to Sebastian and talking to a reporter in a Sochi 2014 baseball cap. Blaine had his public face on—cheerful, but not in the unreserved way Kurt had become familiar with since his arrival in Colorado Springs. Sebastian, on the other hand, was scowling.

Kurt understood why as he got closer and caught the gist of what the reporter was asking. “As the first and only male figure skater to come out as gay during his career, how do you feel about the current Russian government’s new restrictions on public discussion of homosexuality and the environment that might create for you at the Sochi Olympics?”

“I—” was all Blaine got out before Sebastian reached across and pushed the microphone out of his face.

“You know you can’t ask him that, Cooper.”

Holy shit. Were they talking to Anderson Cooper? Kurt stepped a little closer to peer at the reporter's face. No. The reporter was a devastatingly handsome middle-aged man, but he was not Anderson Cooper.

“Rule 50 says ‘no kind of demonstration or political, religious or racial propaganda is permitted in any Olympic sites or venues,” Not-Anderson-Cooper said. “He’s not in Sochi yet.”

“We’re at the Olympic Training Center, you dumbass.”

“‘Olympic sites or venues’ means those operated by the International Olympic Committee. This is run by the US organization.”

“Which also discourages athletes from engaging in political speech while acting as Olympians. Seriously, Cooper, how many concussions have you had?”

Blaine's eyes moved back and forth between his manager and Not-Anderson-Cooper like he was watching a ping-pong match. The annoyance on his face melted away and was replaced by a no-holds-barred smile when he saw Kurt. He looked like someone who had just walked into Museum of Modern Art and seen Van Gogh’s Starry Night for the first time. Kurt’s heart flipped over in his chest.

Blaine jumped up from his chair and waved Kurt over. “Guys, the interview is done. Cooper, I want to introduce you to Kurt, the designer I've been telling you about. Kurt, this is my brother, Cooper Anderson.”

“Oh! I’ve heard so much about you!” Cooper reached out and shook Kurt's hand vigorously. “But not as much as you’ve certainly heard about me. Would you like an autograph? Or maybe a selfie with me?”

“I, um …” Kurt looked to Blaine in hopes of receiving a clue to what was going on, but Blaine was too busy shaking his head at his … brother … to notice Kurt’s need of rescue. “I'm sorry. Are you a … um, were you a competitive figure skater, too?”

“You're joking, right?” Cooper said, but his grin was fading. “Blaine said you were funny. That’s not funny.”

“Actually, it kind of is,” Blaine said with a quiet chuckle. He stepped closer to Kurt and put his hand on his shoulder, leaning close to whisper, “He was a seven-time MVP in the National Hockey League, and now he’s a sports commentator”—and it took all of Kurt’s concentration to focus on the meaning of the words and not the warm breath that puffed tantalizingly against his ear.

“Oh. That Cooper Anderson,” Kurt said, not because any of it rang a bell for him, but because it seemed wise not to get off on the wrong foot with the first member of Blaine’s family he'd had the chance to meet. “Sorry. I didn't recognize you. Maybe it was the hat?”

~~~

“You really didn't know about my brother, did you?” Blaine said later when they were standing alone—well, as alone as they could be in that chaos—at the edge of the rink, checking out how the fabric looked under its lights while cocky young Sam Evans showed off his tricks for the cameras as Santana watched on, frowning. (She was apparently his manager, too.)

“Well, I remember you mentioning that you started to learn skating because your family was really into hockey, and I think there was a mention of a brother in there somewhere? But I didn't make the connection because … well, I didn’t know there were any famous Andersons who played in the NHL. The whole ‘let's injure each other for an hour and call it a game’ genre of athletics has never really been my thing.”

“So, what is your thing?” Blaine said, scooching a bit closer so that their shoulders touched.

You, Kurt wanted to say. Instead, he said, “Athletics wise? I was a kicker on my high school football team.”

Blaine's eyebrows shot up. “Isn't that one of those ‘injure each other for an hour’ sports?”

“I guess, but I was literally just the kicker, and I didn't even watch the games. They recruited me out of drama club after the quarterback saw my audition for the fall musical. Apparently my high kicks were more impressive than anything any of the actual football players could do. So I’d sit on the sidelines doing my homework, and if they needed me, I’d come out there with earphones on under my helmet and “Rose’s Turn” on my Walkman, and when Barbra Streisand sang, ‘Everything’s coming up Rose!’, I’d wind up and kick the ball right over the post.”

Blaine’s face squinched up from smiling so hard. “That is the most adorable thing I have ever heard. You never cease to amaze me, Kurt.”

“I was a cheerleader, too,” Kurt said with more pride than was probably warranted, considering he was talking to a world-class athlete with the skills to make a much better cheerleader than he ever had. But Blaine was looking at him like he was the most amazing human who had ever walked the earth. He couldn't help preening a little.

Blaine brushed the back of his fingers against Kurt’s bicep. “With those arms, you could probably toss girls in the air like they were confetti.”

Kurt’s heart sped up. Blaine was touching his arm. In admiration. As if it were … sexy, or something. And sure, Kurt had shown up to the studio twice this week in extremely fitted, extremely short sleeves that showed his arms at their best in hopes of Blaine appreciating them. But somehow, he hadn't anticipated it might actually work.

Bang! They both jumped back as something slammed into the side of the rink just beneath them.

“Sam? Sam!” Blaine bolted over the wall onto the ice.

“I’m okay. I’m okay!” Kurt heard Sam protesting as Santana forcibly pushed camera operators away and threatened their tender body parts with violence if any of this aired.

“If Yuzuru Hanyu hears a word of this, I will Yakuza your asses!”

Blaine began to go through a list of questions he had clearly asked and been asked before about whether this spot hurt or this spot or this spot, and did Sam know where he was and the date and the time and the President and the canonical order of the Star Wars movies (okay, that last one did not sound standard, but Sam answered it without hesitation), meanwhile pressing the pads of his fingers to Sam’s knees and ankles to test for tenderness.

“Ugh, you’re not my mom,” Sam whined.

“Yeah, but I’m your grandpa. Close enough. And if you think this is too much attention, I’ve got worse news for you. The paramedics have arrived.”

Sam turned out to be okay in the end, with only his pride wounded—especially when he found out Blaine hadn't even seen the back flip that preceded the crash. “There's a reason they don't score those in competition, Sam,” Blaine said gently. “It's to prevent people from killing themselves.”

“I can't believe you didn't see it! You were supposed to watch and learn!”

Kurt thought Blaine showed remarkable restraint in not asking, Learn what? How to crash into the wall? Perhaps it didn't even occur to him, Blaine was that good of a person. Instead, he patted Sam's back and said, “I'm sure it was impressive. But maybe save those for the off-season. You can't afford an injury right now. We’re all depending on you to be in top form for the team event.”

Sam looked doubtfully at Blaine. “Figured you’d want me out of the team event.”

“No. We need the best. And you’re the best.”

“Better than you, gramps?”

Blaine smiled. “Guess we’ll find out in Sochi.”

“Oh, God, what is this?” Santana's voice interrupted the comfortable silence. “Why don't you two just go sit around a fire and sing kumbaya? Wait, no. There's no time! We've got too much shit to do before we leave for Sochi! Also, Sam, if you ever try a stunt like that again before a competition, you can find a new manager.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She turned toward Kurt and thrust a business card at him. “For you, Lady Hummel. Have your people call my people when this whole Sochi mess is done. Maybe we can work something out.”

“Or we could just talk it over at our gal’s next drunken brunch.”

“No, she’ll think I’m stealing her best gay—yeah, I know you reject the title—and I’ll never hear the end of it. Later, okay? Trouty Mouth and I gotta go.”

Sam stood up to leave with her. “Wait, Sam,” Blaine put a hand on Sam’s sleeve. “Did she just call you—”

“Yes,” Sam huffed.

“You don't sound okay with that.”

Sam shrugged.

Blaine stood up. “Santana, he’s a teenager. And he’s paying you. It’s not okay to talk to him like that.”

She threw her hands up in the air. “I have nicknames for everyone. And he's got to toughen up if he's going to survive a career as a senior.”

“Sam’s plenty tough. He’s made it this far, hasn’t he? I’m sure you have the capacity to come up with a nickname that doesn't sound like an insult and the ability to ask Sam first if he’s okay with it.”

Sam looked at Blaine with wide eyes. Clearly he hadn't expected this kind of defense or these kinds of accolades from the guy he spent his free time finding ways to annoy. But it didn’t surprise Kurt. It was completely consistent with Blaine’s character: generous, kind, noble, sympathetic. Blaine was such a good person, through and through. The affection Kurt felt crowded around his heart and made it deliciously hard to breathe.

Santana rolled her eyes. “Fine. Your choices are Blue Eyes, Kentucky Derby, White Chocolate, and Blonde Chameleon.”

“Blonde Chameleon, definitely!” Sam grinned.

“Okay, done with that. Let’s move. Good day, Lady Hummel. And Mr. Lady Hummel.” She nodded at Blaine as she turned away. A hint of pink flushed across Blaine’s cheekbones. He looked inordinately pleased.

~~~

“So,” Blaine said a few minutes later when they were back in the costume studio—just the two of them and Roxy Music playing in the background, Blaine swaying his hips to the beat as he ran his fingers over a piece of velveteen. There wasn’t even a pretense of them working on the costume together. They were past that stage in the design. Kurt’s work was solitary now, except for the fittings and the occasional consulting on a swatch. “I take it you and Santana Lopez go back a bit?”

“Sure. She manages one of my friends from high school. A singer named Rachel Berry.”

Blaine practically guffawed. “Wait. You’re friends with Rachel Berry?” And then his eyes went wider. “She’s the one who’s declared you her best gay?”

“Well, I did let her be the hag to my fag when we were younger. But I got tired of being called her ‘gay friend’ and her ‘best gay friend’ and basically a supporting character in the production of her life and … Well, I set some boundaries. We’re still friends, but more … with some healthy distance. Anyway—you’ve heard of her?”

“Oh, have I ever.”

Kurt tilted his head. There was some undercurrent in Blaine’s voice he couldn’t quite decode. “You’ve seen her in Funny Girl maybe?”

“Not Funny Girl. Though it was nice to see she got the Tony for it.” This seemed an honest statement, even if Blaine pressed his lips together in a way that almost looked like a grimace.

“The Hello Dolly revival then? Or maybe Spring Awakening?”

Blaine leaned forward against the table and shook his head, chortling. “Spring-Fucking-Awakening. You could call it that.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

“Sorry. It’s her boyfriend. Partner. You know her partner, right? Jesse St. James?”

“Of course I know Jesse.”

“Well, so do I.”

A lightbulb went off in Kurt’s head. Jesse used to live in L.A. Blaine lived in L.A.—well, at least when he wasn’t zipping around the globe for competitions. And Kurt had always known that Jesse was bisexual, or heteroflexible, or … something. But what were the chances of this? L.A. was enormous. “Wait. Are you one of the guys that Jesse …?”

“Dated? Yeah. Before he figured out he was straight. Or … I’m actually kind of the precipitating factor in him realizing he was straight.”

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize—”

Blaine winced. “Crap! Did I just out him to you?”

“No. I mean, yes. I mean … I didn't know he was straight per se, but I guess I figured he might be—what’re the kids calling it these days?—heteroromantic? But you know him. He’s an open book. We’ve just never discussed it. I’m not sure I’ve ever told him I’m gay. But I was more concerned about you. Because I brought up Rachel and then I dredged up all this stuff from your past and … Oh my God, that must have been so traumatic.”

“Honestly, I think it was more traumatic for him than it was for me.”

“How is that possible?”

“Well, I wasn’t in love with him, so that helped. Infatuated, a little, yes, but I wasn’t in love with him.”

“No. I mean, how can he date you and not fall in love with you? It doesn’t compute.”

Blaine looked down at his hands, the blush from earlier returning to cheekbones, and shrugged. “It's fine. He wasn't the right guy for me. And I always knew there was something kind of off. We just never really had a spark. And I thought maybe that was kind of normal because honestly, I’m not sure I’ve had a spark with any of the guys I've been with—I mean, where you have sex and it’s like ‘oh my god I’m so in love with this person,’ and it’s overwhelming and wonderful and all the things you imagined it would be when you were younger and—Well. I'd started to wonder if I was just bad at romance. But with Jesse, at least I knew the problem wasn’t me. He was just constitutionally incapable of feeling that way about me. It was kind of a relief. And also … maybe this is weird, but it also kind of felt like an honor, in a way—to have someone be so open and vulnerable with you about who they are, and for them to let you accompany them as they come into their own. Maybe it's not normal to see things like that. I mean, Sebastian definitely thought I should be more bitter and angry about the whole thing. But for me, it was like a gift. I think it might be the best break up I’ve ever had. We couldn’t be lovers in a true sense. But being able to just be there as he embraced who he was—that’s another kind of love.  I don't think I'll ever forget how precious that felt to me.”

Blaine was sitting down now, his chair turned toward Kurt’s, their knees touching. His expression was open and unreserved and brimming with generosity, and he was so, so beautiful.

“Blaine,” Kurt said, swallowing hard to keep his heart from rising up into his throat. He put his hand on the back of Blaine’s and, just like that, Blaine’s palm turned to meet his. Their fingers intertwined.  “You’re not bad at romance.”

“I'm not so sure. I'm sitting across from this gorgeous, intelligent, artistic, kind, breathtaking guy who makes me feel more alive than I’ve felt in … maybe ever … and instead of telling him all the ways he’s already become so special to me even though it really shouldn't be possible because we’ve technically known each other for less than two weeks but also somehow it feels like I've known him for lifetimes—or that I want to know him for the rest of this lifetime, at least … Instead of telling him all that, I'm sitting here and telling him about my breakup with a straight guy.”

“Oh, Blaine. You really are the opposite of bad at romance.”

Kurt held both of Blaine’s hands, and he watched Blaine’s face, and Blaine’s eyes flickering to his lips, and he felt himself falling, falling, falling in the most delicious way possible.

Kurt had never been so scared to kiss anyone. He had never felt so sure of it, either. He leaned toward Blaine, heard Blaine’s breath hitch, saw his eyelids flutter slowly.

Blaine leaned toward him.

The door swung open. “There you are, my handsome young half-Filipino mustacheless Tom Selleck. Have you forgotten we have a meeting to go over the logistics for the teams event?”

Blaine blinked. “Um, yeah. Actually, I did. Sorry, Sue.” He touched Kurt’s knee as he stood up. “I'm sorry, Kurt. I'll connect with you later, okay?”

The door closed behind then. Kurt didn't know whether to scream in frustration or giggle like a schoolboy. He picked up the piece of velveteen that Blaine had been petting earlier and buried his face in its soft nap. “Oh, Blaine Anderson. You are so very much not bad at romance.”

[thepinkpanther83]

And They Were Roommates (Pt.5)

Chapter Five: “Blindsided”

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

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Previous Chapter: Chapter Four: “Band Practice” Next Chapter: Chapter Six: “The Entreaty”

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Chapter Five: “Blindsided”

The garage door rattled shut behind you with a final metallic groan, muffling the last of the boys’ laughter and the low hum of post-practice chaos. The sudden quiet felt jarring after so much noise, like someone had flipped the switch from technicolor to grayscale.

Eddie opened your door for you without a word- still shirtless, still annoyingly smug, and gestured with a dramatic bow. “Your chariot awaits, m’lady.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled, sliding into the van and catching the faint scent of sweat, leather, and metal still clinging to his skin. The door thunked shut beside you. A second later, he climbed into the drivers side, started the engine, and the van rumbled to life with a cough and a groan like it resented being woken up again so soon.

The drive started in silence. No Metallica this time. Just the sound of tires over gravel, the occasional rattle of something loose in the back, and the soft wheeze of the A/C struggling for relevance.

You glanced over.

He was chewing his thumbnail.

Always a tell.

“You okay?” you asked, keeping it casual. Light. Like your heart wasn’t still in your throat from the look he gave you mid-song.

Eddie flicked his eyes toward you, then back to the road. “Yeah. Just tired. Loud day.”

It was a lie, but one dipped in truth. He was tired. And it was loud. But there was more. There always was with Eddie.

You nodded like you bought it, letting your head fall back against the seat. Your gaze drifted to the window, watching trees blur by in the fading light. The sun was dipping low, casting long shadows across the dashboard, catching in the curls at his temples.

He didn’t speak again until you were halfway home.

“They liked you,” he said, quietly.

You blinked, turning to look at him fully.

He wasn’t smirking.

He wasn’t even looking at you.

Just staring ahead, hands tight on the wheel.

“They did?” you asked, softer than before.

“Yeah.” A moment of silence. “You… you fit.”

The words felt too heavy for how simple they were. Like he hadn’t just meant you fit with the band. Like he’d meant something else entirely and couldn’t figure out how to say it. You didn’t know what to do with that. So you let it hang there, quiet and awkward and maybe a little beautiful in its own clumsy way.

You licked your lips, suddenly aware of how dry your mouth was. “You were good today.”

Eddie huffed out a breath that might’ve been a laugh. “I fucked up the bridge.”

“You were still good.”

He tapped his fingers on the wheel. “Only ‘cause you were there. I might have been showing off a little.”

That should’ve felt like a throwaway flirtation. The kind of line he’d toss your way while passing you a beer or stealing the last slice of pizza. But something in the way he said it… low, almost embarrassed, made your stomach flip.

You didn’t answer.

Not right away.

And Eddie didn’t push.

Another stretch of silence. Streetlights started to dot the road as Hawkins crawled into twilight. The sky had gone soft and blue, fading at the edges like an old photograph.

Eventually, he reached for the stereo. His fingers hovered for a second, then settled on a dusty tape you hadn’t noticed before. He popped it in without a word.

The soft crackle of cassette tape gave way to something slower, softer than his usual headbanging chaos. A lo-fi track with warm guitar and a lazy beat, something intimate and full of space.

You didn’t recognize it, but it felt like a secret.

You glanced over, and this time, he met your eyes. Just for a moment. Long enough to make your chest ache.

And then he looked away.

Because that’s what you two did. Look away.

The van rolled to a stop outside your shared house, the engine giving one last tired wheeze before silence settled between you again. The only sound now was the slow hum of the tape, still playing, and the soft tap tap tap of Eddie’s fingers on the steering wheel- nervous energy with nowhere to go.

Neither of you moved to get out.

The air between you felt charged, like before a storm, heavy with something neither of you dared name.

Eddie exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “So...”

“So,” you echoed, voice barely above a whisper.

He turned to look at you then, really looked, his dark eyes searching yours in the dim glow of the dashboard lights. His lips parted like he wanted to say something- something big, something real… but at the last second, he chickened out. Again.

His smirk was shaky when it came. “You, uh... wanna grab dinner? Or are we still coasting on the breakfast of champions from this morning?”

You swallowed. Coward. “Chinese again?”

He chuckled, the tension breaking just a little. “Thought you’d never ask.”

You both climbed out of the van, the night air cool against your flushed skin. Eddie walked around to meet you, his bare chest still on display, tattoos catching the faint porch light. He hesitated for a second before reaching out, his fingers brushing yours- just barely, just enough to make your breath hitch.

Then he pulled away, shoving his hands in his pockets like he hadn’t just set your nerves on fire. “Race you to the menu?”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart wasn’t in it. “You’re such a dork.”

“Your dork,” he shot back, waggling his eyebrows.

You swatted at him, but he dodged with a laugh, jogging ahead to the porch steps. You followed, slower, watching the way his shoulders moved, the way his curls bounced with every step.

Fuck.

You were so gone for him.

Inside, the house smelled like syrup and coffee and him- leather and something faintly sweet, like the incense he burned when he thought you weren’t looking. Eddie beelined for the kitchen, digging through the drawer for the greasy takeout menu while you leaned against the counter, arms crossed.

He found it, triumphant, holding it up like a trophy.

Eddie flopped onto the couch, flipping through the menu like it was a sacred scroll. “Alright, your usual, or you feeling adventurous?”

You shrugged, settling beside him with your legs tucked under you. “Usual’s good. Unless you’re feeling risky.”

He raised a brow. “Risky would be ordering anything that claims to be ‘extra spicy.’ You and I both know that ends with you crying and me having to explain to the delivery guy why our kitchen smells like napalm.”

You laughed. “That was one time.”

“One memorable time.”

As he dialed, you leaned your head back, eyes drifting to the ceiling. “Oh, hey… I meant to tell you earlier. I’ve got a thing Friday night, so I might be out late.”

Eddie paused mid-number dial. “A thing?”

“Yeah.” You hesitated, like you weren’t sure if it even counted. “Kinda a blind date. Friend of a friend thing. I owe Robin one.”

The silence that followed was sharp enough to slice through the air.

“Oh.” He scratched behind his ear, playing it off like it didn’t matter. “Cool. That’s… cool.”

You glanced over. “It’s not a big deal. Probably gonna be awkward as hell.”

He chuckled, but it was tight around the edges. “Well, at least you’ll get a free meal out of it. That’s the real win, right?”

You nodded, watching him.

He didn’t meet your eyes.

Just went back to the phone, finishing the order with practiced ease. But you could see it… just in the way he moved. Slower. A little more careful. Like something had knocked the wind out of him.

But he wasn’t sure why.

The moment the call ended, Eddie tossed the phone onto the coffee table, back in its dock with a little too much force. It skidded, nearly tipping over a half-empty soda can before settling. He leaned back into the couch, arms crossed behind his head like he was trying way too hard to look casual.

"So, blind date, huh?" His voice was light, but there was an edge to it- something strained beneath the usually playful surface.

You shrugged, picking at a loose thread on the couch cushion. "Yeah. Like I said, it’s probably nothing. Robin’s just being Robin."

Eddie hummed, nodding slowly. "Right. Right."

Silence.

The kind that stretched too long, too heavy, like the air before a storm.

Then, abruptly, he sat forward, elbows on his knees, fingers laced together. "So, uh... what’s this guy like?"

You blinked. "I don’t know. That’s kind of the point of a blind date."

Eddie shot you a look, half exasperated, half something else. Something raw. "Come on, Robin must’ve given you something. Is he a musician? A nerd? Does he-" He gestured vaguely. "...know how to dress himself, or is he one of those guys who thinks cargo shorts are a personality?"

You snorted. "Jesus, Eddie, I don’t know. Why do you care?"

The words hung there, sharp between you.

Eddie froze.

For a second, he looked like he’d been caught stealing- like he’d just realized he’d stepped too far over some invisible line. Then, just as quickly, his mask slid back into place. That lazy, lopsided grin. That bullshit smirk.

"Just looking out for you, sweetheart," he drawled, reaching over to ruffle your hair like you were some kid sister. "Gotta make sure he’s not a total loser before I give my blessing."

You swatted his hand away, but your chest ached.

Because that’s what you two did.

You pretended.

He joked.

And neither of you ever said what you actually felt.

The doorbell rang- too soon, too loud, shattering the moment.

You got up to grab the food, muttering something about "feeding the emotionally constipated," and Eddie didn’t even argue.

That alone was weird.

Usually he’d at least toss back a sarcastic “speak for yourself,” or make some witty crack, any kind of comeback, but this time? Nothing. Just a soft “thanks” as he settled deeper into the couch, remote in hand, flipping through channels like it mattered.

You set the containers down between you and passed him a pair of chopsticks. “They forgot your stupid fortune cookies again.”

“Those things lie anyway,” he said, still not looking at you. “Last one told me I’d find love in a hopeless place. I checked… Hawkins doesn’t count.”

You snorted, even though it wasn’t really funny. “Maybe the cookie meant the trailer park.”

He glanced at you then, and for a second, there was something in his eyes. Like he wanted to say something real.

But it passed.

Instead, he just cracked open the dumpling container and handed it to you wordlessly. You both fell into your usual rhythm. Chopsticks clicking, low murmurs about whatever was on TV, bites traded here and there. It should’ve felt like normal. It almost did.

But there was a stiffness to Eddie tonight. A quiet pullback. Like he was trying to tuck some part of himself away where you wouldn’t see it.

He didn’t fight you for the last fried dumpling like he always did. Just slid the container a little closer to you and mumbled, “Go for it.”

You blinked. “Seriously?”

He shrugged. “You like ‘em more than I do.”

That was a lie. He loved those damn dumplings. Always ate them like they were the only thing keeping him alive.

You didn’t call him on it.

Instead, you quietly ate it, and watched him out of the corner of your eye. He kept his attention fixed on the screen, but his foot bounced restlessly. His thumb tapped a silent rhythm against the takeout box, like he had too many thoughts and nowhere to put them.

Halfway through the meal, he got up to grab drinks, lingering in the kitchen just a little longer than usual. Long enough to wash his hands, dry them, then stare at the sink like it was gonna explain what the hell he was feeling.

You could hear the faucet running even after he was done. The soft clink of glass. The fridge opening. Closing. A sigh.

When he finally came back, he handed you your drink without a word, then settled beside you with more space than usual between your bodies. Not enough for a stranger. But more than what had become normal for you two.

You didn’t say anything.

Didn’t mention the quiet.

Didn’t ask why his jokes were fewer or why his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You just sipped your drink and leaned slightly toward him, closing that gap the tiniest bit. And even though he didn’t move, you felt it when his shoulder relaxed beside yours.

Like maybe, he was grateful you didn’t ask.

The credits rolled on whatever forgettable movie had been playing… neither of you had really been watching, and the silence between you had settled into something almost comfortable again. Almost.

Eddie stretched, arms over his head with a dramatic groan, his shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of skin above his belt. He caught you looking and smirked, but it was softer than usual. Less teasing. More... tired.

"Guess I should head to bed," he said, voice low. "Big day of pretending to be a functional adult tomorrow."

You nodded, gathering the empty takeout containers. "Yeah. Same."

He hesitated, fingers drumming against his thigh like he was debating something. Then, abruptly, he reached out and flicked your forehead.

"Ow-what the hell, Munson?"

"Just making sure you're still in there," he said, grinning as he stood. "You've been weirdly quiet."

"You're one to talk."

Eddie shrugged, hands in his pockets. "Yeah, well. That's my charm."

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn't help the small smile tugging at your lips. "Go to bed, you insufferable ass."

He saluted lazily, already backing toward the hallway. "Aye aye, Captain."

Then, just before he disappeared around the corner, he paused.

"Hey."

You looked up.

Eddie's expression was unreadable in the dim light, but his voice was softer than you expected. "...Don't let that blind date guy be a dick to you, alright?"

Your chest tightened.

You wanted to say something. Anything. But the words stuck in your throat.

So you just nodded.

Eddie held your gaze for a second longer, then turned away with a quiet, "Night, sweetheart."

The hallway swallowed him up, leaving you standing there, takeout containers in hand, heart pounding for reasons you couldn't… wouldn't, name.

Because that’s what you two did.

You pretended.

He walked away.

And neither of you ever said what you actually felt.

Late Night Interlude…

You weren’t sure what time it was when you woke up, heart racing and skin hot, tangled in your sheets like you’d been fighting something in your sleep. Or maybe someone.

Images clung to your brain like sweat. Flashes of hands- his hands, skimming up your sides, rough and sure. That smirk of his, darkened by want. His voice, low and rasped against your ear, whispering your name like a secret, like a prayer. Your hands in his hair. His mouth on your…

You groaned and buried your face in the pillow.

Absolutely not.

You were not going there. Not with Eddie. Not with your best friend slash roommate slash emotional landmine who said things like, “don’t let that guy be a dick to you” before vanishing into the darkness like some tragic heartthrob in a bad Warner Brothers movie.

It was just a dream. A messed up, hormone-fueled dream with no basis in reality.

Still. You couldn’t shake the ache in your chest… or lower. Couldn’t shake the look in dream-Eddie’s eyes, so intense, so real it made your breath catch even now.

You kicked off your blanket, restless, and swung your legs over the edge of the bed.

Time to reset your brain.

Like always.

The glow of the TV lit up the living room in flickering shades of gray and blue. You didn’t even check what was on. Some low-budget documentary about deep sea creatures narrated by a man who sounded just sleepy enough to keep you from spiraling.

You curled up on the couch with a throw blanket and tried to focus on facts about jellyfish instead of the phantom press and thrust of Eddie’s hips between your thighs.

Spoiler alert: it didn’t work.

You didn’t hear him coming.

But you felt it… the shift in the air, the soft tread of bare feet on tile, the quiet pause just behind the couch.

Then his voice, rough with sleep. “Can’t sleep either?”

You startled slightly, looking up as he came into view, hoodie thrown over his shoulders, hair a messy halo around his face. He was holding a glass of water, like that explained anything.

“Nightmares?” he asked, settling down at the far end of the couch, careful to keep space between your bodies.

“Not exactly,” you muttered, eyes flicking back to the screen.

He followed your gaze. “You watching ocean horror again?”

“It’s calming.”

“To who?!”

You smirked, but didn’t answer.

For a while, you just sat there. The weird, squelching sounds of sea life on screen filled the space between you. Neither of you spoke. Neither of you moved.

But the silence was comfortable. The kind that said ‘I’m here if you want to talk,’ without pressuring anything.

Eventually, you spoke. Quiet, like you were afraid the words would break the moment. “Do you ever... dream about stuff that makes you question everything?”

Eddie didn’t look at you right away.

He took a sip of his water, then stared into the glass like it might hold the answer.

“All the time,” he said finally. “But I usually chalk that up to the weed and unresolved trauma.”

You snorted. “Fair.”

He glanced over then, catching the way your knees were drawn up to your chest beneath the blanket. The way your fingers picked at a loose thread.

“Was it a bad one?” he asked, softer now.

You hesitated. Thought about lying.

Then shook your head. “No. Just... confusing.”

His gaze lingered. You could feel it, even without looking at him.

He wanted to ask. Wanted to know.

But thankfully didn’t push.

Instead, he shifted just a little closer. Not much. Just enough that your shoulders might brush if you leaned the wrong way.

You didn’t lean.

You wanted to. God, you wanted to.

But you didn’t.

Not yet.

After a moment, he nodded toward the TV. “You wanna switch to something else?”

You shrugged. “Nah. I like the creepy little guys.”

“Course you do.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

"You ever think we’re... just one conversation away from ruining everything?"

He doesn’t answer right away.

Just sips his water and watches you through the dim light from the fridge.

"Nah," he says. "We’re tougher than that."

But his voice is a little too careful. Like he has thought about it.

Like he’s thinking about it right now.

There was something in the air- fragile, stretched thin, like a string pulled taut between you both.

And then, just as easily as it appeared, it passed.

Eddie yawned, rubbing at his eyes. “Alright, sea witch. I’m gonna try the sleep thing again.”

You nodded, hugging the blanket closer.

He got up, hesitated halfway to the hallway, then turned back to look at you.

His voice was quiet. “If you ever wanna talk about it... y’know. I won’t make it weird.”

Your heart tugged.

You didn’t trust your voice, so you just nodded.

Eddie gave you a small, tired smile. “Night, jellyfish girl.”

“Night, cryptid boy.”

He disappeared down the hall again.

But this time, you let yourself watch him go.

Who loves Eddie Munson, show of hands! 😂 Let me know if you want to be tagged! And to which fandom. (Bayverse TMNT, Vegeta, Eddie Munson).

@justalotoffanfiction, @yorshie, @jackalope-in-a-storm, @v1per1ne

Masterlist

[oopsallgoalies]

You Catch More Bees With Honey: Chapter 18

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader

Part of the San Diego Dogfighters universe

Summary: Bradley Bradshaw, blindsided by a team he trusted like family has been traded to the San Diego Dogfighters. Across the country from the place he calls home, Bradley feels lost and betrayed. Not to mention the familiar faces and ghosts from his past that he now has to face every day at work. Bradley’s caught between wanting to show his former team the mistake they made in double-crossing him and wondering if it’s time to hang up his skates after one final season. You’re living your dream as the PR representative for the Dogfighters. When Coach Maverick made a bid to bring his godson to the team, you hadn’t batted an eye. Bradley was a good teammate, and a good player. Unfortunately, the Bradley that shows up in San Diego is nothing like your research suggested. He’s moody, irritable, aggressive, and angry, throwing a wrench in all your careful planning. What’s caused such a drastic change in him? And can you figure out how to help him before he makes a mistake you can’t fix?

Series CW: 18+ ONLY, swearing, dead parents, drunkenness, alcohol consumption, violence, sports violence, blood probably, angst, fluff, eventual smut, age gap (28 and 38), enemies to lovers, suggestive language, hockey inaccuracies etc. There will be individual chapter warnings. No use of Y/N.

Word Count: 4k

A/N: This is a repost of my completed series, You Catch More Bees With Honey. It was originally posted in November-March 2023, and was lost when my blog was deleted.

Previous Chapter // Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

The energy in the arena this evening is electric. Bradley recognizes it even if his teammates don’t. It happens anytime he plays the Boston Bruins. He had hoped it was exclusive to Philadelphia but this confirms that it’s him they’re buzzing for, not his former team. What they expect to see, he’s not sure. His mind tries to convince him it has everything to do with the two former Bruins in the building, Tom “Iceman” Kazansky and Beau “Cyclone” Simpson.” Maybe they expect him to lose it? To let out almost four decades of rage and resentment, but why would he? He doesn’t harbor any of those towards the players warming up on the other side of the rink. None of them were playing that day. It was thirty-six years ago, after all.

He’s seen the video, of course, grainy and not the best quality yet you can clearly make out the defenseman that lands the hit on Maverick before Nick Bradshaw steps in. He wasn’t a defenseman. No, Bradley’s father wasn’t built to be a defenseman. Where Bradley’s all hunking muscle and broad shoulders, his father was slender, their only common physical trait being their height. Nick Bradshaw was a right winger and he shouldn’t have tried to fight that defenseman from Boston. They called him Goose in the league because he was always sticking his neck out for Maverick. Bradley hates hearing the nickname now. It leaves a sour taste in his mouth as he thinks about how avoidable it all was. If his father hadn’t gone after that defenseman, he wouldn’t have lost his helmet. He wouldn’t have crashed into the boards with the force of the hit. He wouldn’t have been discharged without a proper concussion diagnosis. He wouldn’t have dropped dead in his kitchen in front of his wife two days later from an unprecedented brain hemorrhage.

So no, Bradley doesn’t harbor any hatred for the Boston Bruins. He harbors it towards Pete Mitchell and he studiously tries to ignore his assistant coach’s eyes that he can feel on him. Instead, he focuses on the other pair of eyes he can feel. You look beautiful tonight, dressed in a smart-looking lavender skirt suit. It hugs your curves in all the right places and he’s selfishly looking forward to taking it off you later tonight. He can see you brush your hair away from your cheek, irritated. While for the most part, you’ve been enjoying your new, shorter cut, he’s caught you on more than one occasion attempting to sweep the strands into your signature ponytail only to find that you can’t anymore.

“What’s with the crowd tonight?” Javy asks Jake and Bradley turns as Jake nods towards him. Javy arches a dark eyebrow at Bradley.

“Him? What about you, Bradshaw?” Javy asks as Mickey and Reuben skate over, Bradley grimaces.

He hesitates before he answers, “It’s always like this when I play Boston,” he explains. “My dad’s accident was during a game against the Bruins.” He sighs. “It always feels like they're waiting for something but I don't know what. Whether it's for me to follow in his footsteps or for me to take some kind of revenge I don’t even want, I have no idea.” He shrugs before regarding the mixture of somber and surprised expressions. “It’s just another game, let’s win it.” He says and Jake nods in agreement.

***

The game has been exactly as he’d said, just like any other game. He could tell the other Dogfighters were mildly off put by the strange atmosphere but after he and Jake had reiterated that it was just another game, they seemed to have settled. The crowd continues to feel like it’s holding its breath and now Bradley’s tempted to join them.

They’re setting up for a faceoff after Boston iced the puck, Jake standing face-to-face with one of Boston’s centers. One of the other defensemen to his right is looking into the stands and Bradley’s uninterested until he speaks up. “Did you get a load of San Diego’s PR? What a smoke show, I bet her pussy’s as tight as her attitude.” Bradley stiffens and he watches the other guys, Jake included, follow suit. He grits his teeth, trying to control his temper even as he feels a surge of angry solidarity from his teammates. He thinks he’s just managed to reign himself in when the center opposite Jake smirks back at the defenseman, his expression oily.

“Eh, I hit that back when she was with Jacksonville, she wasn’t that great.” His smirk widens as he watches the Dogfighters tense up, basking in the daggers everyone within earshot is currently sending his way. Bradley can feel the anger inside him chafing at its leash as he struggles to keep it in check, to push aside the center's crude words that is until he keeps running his mouth. “You’re more than welcome to my sloppy seconds, though.” The leash snaps and Bradley barely remembers to toss his gloves aside as he tackles the center across from Jake. It’s an illegal hit, the puck wasn’t even in play, he knows that but he can’t see through his rage as he lands hit after hit on Boston’s center. He hears a shout of anger from the direction of the defenseman who made the original comment on you and then a cry of pain as the ice descends into madness. It’s a full-on brawl as the Dogfighters and Bruins go head-to-head. He can hear the whistles of the refs and shouts to break up the fight but he can’t see anything but the smirking face beneath his fists. When he pauses to catch his breath, the center spreads his bloody lips in a gross grin as he spits in Bradley’s face. “What’s wrong, big guy?” He smirks at Bradley’s red face now splattered with a combination of his saliva and blood as Bradley’s blood boils at the use of the nickname. “Upset Barbie isn’t a virgin?” Bradley doesn’t speak at first, his rage passing through him in a wordless, feral growl and he watches as fear flashes through the center’s eyes for a split second.

“Shut the FUCK up about my girlfriend, you worthless piece of shit.” The words are just as much of a growl, almost inhuman as he hurls them into the center’s face. He watches humor war with fear in the other man’s blue eyes as he realizes his mistake. “You talk about her? Look at her? So much as THINK about her? I’ll fucking KILL you.” His voice is so quiet he knows only the two of them heard it and then fear wins the war in those blue eyes as they see something in Bradley’s that wins the turbulent war in his head. He grabs at where Bradley has the collar of his jersey fisted in his hands, trying to remove them, but Bradley tosses him to the ice like a rag doll, standing to his feet just as the firm, furious fingers of the ref clasp his upper arm like a band of iron.

“That’s enough, #84, you’re done for the night.” He makes to drag Bradley to the bench but Bradley follows without resisting. At some point, he lost his helmet during the fight and his curls are stuck to his forehead with a combination of his sweat and the various fluids the center spit onto his face. He didn’t hand a single hit on Bradley other than that. He looks around to see the other Dogfighters in various states of injury being led off the ice. Mickey gives him a hard look, nodding firmly as if to thank Bradley for what he did. Jake meets his eyes at the bench as Bugs checks him out. There’s a shallow cut on his forehead that she’s assessing and his nose looks broken. When the ref releases Bradley, Jake reaches out to clasp his hand.

“Whatever anyone else says?” He says, tone even despite the heavy rising and falling to his chest. “You did what we all would have done. It was the right thing to do.” Bugs scowls at him, pinching his ear slightly before turning to Bradley.

“You okay, Bradley? Anything I need to look at before you get in the box?” He shakes his head as he looks around, the haze he was in early wearing off. Jake seems to understand as he supplies,

“Ten minutes for misconduct for every player on the ice.” Bradley’s eyebrows raise.

“EVERY player?” Jake gives him his signature cocky smile.

“You even got Bob to fight,” He nods in the direction of the goalie who’s currently being chewed out by his coach and girlfriend. He doesn’t get a chance to respond as Dare walks up.

“Bradley, what the hell was that?” She’s wearing an expression that’s partly irritation but mostly concern.

Bradley shrugs. “He was mouthing off, I didn’t like it.” Dare shakes her head before pinching the bridge of her nose. “Well don’t bother going to the box, you’re out for the rest of the game. You’ll be lucky if you’re not out for the next few let alone the rest of the season.” Bradley doesn’t say anything but shakes his head as Jake grimaces.

“I’m serving my penalty with my team first.” He watches Dare’s face soften with surprise before she nods curtly.

“Get over there then. Jake, you too.” She calls out to Bob as well as Bradley skates towards the box. As he climbs in, he takes a good look around at the other three guys in there. Javy’s got a split lip but he grins at the sight of Bradley, extending a fist out of sight of the cameras. The penalty box wasn’t designed for this many players at once. Bradley bumps his fist, subtly before turning to Mickey, who gives him a tired and tight-lipped smile.

“I know why you did it,” he says and he sounds exhausted. “I would have done it too. I just hope you’re ready to live with the consequences. She deserves a hell of a lot better than cleaning up after your messes.” Bradley’s heart stops at his words, instantly turning to look back at the bench. He hadn’t seen you when the ref brought him back, and you’re not there now.

“She’s talking with the reps, trying to see how they're going to punish you for starting that fight,” Reuben explains from where he’s sitting. Bradley feels his shoulders drop. He’s given you a reason to worry yet again. He keeps giving you reasons to worry.

“I need to talk to her,” he says and Mickey snorts.

“Get in line.” His normally cheerful expression is stormy. Bradley frowns at the change.

“What?” Mickey looks at him, his brown eyes dark with exhaustion. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“I’m tired of seeing her cry, man,” Mickey says, fire licking to life in his eyes with anger. “And I’m sick and fucking tired of seeing her cry over you.” Bradley’s blood runs cold. You were CRYING? He’d made you cry again? He curses under his breath but doesn’t have a chance to say anything as the door to the box opens and Bob and Jake shove themselves in. It’s a tight squeeze but they manage.

“While I’d normally be touched by your sudden bout of sportsmanship and loyalty, this box wasn’t meant for six,” Jake says with a playful grin on his lips even as he presses tighter against Bradley.

“Did you see Zam by any chance?” Bradley asks instead of commenting on Jake’s statement. Jake’s expression clouds as he chooses his words carefully.

“Yeah, she was understandably upset but I’m sure everything will be okay once you explain what happened.” He reaches out to squeeze Bradley’s shoulder in the cramped space but it doesn’t make him feel any better. He needs to find you. He needs to talk to you. He needs to be sure you’re okay.

***

At the end of the longest ten minutes of his life, Bradley heads down the tunnel in search of you. Normally, he’d be led down by a coach but Dare’s busy with the game and Maverick was sent off to talk to Cyclone and Ice about how to move forward. When he reaches the hallway at the end of the tunnel, he’s not sure where to check first but he doesn’t have to decide as you round the corner. Your face is puffy from crying though Bradley can tell you’re trying your best to hide it. On his skates, he towers over you. As he crosses the space over to you your eyes widen in surprise at seeing him. His heart breaks a little as you step back, almost like you’re afraid of him and he pulls up short as much as his body is screaming to pull you into his arms. He can barely hold himself back when he sees your lower lip tremble as you regard him warily.

“Honey, please, please don’t cry.” He urges, trying to resist the urge to cross the distance between the two of you. Restless and confused, he shoves a hand into his unruly curls, chest heaving with anxiety. You don’t say anything, simply watching him as he watches the lights wink out slowly in your eyes. “Honey, say something, you’re killing me, please.” That makes your lips move but all that comes out is an exhausted and dead laugh. It sends a chill down his spine.

“I’m killing YOU? Bradley, you promised me this was over. You promised me no more fighting.” His heart breaks in two, sinew snapping as he struggles to push the pieces back together.

“Honey, I know, I know I promised, I just-“

“No.” The word is so firm it shakes him to his core. “No Bradley, I can’t. I can’t do this anymore.”

“What?” His voice is dry and unfamiliar as the words tear past his lips. Never in his wildest dreams had he considered that he’d screwed up this badly.

He sees the pain twist your features even as your trembling lips set in a firm line. “I can’t live every day of my life, scared to lose someone else.” He feels like the breath has been punched out of his lungs as he stumbles back at the weight of your words. “I’ve spent the past eight years, afraid to let anyone in, afraid to get too close to anyone because I was scared I was going to lose them too. And then you came along and you showed me how to love again. You showed me it's okay to let people in. And I thought it could be different,” he watches the last bit of light wink out of your eyes and your shoulders slump with so much exhaustion that Bradley just wants to take the weight, for you to lean on him and let him carry you.

“It can be, Honey, I swear it can be. This is different, I can be different. I never want to hurt you, Honey.” He feels tears burning the backs of his eyes as he struggles to hold onto you, the best thing that’s been in his life all year, in all his years, truly.

“Then don’t.” You swallow and he watches you fight back tears of your own. “Stop hurting me and let me go, Bradley. I’m so tired of losing people. I can’t lose you too, so just let me let you go, please.” He never did stand a chance when you begged. He stands aside when you push past him and when the sound of your heels has retreated far enough that he can’t hear you anymore, he falls to his knees.

***

He’s not sure how long he’s been there, the picture of a fallen soldier but a hand finally closes over his shoulder. He looks up, not sure who he’s expecting but starts at the sight of a pair of blue-green eyes.

“You okay, kid?” Maverick’s voice is careful, cautious as if he’s trying not to spook a horse. Bradley’s too exhausted to reply, or even shrug his enormous shoulders. The two of them stay in that position, Mav’s hand on his shoulder until Bradley finally finds the words.

“She left me.” He barely makes it to the end of the sentence before his voice breaks. Maverick’s quiet for a minute, considering his words before he replies.

“She’ll come back.” Bradley chokes out a twisted excuse for a laugh, the sound dry and broken.

“You didn’t.” Maverick’s quiet for another long moment before he replies.

“She’s smarter than I am. Than I was,” he adds.

“She’s scared,” Bradley says then, unsure why he’s opening up to Maverick but right now he doesn’t know what else to do. “She thinks she’s going to lose me too.”

“I know the feeling,” Maverick says then. “It’s a valid fear.”

“She’s not the only one who doesn’t want to be left.” He says then, fists curling at his side. “I don’t want to lose her, because if I lose her,” he takes a sharp breath that pierces every one of his vital organs on the way in, unable to finish the thought. The two of them stay silent for a long moment before Bradley speaks again. “Trade me.” Maverick starts in surprise, his fingers curling tighter into Bradley’s jersey. “Please,” Bradley turns then, gripping the older man’s hand in his, even as Maverick holds onto Bradley’s jersey. “Please just get me out of here. I can’t be here. I can’t be here if I don’t have her, I can’t.”

“No.” Maverick’s words are firm even as he pulls his godson closer. “Take it from someone who knows a thing or two about leaving? Don’t run. Stay, fight for her. Fight for her because she’s everything.”

Bradley shakes his head. “She doesn’t want me. And if I lose her, I won’t have anyone.” Maverick grips his chin with his free hands forcing Bradley to look at him.

“Today, more than anything, proved that’s not true. You have a team that stands behind you, that wants to fight for you. That’s not nothing, and don’t you ever dare say it is.” His blue-green eyes are blazing with a fire that Bradley’s never seen. “Zam’s upset right now and she has every right to be. She’s scared of you leaving, so prove her wrong. Show her you can stay. Be the man I never could be. Tell her you’re sorry. Apologize, but don’t you dare leave her.” Shame washes over Bradley as he realizes what he’s just done. His shoulders shake as a son wracks his body and the tears he’s been fighting back break free. Maverick slides to his knees then, gathering his godson in his arms, and Bradley’s too tired to resist. “I know this doesn’t change the fact that I left,” Maverick whispers into his ear as he cradles the much larger man. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but you don’t deserve to make the same mistakes I once made. If I can prevent you from doing that, it’s the least I can do for you.

***

Bradley’s not sure he’s ever been in Iceman’s office. It’s on the top floor of the arena all by itself. The room is full, both his coaches standing on either side of him, with Cyclone pacing back and forth behind them as they wait. The chair next to Bradley is currently unoccupied and Iceman waits patiently as Cyclone grumbles and occasionally looks at the door. It's been less than twenty-four hours since the game against Boston. The Dogfighters barely edged them out at the last minute, Mickey scoring the winning point with an assist from Jake. Maverick told Bradley to go home after his breakdown, and so he hasn’t seen you since. The door opens with a click and he looks up to see you enter. You look exhausted. You’re wearing a suit in a soft butter yellow that doesn’t suit your darkened mood. There are smudges under your eyes that say you haven’t slept and Bradley’s heart clenches. He wants nothing more than to go to you and guide you into his lap but he forces his hands to remain in his lap as you cross the room, not looking at him and instead locking eyes with Iceman.

“Five games,” you announce and the pressure in the room releases like a heavy breath. “He’s suspended for five games.”

“How the hell did you manage that?” Everyone’s heads turn to where Cyclone has stopped his pacing. You look too tired to manage conversation right now and instead give him a tired shrug.

“I’m good at my job.” Bradley’s heart swims with pride even as it aches at the exhaustion that he can hear hanging off your every word. Cyclone shakes his head in astonishment before nodding curtly to you.

“Good work, then.” You turn to Iceman, placing a folder on his desk.

“That’s a summary of the official terms as well as summaries of the phone calls I made so we don’t get our wires crossed. As Beau said, we’re very lucky that this is all the penalty that Bradley’s facing. There’s also a pay cut taken out of his annual salary but nothing he can’t handle. The other guys are all off the hook.” Bradley’s stomach turns at the idea of his teammates potentially having to take a punishment as well for his actions. You look around the room, purposefully avoiding him before clasping your hands in front of you and turning to Iceman once again. “If that’s everything, allow me to excuse myself. We have a game tomorrow to prepare for, regardless of whether Bradshaw’s playing in it.” BRADSHAW. He hates the way you use his last name like it removes all emotion from the equation. It’s the way you used to address him when you were irritated with him, back when he was just a problem that needed solving. It’s what he feels like now. Iceman dismisses you and you exit the room without another word.

“She needs to go home, Tom. She’s no use to us exhausted.” Dare speaks up then and Iceman turns to her, raising a blonde eyebrow in curiosity. “Zam spent all night on the phone with the Department of Player Safety. It’s a wonder she got us the deal that she did. She’s done her part, she needs to go home and get some rest.” You’d been here all night? You’re wearing a different suit than you had been last night but knowing you, you have an extra stashed somewhere in your office for emergencies. Once again Bradley wants nothing more than to take you home and tuck you into bed where you’ll be safe, but he’s forfeited the right to do so. Guilt gnaws at him as Ice nods and Dare heads after you, squeezing Bradley’s shoulder before she goes. He hasn’t had a chance to talk to her about everything yet, but he has a feeling that Maverick’s filled her in.

When the door clicks shut behind Dare, Ice turns to Bradley and he starts in surprise at the twinkle of humor in the older man’s eyes as he regards Bradley silently. “You’re a lucky man, Bradley Bradshaw.” He says after a long moment. “She fought for you, better make it worth her while don’t you think?” Bradley nods firmly, trying to ignore the shame that’s worming its way into his chest at the idea of you on the phone all night, fighting for him even after you begged him to let you let him go.

“Yes, sir.” Ice nods back and the room is silent for a long moment, the other two men in the room having nothing to contribute to this seemingly private conversation.

“Good luck, Bradley.” He says, mouth curling up at the edge and Bradley feels a flutter of hope in his chest. “I think I speak for everyone in this room and on this team when I say I’m rooting for you.”

[sl-walker]

Preview...

...from the next, yet-unposted chapter of Stardust:

--

It was a little funny how good Booster was at flying commercial considering that he could do it independently, but it turned out that he actually liked being in a plane and had gotten to be a dab hand at navigating JFK and LaGuardia, not to mention O’Hare and El Paso International and a few other frequent stops.

It helped that when he was flying for business, he was in business-class or better; Gladys had a whole stable of beautiful people that she had precisely no qualms about parading around, including him, and she was very much of an era where when the boss told you to go flirt with someone, you went and flirted with that person, but she also made sure they were treated well.  She had given Booster an advance on his first pay so he could get his apartment only weeks after meeting him, even though he was only two photoshoots in and one of those had been in-house.  Then she’d paid so he could get the prior authorization from the TSA and skip the whole ‘take your shoes off’ crap, too.

And now, once he had his cast off, she did exactly what he had been planning on begging her to do and booked him wall-to-wall without him even having to ask, putting a serious priority on getting him good-paying work.

The upside was that it kept Booster very busy.  The downside was exactly the same thing.

He used to be very good at selectively not-thinking about things he didn’t want to think about.  That was no small part of how he’d been blindsided by the Rubenicos: He had figured that once he’d gotten away with the bet he’d made to help Ma, the bet he then proceeded to make happen on the field, that was it.  Nothing happened.  It had been a late season conference game, not even a playoff game.  They were going to win it -- a foregone conclusion -- so Michael had bet on such an unlikely score that they’d given him incredibly good odds and then he proceeded to play his heart out, pushing for the two-point conversions and using every last bit of skill he had to keep the scores where they needed to be.

He had borrowed the money from the Rubenicos in the first place, of course, because that was what you did when you were born in lower Gotham and needed funds no bank would ever lend you; when he’d played that game, Michael had thought at the time that it was going to be the most terrifying few hours of his life, because if he lost that money, that was it.  They might not kill him, but they’d make him wish they had.

Of course, he’d won.  He paid the Rubenicos back with interest, hands shaking as he handed over the credit chip to the bookie acting as go-between, and then he’d paid for Ma’s surgery, hands not shaking at all when he handed that chip to the hospital’s financial department.  And then he waited for the other shoe to fall.

And then it didn’t.

And as the weeks ticked on, he slowly felt his shoulders unwind and his back bend and his heart slow; he didn’t want to think about it anymore, so he stopped.  He started actually enjoying class; instead of sitting in lecture halls and classrooms endlessly stewing in anxiety and trying to figure out how to make everything work the way it was supposed to, he read what he was supposed to read and took notes, wrote papers and started really doing good.  He was well-loved by classmates (because football hero) and liked okay enough by faculty (same reason) and even scored some good dates (and a few good rolls in the sheets) and even though he planned on going pro, he really wanted a degree with his name on it, something to show he was smart enough for university, and not just another jock riding along on his athletic abilities.

It had been a good few months.  He was seventeen and his Ma was healthy for the first time he could remember, Shel was able to quit working so hard and she was going to register for classes the following year if she could, he had as much spotlight as he wanted, he took the Nighthawks through the national championship--

And then he was sitting in that penthouse with a champagne flute, looking into the indulgent face of the head of the Rubenico family, and he found out that he hadn’t gotten away with anything.

He’d thought that game he’d bet on was going to be the most terrifying few hours of his life.  He found out how wrong he was in pretty short order.

The memories of that mess had been creeping up on him, like little claws prickling in his graymatter, seemingly at random since he’d been jumped a month and a half ago.  Booster wasn’t a total idiot; he knew why that was happening, but his ability to not-think about it was broken enough that he wasn’t sure what to even do about it.

The Rubenicos probably didn’t even exist yet, except as some distant genetic potential.  They’d discarded him like a used tissue once he’d been caught, but even if they hadn’t, you couldn’t get much further away than by time traveling centuries.

But every once in awhile, the ghost of a hand on his neck made him jump anyway.  Then he hauled out every trick Bianca had taught him before the panic could hook in too deep.

The upshot was that even though Gladys kept him jetsetting until he could barely remember his name, let alone the shit he left in the past future 2460s, he still felt like he should be looking over his shoulder as he schlepped himself (Ted’s term) and his luggage back home from LaGuardia, the perfect October sunrise and the familiar skyline of his adopted city not quite enough to dissipate that shadow.

He’d left Skeets home this time because he was gone a whole week and someone needed to keep the plants alive while the neighbor who gave him his first spider-plant was visiting her daughter in Colorado; beyond that Ted would come if Skeets called, Booster had also made sure to leave the sun room window open.

He knew Skeets liked to go out exploring, so he didn’t necessarily think the ‘bot would be home when he unlocked the apartment door.  What he had not expected was that not only would Skeets be home, he would be hovering right in front of the door; Booster backed up to the rail, wide-eyed, for the few seconds it took him to catch up and process what he was seeing.

“I texted you, but you didn’t answer,” Skeets said, volume way down, though he had backed up at the same time Booster had.  He sounded vaguely apologetic. “Ted’s asleep.”

Booster blinked, then he whipped out his phone. “But it’s 8:36 in the morning?” he asked, trying to parse out why his best friend would be there at that hour. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, everyone’s fine,” Skeets reassured.  “But yes, he came over last night.  He wanted to surprise you, but he fell asleep on the couch with his laptop and then was very resistant to moving to the bedroom.  Or waking up at all, for that matter.”

That-- sounded too adorable for words, so Booster very quietly picked up his stuff and crept in, all but literally tiptoeing.  Ted had said he’d come over today, since it was going to be the first weekend they’d get to do more than visit for a few hours before one or the other of them had some obligation, but him being there that early was possibly the best thing Booster could imagine happening.

Turned out he was right: Ted really was too adorable for words.

Ted was sacked out laying mostly on his front, one of his arms hanging off, face mashed against a pillow.  The laptop had slid between the cushion and the back of the couch.  The early light was bouncing off of the walls and carpet and throwing fragments of rainbows across his legs and socks, and Booster took about ten pictures before he stuck his phone back in his pocket, carefully retrieved the laptop to set on the counter, and then just sat on the coffee table and watched the man sleep for a minute.

He was still working out where the new boundaries of their relationship were and what those looked like; not in any bad ways, but-- different than before.  Oddly, he was the one who was half-struggling with navigating it while Ted was just incredibly relaxed.

Not because Booster didn’t like it (oh god, definitely not that), but because he’d been so careful about not being weird or creepy or giving away just how desperately and intensely he felt about Ted that it never actually occurred to him that Ted wouldn’t have any such issues.  People weren’t much different in terms of casual touch and physical displays of affection between the future and the present, absent no one giving a damn about the ‘who’ or even the ‘how many’ in the future, so he’d figured he was already taking major liberties he wouldn’t have taken if he wasn’t just that kind of pathetic.  He was pretty content to steal a hair-pet or throw an arm around Ted’s shoulders or whatever he could get away with and not cross the lines of ‘you should probably get trussed up like Hannibal Lector, you absolute psycho’.

And then Ted just showed up, manhandled Booster across the apartment a few times, really did cuddle the hell out of him, pretty much didn’t let five minutes pass without them being within a foot of one another, and if the man had the least bit of concern about coming across as weird or creepy, Booster never could have guessed it.

It was Ted’s seemingly complete and total ease with just adding cuddling as their interpersonal contact sport that made Booster feel like he could get away with reaching out and resting his hand on Ted’s back for a moment; just the feeling of the man’s body-heat through his t-shirt did things to Booster’s heart that he didn’t really have any words to describe.

He sat there for a moment, living within that quiet; the morning sun and the incredibly comforting rhythm of his best friend’s breathing.  Then he smiled and shook his head at himself and got up to make them both some breakfast.

[freshlyrage]

Running Like Water

Chapter 11

pairing: Javier Peña x OFC (written as xReader)

fic warnings: Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI) language, strained family relationships, mentions of drug abuse, discussions of insecurities and body image issues, daddy and mommy issues

fic tags: Best friends younger sister, Life-long crush, Friends to lovers, Unrequited love, slow burn, Push and Pull, Small Town Dynamics, Secret Relationships, latina MC, Fluff and Angst, OFC!Jessica Alba face claim, sorry Lorraine I'm bringing you into this, Time jumps, 2 year age gap, pre-canon

word count: 5.8k

A/N: Long time no see. June was very hectic for me but I'm back. Enjoy hehe.

Javier got to speak to you again.

That was the first blessing. He thought you’d had enough of him. He assumed you got to say your peace and you two would live these next few months apart, passing acquaintances. So you calling, he felt like that, that was pushing his luck. 

Taking you up to that hill came with no ulterior motive. He just remembered visiting years prior, alone, thinking it was beautiful. A sight like that was deserving of your gaze. 

Javi knew that the night would wax, he knew you. He knows you well, too well. Better than anyone else, and with years apart, even though you’re a bit tougher, he still knows who you are. Javier knew the second you called him that he was on your mind, that 1980 was on your mind. 

Yet, your question blindsided him. 

If he had stayed, they’d be together. No doubt in his mind. Well, Javier would have tried but knowing your shy self you might have cried and tried to avoid him until he graduated.  But Javi knew him and Lorraine would have been over sooner. Javi also felt like he would have had enough time to let your brother get over the fact that maybe his sister could make a decision on her own. You doubted that though, he knew even now. He thinks if he got down on one knee right now, you’d still feel like it was all some sort of temporary blip in Javier’s waxing and waning emotions. 

He acted quickly, he kissed you. He was fully expecting you to push him away, maybe smack him. But you didn’t. Blessing. 

Your hands gripping his waist pulling him in was new. You demanding, you grabbing, you. It was new. And your little breathless noises. 

Andrea, Andrea, Andrea.

Is all that circled his mind when he sat you in his car, to eat you. He’s a bit shocked with himself, you’ve been his little Andrea, he hated the idea of someone seeing you intimately. Yet, he spreads you open and falls between your legs in a public space. Having to use his own broad shoulder to cover you. How perfect his head fit between your legs, made for him, he knew it. 

You were sweet, of course. Never doubted how delicious you’d taste, never doubted how pretty your cunt would be. Leaky and puffy, Jesus christ. A lot more pornographic than he imagined, have you been hiding this from me Andrea? 

Just the sight of your fingers hooked, pulling your panties to the side. Your moans, they were so whiny, like a virgin. Like you’ve never been licked there. He had never experienced a reaction like that. You couldn’t even hold yourself upright. If he wasn’t so focused on how you folded over in bliss, he’d have more of an ego stroke. 

Right…

Javier was going to kill that loser. That loser that convinced you that your own pleasure was just an add on to sex, not necessary. 

And if it weren’t for that stupid fucking cop, that Javier knew (which scared you, he could tell), if it weren’t for that stupid cop. 

Javier took you home while you sat in his passenger seat, on edge, wondering if he should just reach over and finish the job. Javier learned a lot of self control in Houston. You weren’t a part of that training. Because if he decided to lift your dress and touch you until you came on his hands— you would have ended up bent over in the back seat. 

And you deserved a bit more than that— well not at least during your first time being intimate. 

Hard, aching, Javier had to readjust the weight in his jeans a few times while he drove you home. 

Shutting off his lights as he approached your street, you unbuckle. Unsure of how you say bye after letting him tongue fuck you in his truck. You place on his thigh and squeeze, 

“see you soon.”

And you hopped off the car, leaving Javier breathless just from one touch. He watches you, makes sure you climb your window safely.

Javier drives away just to stop a few feet from your house, head pressed against his steering wheel with his hand fisting the hardness you left, hoping you went back to your room and touched yourself. Imagining you making that cute little scrunched up face with your own fingers.

Feeling like a total fucking creep Javier sleeps in his bed 30 minutes later. 

Waking up in your dorm was waking up to silence. Shockingly. Your roommate, Jenna, was very considerate. She’d wake up an hour earlier than you and slip out of the room, you never heard. She never startled you, the sound of the suite sink as she brushed her teeth faded into your dreams. 

Eh. Not so much in Laredo.

Marisol is crawling in your hallway, scratching at your door like a little cat. Your mama banging pots in the kitchen blasting Hector Lavoe, which who you like, but like… at 11 am?

You press your head into your pillow, adjusting to the sunlight through your window and the sudden noise flooding your space. You stay like that for a few seconds, face smushed and reeling in life. You sat up slowly, your blanket was half on you and half on the floor. 

Your knees curl up to your chest and you rub your eyes, groaning, leaning with your own body swaying. 

Then you’re awake, like super fucking awake. Your eyes pop open when you adjust to the sight that is your bare legs and a dark brownish purple mark on your inner thigh. The image of Javier’s lustful eyes and wet lips between your legs jolts you to your feet. 

Or maybe it was your mom calling you from the kitchen. 

You reach down to grab the panties you had discarded when you realize you physically couldn't sleep with how turned on you were. Your pillow had a small wet mark from your open mouth, who are you? The sleep shorts come next and you open your door. 

Your baby sister is sitting directly next to your room door with a foot in her mouth. You screw your eyes shut and shake your head in disapproval at her. You scoop her up with one arm. “What're you doing crazy?” She babbles and puts her hand in her mouth instead. Gnawing at her chubby fingers with her toothless grin.

 Truthfully, you had been quite satisfied with it just being you and Frankie. You could care less about having a younger sibling. But now that marisol is around, you had no idea what you were missing.

And the age gap is immaculate. You're old enough to be her mother, you get to enjoy her in the same way grandparents get to enjoy their grandkids. You would die for her and love her more than anything, but you can hand her back to your mom when you're ready. You like taking care of her a bit too much, you fear that if you ever get pregnant, you’ll never be able to stop having children. You look to her again as you walk down the stairs and kiss her head.

As expected, Melissa Diaz is cooking, well shes frying. At 11 am, your face screws up and you place Marisol in her high chair. “Mami, it's really early, what are you doing?” Your eyes scan the home, double checking that theres no unexpected guests in the house. 

She’s fully dressed, a long denim skirt with a yellow top tucked into the waist. Her hair

pulled up in a ponytail. She smelled like usual, hair mousse and that classic warm and amber smell of Obsession by Calvin Klein. Now that you think about it, Marisol was also fully dressed in sandals and a dress. Your mama looks over her shoulder, with a hand on her hip.

 “Andrea, get ready. The Lopez’s are having their memorial day barbeque.” She points to the tin tray of sorullitos, your brows shoot high. 

“Which Lopez’s?” You cross your arms, eyes flitting to Marisol who is teething on her hand again. You take a few steps to the freezer, pulling out her teething toy and handing it to her. She babbles, what you’d like to think is a thank you, and shoves the blue and purple ring in her mouth.  

Your mouth lets out a small groan as a popping of oil lands on her brow. “Xavier’s family– which if you weren't so… you, you'd be married to by now.” She shakes her head, rubbing her brow and mutters, Andrea Lopez fits, and that military benefit. 

You shut your eyes in annoyance and decide not to let this comment fly, “So me?” You ask, cocking a brow at the back of her head, she snaps her head at you, the audacity you had to speak back. The oil pops from behind her as she crosses her arms, eyeing you up and down. 

“You obviously aren't ready or fit to be a wife, you knew he wanted to court you and you broke up with him.” She shakes her head and it comes as a gut punch. By the time you split you hadn't known that Xavier asked your mother for her blessing. You knew everyone married young out here but you would've broken his heart if he’d asked. It was a no. 

“I split with him because he was a bad boyfriend.” 

“Oh please.” She mutters before turning around to scoop the cheesy corn meal from the oil. 

Letting out a shaking breath you decide to not continue this further, you weren’t in the mood.

Just a few hours later you're leaned over, detaching your sister from her car seat as your mother juggles her tray. You haven't really spoken to her since this morning. You went up to your room and picked out an outfit anyway. You knew your mother couldn't entertain and control marisol simultaneously. James was out at the high school training teachers for this coming fall so Melissa was left alone.

You grab your sister, and your tank top strap falls with it. You let out a frustrated breath and close the car door with a hip bump.

“Chucho!” Your mom squeaks from behind you and you turn fully, meeting the eyes of Javier.

Your mouth falls open a bit at the sight. He gets you every time, he’s got that look to always make your stomach flip like a schoolgirl. His tanned self, his hair a bit messier this morning. Finger combed, and his stance broad while he takes a curious look at you.

“Let me help you,” Chucho exclaims, stepping towards you. You blink a few times, a bit confused by him-until your sister is being pulled from your arms. “Oh-okay, thank you.” 

You mutter, your lips are still slightly parted. Javier wasn’t dressed like usual, it was a rare sight. Just a camo green t-shirt and black pants. No jacket, no collar. You could see his soft belly through his shirt and Jesus Christ you’re still staring. And so is he. Your parents are completely cut from your hearing, your cheeks heat with a wave of shyness. 

Get a grip, he had his head between your legs like 12 hours ago. 

“Javi, ¿Estás prestando atención?” Chucho cuts, and Javier’s eyes shoot to his father. His left hand sporting his watch reaches the back of his head with a confused scratch. “I said let’s go, Mrs. Lopez says lots of people from your graduating class will be there, should be a good time to mingle. After we help with that grill” 

He was blushing.

Your eyes snap to your feet with a smile, you bite it back. Looking up to your mom, making sure she hadn’t caught on. Fuck, the two of you were already horrible at this. Blushing like idiots in each other's presence. You can’t begin to imagine if you made this a routine, everyone would catch on. You follow behind Chucho and your mom when they begin to walk. Down the street to the left, it was where Xavier’s family had their 2 story home with the large front yard. Tables and American flags come to view quickly. So does the three men struggling with the grill. 

“My dad didn’t tell me it was his family's party.” Javier murmurs next to you. His arms still crossed as you two trailed a few feet behind your parents. Your eyes flick to his bicep bulging through the thin cotton of his t-shirt. Your fingers flex at your side at the thought of sneaking your hand under his arm to hold him while you walk. 

What that fuck has gotten into you?

Shaking your head, you approach the grass, “Trust me, I'm not too thrilled.”  Those former classmates sat in a small cluster of chairs, your throat gets tight at the thought. Knowing your mother, she’ll disappear just to make you sit with them. Would it look weird to sit alone in that empty table just with Javier? 

When Xav’s box dyed mother comes clacking in her heels you almost jump to hold onto Javier at the sight. Just lovely. 

 Mrs. López loves you for her son, reminds you every time you bump into her, reminds you he’s still single and looking. You always give a sweet laugh and say you have to go. Javier’s eyes flash to you at your startled reaction. Or so you thought. 

Through the fiery red teased hair and Betsey Johnson tacos, you missed her son to her left. Xavier stood there in uniform again, eyes focused on your mother as she probably complim

ents him. You feel Javier step a bit closer to you. After last night, you’re surprised Javier hasn’t lunged at the boy.  Xavier straightens up after his gaze lands on you and Javier. 

Chucho and your mom are chatting, as they walk down to the tables accompanied with Laredos very best home cooked meals and not two, but five coolers packed with Coronas. 

“Javi and Andrea, glad you two could come.” He smiles, you remembered Monica calling him the most American-Mexican-American she’s ever met. Nicknaming him, Andreas gringo boyfriend. You watch as Xavs gaze scans Javier’s body, sizing him up. You hated to compare but…

Heat lifts off your skin when he pulls your body in for a hug, hearing Javier’s shoe crunch from next to you as he steps forward. Your smile fades, wishing you had just stayed home. 

You let go and give your ex another thin lipped smile. 

“Yeah, um, where should we sit?” You ask as awkwardly as possible. If it wasn’t obvious that you did not want to hug him, it was obvious now. 

He ignores you completely and extends a hand out to Javi. “Good seeing you again.” 

Petrified, you stare as Javier burns through his hand. Xavier’s hand still in the air, waiting for Javi to shake his hand. Your wide eyes snap towards Javi’s face, but it’s stoic. Just a small quick jaw clench, before he’s walking past Xavier.

Your ex’s brows pull together, “Oh my god- I’m sorry—Javi!” You call frantically, your face bright red, as Javier walks away.. Your mortified face drops at that and you look back at Xavier, apologizing again for your ill mannered friend. 

Oh god, is it still fair to call him your friend? His face was literally covered in your— 

“Going to fix the grill, enjoy yourself.” 

Your brows pull tighter and Xavier shakes his head in shock. 

You aren’t enjoying yourself. At all. 

For starters, Xavier somehow convinced you to sit with his friends. The ones from high school. People you knew in passing and couldn’t care enough to get to know. And Josefina was there, that was awkward for you. Not for her since of course—she had no fucking clue what you had done the night before. 

Secondly, Javier was only like 7 feet behind you. 

Sitting on white cookout chairs in a circle, you could feel the heat of the grill. You could also feel Javier's presence. Not once did he come back over to you. He just crowded the grill. And shamefully, you caught yourself turning in your seat to check on him every few minutes. 

The first turn, his ear was being talked off by Xavier’s uncle, something in Spanish about the grill acting up.  

The 2nd turn, he was grilling. Your eyes snapped back to the group as they chatted about old high school drama. You were listening in because no matter how old you got, no one’s above a little high school chisme. After Josefinas entire breakdown of the homecoming incident, (there was a huge brawl on homecoming night in 1982) you look to Javi again, praying he sees you this time. But this time, Ms. Mochado had her hand around his crossed arms, laughing hysterically. You were close enough to hear his conversation if you focused hard enough. You heard the questions about the DEA, but you weren’t close enough to hear what made her laugh so hard, hard enough to grab his arm.

You screw her face up and straighten up, he’s not even that funny, and isn’t she 40?

Josefina is sitting closest to you and turns her body fully towards you. Your cheeks warm, being face to face with Javier’s recent rendezvous. She has her hair out, wearing a flowing sundress, blue. Her tongue laps over her bottom lip, “I saw you at the corner store the other day, you left so fast I was scared you overheard my conversation.” 

“You’ve told everyone already Josie…” Donald laughs, passing his beer opener attached to his keys to Kristina. “He must have told you too Andrea.”

You scrunch your face up and shake your head, “I did hear, at the store I mean.”

Josefina and Luana both laugh at each other. As you confirmed their theory. 

 Dangerous conversation, you think, Javier is just a few feet away and they seem not to care as they speak at the same blistering volume they did at the corner store 3 days ago. You start to feel that familiar sinking you felt back in high school when people would gossip about Javi around you, the girls continue. Luana looks behind you, at Javi and then leans in. “ I mean, you two are close. He was a playboy before Lorraine, it was like his thing. Every girl before her was a one time thing, and I guess after her too.” 

Josefina nods, “Yep! He hasnt even said hi to me, isnt that just fucked up?” Her black hair blows in her face with the breeze as she's turned to you, you just sit unable to speak. Unable to think straight. “I know you two are close, set that boundary now, I wouldn't put it above him to ditch you too.” She tuts and sits straight, moving her hair to one shoulder, the wind blows anyway.

A strange wave of sadness moves through your body still sore from Javier’s grip on your thighs. Your eyes fall to your lap and you take the back seat for a bit, shutting down as the rest of the friends chatted. Regret causing a pang in your chest. You and Javi hadn’t really talked everything through and somehow you’ve already been intimate. You’d love to believe he wouldn't do that to you, but you look over your shoulder and are reminded that he has been ignoring you this whole time. 

Wanting to reach out to him, and wanting to leave all together, you hadn't even noticed that everyone seemed to still be on the topic of Javier while he was so close. 

Xavier’s voice cuts and your face stills. “So what’s good with your friend Javi?” The whole group is staring now. Josefina, Junior, Donald, Kristina and of course Luana. Your brows raise and suddenly your arms are insecurely covering your torso. 

Your brows pull tightly, feeling as if all of a sudden Javier is listening in on your conversation. “What do you mean?”

They all look at each other with amused faces, “C’mon Andrea, we all watched him storm off.” Junior laughs, moving his beer with his hand movements.

You’re a bit stumped. How to explain to your ex and his friends that you hooked up with Javier Peña and he’s been pissy since. Or maybe you can voice your speculations—

Well last night Javier was eating me out and Xavier, I was just reminded of all the times you acted repulsed about my body and I sort of projected that onto Javier… who by the way, was the guy I envisioned the few times I actually came when we had sex. And I just made the whole thing awkward so now he’s forced to be in close proximity to you and he much rather be burned and charred by the grill than be in your presence for a moment longer. 

That’s why he rejected your hand shake.

But you don’t say anything, you’re frozen. Your cheeks flush. Xavier says anyway, 

“Obviously lost his southern hospitality when he moved to that big city.”

Luana chokes out a laugh, “Probs still upset over Lorraine leaving him.” Josefina slaps Lu’s shoulder and she rolls her eyes. You want to get up and leave without making a scene so instead you speak. It was bold of them. To talk about him in this way in front of you, and so close to him. Its fucking rude. So much for southern hospitality. Javi wasn’t by any means rude to any of these people, well of course Javier wasn't the sweetest guy out there but he wasn’t what they talked him up to be. 

It was rude to you too. You felt a personal sting at the comments, even if right now you and Javi weren’t on speaking terms, he is your brother's best friend, and as strange as it sounds he’s familial, a family friend. You’d pick him over any of these people any day, you’d like to think he’d do the same. You came here with him for christ’s sake. 

“Maybe he just doesn’t like you guys.” 

All their laughing eyes snap to yours in confusion. Josefinas nostrils flare with that and Xavier’s eyes narrow at you. You clutch your beer, feeling maybe you shouldn’t have worded it in that way. If it weren’t for the music coming from the boom box next to the grill, it would be dead silent.

Your ex leans forward a bit in his seat with that same look of skepticism. “When we were together you used to say you hated him? Now he’s back and… you’re his biggest supporter . So what changed Andrea?” 

Your brows shoot high at his audacity, Kristina and Donald make shocked faces, acting as if Xavier just dropped some bomb of information. 

“We had an issue before he left. It’s over now. Even if we still had issues— doesn’t matter.” You lean forward in your seat, mirroring him. You weren’t fucking scared of the 5’5 boy trying to impress his high school friends. 

“An issue you used to cry over if I asked.” He hisses. Earning a warning glance from the girls. Cálmate Xavi! Kristina mutters. You swallow thickly, feeling winded by the comment. Hand gripping the slippery drink. 

 You remembered when you two first started dating. He’d ask about Javier and you almost always felt your eyes well and your chin quiver. You don’t know why, people would ask you about him all the time and you’d answer without a lick of emotion flooding. But when your boyfriend asked, you were always struck with an unbearable feeling of guilt, shame, discomfort. You always cried a I’m not crying sort of cry. A tear wiping sob, one that felt embarrassing and shameful. You kept a still face, afraid that if you made an movement you’d cry. Xavier doesn’t let up. “Am I wrong Andrea?”

And you felt like that now. That shame, guilt and discomfort. Your chest rising quickly, and flushed in a new way. The entire group is silent, you’d love to say thank fuck, but not when this was the circumstances. And everyone stills.

“Let’s go.” 

All eyes are wide and peeled behind you. You turn to face the voice, unable to process Javier’s stare on your ex boyfriend. You stutter in confusion, “W-what?” 

Javi looks down at you with the same glare he gave Xavier and walks to the left of your chair, hand engulfing your forearm to force you to stand. Your eyes stay wide as you look at his hold and back at him. You hadn’t noticed the white plastic chair falling back at his pull. Xavier shakes his head with a petty smile. Of course, he mutters and Javi doesn’t pay mind. He just begins to walk, still holding you with a possessive grip. 

Your head snaps to wherever your mom was but your vision couldn’t adjust in time before you’re focusing on your own hurrying steps to match his quick strides until you are out of sight of the house and down the street. 

Javier is furious, he’s been muttering curses and complaints. And he still holds you even though you were two houses down. Your hand quickly moves to his hold and wince, pushing him away. “What’s your issue!?” You pause and he does too, reaching to rub your arm better but you step backward. 

Javi shakes his head, hand rubbing the bridge of his nose, his eyes tracing over your small frame. He wanted to grab you up and just take you home with him, he hated it. Hearing you defend him, staring at the back of your head as you bickered with them about him. How he could imagine your flushed face when your ex boyfriend hit you lowly with the crying comment. 

That pushed it for Javier. He remembered in high school, thinking that he’d punish himself endlessly if he ever made you upset. He’d take care of you, hold you, do whatever you wanted if it meant forgiving him for making you unhappy. He had to ask Ms. Mochado to excuse him when he heard how quiet you had gotten after the jab. Javier’s own fists clenching before stalking to your seat to grab you. 

He fucking hated it all, despised hearing you stumble over your words to protect him. And now you’re stood in front of him with your sweet face of concern, your thinned brows pulled together and a frown. Self control. It was taking so much to not get ahold of your face and kiss you like he did last night. 

“I-we can’t do what we did last night… again.”

 Javier did that often. Never completed his thoughts and spoke with the results before fully understanding his reasoning. Your frown twitches with confusion, probably wondering where all of this was coming from. 

Your chest fills with dread, wrong, you had already felt that trepidation the second the cop caught you. It scared the shit out of you, and you know it scared him even more. Shamed him, felt so wrong to do something so right. Staring up at him, he has that unreadable face like always. You let your gaze fall and exhale, “why?”

He exhales and shuts his eyes, “You know why.”

You look to him now and he's looking away. His head turned towards the house to our left, a blue one with a black dutch roof, his jaw is tight, trying his best not to look at you. You stare, burning an angry look through him. Josefina’s words setting aflame in your brain and traveling down your throat in a break, “is-is that all? Is that why you pulled me out here?” His eyes snap back to your own, his mustache twitching along with his lip. The loose curls of his hair moving slightly with the rare May breeze. He watches your lips as they part, waiting for him to respond. 

He sighs again, “will you let me kiss you again?” 

You blink in disbelief, he cannot be serious right now. Your shock doesnt stop your body from reacting in the way it did, hot and pitted. You could almost laugh, his most Javier Peña request.

“Do you enjoy this Javi?” You ask, headstrong now that you know he’s just as conflicted. 

His lips quirk in a smile, “Enjoy what?”

“Stringing me along, do you enjoy it?” Your smile falls and startles the poor thing. 

“Andrea,” He warns but you step closer. Your hands grazing his at his side, your digits flattening over the tops of his hands until he can't stand it. Javier swiftly grabs your hands, his own thick fingers moving to tighten on your wrists and pull. You're tripping over your own feet and pressed into him fully, close enough to be caught.

You giggle slightly, tilting your head into his chest, “We have to be careful Javi, you know you’re being really risky right now.” You feel his chest vibrate with an annoyed grunt and his coming between you to cup your jaw, his thumb and pointer forcing your lips in a pout before smiling at your face in this position.

He tilts his head slightly, “Yeah?” 

You attempt to frown, through squished cheeks, “Don’t be mean.”

His brows quirk in fake sympathy, mocking you a bit with his screwed expression before forcing your wet lips to his own mouth with a pull. A firm possessive press with a taste of the beer that he had in his hand half an hour ago. Your cheeks warm in the same way they did when he’d simply compliment you when you were young. Your stomach flutters at just the mere thought of Javier holding you in this way. The kissing being sweet and chaste fills you with a quick feeling of dread with a mix of daydreams. 

Still holding your face after pulling away he shakes his head in disbelief, “What am I going to do with you?”. Your brows screw and you move to pull on his wrist, your eyes scanning the street again, making sure no one had gone looking for you two. Holding his wrist still, you look to him again, still with a pulled face. 

“We are going to be careful, that's what we will do Javi.” You shoot, no longer nervous if he’ll accept, even if it just meant stolen kisses and looks, you feel this time around he’ll want to share that with you. You wanted that for a while, you had been willing to be his secret years ago, you're sure you would keep it up forever if it meant having him to yourself. 

Javier looks at you with that same regard he did after every time he’s kissed you, like hes threatening you with another. After a silence he does finally speak, “I leave in a few months again… I-I don’t want you to-I” He sighs in frustration and mutters a small curse, your hold on his wrist tightens, hoping he interprets it as reassurance. He does, “I’m going to be gone for good probably, or at least longer than before.”

Your heart chips at the reminder, but you know it all too well. Leaving, you've grown accustomed to it. You hoped that maybe this time your heart will be strong enough to take him leaving after potentially having him to yourself. Even if your heart wast strong enough for what's to come, you will take the chance anyway. 

“You've always been someone who leaves Javi, I’ll be okay this time.”

His brows quirk and his eyes fall and you fear for a moment that you might’ve hurt him, but he grabs your face just as quickly and kisses you better.

You wait by Chucho’s truck while Javier tells your mom that you weren't feeling well and asking if his dad could be taken home by your mom. Which you knew would come with an of course Javi, but you couldn't help but mutter to Javier how suspicious they’re being already. You stand by the driver's side door, practicing in your head how to fake being sickly if your mom wants to come check you yourself. Which, you were very doubtful she would care. She was still upset with you from the morning which was quite silly considering you were the one that was berated. 

Just when you were starting to feel anxious about all of this you see Javier walking down the street with a case of beer and two ginger-ales in his hands. And the smuggest look of all time. You smile and shake your head at his display, “Ale for your poor tummy ache, your mama insisted.” He crowds you by the car door, handing you the two cans, the cold contact waking you for a moment before realizing others could see you now. You give him a thin lipped smile and walk around the car and hop in. 

He starts the car, giving another glance at the party. You look too, opening a can while you're at it, the group still sat in the same way, your chair still empty. You shake your head and stare back down at your lap, realizing you were in a very interesting position in this very seat just 15 hours prior. Your cheeks warm at that.

Javi is quiet and no longer staring at the group but instead at your mother as she rocks Marisol while laughing at something Chucho says. You sip your drink wondering when he’ll start the car, wondering if he’s actually taking you home. His eyes are narrowed and he adjusts in his seat.

“You think our parents ever hooked up?”

You choke on your fizzy drink, feeling the liquid burn the inside of your nose before breathlessly uttering a very startled, “What?!” 

He lets out a deep belly laugh, “I mean come one… your moms beautiful and she always found a way to spend time with him before she got married.”

Your eyes are wide but you are starting to slowly consider the possibility. They were always close, especially when you were in middle school, you would bike past Javier’s house to find your moms car in the driveway when she would go out. Oh god…

You giggle, “Oh god, maybe it’s hereditary.” Javier mutters mala, before laughing with you and turning on the car to pull away from the spot. You wiggle in your seat again at the thought of your mom actually getting it in with Mr. Peña, cringing. 

You sit in silence for a moment before feeling that warmth spread through your lower belly at the thought of Javier and you last night, and the way he kissed you just a few minutes prior. Your hands itching to touch him in any way. You ask finally, “Are you taking me home?” He looks to you quickly and then back at the road and lets your question linger for a bit before speaking while staring off.

“I have something to finish, you choose where we do that. Your place or mine?”

[mothybean]

Airhead

Chapter 2

———

I stood in front of Vi’s front door and gave it a gentle knock. Caitlyn said that she knew the perfect person to tutor me, never would I have guessed that it would be Vi’s little sister. I didn’t even know she had a sister. I felt blindsided. As I waited, my eyes fixated on their doormat. It was your typical dark orange jute welcome mat. In the middle of it was a giant cursive ‘Welcome Home’ in black font. Super cheesy. I feel like everyone with a Costco membership owned this exact welcome mat. Based on looks alone, their house looked like your ideal cookie cutter home, from the ceramic garden gnomes chillin’ on their vibrant green, freshly cut lawn to the two black Audi's parked side by side on their long stretched driveway. Oh yeah, they were definitely well off. I wonder what their profession was.

A few moments passed, my eyes tracing each letter on the mat when I heard loud footsteps approach the door. I looked up to see a distorted silhouette behind the door’s privacy filmed window. The large white door opened and a familiar pink hair girl poked her head out.

“Hey, Y/N.” She exclaimed coolly, opening the door wider for me to step in. I smiled back and readjusted my backpack strap on my shoulder. If anyone else tried to pick up my bag, they’d probably instantly fall to the floor. I had a good 60 pounds in my bag, from books to random miscellaneous college related junk, it was enough to take a grown man out if you used it as a weapon.

“Thank you for having me. I really appreciate it.” I said shyly, gripping my bag strap a bit tighter. This thing felt heavier by the second.

“Oh, don’t thank me. Jinx was the one that agreed. I’m more street smart, my sister stole all the book smarts.” She laughed, shutting and locking the door behind us. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I can read a book, but this is more my style.” Vi flexed her biceps, proving her point.  

The girl was absolutely ripped. I knew Vi was in shape, I just didn’t know how much though. Every time we hung out as a trio, Vi typically wore hoodies and baggy pants. I could never depict her body type, but now, I was able to view the full picture. Vi was wearing a black sports bra with a white trim and tight black workout pants, hugging her thighs tremendously. Respectfully, Caitlyn was one lucky girl.

“Damn dude! You’ve been putting in the work! How’s police life treating you?” I questioned, pulling my wandering eyes away from her beautiful figure and kicked off my shoes, neatly placing them onto the metal shoe rack.

“It’s great so far. All of my coworkers are super chill.” Vi said as she led us down the hallway towards what I presumed to be the living room. “Jinx should be down soon. She’s finishing up some project in her room. Not to leave you here by your lonesome, I gotta get ready. Caitlyn is coming by for a little date night and I need to hit the showers. I stink.” She flashed me an apologetic grin. I playfully rolled my eyes at her before Vi took off down the hall and around the corner. Vi was such a sweet person. She was absolutely perfect for Caitlyn too. Caitlyn didn’t have time for someone who was passive about their life, she wanted excitement, someone to keep up with her and Vi was just that person. Vi was a great friend to me as well. The moment Caitlyn introduced us, we instantly hit it off and became close. Even if they broke up, I’d definitely still be friends with Vi.

I set my heavy load down by the white sofa and took a seat on their plush couch, my eyes darting around Vi’s place. My interior design brain kicked in, instantly assessing the style as industrial. It was gorgeous . Everything was in such pristine condition, the couch, the floor, the carpet, even the fucking cat. They had a beautiful light pink hairless cat sleeping on a cat tree by the back door, the sunlight hitting it ever so slightly. That cat must be in heaven. The theme of the room was mainly black and white, minus the red brick wall that towered up to the second floor to a loft. A fucking loft. I was a sucker for high ceilings. Something about them made me feel homie and a tad bit posh if we’re being honest. I would kill for a place like this.

Once I finished inspecting every inch of the interior, I unzipped my bag and pulled out my laptop. I sighed as I pressed the power button, my laptop making a high pitched whirring sound. With the amount I’ve used this thing, I’m surprised it was still kicking. Once it booted up, I pulled up a list of all the flunked assignments I had. We were only a few months in and there were about 70 assignments, 57 of those assignments I either failed or received a low score. Incredible. I didn’t want to even think about Humpfuck’s class right now. I wasn’t even sure if Jinx could comprehend his gibberish, her being younger than us. I tried fighting back on Caitlyn’s choice, but she was pretty confident about Jinx’s ability. If I knew one thing, it was to always trust Caitlyn’s judgment. That girl has gotten me out of trouble multiple times. If she was wrong, then that meant pigs could fly. She was never wrong. As I sat there deep in thought, staring at my computer screen and shaming myself for the file full of failures, I didn’t even notice the figure standing in front of me.

“Hi.” Jinx said quietly. Her sudden greeting startled me, causing me to launch my laptop in the air. I sat in awe, my heart racing from the unintentional spook as I watched my computer fall downwards. The blue haired girl swiftly snatched it before it hit the ground. “Sorry.” She apologized, handing my unscathed computer back to me. I was shocked. What reflexes!

“I should be the one apologizing, I didn’t see you there!” I placed my laptop on the couch and stood up, extending my hand in front of me. “I’m Y/N.” I greeted, inhaling deeply to cool my heated cheeks down from embarrassment.

“I know.” She said with a rather bored tone, lazily shaking my hand. “So, what are you struggling with?” She questioned, plopping down next to my laptop. I blinked a few times. Vi never mentioned that she was a bit brash. I quickly shook off the negative feelings I had and cleared my throat.

“Natural Sciences. Our teacher is living in the 1500s. It’s hard to understand what this guy is saying half the time.” I laughed nervously. Jinx seemed unamused. I cleared my throat again as I pulled up a random file for her to go over. I handed her my laptop and leaned my elbow on the couch’s arm, putting more distance between us. I felt super awkward. I thought Vi was going to at least introduce us, she knew I was socially awkward. Apparently, so is Jinx. What a great duo!

We sat in silence for what felt like hours, in reality it was only a couple of minutes, but the stillness made it feel worse than it was. As she looked over my document, I could help but secretly study her appearance. I couldn’t deny it, even if she was a brat, she was super cute. She had ridiculously long, silky, dark blue hair that was pulled into two perfect braids. When she was standing, the ends of her braids touched her ankles. It was impressive, the length of her hair, I couldn’t handle my hair past my chest, let alone to my ankles. Her skin was pale, but it was flawless nonetheless. And, my favorite feature so far, she had tattoos. Baby blue clouds lined her right arm like a sleeve. I was a sucker for tattoos. And long hair. And women. I wondered if she likes girls too.

“Y/N?” Jinx questioned. I pulled my eyes from her tattoos and met her gaze. Damn. Even her eyes were a beautiful shade of ocean blue.

“Y-yes?” I stuttered, swallowing the lump in my throat.

“Let’s go over this one, yeah?” She pointed to the laptop in between us. 

She scooched closer to me, her bare shoulder barely touching mine. My body froze as if I was dropped in an ice bath. I tried to stay focused, as she explained the sheet but I was too busy getting lost in her eyes as she spoke. I couldn’t help myself. I wasn’t sure what she was talking about. At that moment, all I could think about was her. I wanted to drown in her waters.