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youdontjustgiveup · 4 months

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August: Chapter 20

( ao3 | ff )

Previous Chapters: [link]

Summary: Chuck Bass, a crash course in hallucinative self-therapy.

Pairing: Chuck x Blair

Word Count: 5.5k

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: None

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You’ve reached Blair Waldorf’s voicemail. Leave a message, and I’ll see if you’re worth my time.

Fuck.

Well, he certainly brought it on himself. What did he expect? That she would be glued to the phone, waiting for him to save her? That after countless ignored calls and texts, she would pick up? Welcome him with open arms?

He put the phone back in his pocket and rubbed his hand over his face. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

When he had returned to the Hamptons, he had found the house empty. No sign of the girls, no sign of Nate. Desperation had driven him to ask his stepsister where they were. He couldn’t afford to waste any more time. But when he had finally tracked them down, the sight of Blair running to the bathroom, her eyes glassy and on the verge of tears, had shattered him. He had wanted to reach out, to pull her into his arms, but fear had paralyzed him. Before he could act, Serena had beaten him to it, causing him to turn away and hide.

“Rough night?” said a black-haired, impeccably dressed guy smoking at the exit of the club.

“You have no idea.”

The guy offered him a pack of cigarettes. “You look like you could use one of these. Women trouble?”

Chuck accepted and flicked his lighter, the flame casting a brief, warm glow on his troubled face. “Something like that.”

“They’re all the same, man. Impossible to please and not worth the headache. Don’t waste your time trying to figure them out. They’re only good for one thing, and even that’s questionable.”

He took a long drag. “You’re wrong.”

The guy shrugged, clearly not interested in his opinion. “Suit yourself. But take it from me, they’re not worth the pain.”

“She is worth it.” His voice was firm, a quiet intensity burning in his eyes. “She is worth everything.”

Chuck exhaled slowly, the smoke dissipating into the night air.

“You’re fucked,” the guy laughed.

“Yeah,” he replied. “I guess I am.”

“Good luck with that. Love only sets you up to get torn apart.”

“Maybe. But some things are worth the risk.”

A week ago

Chuck stirred from a restless sleep, head throbbing in protest as consciousness clawed its way back to him. Another night, more bottles drained. Another pitiful display. Blinking against the harsh moonlight filtering through the curtains, he found himself tangled in sheets, with Blair’s form curled up beside him in peaceful repose.

His stomach churned, a grim reminder of the night’s excesses. As he sat up far too quickly for his liking, the room began to spin around him, like a merry-go-round of regret. Dehydration set in, his mouth parched. The horrible taste of hangover coated his tongue, undeniable proof of what a fucking idiot he had been.

If only he hadn’t acted like a total jerk in what was supposed to be a harmless game between friends. If only he hadn’t let jealousy get the best of him. If only he hadn’t won Best Friend of the Year. If only he hadn’t picked up the phone and dialed Georgina’s number. If only he hadn’t tried to numb the pain, maybe he could have faced it head-on and saved the people he loved from the wreckage he was now buried under.

But what was done was done, and it could not be undone. It was just another screw-up to add to his long list of mistakes, a list that felt endless. What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he stop? The wheel of self-condemnation kept on spinning. A total disappointment to everyone around him.

Pain, pain, and more pain.

Then, Blair shifted in her sleep, a subtle furrow forming on her forehead as if in disagreement. Her hand sought his, and a soft, irresistible pout graced her lips, adding to her already captivating beauty. The room stopped spinning. Her chest rose and fell in time with his heartbeat, each breath pulling him out of the hole he had dug for himself, inch by inch. And in that fleeting time, a warmth unlike any he had ever felt suffused his tired muscles.

Was he truly capable of becoming the man she deserved? Could he love her the way she needed him to?

If tonight was proof of anything, the answer would be a resounding no.

With trembling fingers, Chuck carefully brushed back a stray curl that had fallen across her face, his touch lingering on her cheek. His thumb traced the curve of her jaw before caressing her lips. In the hush of the night, he wished that time would stand still. As he marveled at the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips, he felt his heart swell with an overwhelming intensity, as if nothing else could fit inside him.

To open himself to love was to invite weakness, a lesson his father had instilled in him since childhood, yet here he was, grappling with emotions so potent they defied his understanding and left him utterly defenseless.

As if burned by an invisible flame, Chuck recoiled, pulling his fingers away and instinctively pressing a hand to his chest. His heart hammered against his rib cage like a desperate, trapped bird, his lungs gasping for air against the oppressive burden of his own limitations.

How could he, so broken and flawed, dare to dream of deserving something so pure and good? The very idea seemed absurd. Totally out of reach. With a mother lost to death and a father’s scorn as his only companion, how could he possibly comprehend giving and receiving love?

Bart knew he couldn’t. Even his best friend understood that.

What happened to all those speeches about wanting her happiness? Do you really think she’ll find it with you? That you’re the better choice? Nate’s words echoed in his head. Do you really think he’s gonna treat you right? He’s Chuck Bass. He can’t love anyone, Blair. He’s going to hurt you.

Are you really counting on Chuck Bass to be your knight in shining armor? Georgina’s taunts lingered like a bitter taste in his mouth. Do you honestly think he loves you? We both know he can’t.

Sad, pathetic, little boy. His father’s harsh judgment cut through him like a knife. I’ve seen nothing in you that suggests you have what it takes. If anything, you’ve been nothing but a disappointment.

It all pressed upon him like a heavy yoke, threatening to crush him. How long would it take Blair to realize that they had been right all along? That he was born on a dead-end road.

How could he ever hope to bring her happiness if he was destined to fall short?

Leaving felt like the only way out, a last-ditch attempt to protect her from the inevitable heartbreak that trailed behind him like a shadow. But in truth, he wasn’t just running from her; he was running from himself, from the merciless reality of his own shortcomings that would surely consume them both.

Blair would despise him, but that was a price he was willing to pay.

Hate, in its bitter familiarity, appeared almost comforting. He had weathered its storms before, grown accustomed to its presence. It was a strange relief in the midst of the chaos.

As soon as Chuck’s motorcycle roared to life beneath him, regret clawed at his insides like an implacable beast. Was he doing what was best? Every mile he traveled, each curve of the road, only increased the pain in his chest. How could he stay away from her? Was his need to protect her from himself stronger than his desire to hold her close? With each passing moment, the urge to turn back grew stronger. It tore at him.

But as much as he wanted to retreat into the safety of her arms, Chuck knew he couldn’t.

He couldn’t do that to her.

The throbbing pain in his brain had subsided to a tolerable level when he awoke in his suite at the Palace without Blair at his side. With a grunt, Chuck forced himself to sit up, his movements lethargic and heavy, as if he had been run over by a truck. He dragged himself upright and shuffled to the kitchenette. Glass after glass of water went down his throat, the cool liquid a soothing balm against his sandpaper mouth.

Feeling the fatigue weighing down on him like a leaden blanket, Chuck returned to his bed. He reached for the small bottle of sleeping pills on his nightstand. Swallowing them with a painful grimace, he succumbed once more to the alluring embrace of sleep, anxious to escape the void of his waking hours.

In his dream, Chuck was transported back to a time when he and Nate were sixteen years old. The scene unfolded before him with startling clarity: the hideous beige pants, the yellow shirt, and the blazer that identified them as students of St. Jude’s. But what etched itself most deeply into his subconscious was the pain on his face as he held an ice pack to his already swollen eye. His best friend sat next to him in the headmaster’s office.

Headmaster Smith’s stern voice broke the tense silence. “I’m afraid I must inform your father of this, Mr. Bass,” he said, his disapproval evident. It was not the first time he had waited in that very chair to be punished, and he knew all too well that it would not be the last. “What you have done warrants disciplinary action. Here, in our esteemed institution, such behavior will not be tolerated. Resorting to violence of any kind against a fellow student is simply unacceptable.”

“Go ahead, call him,” Chuck challenged.

Perhaps his father would have paid more attention that way, but to no one’s surprise, Bart Bass simply did not care, just as Chuck no longer cared about the consequences. His father, or rather his lawyer, would likely settle the matter with monetary compensation, as if wealth could solve all problems. How egregious was the insolence of a son who wasted his father’s precious time on trifles unworthy of a man.

The sting of rejection felt just as raw as it had all those years ago. No amount of money or material success could force fatherly love after all.

“As for you, Mr. Archibald, I expect better judgment from a young man of your caliber. While I recognize your athletic potential and commendable character, I must caution you about the company you keep.”

As they left the office, Nate reached into his pockets and looked down at the floor.

“Why did you take the blame for me? It was all my fault,” he said. “I punched him. I should be the one getting punished.”

“And see Anne Archibald freak out about her golden boy getting a suspension? Not a chance,” Chuck replied, a small grin playing at the corner of his lips.

“You shouldn’t have jumped in. Look at your face. Pete got a really good hit.”

“Ah, come on, Nathaniel. It’s just a black eye. Besides, if this was your face, Waldorf would have our heads on a pike for letting some guy mess it up.”

“And nobody wants to be the target of Blair’s fury.”

“Indeed.”

“Thanks. I owe you one, big time.”

“There’s no need for a scoreboard between friends. We’ve always had each other’s backs, and that’s not about to change.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, man.”

“Well, lucky for you, you won’t have to find out.”

“Neither will you.”

He didn’t hold many people in high regard, but Nate Archibald was a rare exception.

As their conversation faded, St. Jude’s corridors shifted into the interior of his friend’s yacht. Nate’s face, which had previously been warm with camaraderie and gratitude, now changed into an accusatory scowl. They were still clothed in their school uniforms, creating a bizarre juxtaposition.

“Did you also have my back when you were lusting after my girl all those years, huh?” Nate said. “What a good friend you were.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Come on, Chuck, don’t play dumb. You’ve always had a thing for her. Always lurking around, waiting for your chance to make a move.”

“That’s not how it went down, and you know it.”

“Do I?”

“Not once did I act on it while she was with you.”

“But you wanted to, didn’t you?”

More than anything else in the world. But he hadn’t. Even though every fiber of his being had screamed for him to do so, he’d held back, sticking to some imaginary bro code.

“Admit it,” Nate urged.

What did he have to lose now? Nate wasn’t even there. It wasn’t real.

“I did. So what? It’s not my fault you were too blind to see what was right in front of you,” Chuck spat out the words. “Blair was right there, and you couldn’t see how incredible she was. You never appreciated her, not like she deserved, and it cost you everything.”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing right now?”

It landed like a slap in the face. “Shut up,” he growled.

“Did you get a kick out of it? Seeing me mess up, time after time? Hoping I’d slip up so you could snatch your best friend’s girl?”

Chuck’s fists clenched. “Blair is not your girl.”

“Then whose is she? Yours? Please. As if you could ever hold onto anything without screwing it up.”

“Just shut up,” he muttered, his hands shaking at his sides. His shoulders slumped forward as if bracing for the impact of the painful truth. With a hint of desperation, he pleaded, “Please.”

But Nate continued, relentlessly. “Why put her through your misery? Hasn’t she had enough?”

“I care about her, okay? I really do. More than you’ll ever understand.”

“Don’t make me laugh. You never think beyond your own desires. You betrayed our friendship for your own selfish gain. Was it worth it?”

“It wasn’t like that. You were not together. You didn’t love each other, and I… I…”

“And what? You do?”

The words hovered on the tip of his tongue, desperate to break free.

“You’re nothing but a spineless coward, Chuck. Hollow at your core. Blair deserves way more than you can ever give her.”

He wanted to scream. But he was powerless, trapped in the twisted labyrinth of his own mind.

“Pathetic.” But that voice wasn’t Nate’s. It hadn’t been for a while. It was his father’s. “You’re just a pitiful, broken boy. Weak. Soft as silk, and twice as useless.”

It was a new day when he opened his eyes again. He was drenched in sweat, his stomach churning and his body weak. He threw off the clinging sheets and welcomed the fresh air on his clammy skin.

Chuck was torn between two opposing forces, each vying for his attention like contestants in a tug-of-war match. There was Blair, and there was the overbearing presence of his father. He was paralyzed by the fear of losing his balance, terrified that leaning too far to one side would result in everything crashing down around him.

How could he bare his soul, let others see the depths of who he really was, and still maintain the strong front his father demanded?

A wave of nausea washed over him. He doubled over slightly, feeling the emptiness clawing at him from the inside. When had he last eaten? It took Chuck a moment to recall—had it been yesterday? No, surely it had been the day before.

“Must we add ‘wasting away’ to your repertoire of bad habits?” It was as if Blair herself was standing there, hands on hips, giving him an earful. Beautiful as always. “I mean, you’re starting to resemble one of those tragic characters from a Dickens novel, and we both know you prefer Fitzgerald.”

“Leave me alone, Waldorf.”

“You know I can’t do that,” she said. “Eat something.”

He was losing his goddamn mind.

Chuck reached for the hotel phone and dialed room service without even checking the time. Despite his lack of appetite, he ordered a full American breakfast. They’d be fools to deny the owner’s son a damn thing.

But the eggs seemed to have soured overnight, the bacon was burnt to a crisp, and the coffee tasted more like dishwater than anything resembling a morning pick-me-up. The food proved unpalatable, his stomach rejecting every bite. He pushed the contents of his plate around, scoffed at his own pitiful condition, and finally pushed the tray away, collapsing on the sofa in defeat.

Seeking a mundane distraction, he picked up the New York Post, which had been sitting untouched on the side table for a month. There, he was greeted by the imposing image of his father, the pinnacle of success.

“Bass Empire Expansion: Iconic Business Titan, Renowned for Reshaping the Manhattan Skyline, Set to Revamp Brooklyn Shelter into Trendy Living Quarters.”

Fantastic.

The headline mocked him. Was this the legacy he was destined to inherit? One built on ruthless ambition, where power reigned supreme, regardless of the collateral damage left in its wake? A world devoid of affection and human connection. Where the pursuit of more, more, more eclipsed all else. The successful, the powerful, the great Bart Bass. Alone. Unreachable. Unloving. But a titan nonetheless. Indestructible. Where did the line end? What good were wealth and power if your soul felt hollow to the core?

With bitterness staining his tongue, Chuck tossed the newspaper, unable to face the reflection of his future looking back at him. Turning to whiskey for solace, he drowned his sorrows and dulled the pain in a futile attempt to forget it was even there.

The next day, a terrible pain gripped his chest. He felt sure he was having a heart attack, but instead of calling for help, he curled up into a ball and buried his face in his pillow. Perhaps that was for the best.

Days blurred into one another, haunted by vivid dreams of his childhood, Nate, and Blair.

In some, Blair’s soft lips captured his in sweet, intoxicating kisses that left him wanting for more. They inhabited a world of their own, where time stood still and the Upper East Side was theirs to conquer. They laughed. They lived. They thrived. Other times, angry screams pierced the air. Blair hurled every conceivable insult at him until her voice ran dry. What a complete fool he’d been to let his insecurities win. But it was the dreams in which she simply looked at him with nothing but disappointment and hurt, the word ‘coward’ a damning indictment of his actions, that tormented him the most.

He knew, even in his subconscious, that she was right, that he deserved every ounce of her hatred and reproach. What he didn’t know was whether he could handle it. He had once believed himself capable, but as time passed, he wasn’t sure anymore. Hadn’t that been the point? For her to despise him now, to save herself more pain in the future?

The more he thought about it, the more absurd it seemed. He was causing her pain anyway. Worse yet, he was taking away her right to choose.

He was so stupid.

A sharp, loud knock on the door woke Chuck from his slumber. Ignoring the annoying interruption, he rolled over, hoping to return to the peaceful state of the unfinished dream he had left behind.

In his mind, he could still feel Blair, the gentle rise and fall of her chest beneath his head as they lay together in their favorite spot on the beach, his form perpendicular to hers. While she immersed herself in the pages of a fashion magazine, he was lost in his own book.

“I could stay like this forever,” he murmured, almost to himself.

He turned his head slightly to look at her, a rare smile playing on his lips.

Blair sighed, closing her magazine. “As tempting as that sounds, Bass, I think the world might miss us too much. And let’s face it, we’d miss the city lights, too. The Upper East Side is too ingrained in our souls to leave behind.”

“True. But it’s nice to dream, isn’t it?”

“Dreaming is one thing, but living our lives on our own terms is another. We’re not very good at it.”

“Maybe we haven’t been, but that doesn’t mean we can’t change.”

“We thrive in chaos. It’s what makes us, us.”

“We are so much more than that.”

Blair looked at him, her eyes softening. “Do you really believe that?”

“I do.”

It was so calm, so peaceful, and he just wanted to go back.

But the knocking persisted, demanding attention. His fingers curled into the soft fabric of the pillow as he resisted the urge to lash out. Whoever dared disturb him at this moment would have no job to come back to tomorrow.

Taking a deep breath, Chuck rose from the bed, made his way to the door, and swung it open, fully prepared to unleash his wrath upon the unsuspecting intruder.

“What do you want?” he growled.

To his surprise, he was met not only with a hapless hotel staff member but also with a phone extended towards him. His brow furrowed in confusion as he accepted the device.

“Mister Bass asks for you,” the receptionist said, his professional demeanor unwavering.

Chuck’s grip on the phone tightened as he retreated into the confines of his suite, shutting the door behind him. He raised the device to his ear, his father’s voice crackling through the line with an edge of impatience. “What kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into this time?”

“Good to hear your voice too, Dad.”

“What did you do?”

“Oh, you know me,” he replied, “just walking the fine line, as usual.”

“I don’t have time for your games.”

“I’m as innocent as they come. Feel free to sue whoever led you to think otherwise.”

“Don’t push your luck.”

“What do you want me to say?” Chuck shot back defensively. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Explain to me why Lily is losing sleep over you because Serena is blowing up her phone day and night. Or better yet, why aren’t you picking up your damn phone? What’s the point of me footing the bill if you’re just going to ignore your responsibilities and waste it on parties, women, and booze?”

“I…”

Where was his phone? Had he left it in his room in the Hamptons? Had it fallen out of his pocket on the way here? He rummaged through the bed, the sofa, his pockets, every surface. His movements became more urgent as he lifted and rearranged the decor of the hotel suite in his search.

“Are you drunk?” his father’s voice resonated through the other end of the line when he received no response.

“I am not,” Chuck replied tersely.

“High?”

“No.”

“It’s about time you started acting like a man, Chuck. Your persistent immaturity is both disappointing and harmful to your future. When will you start taking things seriously?”

“I’ve told you, I didn’t do anything,” Chuck insisted. “If Serena is acting like a crackhead, that’s not my problem.”

“It is if you make it my problem. Your actions have consequences, and I’m too busy to play hide-and-seek with you. Get it through your head that my time is far too valuable to waste on adolescent theatrics. So, learn to clean up your own mess, and don’t run away like a coward. You’re a Bass.”

Chuck gritted his teeth, the sting of his father’s words cutting deep.

“I’ll take care of it.”

“And don’t think I haven’t found out about that little spectacle you put on last week on your friend’s yacht,” Bart continued, his tone cold and unforgiving. “It cost me a great deal to get rid of those pitiful photos of ‘Bart Bass’ son and heir passed out at scandalous party’ that were almost printed in every tabloid.”

“It was a mistake.”

“When is it not with you?”

“I’m—”

“What? You’re what?” Bart interrupted. “Don’t apologize like a pathetic, weak little girl. Own it.”

The line fell silent for a moment, before his father scoffed. “I can’t believe you’re my son.”

And then, he hung up.

Where the fuck was his phone?

He paced the room a second time. His black Belstaff riding jacket lay discarded on the floor, and as he bent down to retrieve it, his fingers brushed the smooth surface of his breast pocket. There it was, nestled snugly inside.

He pulled it out, only to find it completely dead.

Of course.

As soon as Chuck plugged his phone into the charger, it lit up with a ton of missed calls and text messages.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered under his breath, the harsh expletive slipping past his lips as the screen continued to glow. “What more do you want from me?”

Face it. Let people in. Don’t slink away because you’re too scared to feel, said a voice in his head.

But his fingers trembled and his stomach plummeted as he scrolled through Blair’s messages, each one a blow to his already bruised heart. They were all from the day he had left, starting with desperate pleas and worry, escalating to righteous anger. Eventually, her texts stopped altogether, leaving behind a cold silence that matched the emptiness inside him.

This wasn’t right. It simply wasn’t. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

But what was it supposed to be like?

His own fears had led him to this steep precipice with no clear way out. How was he going to fix it? The uncertainty of what lay ahead, the threat of rejection and disappointment if he dared to open up to others, drove him straight to a strong drink.

Until now, he had hid like a cornered animal, letting time eat away at him, with only his thoughts as companions. Hoping in vain that numbness would replace feeling. Yet, it hadn’t. The pain persisted, refusing to subside. Not only had his feelings not gone away, they had consumed him even more, and his phone was just reality smacking him in the face. Forcing him to face it. To really look at the consequences of his actions.

For if Bart had been right about anything, it was this, and he could no longer keep pretending it wasn’t. He couldn’t run away, or unravel at the seams every time life went sideways. Every time he felt vulnerable.

What was the point of shutting everyone out? What kind of life was that?

He didn’t have to look very far for the answer. Bart Bass was the perfect example.

Pouring himself a generous glass of whiskey, Chuck tried to calm his nerves. He had to stop hiding behind his own weaknesses, stop letting fear call the shots. With newfound determination, he turned back to his phone.

Serena’s messages, on the other hand, were predictably dramatic, filled with frantic demands and threats.

> Chuck, u need 2 come back RN

> Tell me where u r. If u don’t answer me ASAP, I’ll call Bart & Lily

> I’m gonna kill u

> Nate’s a mess. Blair 2

As he scrolled through the missed calls, Chuck’s chest tightened. His stepsister’s name dominated the screen, and he couldn’t help but wonder why she was such a pain in the ass. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture doing little to ease the discomfort.

Her over-the-top theatrics were exhausting, but deep down, he knew they came from genuine concern. That knowledge did nothing to alleviate the unease that settled in his stomach.

Why was it so hard for him to accept that people actually cared about him? Was it really such a rare thought?

The phone beeped again, this time with a new message. Unsurprisingly, it was Serena’s.

> I know u love her. Stop being a coward.

Chuck stared at the screen, her words hitting harder than he expected. His stepsister’s bluntness was jarring, but necessary. For so long, he had allowed indifference to prevail, pushing everyone away to avoid the risk of hurting and getting hurt.

But the truth presented itself with tremendous clarity—he was not indifferent. He never had been. He felt like the rest of them. Thoughts of her consumed him incessantly, almost absurdly. Like a moth to a flame.

As for why he was putting himself, and them, through this, he could only place the blame on his own stupidity.

Perhaps the solution, the only answer, was as simple as returning to her side. To learn from his mistakes instead of trying to blame them on cosmic fate or some nonexistent predestined path, instead of trying to sweep them under the rug. To try to rebuild what he had lost.

Could he find the strength? He didn’t know, but he had to.

He had to give her agency. He had to let her choose.

For in the end, Chuck realized, the only thing that truly mattered was her. Not his father, not money, not power, but her. He could no longer deny the pull of his heart, nor did he want to.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard. He typed, then deleted it. He typed again, then deleted that too. He tried a third time, but quickly erased it. Nothing was good enough. It all seemed inadequate, a pale shadow of what he really wanted to say but couldn’t find the words for.

Instead, he typed out a quick reply to Serena.

Serena’s response came fast.

> No, she’s not, u fool. Come back already

The next day, as he continued to send messages to his stepsister, Chuck began to get back on his feet. He stopped drinking, started showering, and started eating properly.

Present day

“I’m sure you could have any girl you want.”

He took another drag, the nicotine doing little to calm his nerves. “She’s not just any girl,” he said, almost to himself. “She’s Blair Waldorf.”

The guy looked at him, clearly not understanding the meaning of those words. But Chuck didn’t care.

Crushing the cigarette under his heel, Chuck made a silent promise to himself. He swore he would protect her happiness with everything that he had. If that made him weak, so be it. If that meant risking it all, so be it. Blair was worth every bit of effort, every sacrifice.

He turned to the guy one last time. “Thanks for the smoke.”

And with that, he walked away.

After hours of aimless riding, Chuck parked his flashy red motorcycle in the Hamptons driveway, the engine’s rumble settling into silence. He didn’t dare put it in the garage, wanting to keep the noise to a minimum and avoid any unnecessary attention. The fewer people who knew of his return, the better.

He had to talk to Blair first.

With each step, his heart pounded faster. Memories of their moments together flooded his mind—her laughter, her sharp wit, the way her eyes sparkled when she was happy. As he stood on the doorstep, motorcycle helmet cradled in the crook of his arm, the front door loomed large before him. His feet might as well have been set in cement, heavy and immovable. Petrified, with only the sound of his own heart echoing in his ears, Chuck was unsure of his next move. Now that he was so close, facing her felt like the stupidest idea in the world. What could he even say? “I’m sorry for hurting you. I’m sorry for being an idiot. I’m sorry for being afraid.” Those words might be a start, but were they enough? Would she even be willing to listen? He fumbled with the keys in his pocket.

The courage to take that crucial first step remained frustratingly out of reach. Unable to face her just yet, he turned away from the imposing entrance and headed down the familiar path to her favorite spot on the beach.

The soft sand greeted him as he kicked off his shoes, the grains cool beneath his feet. The rhythmic lapping of the waves provided a soothing backdrop.

As he approached the shoreline, he realized he wasn’t alone. Blair was there, her silhouette bathed in the moonlight, a vision that made his heart leap into his throat and his palms sweat. He wiped them on his pants, taking a deep, steadying breath as he tried to compose himself.

This was it. It was now or never.

He could have stayed in that room, slowly withering away, becoming Bart Bass. And he would have hated himself for it. But he hadn’t. He was here, standing just a few steps away from her, the girl who had captured his heart in ways he could never fully articulate.

Leaving the darkness that had always protected him, he sat down beside her.

#gossip girl #gossip girl fanfiction #chuck x blair #chuck bass #blair waldorf #chair #chair fanfiction #chuck x blair fanfiction #fics #*#had to borrow the summary from one of my readers #avellana you're the absolute best ily

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swimmpantyz · 7 months

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UPPER EAST SIDE (pt 1/2)

fuckboy!gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: You and your boyfriend were on a thin line. Your break-up was inevitable... After a short-tempered discussion everything seemed to have come to an end. Luckily, your boyfriend's best friend was there to cheer you up. Even if he was a lot of trouble... He still knows how to have fun.

tw: alcohol use, cursing, eventual smut, & +

plot inspired in Blair and Chuck's relationship from Gossip Girl

Satoru's name was popping on your phone, and it was relieving.

You left your apartment, pacing around the elevator to finally meet him outside.

He was leaning against his car, a small smile on his face, you could see his blue eyes shine through his darl glasses.

Once you were right in front of him he looked at your sides.

"Where's Suguru at?" You sighed shortly at his words, eyes darting away.

Suguru and you were supposed hang out in the new place Satoru was planning to buy tonight.

"We broke up." His smile left his face, eyebrows raising and disappearing behind his white hair.

"What?" He asked confused, but you just shrugged, getting inside his car when he opened the door for you.

"What you heard, and no more chatting about it." He didn't say anything as he sat next to you.

"You really have good timing, huh." You sarcastically chuckled, getting one of the expensive bottles he left on the mini bar.

"I do... But tell me, I'm dying of curiosity." You rolled your eyes at his words, knowing what he was going to ask. And of course he was damn nosey. "You don't look surprised or hurt... I don't see any mascara staining your eyes for crying neither... Did you two really broke up?" He messed with you, you could see his smirk from the side.

"Oh, fuck you." He snorted at your words.

"At least buy me a drink first." You handed him a glass of some sweet fruit flavored liquor... Was it pineapple? yet, he couldn't hide his smile, taking a sip from it.

"Just get drunk, Gojo, so I can get drunk too." And until you headed to the place, the alcohol kept coming and coming, to his disgrace.

The driver opened the door and Satoru help you out, a hand on yours and the other on your waist.

"I really need this." You said, standing in front of the club, sighing softly, a small smile on your face."No better place to escape, right?" Satoru followed you from behind.

"It's like my personal Las Vegas." He joked. "Feel free to get loose, no judgment, what happens here, stays here." You looked back at him, your eyebrows raising and a soft smile increasing unconsciously.

"Well look at you, marketing manager, it has franchise potential." You stopped on the entrance, turning around and looking up at him. "All those years of underage boozing and womanizing have finally paid off... Truly, I'm proud." He smiled brightly at your words, taking your hand again as if he was a gentleman to lead you inside.

"That's why I showed you first this place." He whispered close to your ear as the people gathered around you to get inside the expensive club. He knew you would like the place. And he knew you would support him.

"So tonight's it's really a victory's party, huh? you're truly gonna seal it?" He didn't say anything and just winked at you. You let out an amused short laugh as he pulled you by your hand to get easily inside, being the new owner had it's advantages.

You walked side by side, your bodies almost glued to each other... It was just like the last time he got you there, the only difference was all the people inside and outside.

The theme of the club was inspired in the old brothels, a lot of lingerie and classy furniture made it look expensive.

Satoru's reserved place was a small short table with silk arm chairs in the middle of the club, ten feet in front of the little scenery.

All the women were dancing and moving around as you two sat in the same couch, a champagne glass on your hand.

You were watching the show in front of you, your mood much better than minutes before meeting Satoru.

But of course, he and his big mouth had to ruin it.

He was leaning on the couch, playing with his glass while slightly looking at you. He was more serious.

"... I know you don't wanna talk about it but-" You interrupted him abruptly.

"Relief... I feel relief." He nodded in silence, taking small sips of his drink.

Your eyes followed the women in front of you, a smile once again on your face.

"You know... I got moves too." Satoru almost chuckled, getting closer to you by just inches.

"Really?" He said incredulously, tease on his voice. "Why don't you show me then?" You looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Show you?" He nodded, leaning back on the couch again, pointing at the scenery.

"Go up there." You looked to the front, leaning back just as he did.

"I'm just saying I got moves." He chuckled, one of his arms going behind your shoulders.

"Come on, you surely move better than any women here." He encouraged you. "You're ten times hotter too." You huffed softly, drinking another glass of champagne the bartender just gave you.

"Gojo Satoru, I know what you're doing." You warned him with a smile. Until you realized the reason of his words. "Wait... You actually don't believe I'll do it." Satoru shrugged, not hiding his smirk.

"I know you won't." He said as if it was an obvious fact. You let out an unbelievable little gasp, your mouth open in fake hurt.

You smiled as you got up, leaving your glass on his free hand.

"Hold my drink." He looked up at you in confusion, his smile coming back upon realising that you were, actually, going to do it.

He sat more straight, crossing his legs while staring as you moved.

Maybe it was the alcohol mixed with your spite, but you didn't care at all when you got in with all the other girls.

Little by little you started to take your clothes off, starting with your small coat.

Satoru stood up from the couch, getting closer slowly, you stared only at him, and and he stared only at you.

Your face had a bright smile, and he was speechless, the sound of cheering and loud music only encouraged you more.

You couldn't even hear your heels clicking against the floor.

Your hands roamed around your body, playing with your dress and your hair... Moving your hips slowly and softly.

Finally you started to unzip it... And thank god you had your short satine and lace night robe below your dress, it wasn't really different from the lingerie the other women had.

And the heat of the room could have been because of all the people pressed against each other or because Satoru's gaze was burning every inch of your skin.

You turned around, moving your hair and looking back with the softest eyes you could make, batting your eyelashes innocently as you started to unbutton your robe, playing with the little lace from the shoulders.

All you could do was keep moving and stare at Satoru, until he couldn't stop smiling dumbly at you.

mueheheheh

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