The game starts with harmless jokes, but quickly shifts to focus on you and Harry as the tweets call out your intense on-camera chemistry and mutual attraction.
MATERIALIST
The moment the production team announced that the next promotional video would involve reading thirst tweets, the cast divided instantly: half looked delighted, and the other half looked terrified.
You fell firmly into the second category. Unfortunately, Harry fell into the first.
"It's going to be funny," he insisted while you both waited to be called onto the set.
"It's going to be a disaster."
"Same thing."
The confidence disappeared about twenty minutes later. The format was simple enough: everyone sat in a semicircle, took turns pulling tweets from a bowl, and read them aloud.
The first few rounds went exactly as planned. Tom pulled out a tweet declaring that a particular character “Alicent had absolutely no business looking that attractive while committing treason," prompting the entire room to dissolve into laughter. Another read one comparing dragons to oversized emotional support animals, while someone else had to fight through a tweet ranking every member of the cast purely on who looked best covered in fictional medieval dirt. The first few were harmless, but then it was your turn.
You unfolded the card and immediately covered your face. "No."
The room erupted. "Oh, it's bad." "Read it!" Phia laughed.
Slowly lowering the card, you cleared your throat. "The way Harry looks at y/n in interviews makes me feel like I'm interrupting something private."
As the room exploded with laughter, you pointed accusingly at the producers. "You're encouraging them."
"We're documenting them," a producer called out.
"That's so much worse."
Harry was laughing so hard he nearly dropped his microphone. The next tweet you drew wasn't much better: "'Every time they sit next to each other during interviews, I feel like a Victorian parent accidentally walking in on courtship.'" Phia actually slid out of her chair laughing at the specificity.
Unfortunately, Harry's turn arrived immediately afterward. He unfolded his card, read the first line, and sighed. "Oh, come on. I'm not reading this."
"You absolutely are!" the cast shouted. Tom was the one who was enjoying this the most.
He glanced at you before finally giving up. "'I don't ship them anymore, shipping implies uncertainty and at this point I just feel like I'm waiting for an announcement.'"
The room lost its mind. Tom stood up, yelling, "They've promoted themselves from a ship to an administrative process, an applause please" You laughed despite yourself, while Harry looked equally horrified and amused.
"Read another one," someone demanded, shoving a fresh card into Harry's hand.
Harry unfolded it and immediately regretted it. Looking toward the ceiling as if searching for divine intervention, he finally read it aloud: "'If my crush looked at me the way Harry looks at her, I'd fold faster than a lawn chair.'"
The reaction was instant, with several cast members collapsing into giggles. "See? That's what I've been saying!" Ewan pointed dramatically between the two of you.
"I don't even know what that means," Harry muttered, still staring at the tweet.
"Yes, you do"
Then came the tweet that doomed the entire video. You picked up your next card, expecting another joke, but your eyes widened. You looked at Harry, then back at the card, then back at Harry again.
"Oh no," a Beth whispered. "Oh yes" Tom replied.
You finally read it aloud. "'The real slow burn isn't their characters. It's whatever's happening in every interview where they spend ten minutes pretending they don't know they're obsessed with each other.'"
Silence. The entire room froze.
It wasn't because the tweet was inappropriate; it was because it felt accurate enough to make everyone uncomfortable. Ewan slowly lowered his drink, another looked deliberately away, and even the crew suddenly seemed unusually interested in their equipment.
You laughed first, mostly because the alternative was panicking. "Well."
Harry smiled, a small, quiet smile that somehow made the situation worse. "That's... specific."
The room immediately erupted again.
"HE DOESN'T DENY IT!"
"HE NEVER DENIED IT!"
"You're all impossible," you protested, pointing at the cast.
"And yet, we're not wrong."
The filming eventually ended, but that particular clip spread across social media within hours. Fans clipped the heavy silence, Harry's quiet smile, and the fact that neither of you had actually disagreed with the tweet. By the following morning, millions had watched the moment.
"The thirst tweets weren't the problem. The problem was that one accidentally turned into an observation."
I kind of want to do a series of different types of interviews like the lie detector, vogues`s questions, gq "ten things I can't live without... that stuff but with the hotd actors, would that be great??
ᝰ.ᐟ studying anatomy is hard, but lucky you, your boyfriend satoru is jacked
the textbook was a weapon, and it was currently winning.
you stared blankly at a diagram of a human torso, the labels blurring into a dizzying soup of latin words. your upper body anatomy quiz was tomorrow morning, and true to form, you were cramming the night before. you hadn't even been at it for an hour, but your brain was already completely fried.
"okay, wait," you muttered to yourself, rubbing your temples. "does the bicep sit higher than the tricep? or is the tricep on top? no that's… wait, where is the brachialis again?"
it was hopeless. you'd look at a muscle, repeat its name five times, look away, and immediately erase it from your memory. with a dramatic groan, you collapsed backward onto your bed, letting the heavy textbook rest precariously on your stomach. you were officially doomed.
the mattress dipped.
a flash of white hair entered your peripheral vision as satoru crawled onto the bed, shifting smoothly until he was hovering over you like a giant, ridiculously attractive cat.
"look at you, absolutely suffering," satoru teased, a sharp, playful grin tugging at his lips. "i can practically hear your brain short-circuiting from over here, babe."
you opened your eyes to glare at him, but the retort died in your throat. because, of course, satoru had decided to wear that shirt tonight. it was a long-sleeved, black compression top that clung to every single line of his frame, highlighting a ridiculously broad chest and sculpted shoulders.
he was just a criminally handsome guy who clearly spent way too much time at the gym. it was completely unfair how he could look that good just from lifting weights while you were drowning in textbooks.
"go away," you wheezed, weakly lifting a hand to push at his face. "you’re a distraction. a highly illegal distraction."
"me? a distraction?" satoru gasped in mock offense. he shifted his weight, dropping down to lie on his stomach next to you. he propped his chin up with his hands, a movement that caused the fabric of his shirt to tauten over the heavy definition of his upper back and shoulders.
your eyes tracked the movement. you blinked once. twice.
wait.
you looked from the textbook diagram of the deltoids and pectorals, then right back to satoru’s very real, very defined body. a sudden, brilliant spark of desperation ignited in your fried brain.
"toru," you said, your tone suddenly dead serious. "take your shirt off."
satoru froze, his smirk faltering into a look of genuine, rare bewilderment. his beautiful blue eyes blinked in confusion. "wh—now? i mean, i love the enthusiasm, babe, but i thought you were failing a class?"
"just do it. for science. for my gpa."
muttering something about how you were terrifying when stressed, satoru crossed his arms and pulled the compression shirt over his head, tossing it onto the floor. he sat cross-legged on the bed, presenting a perfect, shirtless canvas of lean muscle.
"alright, i'm naked—well, half-naked. what's the plan, professor?"
you didn’t answer. instead, you lunged off the bed, grabbed a neon green washable expo marker from your desk, and crawled back over to him with a manic look in your eye.
satoru eyed the marker warily. "uh, what is that for?"
"hold still," you commanded, uncapping the marker with your teeth.
you leaned in close, your left hand resting gently on his shoulder for balance while your right hand brought the marker to his skin. satoru tensed for a fraction of a second at the cool, damp touch of the felt tip, but quickly relaxed, watching you with an amused, fond expression as you began to draw.
"okay," you murmured, tracing a neat box right over his chest. "these are the pectoralis major. big chest muscles. easy." you wrote pec major in bold green letters right across his right pectoral.
"wow, using my body as a cheat sheet. i feel objectified. do it more," satoru chuckled, his chest vibrating under your hand.
"shh! i'm concentrating," you chided, moving your marker up to his shoulder. you traced the rounded muscle cap. "deltoid. anterior, lateral, posterior. it's like a shoulder pad." you carefully scribbled deltoid on his shoulder, giving it a little pat.
"and what about these?" satoru asked, flexing his arm slightly, a proud grin on his face.
you stared at his arm, the marker hovering. "ah! the age-old question. bicep is on the front, tricep is on the back. bicep pulls the arm in, tricep extends it." to cement it in your memory, you drew a giant arrow on his inner arm pointing up labeled bicep, and a matching one on the back labeled tricep.
for the next thirty minutes, satoru’s bedroom turned into a live-action, neon-green anatomy lab. you moved around him like a mad scientist, labeling his serratus anterior (the "rib muscles," as you initially called them), his trapezius, and even trying to map out his abs, though you kept getting distracted because his stomach kept twitching from being tickled by the marker.
"stop laughing, toru, i'm trying to find your external obliques!"
"i can't help it! your hands are cold and that marker is tickling the life out of me!" he gasped, squirming away from the green tip.
finally, you stepped back to admire your handiwork. satoru was covered from the waist up in bright green boxes, arrows, and messy anatomical terms. he looked absolutely ridiculous, completely contrasting his runway-model face.
satoru looked down at himself, then glanced in the vanity mirror across the room. he burst out laughing. "i look like a radioactive paint-by-numbers project."
"you look like an a-plus," you corrected proudly, capping the marker. "i actually remember them now. visual learning is a powerful tool."
satoru smiled, leaning forward and wrapping his green-labeled arms around your waist to pull you into his lap. "glad i could be of service to your education. but you know this stuff washes off, right? what are you going to do during the actual quiz tomorrow when you can't look at my chest?"
you hummed, resting your hands against his (now labeled) pectorals. "i'll just close my eyes and visualize my very hot, very heavily graffitied boyfriend."
"perfect," satoru beamed, kissing your forehead. "but if you get a hundred, you owe me a real date. one where you don't use me as school supplies."
‧₊ higuruma coming home early to his girlfriend studying
your boyfriend was a lawyer, and most lawyers like him, didn’t believe in leaving the office before dark. you gotten used to making dinner for the both of you, just to end up putting his plate in the fridge.
so when the front door opened just after 7pm, you immediately looked up from your notes.
“…what are you doing here?”
he loosened his tie as he stepped inside, a tired smile finding its way onto his face the moment he saw you. “I live here, need I remind you?”
“you do,” you said, still blinking in disbelief, “but you’re never home before ten.”
“i know.”
he slipped off his shoes and walked further into the apartment, his briefcase hanging loosely from one hand. “I finished early.”
you narrowed eyes at him suspiciously. “did you get fired? lost a case?”
a laugh escaped him. “no.”
“then why are you home early?”
he slipped his watch off and placed it on the counter, along with his briefcase, before looking back at you.
“I spend enough of my life arguing with strangers.”
his smile softened. “I figured I’d rather spend tonight with the person who gives me peace.”
his words caught you off guard. you smiled to yourself. “I didn’t know lawyers can be sweet.”
“we’re not.”
“no?”
“no.” he slipped off his jacket, draping it neatly over the back of a chair before walking to where you were seated. “we’re just very good at knowing what we want.”
“and what do you want?”
his gaze drifted to you, seated cross-legged at the dining table, highlighters scattered across pages of handwritten notes.
he smiled. “this.”
you looked down at the chaos spread across the dining table before looking back at him, unable to hide your laugh.
“my colour-coded notes?”
“no.” his voice was quieter now. “you.”
he took a slow step toward you, his tie still hanging loose around his neck, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled just enough to reveal his forearms.
“I spend all day surrounded by case files, deadlines, and people trying to prove each other wrong.” his eyes softened. “then I come home…”
his fingertips gently lifted your chin until you were looking at him.
“…and I find you here, studying just as hard as I do.”
a smile tugged at your lips. “you make me sound impressive.”
“you are.”
before you could tease him again, he leaned down and kissed you.
one hand came to rest gently against the side of your neck while the other reached up to your face, his thumb brushing lightly along your cheek. his fingers hooked around the arm of your glasses, carefully sliding them off before setting them on the table beside your open textbook.
“didn’t want these getting in the way,” he murmured, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
you laughed softly, but it barely escaped your lips before he kissed you again. his lips were warm, carrying the faint bittersweet taste of the coffee he’d been drinking earlier. without thinking, your hands found their way into his hair, your fingers threading gently through the soft strands at the nape of his neck.
he smiled against your lips, his hand settling a little more securely at your waist as though he’d been waiting all day to hold you like this.
when the kiss finally broke, neither of you moved very far.
he rested his forehead against yours, a slow smile tugging at his lips.
“I’m starting to think coming home early was the best decision I’ve made all week.”
"Can I get another bottle?" I mumbled, barely lifting my head from the cool wooden bar. The chilled surface pressed against my forehead, but it did nothing to dull the pounding in my skull. The headache had settled in sometime yesterday, or maybe the day before. I'd lost track. Time had become meaningless the moment she handed me those divorce papers.
For the past two days, this bar had become my home. I'd come when it opened and stayed until closing, only leaving long enough to stumble somewhere to sleep before coming right back. Alcohol had consumed my life.
Not that there was much of a life left to consume.
I'd watched everything I loved slip through my fingers without fighting hard enough to stop it. My marriage. My home. Her.
It was my fault.
I deserved every second of this.
The bartender slid another bottle of sake in front of me with a sympathetic smile before hurrying off to help someone else. A clean shot glass sat beside it, untouched. I hadn't used it once tonight. Or any night. I twisted the cap off and tipped the bottle straight to my lips. The sake burned going down, but I barely tasted it anymore. It might as well have been water.
"You need to go home."
I didn't have to look up to know who it was.
Nanami.
I'd spent the last two days avoiding him. Avoiding everyone. Funny how fast news spreads. One mistake, one affair, and suddenly everyone looked at you like the villain. Maybe they weren't wrong.
I let out a humorless laugh and took another drink. "What home?"
The words came out slurred, but the bitterness behind them was painfully clear. "My home is in another man's house."
Nanami pulled out the stool beside me and sat down without asking. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then he sighed. "I know you're hurting," he said quietly. "But sitting here and drinking yourself into the ground isn't going to fix anything."
I stared at the bottle in my hands, slowly turning it between my fingers. "I tried to fix it." The words felt hollow. "She gave me every chance to fix it, and I still couldn't."
I swallowed hard before forcing another drink down. "It's better this way." My voice cracked despite my best effort to keep it steady. "She deserves to move on... to find someone who'll love her the way I was supposed to."
Nanami's jaw tightened. "Then why are you both miserable?"
I laughed, but there wasn't an ounce of humor in it. "Because of me." The words came out barely above a whisper.
"I fucking cheated, Nanami."
Silence settled between us.
"I did this." I gripped the bottle until my knuckles turned white. "I destroyed the only good thing I've ever had... and now I have to live with it."
“Fine, you cheated, but don't throw your life away over it, Yuta. You're far too young to destroy yourself.”
“Are you suggesting I find someone else someday?” I asked, my voice catching in my throat as I fought back the tears threatening to spill over. My hand instinctively reached for the bottle again, taking another long drink before setting it down with a dull thud. “There isn't another woman in this world who could ever replace (Y/N). I'll never be happy again, and honestly, I deserve that.”
Nanami clasped his hands together, hesitating for a moment as though he couldn't quite find the words he wanted to say. “Yuta, I spoke with Satoru. He's on his way back, and he's not happy. Please, let me take you home before he gets here. It won't be pretty.”
I leaned back against the counter and closed my eyes, letting out a slow breath. Gojo-sensei was coming back. The last time he'd seen me, he'd driven his fist into my gut hard enough to nearly make me throw up my breakfast. He had never hit me before that, but I'd spent the last few weeks disappointing him at every turn. Nanami had undoubtedly told him I was wasting my days away in bars, drinking myself to sleep night after night. Now he was being forced to leave Osaka early, abandoning his mission just to deal with me. I already knew he was going to tear into me the moment he arrived.
“I'm taking my bottle,” I muttered, reaching for the glass bottle sitting on the counter.
Nanami pulled out some cash and handed it to the bartender. “It's on me. Don't worry about it. Just go Yuta..”
I threw my hands up in surrender. “See? I'm leaving. I'm going home.”
Only when I pushed myself to my feet did I realize how much I'd actually had to drink. My legs felt unsteady beneath me, and the room tilted ever so slightly as I stumbled toward the door and pushed it open. A moment later, I heard Nanami's footsteps following close behind.
“Do you need me to walk you home?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I've got it. I just want to be alone right now. I'll call you when I get there.”
“If you don't,” Nanami said, his voice firm despite the concern in his eyes, “I'll be the one kicking your ass.”
“Fine, fine, I will,” I said, heading in the opposite direction of Nanami.
The bottle hung loosely from my hand as I wandered through the streets, weaving past crowds of people laughing, chatting, and smiling beneath the glow of lanterns. A festival. How fitting. No matter how hard I tried, there was no escaping thoughts of (Y/N). She had loved festivals almost as much as she loved the steamed buns sold at every little stand.
A faint smile tugged at my lips despite the ache lodged deep in my chest. Even now, in the middle of heartbreak, every memory I had of her still managed to make me smile. I had never regretted anything more in my life than asking for a divorce, and my heart shattered all over again every time I allowed myself to think about it. There was nothing left for me to do. She would never forgive me in the way I wanted her to, and honestly, I couldn't blame her for that. I had ruined the best thing that had ever happened to me.
Still, a part of me wished for one more moment with her. One more chance to hold her in my arms, to hear her laugh, or even sway with her around the kitchen while music played softly in the background.
The bottle found my lips once more, and I took another drink despite the weakness creeping into my legs. It wouldn't have been the first time I woke up slumped against a tree because I'd gotten too drunk to make it home.
“Yuta? Is that you?”
I stopped in my tracks.
Immediately, disgust curled in my stomach.
Turning around, I found Maki standing a few feet away, staring at me with a mixture of surprise and concern.
“Get away from me,” I spat, my voice sharp with disgust. “I have nothing to say to you.”
I watched as she took a hesitant step toward me, desperation written all over her face.
“Please,” she pleaded softly, “just let me talk to you.”
She reached for my hand, but I pulled it away before she could touch me.
“Talk about what?” I asked coldly. “About how you fought my wife? Did you really think she wasn't going to tell me?”
Maki's eyes widened. “She hit me first.”
“Good,” I said without hesitation. “I hope it hurt.”
I turned to leave, but her voice stopped me.
“Yuta, I thought I meant something to you.”
I let out a bitter laugh and shook my head.
“You?” I scoffed. “Mean something to me? Maybe once upon a time, but you'll never replace (Y/N). There isn't another person in this world who could fill the hole she left behind.” My expression hardened as I looked back at her. “I never imagined our friendship would become something so ugly. I was married, Maki, and instead of respecting that, you preyed on my vulnerability when I was at my lowest.”
Her face fell, but I couldn't bring myself to care. Everything I had built, everything I had loved, had crumbled because I had allowed someone else to stand where only my wife belonged, and that was a mistake I would spend the rest of my life regretting.
“Yuta.”
“Stop saying my name!” I snapped, my voice cracking under the weight of everything I had been holding inside. “Stop. I hate you. I hate you so fucking much.”
My chest heaved as years of frustration, guilt, and regret finally spilled over.
“I've never wanted to hit someone so badly in my life,” I admitted bitterly. “You helped me destroy my marriage, and instead of being a real friend, like Panda, you wanted it to fail. You saw me falling apart, and rather than pulling me back, you let me keep sinking.”
I laughed harshly, though there was no humor in it. “Fuck you, Maki. I don't want anything to do with you anymore.”
The words that followed escaped before I could stop them, fueled by alcohol, heartbreak, and anger that had nowhere else to go.
“Mai should've never died; it should've been you.” My voice trembled. “She was never the cruel one. She had a heart, and somewhere along the way, you lost yours and decided never to use it again.”
Maki's eyes widened, tears gathering almost instantly before spilling down her cheeks. Her head lowered, shoulders trembling as quiet sobs escaped her.
For a moment, I simply stared at her, feeling nothing but bitterness settle heavily in my chest.
“Here,” I said coldly, shoving the bottle into her hands. “You might want to use this to cope.”
My grip lingered on the glass for only a second before I let go completely.
“It's what I've been doing,” I added bitterly. “Maybe it'll work for you too.”
The readers POV
“(Y/N)?”
You heard your name from the other side of the door, followed by a few gentle knocks. You pulled your tear-stained pillow closer to your chest, clutching it tightly as another wave of exhaustion washed over you. It had been three days since Yuta had asked for a divorce, and those three days had felt like an endless cycle of grief, anger, and disbelief.
“(Y/N), I'm coming in.”
Megumi's voice carried through the room before the door creaked open. He peeked inside first, making sure you were there, then stepped fully into the bedroom and quietly shut the door behind him.
“Talk to me,” he said softly as he approached the bed. “You've been locked in this room for three days.”
You swallowed hard and stared down at the blanket gathered in your lap.
“I'm sad,” you admitted.
The confession felt strange leaving your lips. Sadness should have been the last thing you were feeling.
Megumi sat down beside you, his expression gentle and understanding. “You have every right to be sad, (Y/N),” he said. “Divorce is heavy, especially when it happens like this.”
“He cheated,” you said bitterly. “I shouldn't be sad. I should be relieved. I should be happy that I'm divorcing a loser.”
Megumi let out a quiet sigh and leaned back slightly.
“Yeah, he cheated,” he said carefully. “But he was also your husband. Before everything fell apart, before things became ugly, there were good moments too. There were years of memories, love, and a life the two of you built together. Losing that doesn't just disappear because someone made a terrible mistake.”
He glanced over at you, his voice growing even softer. “You're not mourning the man he is now. You're mourning the man you thought he was, and the future you thought you'd have with him.”
You slowly sat up, crossing your legs beneath you as you wiped at your damp cheeks. “How are you this good with words?” you asked, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Everything you say just makes me feel... validated. Yuta was never very good at this kind of stuff.”
Megumi shrugged, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. “I had an older sister who was emotional all the time,” he said. “I guess that's where I learned.”
A soft laugh escaped you as you looked down at your hands, feeling some of the heaviness in your chest ease for the first time in days. Before you could retreat back into your thoughts, Megumi reached forward and gently took your hands in his, drawing your attention back to him.
“Let me take you out,” he said. “Get some fresh air, maybe grab something to eat.”
“I—”
“Don't argue with me,” he interrupted, though his tone was warm rather than stern. “Get dressed and meet me in the front yard.”
You let out a quiet sigh, but there wasn't much fight left in you anymore. Lately, it felt like your entire life had become one long argument—arguments with Yuta, arguments with yourself, arguments with the reality you were still trying to accept.
“Okay,” you finally said.
Megumi nodded, satisfied with your answer, before standing up and making his way toward the door. Once he disappeared into the hallway and you heard the door click shut behind him, you allowed yourself a moment to breathe.
For the first time in three days, you felt something other than grief.
Maybe a little fresh air wouldn't hurt.
“Ready?”
You made your way down the gravel path, spotting Megumi waiting beside the car with a folded blanket tucked beneath one arm and his keys dangling from the other hand.
You raised an eyebrow as you approached. “What’s this? Are you planning on taking me on a picnic?”
Megumi shrugged casually. “There's a festival in town today. I figured we could sit in the park for a while and people-watch.”
A genuine laugh escaped you, one that felt unfamiliar after days spent crying in your room. “People-watch?” you repeated, grinning. “You want to people-watch?”
Megumi rubbed the back of his neck, looking mildly embarrassed.
“No,” he admitted. “But I know you and Itadori like doing it, so I figured I'd fill in for him. Just for today.”
You smiled softly as you walked around to the passenger side and pulled the door open. “Wow,” you teased, settling into your seat. “Maybe I need to be heartbroken more often. I kind of like this softer side of Megumi.”
Megumi climbed into the driver's seat and buckled his seatbelt before glancing over at you. “Let's not make a habit out of being heartbroken,” he said dryly. “It's way too depressing.”
You scoffed dramatically. “Excuse me? Are you calling me depressing?”
“Yeah,” he said with a small laugh, starting the car. “At this rate, I think I might start crying next.”
You leaned over and smacked his arm. “You ass.”
For the first time in days, the sound of your own laughter didn't feel forced, and as Megumi rolled his eyes while trying, and failing, not to smile, you realized how badly you had needed this moment.
You spent the rest of the afternoon wandering through the festival with Megumi, eventually finding a quiet spot in the park to settle down. He had returned with steamed buns in hand while you carried two cups of freshly brewed tea, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you found yourself laughing without forcing it.
The entire day had been filled with lighthearted teasing, playful banter, and easy conversations. It was strange how natural it all felt, especially after spending the last three days locked away in your room, drowning in grief. Yet here you were, smiling until your cheeks hurt and laughing at Megumi's dry remarks as though your heart hadn't been shattered just days ago.
The festival itself was beautiful. Lanterns illuminated the pathways, music drifted through the evening air, and the scent of food from nearby stalls lingered around every corner. It was everything you could have asked for and more, and the best part was that the day still wasn't over. The fireworks show was set to begin soon.
“I think we found the perfect spot for the fireworks,” Megumi said as he leaned back on his hands, stretching his legs out in front of him.
You smiled, glancing around at the open view of the night sky above. “Yeah, you picked a perfect spot.”
“It was the only spot available,” he replied matter-of-factly.
You groaned and rolled your eyes, though the comment only made you smile wider. Megumi could be such a hardass, but moments like these reminded you that beneath his blunt demeanor was someone incredibly thoughtful, someone who cared deeply even if he wasn't always the best at showing it.
Megumi patted the blanket beside him. “You better sit down,” he said. “The fireworks are going to start any second now.”
You stuffed the steamed bun wrapper into your bag before moving closer and settling down beside him. Pulling your knees up to your chest, you tilted your head back toward the sky, quietly waiting for the show to begin, unaware that this simple moment would become one of the few memories from this painful chapter of your life that you would look back on fondly.
The night sky soon exploded with brilliant bursts of color, illuminating the darkness with shades of red, gold, blue, and violet. You watched in quiet awe as the fireworks bloomed overhead, each one more beautiful than the last.
Without thinking, you leaned back slightly, your shoulder brushing against Megumi's arm. The contact was innocent at first, but instinctively, his arm slipped around your waist, gently pulling you closer until the space between you disappeared entirely.
Your breath caught for a moment.
Yet, instead of pulling away, you allowed yourself to relax against him, your head eventually resting on his shoulder as the two of you sat together beneath the dazzling display.
For a while, neither of you spoke. The only sounds were the distant cheers of the crowd and the crackling echoes of fireworks bursting across the sky.
“Is this okay for friends?” you asked quietly, your voice barely rising above the noise around you.
Megumi remained silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on the sky before he finally answered.
“I don't think so,” he admitted softly.
You lifted your head slightly to look at him, surprised by the honesty in his voice.
Another firework exploded overhead, bathing his features in warm light, and for the first time all evening, the air between you felt different, heavier, quieter, filled with something neither of you had been ready to acknowledge until now.
︵ ೀ mdni. satoru finds your secret sketchbook full of him and in a haste to explain yourself, he offers to be the nude model for your assignment ( artist!reader x sports!satoru / college au / wc 5.8 k )
︵ ೀ series. part one / part two
you've been doing really well, actually. two whole days of successfully avoiding him—not that you're avoiding him, obviously, that would be childish, you've just been taking very specific routes across campus that happen to not cross paths with anywhere he usually is. completely different thing.
so of course, the one time you let your guard down, the one morning you actually allow yourself to sit in the cafeteria like a normal person with your coffee and your sketchbook open to a completely innocent, satoru-free page, you feel the chair across from you scrape back.
you look up.
he drops his tray down and folds himself into the seat like he owns it, which, to be fair, he kind of acts like he owns every seat he sits in. he's in his practice clothes, hair pushed back, looking annoyingly good and unbothered for someone who absolutely should be at least a little embarrassed about that night.
"hey," he says, like it's nothing. like it's any other monday morning and you definitely didn't spend the entire weekend hunched over your desk shading every line of his naked body onto paper, painstakingly getting the light right across his shoulders, his stomach, his cock—
"cool if i sit here?"
"you're already sitting," you say.
"true." he picks up his fork, glancing down at your sketchbook. "how'd the drawing turn out."
"it turned out good," you say, wrapping both hands around your coffee cup. "handed it in this morning actually."
"yeah? what did he say?"
"she," you correct automatically. "professor lee. and she—" you pause, because this is the part you've been equal parts dreading and wanting to tell someone since it happened an hour ago, "she really liked it. said the proportions were the best in the class. said it looked like i actually knew my subject."
satoru grins at that. "obviously."
"don't let it go to your head."
"too late." he steals a piece of fruit off the edge of your tray without asking, which is so aggressively normal and familiar that some of the tension in your shoulders loosens without you meaning it to. "so she liked it. that's good. you were stressed about it."
"and then," you say, because apparently you are going to tell him the whole thing whether you planned to or not, "she asked me who the model was."
satoru raises an eyebrow.
"and i said a friend. and she looked at it for a second and then she was like—" you cover your face briefly, "—'is this gojo satoru? from the athletics team? i've seen him play.'"
satoru puts his fork down. "your professor knows who i am."
"apparently she goes to the home games."
he leans back in his chair with the most insufferably delighted expression you have ever seen on another human being. "so your professor has seen me play and my dick."
"she hasn't seen your—it's a drawing."
"of my dick."
"of your—it's art. it's an anatomy study."
"still my dick though."
"satoru, oh my god, keep your voice down." you glance around the cafeteria, mortified. "it's fine art. there's a difference."
"what's her name."
"no."
"i just want to introduce myself properly. we've already been through something together, it feels rude not to—"
"you are not tracking down my professor."
"i could come to class."
"absolutely not."
"i'm serious, i could be a guest model." he's fully grinning now, leaning forward on his elbows like this is the best idea he's ever had. "your whole class would benefit. very educational."
"you are not coming to my anatomy class."
"why not? i'm clearly qualified. i have references." he nods toward your bag, where your sketchbook is poking out. "got a whole portfolio of evidence right there."
"those are my sketches, not your references."
"same thing." he steals another piece of fruit off your tray, completely unbothered. "so she gave you a good grade at least? after everything i sacrificed for your education?"
"i don't know yet. she has to grade them all first."
"god," he mutters, "why do they always take so long with that."
it's not really a question, so you don't answer it. you just watch him pop another grape into his mouth, and then he's quiet, and then you're both quiet, and that's worse, actually, because silence means your brain immediately fills it with everything you've been successfully not thinking about since friday—
his dorm room, the towel, the chair, then the way he had touched himself, his hand wrapping around his cock, stroking slow at first then faster, the wet sounds. the way he had looked at you and said that he likes you to watch, like he wanted you to see every stroke, every twitch, every drop of precum—
"you're turning red," he says.
you look up. he's watching you over the rim of his water bottle, completely calm, one eyebrow slightly raised.
"i'm not."
"you are." he sets the bottle down. "what are you thinking about."
"nothing."
"uh huh." the corner of his mouth pulls up, just slightly. "nothing that happened friday, or."
"i actually have to go," you say, already reaching for your bag, sketchbook shoved in first, coffee cup grabbed second.
"we should probably talk about friday," he says, easy as anything, like he's suggesting you discuss the weather.
your bag nearly slides off the table. "i'm good, actually."
"you're good."
"yeah." you stand up, pulling your coat off the back of the chair. "totally fine. nothing to talk about."
"i feel like there's a little something to talk about."
"nope." you're already backing away from the table. "i have class."
"you have forty minutes until—"
"lots of things to do before class. very busy. full schedule." you point vaguely in a direction, any direction. "i'll see you around." you turn around before he can see how red your face has gone, already speed-walking toward the exit your coat not even properly on yet.
"we're gonna have to talk about it eventually," he calls after you, loud enough that two people at the next table look up.
you pretend very hard that you didn't hear that.
︵︵︵ ๑ ♡ ๑ ︵︵︵
it's thursday afternoon when professor lee hands back the assignments, moving through the rows with a small stack of papers tucked under her arm. you're barely breathing by the time she stops at yours. she sets it down in front of you, face up.
A, circled in red pen. and underneath it, in her small, neat handwriting:
best in class. exceptional sensitivity to form and proportion. the familiarity with the subject is evident. it elevates the entire piece.
you stare at it for a second too long.
"i mean it," professor lee says, pausing at your station instead of moving on, which she doesn't usually do. "this is genuinely impressive work. the best figure study i've seen from this class in a few semesters."
"thank you," you manage, still a little stunned.
she tilts her head, glancing at the drawing one more time. "your model—a friend, you said?"
"yeah. just a friend."
"he's clearly very comfortable in his own skin." she says it so matter-of-factly, so professionally, that you almost don't register it. "do you think he'd ever be willing to come in? to pose for the whole class? we're always looking for new models and frankly, he has exactly the kind of build we look for."
you blink at her. "i'm sorry?"
"as a paid model, of course. it's a standard arrangement." she's already moving on to the next student, completely unbreezy about the bombshell she's just dropped. "just think about it. ask him if he's interested."
you sit there for a full minute after she moves away, staring at your a, thinking about how on earth you're supposed to look gojo satoru in the eye and ask him if he wants to get naked in front of your entire class.
you'd survived the sketchbook discovery. you'd survived the dorm room. you'd survived the hallway, and the door, and the sounds, and the cafeteria where you'd basically sprinted away from him like your shoes were on fire.
you had, very carefully and deliberately, been in the process of letting things go back to normal between you. or as close to normal as they could reasonably get given everything.
and now this.
asking him once had been mortifying enough. asking him to do it again, in front of twenty other people, with proper studio lighting and your entire class staring at him—all of him—for three hours straight... you'd rather fail the semester.
you decide, firmly and with great conviction, that you are not going to ask him.
︵︵︵ ๑ ♡ ๑ ︵︵︵
professor lee catches you on the way out of class the following tuesday.
"did you speak to your model?"
"i—not yet," you say, which is technically true. "i've been meaning to."
"no rush," she says, in a tone that suggests there is a little bit of rush. "i'm planning the spring model schedule and i'd love to lock it in. he'd be compensated well."
"right. yeah. i'll ask him."
you do not ask him.
by friday she stops you again on your way in, before class has even started, a scheduling sheet in her hand and a hopeful look on her face that makes your stomach sink straight to the floor.
"i don't want to keep pestering you," she says, in the way that people say things when they are absolutely going to keep pestering you. "but i showed his study to a colleague of mine and she was equally impressed. if he's open to it, we'd love to have him for at least two sessions."
"two sessions," you repeat faintly.
"the pay is quite good for a few hours of work." she smiles, warm and completely oblivious to the internal crisis happening right in front of her. "and i have to say—your work this semester has been good, but that piece was on a completely different level. there's something that happens when you draw someone you actually know. the confidence in your work, the attention to detail." she tilts her head, like she's genuinely thinking it through. "i think having him as a recurring subject could do a lot for your portfolio. potentially best of semester material, if you keep working at that level."
you stare at her. "best of semester."
"it's early to say," she adds, already heading toward the front of the room. "but i'd be lying if i said i wasn't thinking about it. just something to consider when you talk to him."
she says it so casually, like she hasn't just dangled your entire artistic future in front of you like a carrot on a stick and walked away.
"yeah," you hear yourself say, like someone else has taken over your mouth entirely. "yeah, i'll ask him." you walk to your seat, drop your bag, and sit down.
fine. you're going to have to ask him. however embarrassing, however awkward, however many new levels of humiliation this opens up between you—you are going to have to look gojo satoru in the eye and ask him to come and be naked in front of your entire class.
you pull out your sketchbook and stare blankly at a fresh page.
the things you do for a good grade.
︵︵︵ ๑ ♡ ๑ ︵︵︵
you find him coming out of the locker room just as training wraps up, which in hindsight you should have timed better. you'd figured you'd catch him on his way out, fully dressed, easy and normal, a quick conversation and then you'd be gone before either of you had time to be weird about it.
instead he pushes through the door with a towel around his waist and another one hanging around his neck that he's using to roughly dry his hair, still dripping, chest still damp, looking entirely too good.
my god, why—why is this a thing now? you went years without ever seeing this man like this. years. it wasn't even hard, it just didn't happen, and you were fine, you were completely fine. and then something changed like three weeks ago and now it's just—towels. constantly.
like the universe looked at your life and went, you know what this needs? more of him, wet, with very few layers on. thank you. very helpful. really appreciate that.
he spots you immediately, eyebrows lifting in surprise. "hey. what are you doing here?"
"i needed to talk to you about something." your eyes have already gone somewhere safe, like the floor, the wall, the water fountain twenty feet down the hall. "sorry, i didn't realize you'd still be—i can wait outside."
"why?" he pulls the towel off his neck, draping it over his shoulder, looking genuinely confused by your reaction. "you've already seen me naked."
"that was different."
"how."
"it just—it was for class, it was a whole—it was a different context, satoru."
"you literally drew my body for weeks without me knowing and now you can't look at me in a hallway." he tilts his head, amused. "make it make sense."
"it makes complete sense and you know it," you mutter, still not fully looking at him. "can you just—put a shirt on or something."
"i just got out of the shower."
"i'm aware."
"my shirt's in my bag."
"then get it out of your bag, satoru."
he laughs, but makes no move toward his bag whatsoever. just stands there, like he's genuinely enjoying watching you try to hold this conversation with the water fountain. "okay. what did you want to talk about."
you take a deep breath, eyes still fixed somewhere over his shoulder. "i need to ask you something and i need you to not make it weird."
"when do i ever make things weird."
"satoru."
"fine. ask."
"my professor asked me—" you stop, start again. "she really liked the drawing. like, a lot. best in class, apparently."
"obviously." he leans against the wall, arms crossing over his bare chest, completely unbothered. "and?"
"and she wants to know if you'd be willing to come in." you say it fast, the way you rip off a bandaid. "to pose. for the whole class. like, as a proper model. she'd pay you."
he stares at you for a second. "the whole class," he repeats.
"yeah."
"like, all of them. sitting there drawing me."
"that's—yes. that's what a class model is."
"naked."
"that's what a figure model is, yes."
he's quiet for a beat, which is somehow more nerve-wracking than if he'd immediately said something. then he tilts his head, studying you with that unreadable look he gets sometimes. "and you'd be there."
"i mean—it's my class, so yes, i'd—"
"so you'd be drawing me again."
"along with twenty other people, yes."
"hm." he looks almost entertained now, pushing off the wall. "and you ask this because—"
"professor lee said it could be best of semester for me," you mutter, hating how small it sounds out loud. "my portfolio. if i keep drawing you, apparently my work is on a different level and—"
"so you need me."
you close your eyes briefly. "yes. fine. i need you."
he's quiet for a second. "okay," he says finally.
you blink. "okay?"
"yeah." he shrugs, like it's nothing at all. "i'll do it."
"just like that?"
"just like that." he reaches back for the towel around his shoulder, giving his hair one last rough pass with it. "but i want something in return."
"what kind of something."
"a drawing."
"a drawing," you repeat slowly, waiting for the rest of it.
"yeah." he says it completely simply, like that's the whole sentence, like that explains anything at all.
"what kind of drawing."
"i'll let you know when the time comes." he's already turning back toward the locker room, clearly very pleased with the level of vagueness he's just gave you.
"satoru." you take a step after him. "what does that mean, you'll let me know when the time comes. you have to give me more than that."
"it's a drawing. you're an artist. not exactly a hardship." he glances back over his shoulder, smirking. "unless you're worried about what i'm going to ask for."
"i'm not worried."
"you look a little worried."
"i look normal. tell me what the drawing is."
"later." he pushes the locker room door open with one hand, completely unbothered, like he hasn't just left you standing in a hallway with the world's most open-ended agreement hanging over your head. "talk to your professor. set up the dates."
"satoru—"
the door swings shut behind him. you stand there for a second, staring at it.
what did you just agree to.
︵︵︵ ๑ ♡ ๑ ︵︵︵
the following days are, frankly, not great for your mental health.
it starts small—a passing thought while you're brushing your teeth sunday morning, a quick what did he mean by that before you shake it off and move on. fine. totally manageable.
by monday it's less manageable. you're sitting in your color theory lecture staring at a slide about complementary palettes but your brain is persistently thinking about it in the background like an app you forgot to close. a drawing. what kind of drawing. why wouldn't he just say what kind of drawing.
tuesday you're in the studio working on a still life and your roommate asks you three times why you keep stopping to stare at nothing and you say you're just thinking about composition which is technically not a lie.
wednesday is when it gets genuinely bad. you're lying on your bed at midnight, sketchbook resting on your stomach, pencil tapping against the page, going through the options in your head.
a portrait, maybe. something normal. that would be fine, that would be completely fine, you could do a portrait no problem. except satoru doesn't do anything without a reason and he definitely wouldn't have been that mysterious about a portrait. which brings you back to the other option sitting at the back of your mind that you keep trying to evict.
a nude.
another one. something he could actually keep this time, something personal, not a class assignment. a drawing he could—your brain unhelpfully supplies the image of him showing it to some girl, grinning, look what my friend drew me, isn't that insane—
you groan and pull your pillow over your face.
that's what it is, isn't it. he wants a proper one. something finished and framed and entirely too detailed that he can use as the world's most unhinged conversation starter with whoever he's currently interested in.
he'd basically said it himself, that night in his dorm. the most insane nude i could ever send to a girl, he'd said, grinning like the thought genuinely delighted him.
you'd laughed at the time. you're not laughing now.
or maybe this time he wants you to actually draw him pleasuring himself or something, his hand wrapped around that thick length, stroking himself the way he had that night while he looked at you and told you to stay and watch.
you wonder how that would go, would he stare at you the whole time, eyes dark and locked on yours while his hand moves on his cock? would he moan loudly, the low rough sounds filling the room the way they had that night? would he have to go a few rounds if you are not fast enough to finish the drawing the first time, his cock getting hard again and again while you try to capture every detail? does he take long to finish, or would he come quick and hard with you watching every twitch and every drop?
you would not survive this.
at least professor lee was happy when you told her. she'd practically lit up, already pulling out her scheduling sheet before you'd even finished the sentence, penciling satoru in for two sessions with the kind of excitement she usually reserved for particularly good student work. she'd called him a find, which was such a professor way to describe gojo satoru that you'd almost laughed.
it was the only good part of the whole week.
︵︵︵ ๑ ♡ ๑ ︵︵︵
the morning of the first session you get to the studio early, which you tell yourself is because you want a good spot near the window for the light and absolutely not because you need five minutes alone in the room before everyone else arrives to mentally prepare yourself.
your classmates filter in one by one, morning chatter filling the studio and the usual scrape of easels being adjusted and pencils being uncapped. normal. fine. you set up your station, clipped a fresh sheet to your board, told yourself this was just another class.
and then maya, who sits two easels down from you, glances at the model release sheet professor lee has left on the front table and does a very audible double take.
"wait." she picks it up, turning to the room. "is our model today gojo satoru?"
the energy in the room shifts immediately.
"the gojo satoru?" someone says from the back. "from the athletics team?"
"oh my god, i've seen him at the games." this from jess, who is already setting up her pencils. "he's like, genuinely unreal looking. i saw him at the spring championship and i thought i was going to pass out."
"same, he's so tall—"
"and his shoulders—"
"i heard he's like, built like actually insanely well—"
you are staring very hard at your blank page, pencil gripped too tight in your hand, willing yourself not to react to a single word of this.
"wonder what he looks like underneath all that," maya says, in that way that makes three people laugh and makes you want to fold yourself directly into your easel and never come out.
"i mean, we're about to find out," jess says.
"lucky us."
"lucky us is right."
you make a very small, very quiet noise into your sketchbook that no one hears, which is good, because you don't fully have a way to explain it.
professor lee chooses this moment to walk in, satoru a half step behind her, and the room goes just slightly electric in the way it does when someone walks in and everyone clocks them at once. he's in his regular clothes still—sweatpants and a loose shirt—looking completely unbothered by the sudden weight of twenty pairs of eyes, because of course he does, he's satoru, he was probably born unbothered.
his eyes find you immediately across the room. he grins. you look back at your paper.
"good morning everyone," professor lee says, setting her bag down. "as you can see, we have a new model joining us for the next two sessions. this is satoru. please make him feel welcome and remember our studio etiquette—professional environment, focused work."
"hi satoru," the class choruses, with significantly more warmth than you've ever heard directed at a model before, and a few of them are already giggling before they even finish saying it.
"hey," he says easily, lifting a hand, and you can hear the smile in it without even looking.
"oh he's even better up close," someone whispers, not quietly enough.
you close your eyes briefly.
i drew him, you think. i spent a friday night in his dorm room watching him stand there like that and i drew every single line of him and then worked on it for two days and i got an A and none of you will ever know that and i am going to take it to my grave.
so, there's nothing to worry about. you've already seen him naked, you remind yourself, very firmly, like a person who is totally fine. this is nothing new. this is just—a repeat viewing, basically. a familiar subject in a professional context. you have already seen everything there is to see, you have already drawn it, you are already ahead of everyone else in this room by approximately one very eventful friday night.
there is absolutely nothing to be worried about.
you are not going to survive this class.
professor lee gestures toward the changing area. "satoru, whenever you're ready."
"sure." he glances across the room one more time, finds you again, and there's something in his expression that's almost like he's checking in, just briefly, before he disappears behind the curtain.
you pick up your pencil.
you are so not going to survive this class.
and then the curtain moves, and satoru steps out. the room goes completely quiet.
not the polite, professional quiet of a figure drawing class but the stunned, collective, nobody-planned-to-stop-breathing quiet of twenty people registering something all at once and not quite having a response ready for it.
you keep your eyes on your sketchbook for exactly four seconds before you look up, because you're only human.
he's standing at the edge of the platform professor lee uses for her models, completely at ease, even though he's standing in front of a room full of art students in absolutely nothing at all. one hand resting loosely at his side, weight shifted onto one leg, like he's just waiting for someone to tell him where to stand.
"okay," maya breathes, from two easels down, in a tone that isn't really meant for anyone in particular.
someone's pencil rolls off their easel and hits the floor. nobody moves to pick it up.
professor lee, bless her, clears her throat. "alright. let's start with a few short gesture poses, two minutes each, before we move into the longer study. satoru, if you could—"
"yeah, wherever you need me." he steps up onto the platform, and the light from the studio windows catches him in a way that makes the whole thing feel almost unreasonably unfair, like the universe is just showing off now.
"oh my god," jess whispers, so quietly it barely counts as a sound.
you look back down at your paper.
you've seen this before, you remind yourself. you've seen all of this. you are calm. you are professional. you are an artist in a figure drawing class doing exactly what artists in figure drawing classes do. and he is not standing there enjoying every second of the effect he's having on this room, and you are not nervous about it.
you chance one more glance up at him.
he's already looking directly at you, the smallest smirk sitting at the corner of his mouth, like he knows exactly what every single person in this room is currently experiencing and finds it very funny.
you look back down so fast you nearly give yourself whiplash.
︵︵︵ ๑ ♡ ๑ ︵︵︵
the two minute gestures blur into longer poses, and the room settles into the kind of quiet that only really happens when everyone is actually invested in what they're drawing. except the investment in this particular class feels distinctly less academic than usual.
maya keeps exhaling these small, controlled breaths like she's actively regulating herself. someone in the back row has been erasing and redrawing the same line for the last ten minutes, which has nothing to do with the line being wrong and everything to do with needing an excuse to keep looking. jess fanned herself with her reference sheet at one point, caught professor lee's eye, and stopped.
and then there's the girl to your left. hana, who is usually one of the most technically precise people in the class, ruler-straight lines and perfect proportions. you glance over at her sketchbook once, casually, the way you sometimes do to check where everyone else is in the drawing.
she is on her fourth detailed study of satoru's... manhood.
fourth.
you look back at your own paper immediately, pressing your lips together very hard. professional environment, professor lee had said. focused work. you add a careful shadow along satoru's shoulder and say nothing.
the class continues, pose after pose, and the light shifts slightly as the morning progresses. you almost forget that satoru gojo, your longest friend, is standing right in front of you, naked. it's easier than friday night, somehow, with twenty other people in the room and professor lee moving quietly between easels. more structured. safer. except—
you look up to check the angle of his jaw for the third time and find him already looking at you yet again. you glance back down. look up again a minute later to check the line of his shoulder. still looking at you.
not at the room, not at the middle distance the way models usually do when they're holding a pose. at you, specifically. you drop your gaze back to your sketchbook. look up again two minutes later. still you.
you try, very subtly, to gesture with your eyes. a small, deliberate flick to the left, toward the window, toward literally anywhere else in the room that isn't directly at you. he blinks. stays exactly where he is, gaze not moving an inch.
you try again. a tiny tilt of your head. look somewhere else, you are sending him every possible telepathic signal you have, you are burning through your entire reserve of nonverbal communication, look at the wall, look at the window, look at maya, look at literally anything—
he almost smiles. doesn't move his eyes.
you widen yours slightly, a last desperate attempt.
he raises one eyebrow, barely perceptible, like he's asking what exactly you think you're doing.
"satoru." professor lee's voice cuts through the room, not looking up from the student drawing she's currently reviewing. "eyes forward please."
the class doesn't look up. you look down.
and from across the room, so quietly that you're almost sure you imagined it, you hear him exhale something that sounds very much like a laugh.
︵︵︵ ๑ ♡ ๑ ︵︵︵
you take longer than necessary packing up your things. unclipping your sheet from the easel slowly, sliding your pencils back into their case one by one, straightening the edge of your sketchbook even though it doesn't need straightening. around you the rest of the class files out, and they are not quiet about it.
"his shoulders," someone says, not even bothering to lower their voice, and a round of giggles breaks out near the door.
"did you see his—" jess starts.
"yes," two people say at once.
"does anyone have his number?" someone asks, completely serious, and the giggles tip over into full laughter that echoes down the hallway and slowly fades.
you stare very hard at your pencil case.
from behind the curtain comes the soft sounds of satoru getting dressed, and professor lee is tidying the platform, humming quietly to herself. then she pauses, glancing toward the curtain.
"satoru, i just want to say—you were wonderful today. very natural in front of the class. some models take weeks to settle into it."
"thanks." his voice comes through easy and relaxed. "wasn't so bad."
"the students responded really well. you have a real presence. it translates onto the page beautifully."
"good to know i'm useful for something other than sports."
professor lee laughs, soft and genuine, in a way you've genuinely never heard from her in a full semester. you hear her gather her things shortly after, the click of her bag, the soft tap of her shoes crossing the studio floor.
"see you both next week," she says warmly on her way out, and then she's gone, door swinging shut behind her, and the studio is suddenly very quiet.
you're still standing at your easel pretending to organize your pencils when the curtain shifts and satoru steps out, fully dressed, hair slightly disheveled from pulling his shirt on. he's looking down at his phone with an expression you can't quite read from here.
"hey," you say.
"hey." he holds his phone up, turning it slightly so you can see the screen without fully crossing the room. there's a new contact open. a name you recognize. "i think your professor just gave me her number."
"she did not."
"slipped it under the curtain on a little piece of paper." he sounds genuinely amazed, somewhere between flattered and delighted. "like an old school note. actual handwriting and everything."
"satoru, she's our professor—"
"she's your professor." he tucks his phone away, grinning now, fully pleased with himself. "i'm just the model."
"you cannot date our professor."
"why not? she's smart, she has good taste—" he gestures loosely at himself, "—clearly. i think we have a real connection."
"oh my god." you finally give up on pretending to organize your pencils, turning to face him fully. "i am not having this conversation."
"you're the one who brought me here. this is on you."
"i did not bring you here so you could get my professor's number—"
"technically you did though." he leans back against the nearest easel, arms crossing, way too comfortable with all of this. "you asked me to come. i came. connections were made. can't control chemistry."
"satoru—"
"relax." the grin shifts into something softer. he tilts his head, watching you with that quiet look again. "i'm messing with you."
"i know you're messing with me."
"do you? because you went pretty red pretty fast for someone who knew."
you open your mouth. close it.
he uncrosses his arms, pushing off the easel, and there's something different in the way he moves now, slower, more deliberate, like he's not in a hurry anymore. he closes the distance between you by one step, then another, until he's close enough that you have to tilt your head up slightly to look at him properly.
"don't worry. i'm not gonna call her." his hand comes up and he tucks a loose strand of hair back from your face, fingers barely grazing your cheek, the touch so brief and light you almost convince yourself it didn't happen. "there's already someone i like."
the studio goes very quiet.
you should say something. you are a person with a working mouth and a functional brain and you should say something.
"you don't want to ask who?" he says, and there's the ghost of a smile there, but it's softer than usual. less like he's winning something and more like he's nervous and trying not to show it.
you look up at him. "...who?"
he looks at you for a long second. his hand hasn't moved far, still hovering near your cheek, close enough that you can feel the warmth of it. and then he leans in, slow enough that you could step back if you wanted to, close enough that you can feel him before you can hear him, his lips just barely brushing the shell of your ear when he speaks.
"you," he says, quiet, just for you. "obviously."
he stays there for a moment, close, warm, not moving away yet. you're pretty sure you've forgotten how breathing works.
and then satoru backs up, easy and unhurried, like he didn't just say that, like the last thirty seconds didn't happen at all. he picks up his bag from the floor, slings it over his shoulder, and glances back at you on his way to the door. "see you next session," he says, and the smile is back.
the door clicks shut behind him.
you stand there in the empty studio for a very long moment.
"next session," you repeat, to no one.
note: please do not ask for updates or comment "next part?" or something like that. if there is an update, i will post it. ppl who continue to demand updates will be blocked.
i appreciate your comments and love hearing your thoughts on the story, but demands for updates make me anxious. have a good day everyone ♡
When you asked Xavier if he’d managed to deal with whatever threat he had been concerned with, he just shook his head. They hadn’t had the chance. Whoever they were looking for, or whatever they had expected to find, in its place were just wanderers waiting to be defeated.
Which lead you, once again, back to the question you’d been pondering for a while now.
Even if he had resolved this, whatever this was, there would always be something else. So, would you be okay if he shut you out like this every time?
Acting in your best interests to keep you safe was understandable to a certain extent. Lying or refusing to tell you what he was keeping you safe from, or why he was asking you to simply go along with it, was just… hard to ignore.
You could try though.
You wanted to stay with him as long as possible. Sharing meals, taking walks together, playing video games, falling asleep and waking up by his side, watering the plants, talking about the books you were reading and shows you were watching together…
There was only a finite number, so every moment was precious to you.
When a satellite has almost used up all it’s fuel or approaches the end of it’s lifespan, sometimes mission control will send it higher up into the atmosphere. It’s final place of rest is called a graveyard orbit. Still circling the earth, but higher up so as to prevent a collision or accumulation of space debris.
That’s what this felt like. Like you were using up the last of your propellant.
Like you were mission control slowly guiding this satellite to rest at graveyard orbit.
The curtains were drawn. Apart from the slivers of moonlight slipping through the cracks, it was dark and quiet. You were lying beside him searching for an answer. Would you be okay if he shut you out like this? The bedroom ceiling you’d been staring up at offers you nothing.
“Y/N.”
“Hmm?”
“What are you thinking about?”
“You.”
You shift, leaning over him now, taking in his peaceful expression and committing it to memory.
Sapphire eyes blinked open. “I’m right here,” he said, reaching for you. You went without resisting and ended up against his chest. When you inevitably fell asleep, it was to the beat of the heart you desperately wanted to but could never truly know.
In the meantime, you had one other subject occupying your mind. The invitation. The card Soren had given you was tucked safely in your phone case. Truthfully, you had no plans to leave the Association but… you were curious.
Carefully extracting the card, you ran your fingers over the smooth plastic edge. Flipping it over in your palm for perhaps the 100th time you examined it carefully as if some previously unseen piece of information would magically reveal itself. However, it was exactly as it had been every other time: there was no company name, no logo, no designs, just a stark white card with a number printed on it in navy blue.
You hadn’t taken the next step and called it just yet.
Captain Jenna called you straight back for work on Tuesday and between fighting wanderers and hanging out with Xavier you hadn’t found the moment to do so. Well, that was a lie. It really didn’t take too long to make a phone call but… there was something stopping you.
Maybe it was because it was a random business card given to you by a person you’d only met twice, and very briefly at that.
Or maybe it was because you didn’t intend on letting Xavier know about any of it. He probably wouldn’t be on board, right? He’d shut it down entirely. Anyway, if he had his secrets why couldn’t you? And this was just an inquiry about a job opportunity, it wasn’t anything life threatening, so there was nothing for him to worry about.
This is what you were thinking on a Friday, exactly a month after Soren had put that card in your hand, when your phone vibrated on your desk. Illuminated on the screen were the 10 digits that had been seared into your memory.
Well, you supposed that if fate had intervened, you might as well answer. Ducking into one of the Association’s private booth’s you took the call.
“Hello, is this Y/N L/N?”
“Yes, speaking.”
“I am calling on behalf of a newly established research institute to invite you to a tour of our facility. Is now a good time to talk?”
“I’m sorry, who am I speaking to?”
“Forgive me for my eagerness. My name’s Himari Sato. I believe Soren gave you our business card. It’s just that, he’s spoken so much about you! We’ve been eagerly anticipating your correspondence, but we thought perhaps you might have forgotten?”
“Oh, of course. This is about the employment opportunity he mentioned?”
“Exactly!” Her cheery voice reminded you of Tara’s.
“So, yes. We are an organisation with a mission to create advanced technology that can be utilised to combat wanderers. You will be briefed in more detail when you come down. Are there any questions you’d like to ask before we schedule a date and time?”
“I do have one request, it’s a bit unusual but I hope you’ll consider it.”
On Saturday Xavier was off on a mission with MC. And you were on your own mission.
You had been standing in front of a steel gate looking up at a nondescript warehouse for less than a minute before you heard the sound of footsteps approaching from behind.
“Look’s like it’s gonna rain.”
“Yeah.”
You looked to your right to see that Caleb had arrived, coming to a stop beside you. He was already grinning down on you. He had his arms crossed, leaning slightly on his right leg: copying your stance and waiting for you to notice.
“Glad you could make it.”
“Of course. I promised, didn't I?” He leant down and patted the top of your head.
“Good point,” you conceded, stepping back. You scowled at him, running your hands through your hair in attempt to smooth it back to it's original form.
Caleb leant down to whisper in your ear. “Still happy to follow my lead?”
“’Course. Go for it Colonel.”
You watched as a young woman stepped out from the building and began hurrying over to you.
“Hi, I’m so glad you’re here Miss Y/N!”
“Miss Sato.”
She grasped your hand and shook it eagerly. “Oh please, call me Himari.”
“Of course. Oh and thank you for being so accommodating.” You gestured to the right, “This is the friend I mentioned.”
“Colonel Xia of the Farspace Fleet.” He stepped towards her and bowed slightly. “But since it’s my day off, you can call me Caleb.” He smiled, in that effortlessly charming way of his, and extended his hand to her. “The Fleet’s always been interested in new technology, I’m keen to see what you have in store.”
Himari nodded, “Yes there seems to be much crossover in our interests.” She shrugged, “Or so I’m told.”
“Anyway, before we begin I have to grant you access to the building.” She pushed her sleeve up to reveal a wristband. “In lieu of cards, we have these.” She shook her wrist. “They're secure but can come on and off no problem. See!” It looked like a torque bangle, with a small opening so that the wearer could push their wrist through.
“Huh, that’s handy,” Caleb observed.
She retrieved a white box from one of her jacket pockets. “And here are yours!”
Inside were two of the matching metal wrist bands, shining like silver.
Caleb reached for one. He put it on and took it off just like the demonstration Himari had given, testing the mechanism. “Easy as it looks.” He smiled at Minari before turning to you. He gestured for your wrist, and slipped the bracelet on before taking the second one from the box and fitting it on himself.
“Now that housekeeping’s done with. It’s finally time for the tour. Follow me and feel free to stop me and ask any questions you have as we go through this tour.”
As you crossed the threshold, the mechanical groaning started up as the gate began to close behind you.
“Welcome Y/N L/N.”
“Welcome Caleb Xia.”
The automated voices announced your arrival once you’d scanned your wrists and made your way past the turnstiles. What greeted you inside was a sleek modern interior. It was hard to imagine that you’d just walked into what looked like any ordinary warehouse.
The Hunter’s Association had floor to ceiling windows with plenty of sunlight pouring in and plants to make the space feel fresh and comfortable. Akso hospital was a nice cool grey that was calming and easy on the eyes for patients and other visitors who might otherwise be overstimulated.
Everything here was white, the front desk, the walls, the floor, with only navy blue accents here and there. The ceiling was a metal grey and all the beams and pipes were left exposed.
“Will Soren not be joining us today?”
Himari stopped abruptly. She didn’t turn to face you when she spoke. “He’s away on business,” she said in that same cheerful tone she had maintained since the beginning, but her words were clipped.
“I see.”
“Too bad, I was looking forward to meeting him.” Caleb’s voice extinguishes the strange atmosphere.
After rounding the front desk, Himari showed you to the kitchen and dining area and a number of break out rooms boxing it in. For each of the rooms, the wall that faced the dining area was made of glass, so anyone passing by could peer in at any given time.
Himari rattled off something about transparency being one of the core pillars of their business ethos, but she whisked you away before you could get a glimpse of anything any of the staff were working on.
She led you both deeper through the facility, and you would be increasingly worried about memorising the path you took, but Caleb was here with you, so you let your terrible sense of direction take a backseat.
The temperature had dropped a degree or two. Cold frigid air was being pumped in through the vents as you trailed down a hallway and passed two sets of doors.
“Here’s the section of the facility where we would have you working.”
A left turn brought you into the armoury where every wall was lined with different kinds of weapons. In the center of the room, displayed on the middle island were a few more. Firearms, including a set that resembled the Skybreaker-SN, claymores and other swords as well as a bow, quiver and a set of arrows.
Even though you’d only agreed to come in for the tour a day ago, they’d clearly done their research. Himari seemed excited to see how you’d react. If she was sincere, then the gesture might have been intended to seem considerate. It could be that the organization cared enough about their guests of honour to have their personal favourite weapons laid out for them. It was also a temptation; a showcase of the kind of technology you would be able to play with if you took their offer.
The two of you had prepared for this, for the organisation to know who both of you were. Having intimate knowledge about you and Caleb would be the only logical explanation as to why they would appear so comfortable letting you roam their facility so freely.
You pushed through the eerie feeling and ignoring the goosebumps rising on your skin, you played the part. Hands reaching out for one of the swords without hesitation, you admired the craftsmanship and giving it a couple of test swings. Caleb did the same, examining the guns quietly and spinning them in his hands.
The final stop on the tour was at the end of a narrow corridor. A large training facility resembling the one at the Hunter’s association, but like the dining space, the walls were lined with glass rooms. This time they were much smaller, each acting as a kind of pod or capsule containing a wanderer. Cages and cages of wanderers lined the walls of the training area. It was like a zoo, but the wanderers were surrounding you, looking inwards at you. Or they would be if they were awake.
There was a charged energy in the air, but it was so silent all you could hear was the beating of your heart. The wanderers looked entirely at the mercy of the organisation. All at rest, hunched over, with wires and cables wrapping around, plugged in and sprouting out of them.
“They’re being pumped with metaflux." Himari explained matter-of-factly, having observed your curious expressions. "This one’s ready.” With the press of a button the wires began to detach, retreating up into the ceiling. As the last of the wires was removed, the wanderer began to glow. Waves and waves of energy radiated off of it. You’d seen this before. The wanderer looked around confused for a moment before it met your gaze.
“The work you’ll be doing is trialling our various weapons on these wanderers. We’ll adjust and modify them based on your performance and guidance. Once they’re workshopped and after a final round of quality assurance, we intend to sell these weapons to organisations such as the Defence force and Hunters Association.”
The wanderer locked onto you. It slammed into the glass with such a ferocity that you were mentally bracing yourself for impact. When you blinked yourself out of shock you realized that Caleb had shifted backwards as well both of you with hands now hovering over your respective holsters.
“The hell is that glass made out of?” Caleb muttered without taking his eyes off the wanderer. He was tracking it’s movements as it paced in its confinement.
“I know right. Maybe I should get my windows replaced,” you replied.
The wanderer made a second attempt which was equally unsuccessful. No longer snarling, it began howling in pain. The noise that came from it was gut wrenching. You hated the sound. The adrenalin fueled righteousness that you usually feel when you shoot a gun or swing a sword, the knowledge that you’re one step closer to defeating a wanderer, that feeling deserts you. Now you’re supposed to be an executioner for a creature in pain? No you couldn’t forget who the predators were and who their prey was. Going about it this way though… there had to be negative consequences.
Himari carried on like nothing had happened at all, smile practically etched onto her face. “We’ve already recruited a few individuals, if you join it’ll be a team of six.”
“Once these wanderers are killed. What happens then?”
“We repeat the same process.”
“I understand. But where are you getting the Wanderer’s from?”
“We’ve been authorized to access No Hunt Zones. In addition, we’ve been able to create rifts in the atmosphere. We can use their energy signature to locate them in Deepspace and draw them straight from wherever they may be. We can set the coordinates for the rift opening and send them wherever we like.”
How convenient.
“Hmm.” You wash down a couple bites of your burger with some soda. “So, they’re creating enhanced wanderers. Do you think all that metaflux and training with these weapons could make them evolve?” Twirling the straw between your fingers you continued, “Anyway, if they’re only able to be put down with these high tech weapons then, if they ever break out… Or get released, on purpose, through those rifts for example, the average Hunter would find it difficult to defeat them and that puts a lot of lives in danger.”
Caleb nodded. “Weapons trade isn’t really profitable. I mean,” he took a large chunk out of his burger. “It is in the N109 zone but they aren’t interested in weapons to put down Wanderers. They want weapons to use on each other.”
“You’re right. They’re more interested in tools to expand their territory or gain power.” You took a couple of chips and chewed on the idea. “What’s this really about then? Do you have a theory?”
The two of you continued to eat. After a couple of minutes, when you figured you wouldn’t get an answer, Caleb put his burger down and hunched over on his elbows, leaning towards you. He stole a fry from your plate and dipped it in his milkshake. “What happens when you defeat a wanderer?
“You save your life and the lives of people around you.”
He huffed a laugh. “And what else?”
What else? You frowned at Caleb. Nothing else. You go home, finally relax, spend some time with the guy you’re in love with, if he’s at home that is.
Caleb leant over and flicked your forehead. “Stop thinking like a hunter, think like an organisation.”
Oh. “You obtain a protocore. Defeat a stronger wanderer: obtain a more powerful protocore. That’s what you were thinking right?”
“Yup. Is it unreasonable to think a company might have a vested interest in a process that creates stronger, more powerful protocores?” He asked, resuming his meal.
“No. That does check out.” You sighed and threw your head back, watching the slow swish of the ceiling fans. “But what are they planning on doing with them? This whole thing reeks of EVER.” you murmured under your breath.
“Soooo, are you gonna go for it?”
You jerked forward. “You’re actually asking me that? You-you’re not gonna talk me out of it?”
Caleb shrugged. “Why would I?” he asked, taking another bite.
“If this actually is EVER and I decided I wanted to work for them… you’d just be fine with that?” You asked, bewildered.
“Not everyone gets the privilege of access to an EVER facility. And I bet no one gets to bring a friend, especially one who’s a member of the Fleet, let alone a Colonel. Whoever that Soren guy is, you must have made a big impression on him. He must reeeeally like you to allow for all of your conditions to be accepted, just like that.” Caleb inclined his head and raised his left hand twirling it in the air for emphasis.
“Yeah I… Honestly I just asked because I wasn’t interested in saying yes in the first place. I didn’t expect them to allow it, or give us special treatment. It was weird we didn’t see him today.” You pushed your plate of fries over to him and he began wolfing them down. “You don’t think this is some kind of trap?”
“No. I don’t think they’d hurt you. If they wanted to do that, well, EVER has other ways of getting who or what they want. They tend to be more straightforward than that, this is too convoluted.” Caleb wiped his mouth and hands and dropped his napkin down on the empty plate.
Then he took another one and started folding it. “If you really want to know what they’re using those protocores for - you’d be hard pressed to find a better opportunity. It’s worth considering. If you’re careful about it, you could get the answers you’re looking for. It’s up to you. And if you’re sure, we’ll plan for it, suit you up with everything you need to protect yourself. There’s precautions we can take to make sure you’ll be fine.” He dropped the completed origami crane in front of you. “Done. Let’s go.”
“If I’m being completely honest, I’d rather you didn’t take the job though.” Caleb says as he holds the door for you to step through.
You wait for him to follow you out of the diner before questioning him about it.
“I just don’t like the idea of you working for an organisation like that. It’s not for people like you.”
Great. First Xavier. Now Caleb. What’s with people thinking that you aren’t capable? You were a hunter for crying out loud. “People like me? What did you mean by that?” You couldn’t stop yourself from asking, and the words came out sharp.
Caleb’s eyes softened a fraction at the look on your face. “You’ve got the wrong idea.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Good people, that’s what I meant. People who have good hearts and minds shouldn’t be working at places like that. I raised you to be better than that.”
The mood is instantly lighter. Trust Caleb to come up with some nonsense, something so ridiculous it never fails to derail the entire conversation just to make you laugh. And you did, but you also swatted at him. “You didn’t raise me, what the hell Caleb!”
He wipes a nonexistent tear from his eye and sniffles, “I’m so proud of how you’ve turned out.”
You rolled your eyes at him. “Shut up!”
“I remember when you were about thiiiiis,” he lowers his hand down to his knees, “tall. Following me around like a little duckling-”
“-I didn’t follow you around!” you denied, indignantly.
“-you always used to laugh at my jokes.” He made a show of sighing deeply and shaking his head. “Now all you do is roll your eyes at me.”
Xavier knew that this situation needed to be handled delicately. But it was at complete odds with how angry he was.
What were you thinking?
When you told Xavier you were hanging out with Caleb today he didn’t expect to see you before he got home. He definitely didn’t expect to see you stepping out of the door of the facility they had been scoping out.
There was no reason for you to be there at all. What if they had done something to you? What if they were planning to and you’d unknowingly given them the information that they needed? Why would you put yourself in danger like that? He certainly hadn’t asked you to.
Couldn’t you see he was trying to protect you? Why would you make things more difficult than they had to be?
The sun was slowly setting when you finally came back. Like routine, he heard you clumsily stumbling through the doorway, leaning against the wall while kicking off your shoes. He’d memorised the sounds of you hanging up your keys and bag, and trudging down the hallway in your slippers. Today you were humming a tune, tugging at your tie and attempting to undo the top buttons of your dress shirt with one hand. A small paper bag was clutched in the other.
When you spotted him you smiled as if some of the day’s weariness had been lifted off of you. Any other day he’d be pulling you down onto his lap and rubbing his cheek against yours as the two of you exchanged stories about your day in hushed voices. Xavier folded his arms against his chest so he wouldn’t give into the temptation of doing just that. Today it was easier to overcome as his anger and frustration had been simmering for hours now.
“I didn’t think you’d be waiting for me. Sorry I’m back so late but the cafe had black forest cupcakes and I know you like cherries so…” You set the bag on the coffee table before sinking onto the couch beside him. “Did your mission go well?”
“Yes.” Xavier answered, tersely before directing the conversation where he wanted it to go. “What else did you do with Caleb today?”
You frowned at him. “Well, he came with me to a job interview, then we went to lunch and stopped by the cafe.”
“A job interview?”
“In a sense.” You shrugged and Xavier breathed deeply to keep his feelings about your laid back attitude in check. Oblivious, you continued. “The perks were pretty good actually: more PTO, advanced tech to play with, fixed hours…” You trailed off, smile fading and looking at him with concern. “What’s wrong?” you asked.
“Why are you lying to me?”
“I’m not lying.” You peeled off your phone case and handed him a white card that had been concealed underneath. Xavier inspected it, finding a phone number printed on it and nothing else. “I got offered a job opp while I was at Palm City. I didn’t end up calling them so they followed up and invited me to tour the place. I figured why not.”
“EVER’s just handing out invites now?” Xavier muttered under his breath.
Your eyes, which had been following the movement of the card in his hands as Xavier scrutinised it, darted up to his face.
“How do you know it was EVER?”
Xavier elected to ignore your question. “I saw you leaving with Caleb.” He tried to keep his voice even.
“What? How?”
Xavier didn’t know if he should be honest or not. Before he came to a decision you had already pieced it together.
“Hold on. Your mission today- it was a stakeout, right? Who were you looking for?”
“What role were they offering? What would they have you do?”
Your frown deepened when Xavier neglected to answer your question, volleying you one of his own instead. But after a short pause, you sighed and answered. “They wanted me to test out their weapons, use them against wanderers. If they’re good then they’d sell them off to places like the Hunter’s Association.”
No, Xavier thought, there has to be something else going on. “You didn’t think it could be a trap?”
“Yeah I did. That’s why I brought Caleb.”
Now Xavier was the one frowning. Why was he your first choice? Why would you rely on him when Xavier was right here? Wasn’t he the person you trusted the most?
“You should have told me.”
You shook your head. “If I did, would you have let me go there at all?”
Of course not, Xavier thought, because you shouldn’t have been there at all. “What was so important that you needed to be there?”
“How often do you get to tour any of these facilities? Besides, I could ask you the same thing. Who are you looking for - I could have looked for them today if you had just told me-”
“You’ve done enough.” He hadn’t raised his voice, but the way you flinched made him feel just as awful. As much regret as he felt speaking to you in that way, he couldn’t back down now. He had to make you see that you were putting yourself in danger unnecessarily.
“I’m sorry,” he began,
Whenever Xavier wasn’t distracting himself with missions and wanderers, when he was alone with his thoughts, or lying awake at night, he always came back to this conversation. This is when he crossed the line. He failed to stop when he should have. He wishes desperately he could go back and leave it at that. But it’s too late and mistakes can’t be unwritten easily.
“but how could you put yourself at risk? They could have separated you. They could have drugged you. The building could have been rigged with explosives. You didn’t tell anyone where you were. If something happened to both of you - no one would know.”
“It’s too public. And Caleb’s too important. It would be easy to trace back. Besides, that’s such a convoluted plan if they wanted to be so brazen they could have-”
Xavier’s voice had turned cold and stern. “I don’t want to hear any more excuses. And I don’t want to discuss how they would hurt you instead.” He interjected. “I wish you wouldn’t make it so easy for them.”
Your eyes flickered. “I can’t understand you.” You had left your seat to stand before him. “If you’re so convinced something will happen to me why can’t you just tell me what it is? Who are you looking for? Tell me what I should be afraid of. What happened that weekend? It can’t have just been Wanderers, you wouldn’t send me away for that. Please just tell me what’s going on.”
Xavier kept still, looking down at his palms. He knew that if he raised his head and saw your eyes, wide as the moon and pleading, he would give in. He couldn’t afford to do that.
And though he knew it was his own fault, it still hurt to hear you sigh and give up. “Forget it,” you muttered, a bitter disappointment colouring your voice, “why do I even try?” He watched your feet turn and disappear from view. “Caleb said he’ll look into it for me, so I won’t be going back there anyway.”
Xavier’s jaw clenched. Caleb. Again. He got up and followed you to the kitchen. It’s always about Caleb with you isn’t it. Any remaining warmth had left his voice. “He's the Colonel of the Farspace Fleet. Do you truly believe he’s telling you all he knows?”
You tilted your chin up and defended your beloved Caleb with fire in your eyes, “He knows far more than most what EVER is capable of. He would never do anything to hurt any of us.”
“You have a lot of faith in him.” Xavier responded frostily.
“That’s often the case when you trust the people who are closest to you. Sharing information means we’re less susceptible to poor decision making. You can spot red flags, you can recognise danger. Its protection.”
“You’re wrong. Unnecessarily involving others puts them in harm’s way and results in more casualties. It's a liability.”
Silence followed.
You stared at him for a long time searching for something and when you didn’t find it he watched the anger in your expression, the fire in your eyes, fizzle out and make way for disappointment. Xavier watched as you bowed your head and slowly unclenched your fists.
“Understood.”
Your voice wavered slightly. The way you spoke to him, he’d heard it before. Not the way you’d speak to a lover or a friend or an equal, but like you were responding to criticism from a commanding officer.
In the space between his feet and yours, a droplet fell. Then another. Tears were trickling down your cheek and onto the floor.
Xavier paled.
“Please don't cry. I’m sorry. I just-” He took a step forward. You moved back before he could reach you.
He had been trained to steel himself and make it through anything. So despite the dread rapidly filling him, he tried not to panic.
Exhaling harshly through your nose, you raised a fist to brush away the tears falling from your eyes.
Seeing you cry over the phone was awful, but witnessing it in person was much worse. You had made yourself so small, curling inwards. Your shoulders shuddered as you gasped for air. You probably thought collapsing inwards was a slow quiet affair, and for smaller stars it is. But when a massive star’s core collapses it happens quickly, almost instantaneously. He’s standing in it now. He feels and sees everywhere and it's broken his heart. Xavier hated himself knowing that he had caused you pain. Once again.
He had tried to convince himself that your safety was more important than how you felt in the moment. But seeing you cry diminished his resolve. The absolute, duty bound prince had abandoned him. He was weak and selfish and not Philosian at all.
It was hard to know how to console you while his heart pounded in his ears. Say something. Say anything.
Finally you raised your head. Despite the tears still falling from your eyes, you looked straight through him.
He felt a chill come over him. No. No.
“It seems we can't agree.” You paused and sighed and then you said the words he’d been afraid to hear. “Let’s just end this. We've wasted enough time as it is.”
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s the truth. We have the same issue, over and over again.”
“No, please just wait a little longer. I’ll return to you once it's over and things will be-”
“To what end?” you interjected. “When will it stop Xavier? More and more issues will arise in the future. Are you going to do the same thing then? Where will you send me next time, hmm? Maybe the arctic?” Your laughter was hollow, there was no heat to your words.
“You think I’m stupid and reckless and naive, and you don’t trust me.”
“No, I would never think that about you. I didn’t mean-”
There’s a wobbly smile on your face. “You did mean it, every word you said. We both know you did,” you shrug, and sound just as distraught as he feels when you say it.
Then you turned away for the final time that night, walking towards the door and holding it open for him.
MC was cleared to get back to field work, on the condition that she listened to Zayne's strict instructions and actually, properly, rested for a week or two. Caleb had extended his trip to take care of her, but there was only so much leeway he had as the Colonel. He was back in the clouds in no time at all. And Xavier. Well. Xavier wasn’t around for very long either. Whatever assignments he was on, or whatever off the books work he was doing, (probably in No Hunt Zone 42) - was all consuming. You heard him pop in and out of his apartment occasionally, but you hadn’t actually seen him in a couple of weeks, and you weren't really sure how you felt about that.
His comms were off permanently. Even MC didn’t have a clue as to his whereabouts. She had asked you offhandedly if you knew where he was, and requested that you thank him for getting her out on their last hunting trip.
“Why would I know where he is?” you had countered, ready to drop the subject entirely. “You can thank him yourself when he gets back.”
She had squeezed your shoulder sympathetically. “You don’t need to worry about him.”
“I’m not,” you brushed her off, leaving her standing in the middle of the corridor as you stalked back to your desk.
She caught up with you quickly. “You what he’s like. He’ll disappear for a while, without telling anyone where he’s going. Then he’ll come back with a couple of injuries he insists will heal if he just sleeps them off. And as much as I want him to take a proper break well… that’s Xavier for you.”
When it seemed apparent that you weren’t going to respond, MC continued. “I know how you feel.” As she spoke she absentmindedly fiddled with the brooch pinned to her uniform. It was funny, you’d seen that brooch almost every week since you’d started at the Association, but today the crow adorning it wasn’t just a symbol. It was Mephie, wasn’t it, you thought. Her love was hidden in plain sight. Heart literally pinned to her sleeve.
“Whenever Skye gets into… difficult business meetings, I know he won’t get hurt because he’s strong. I know he’s more capable of taking care of himself.” She sighed. “But I still worry. I can’t help it.” MC looked back at you and shrugged, a wry smile on her face. “You can’t help it when it’s someone you care about.
Nice. You had an opening. You could deflect and have some fun with her at the same time.
“Wait,” you furrowed your brows in mock concern, “what’s happening in those fruit supply boardrooms that’s so bad you’re worrying about Skye’s safety?”
She froze. “Well,” she chuckled nervously. “The produce world is more dangerous than you think.”
“Really?” you pressed. “Is that so?”
“Oh yeah,” she shuffled her feet, “Honestly you never really know what you’re walking into.”
“Uh huh.”
MC was a straight shooter so her lies left much to be desired. They were vague and her panic was obvious. It was fun to watch her squirm for a bit but eventually you took pity on her.
“MC.”
“Yeah?” she squeaked. You had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing at the unnaturally high pitch her voice had taken.
You looked around. Wiring closet it is, you thought, and without further delay, you grabbed her hand and dragged her into the nearest one.
When you closed the door, there was just enough room for two people to stand. It wasn’t ideal to be packed in like sardines, but you figured you might as well break the news now instead of visiting MC after work. It wouldn’t take long anyway.
“You know that I know that Skye isn’t just a fruit vendor. That he’s actually Sylus. As in, Onychinus’ Sylus. Right?”
“What?” MC waved her around as if she was swatting the idea out of the air, “No he’s not! That’s ridiculous!”
“So, he’s not Sylus, the boss of N109 zone’s most prolific crime organisation? One that he keeps inviting you to-”
Her eyes darted around, horrified, and her hand shot out and covered your mouth. You pulled it away, careful not to nudge your elbow into any of the cables.
“Don’t worry, this closet’s soundproof and there’s no hidden recording devices. (You and Nero had set out to find and map the locations within the Association that allowed for strict anonymity. Surprisingly, even the toilets were bugged.)
“I’m not going to turn either of you in. Your secret’s safe, it’s been safe for months now.”
“I’ve been making sure any record of you in the N109 zone that wasn’t specifically approved by the Association has been taken care of. As you know they can’t do much about him, the zone’s a deadzone for jurisdiction, but you live here and so can be prosecuted here if you're not careful. I really haven't had to do much," you shrugged, "since you’re generally very thorough. But I'm not a miracle worker," you continued. "So remember to be smart and careful." You looked into her eyes and tried your best to drive the point home.
She stared intently at you for a full minute.
Then she grabbed you and pulled you into her chest. You went limp in her arms like a ragdoll. What was with the Xia siblings and crushing you in their arms. Gods, she was strong, you thought, feeling like any second now you’d hear the snap of your bones. She kissed the side of your head and thanked you profusely before releasing you.
MC had always been affectionate but it did seem a tad dramatic. Clearly she’d been struggling with keeping it in for so long. You felt both sorry for her as well as a rush of fondness.
“Does anyone else know?”
“Simone and Tara might. Nero might as well. I’m not sure since I haven’t spoken to any of them about it."
She nodded.
"Captain Jenna can't know. And there’s no way that Caleb doesn’t know.”
“Right.”
“I mean," you paused and contemplated how to best phrase your next sentence. "He’s a giant, and with his silver hair, red eyes and... commanding presence, he’s not exactly the average Joe is he? He’s kind of” you patted her shoulder sympathetically, “easily recognisable. Must have been hard to keep it a secret.”
“Honestly,” she shook her head, “you have no idea.” She exhaled a deep sigh, rolling her shoulders, as if all the built up tension was melting away. After a moment her expression softened. “He’s worth it though,” she said softly, running her fingers over the brooch again. “True love’s worth it.”
Gods, she's such a sap, you thought.
“Hey! Don’t make that face!”
You peeked your head out of the closet, checking that the coast was clear and walked out without another word, letting the door close behind you.
MC stuck her foot out, wedging it open, before skipping after you. “One day you’ll be saying the same thing. It’ll happen to you too, Y/N! Mark my words!”
Yeah right.
An intense almost blinding white flooded into your living room, like lightning striking right outside your door. The light disappeared so quickly you were half convinced you imagined it. A loud thud accompanied it. Linkon had been experiencing a heavy downpour for hours now, but there had been no reports of lightning or thunder. It sounded like the crunch of boots on pavement.
You quickly set down the book you were reading, paused the music and headed to the door. You heard another thud, this time it’s the sound of something hitting the wall, maybe a fist, you guessed, followed by a low, muffled groan. You’re almost certain you know what’s causing the noise, or rather who, but on the off chance you were wrong, the claymore you kept beside the door would be more than enough to scare away any unwanted guests.
You didn’t need it today though. You swung the door open and saw the last person you wanted to see that day. It was Xavier, head hanging low between his shoulders, barely holding himself up against the wall between your apartments. Your eyes frantically swept across his body. Traces of mud and dirt had crept all the way up from his boots to his waist. His uniform was torn in places, revealing bloodied gashes. Sure they were papercuts but you were grateful not to find anything life threatening.
You stood before him. He didn’t seem to have noticed your arrival.
“Xavier?”
He lifted his head. Water dripped from the ends of his fringe. Blue eyes you hadn’t seen since that day weeks ago finally met yours.
He looked up at you tragically.
“I forgot my keys.”
“You- what?” You shook your head then refocussed. “Xavier, let’s just get you inside.”
His body deflated with a sigh so bone-weary it must have come from the very core of his being. “I don’t have my keys.”
You gently pried him off of the wall and steadied him, holding him up by his forearms.
“Are you hurt?”
He shook his head. “Not hurt, just ti-” He collapsed into your arms. You managed to catch him just before his knees met the floor. “Tired,” he mumbled and wrapped his hands around your neck.
“Come on,” you murmured, pulling him up and bringing him into your apartment. You kicked the door shut behind you.
You managed to shuffle through the hallway, finally making it to the couch. You lowered him down and attempted to move back, retrieving your hands from around his sides. But the hands he’d wrapped around your neck didn't budge.
“Xavier.”
His eyelashes fluttered but he’s otherwise unresponsive.
You called his name again. Poked his cheek. Took his chin in your hand and raised his face to meet your eyes. It was useless.
You sighed. Somewhere between your doorstep and the couch, Xavier had managed to fully pass out. His head instantly drooped when you let go of his chin. You had to quickly cup the side of his face in your palm to slow the movement.
You ducked your head and carefully extracted yourself from him, settling his hands in his lap.
Whatever fight he had picked must have been rough, you thought, since he hadn’t thought to simply teleport inside of his own apartment.
You returned to the living room and knelt on a pillow in front of the couch, Hunters Association issued medical supplies scattered around you. Xavier had said he wasn’t hurt but he was a liar so you needed to check to be sure.
Carefully, and after longer than you anticipated, you managed to take his harness, blazer and gloves off. You clipped off the strap and removed his button down leaving him in his black turtleneck.
You had access to his wounds now. A gash on his shoulder, another on his arm along his bicep and a smaller gash on his side, just under his ribcage. Fortunately, none were so deep or wide that they required stitches. You knew you needed to take his shirt off to treat them properly but your hands hesitated.
“If it’s troubling you, just take it off.” Xavier blinked down at you sleepily. You briefly wondered how long he’d been awake. “Do what you need to do. I trust you.”
No you don’t, not when it matters, you thought. But instead of saying any of that you simply said, “Okay.”
You got to work, hands skimming the bottom of his turtleneck, fingertips dipping under. You slowly peeled it up.
“Luckily your legs are fine so we can keep your pants on.”
“What a shame.”
“Hmm?”
He lifted his arms up and finally you were able to pull it up and off of him.
Since you had been so solely focussed on getting his shirt off without grazing any injuries, you hadn’t given much thought to what the result of it would be. Case in point, you were somehow surprised to be kneeling in front of a topless Xavier. His chest was bare, lean torso exposed and suddenly your eyes were trailing down rows of abs to where…
Nope.
You tore your gaze up.
Xavier’s hair was messy from dragging the turtleneck up and over it, his face was slightly flushed, and he was looking at you through half lidded eyes. Somehow that was even worse.
You started busying your hands, which had been hovering over Xavier’s torso momentarily. Luckily most of the bleeding had stopped so you moved on to cleaning the wounds.
“I wouldn’t have minded.”
You looked up and waited for him to explain.
“If you needed to get rid of my pants. To assess my lower body for wounds. I wouldn’t have minded.”
His voice was still sleep-soft and he replied so nonchalantly, in the same way someone would casually comment that it was raining outside or that they wanted to order takeaway for dinner. In fact he said it in such an offhanded way that your brain didn’t even register it until minutes later when you spotted the smirk on his face.
Ordinarily you would have rolled your eyes or laughed or bit back with a snarky comment. This time you didn’t respond at all.
He watched you work in silence for a few minutes. Then he leant forward, arms resting on his knees. His face was so close to yours you could’ve counted each freckle on his face.
“Hey. What’s wrong?” His blue eyes were wide and imploring.
If he kept looking at you like that, all sweet and sad you’d lose your conviction. You averted your gaze. “Nothing’s wrong,” you lied through your teeth, keeping your tone purposely cheerful.
“You’re upset.” He hadn’t bought it. You wondered why he sounded more hurt than you.
“No. I’m not,” you denied, somewhat childishly. "But, I am just about done,” you announced.
Everyone at the Hunter’s Association regardless of their role or team was required to undergo mandatory training spanning a variety of different skills including mastering different weapons, how to search the database for information, navigating different terrain and basic survival skills as well as first aid and basic medical treatment among others. They trained you so thoroughly that anyone at the Association, at any given point, could step in and help without hesitating. So while you were no Doctor Zayne, looking down at the wound dressings you were still satisfied that you’d done a good job.
Xavier thanked you quietly.
You nodded in acknowledgement and started picking up the supplies on the floor around you. He shuffled forwards to help but you pushed him back onto the sofa. Gently, of course, still mindful of his injuries.
“Stay.”
You left Xavier to rest on the couch while you grabbed a fresh set of clothes.
“Here.” You placed an oversized hoodie and sweatpants in his lap. “In case you want to change into something comfier.”
“Thank you.”
“Let me know when you’re done,” you said, beginning to turn around before you felt a hand wrap around your wrist.
“You should stay and make sure I don’t hurt myself.”
You scoffed. “I’m pretty sure you’re fine to put on some clothes Xavier.” This time you couldn’t hide the hints of resentment from seeping into your voice. You tugged and to your surprise he let your hand slip through his grasp.
By the time you were back from your shower, night had well and truly fallen. You felt startlingly aware of the fact that Xavier being in your living room. It had only just dawned on you that despite being neighbours it was the first time he was actually in your home. You peeked out from behind the corner.
You’d forgotten to close the curtains.
The rain clouds had left and the moon was full and bright. The crown of Xavier’s head glowed silver like a halo. He was still sitting how you’d left him, just slumped over now and curled in on himself. He was sleeping soundly, chest rising and falling in a slow but steady rhythm.
You spun on your heel, headed towards your bedroom and swiped the throw blanket you’d hung across your desk chair. Xavier was a heavy sleeper, you’d learnt that a while ago, but you crept into the living room anyway, blanket piled high in your arms, just in case.
You had just unravelled the blanket when he stirred slightly.
“Y/N?” he mumbled, eyes still closed.
“Yeah?” You crouched down in front of him.
You waited a beat, but it seemed he had nothing else to say. You draped the blanket across his chest.
As soon as you were satisfied, having just finished wrapping the ends around him. He started leaning forwards. Too far forwards. You just managed to reach out and grab him as his chest hit yours. Xavier’s head hung low over your shoulder. The blanket you had carefully draped had slid down, now bunched up in his lap.
You held out as long as you could but pretending to be a statue was difficult and before long your body started aching.
“Xavier,” you called, voice just above a whisper.
You didn’t get a reply. Not that you were expecting one, but still. You tried calling his name a couple more times to no avail. You sighed. It was practically a trap, there was no way you could escape his hold without him slumping forwards and toppling over.
“This is really uncomfortable,” you muttered under your breath.
You heard a soft wounded noise. Suddenly you were pinned to the sofa. You felt the cushions against your back and Xavier laying on you like a 6 foot weighted blanket. The real blanket had been abandoned on the floor.
“I’m sorry.”
When he spoke, you felt the brush of his lips against your neck like he was trying to press the words into your skin.
“I know I’ve upset you. But you can’t be too mad at me since you still took care of me, right?”
You kept quiet.
“I’m sorry.” He repeated, continuing like he already knew not to expect a response. “Please forgive me. Even if it takes a while, I’ll wait.” He nuzzled into your neck.
“Y/N,” he exhaled your name like a sigh. “I don’t like you being mad at me. I hope you forgive me soon.”
You sat there and let the warmth of him seep into you. Your breathing slowed, heart beat syncing with his.
Xavier had shown up early every Monday since then. And every Monday since then, he would join you on your coffee runs. You had considered shirking the responsibility off to someone else, like asking MC or Tara to go, but you really liked having an excuse for stretching your legs and going on a walk before the meeting. So you had no choice but to accept things the way they were.
Plus, rather than leaving straight after the meeting, as they had always done, for whatever reason, MC and Xavier had decided to stay afterwards. They joined the rest of you on your lunch break.
It wasn't as though he was bad company or anything. In fact you got along well. Too well. Which was kind of the whole problem seeing as you were trying not to fall for him.
Spending more time with Xavier at work was manageable. But since then, you didn’t just see him at work - no suddenly Xavier was everywhere you were. It wasn’t suspicious or anything it was just... odd. Maybe there wasn’t as many urgent threats in the No Hunt Zones? These days, it seemed as though the only place you hadn’t spotted Xavier was at Charlie’s bakery.
You weren't exaggerating.
Walking back from the library, he was there, fast asleep on a park bench underneath a large willow tree.
Grabbing food from the convenience store, he was there, staring intently at the various flavoured breads. You dipped into one of the other aisles, grabbed a handful of things you needed and left before he noticed, resolving to swing by later to grab the rest of the items on your list.
Tending to your plants on the balcony, he was there. Well, not on your balcony per say, but on his adjacent balcony. You don’t know how you didn’t notice him, sitting there in the sunlight and reading his book. Maybe it was because he tended to like reading in the afternoon, which is why you’d switched your watering schedule to the morning. You had walked out, watering-can in gloved hands and started doting on each of your potted plants, one by one, as you do.
“And how are you this morning my lovely. You’re looking really pretty today huh?”
You had developed a bit of a habit of speaking to them. So, as you watered each plant one by one, you often enquired about their general wellbeing or chatted about this or that.
Clearly Xavier didn’t know that though. You heard a small, choked noise and whipped around to see him, face flushed.
“What’s wrong?” You refused to be embarrassed and proceeded to stare him down.
He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. You raised an eyebrow at him.
When it was clear he had nothing to say, you huffed and turned back around.
“It cheers them up and helps them grow better. Maybe you should try that with your garden!” you called over your shoulder.
“What’s wrong with that guy?” you asked the lavender, as you watered it. The flowers swayed slightly in the breeze as if to say, “I know right.”
Going shopping, he was there. You spotted MC and Xavier stumble out of a store you were just about to walk into. You angled left and swiftly blended into the crowd of people walking past it. You didn’t hear anyone call out your name so you figured you were safe. After hours of shopping you had a modest haul: a few items of clothing and 3 whole bags of merch and stationery, (what’s wrong with treating yourself every now and again), you were finally ready to get back home.
But you were tired, and needed a little energy for the trip back, so you stopped at a dessert shop on the way out for a quick hot chocolate. Big mistake. You were waiting by the side for your drink, guard down, noise cancellation on, when an arm suddenly wrapped around your shoulder. You startled, and in that split second thought about how lucky you weren’t holding your drink at the time. Despite your jumpiness, the person’s arm was strong enough to secure you into their side.
“Y/N! Fancy seeing you here!” she said, beaming at you.
At least that's what you thought she said. You took your earbuds out and took a deep breath.
“Haha, yeah,” you returned her smile, still trying to steady your racing heart rate. Gods, it should be illegal for people to be ambushed like that!
“We didn’t mean to scare you.” Xavier said. Of course, he was still here. You looked to the left and saw Xavier, also tucked to MC’s side, looking down at you apologetically.
What ensued was an unwanted, unavoidable conversation that lasted another half an hour. It was, admittedly, fun to catch up with the two of them, particularly MC who you really didn’t get to spend time with often.
You managed to escape just before the two of them invited you to try a new restaurant downtown. It did sound enticing, but you excused yourself under the guise of already being full and wanting to get home early. Really you just weren’t keen on interrupting their best friend non-date date hang out thing. (You knew they were just best friends, and that MC had a boyfriend and that she didn’t have romantic feelings for Xavier, but still.) You were sure the two of them were relieved to be left by themselves - you didn’t bother to stay around and check the looks on their faces as you made your exit.
At the flowershop, he was there. Well, not really. You had just thought he was there.
(Honestly that might have been worse since now you were apparently hallucinating seeing him in places when he wasn't around. Great.)
You hadn’t visited that particular shop before, usually opting to place online orders from a plant nursery whenever you needed garden supplies on the outskirts of the city. You also had no occasion to buy flowers. But you were on the way home from the gym and you had some time to kill, so you decided to pop in and check it out.
Philo was beautiful. There were gorgeous floor to ceiling windows, ivy trickling down from the top of them. It was a sea of flowers, any variety you could think of, in pots or buckets, lining the tables and the floor. These were punctuated by large leafy greens: peace lilies, cat palm, bird of paradise and monstera plants were dotted here and there.
You were momentarily distracted from admiring one of the succulents on the counter by the sound of footsteps. Enter stage left: a man holding a bucket of daffodils walked towards the back door. You couldn't see his face, as he was turned away from you, but that head of silver hair caught you off guard. You froze. You watched in silence. Even the way he walked was like Xavier.
“Hello, Miss?”
“Oh hello.”
The cashier had arrived, greeting you with a warm smile. His name was Jeremiah, according to the nametag pinned to his apron.
Under said apron, he wore a black turtleneck under his button down, just like Xavier did. Gods, why were you relating everything to him, you scolded yourself mentally, lots of people accessories by layering black turtlenecks under their outfits. If he too had silver hair you probably would have thought you were loosing it, and actually seeing Xavier everywhere. So you were grateful that the man in front of you had a head of very normal looking brown hair.
“What can I do for you today?”
“I’m just looking to get some flowers.”
“Is it for a special occasion or?”
“No, not really.”
“Sure. Do you have an arrangement you have in mind or do you know what kind of flowers you want? Or,” he lowered his voice, “the secret third option?”
You lowered your voice to match his. “Which would be?”
“Well it wouldn’t be a secret if I told you.”
You barked a laugh. It was silly but it caught you off guard. No wonder the shop was doing so well, what with such a charismatic front man.
“Okay,” you feigned a sigh, “I guess I’ll just have to pick that one then.”
The silver haired guy emerged from the back, with a different bucket, irises this time. You didn’t even realise that your attention had been drawn to him, but without thinking you were peering over Jeremiah’s shoulder at him. You hadn’t heard his reply at all.
As the man placed the flowers on a table closer to the front, you finally caught a glimpse of his face. Ah, so it wasn’t Xavier. Although his hair and manner of walking were similar, if you had seen his sneakers before it would have been a dead giveaway. There was no way Xavier would be caught dead wearing bright blue sneakers. He was more of a boots guy anyday.
Still, this man’s facial features resembled Xavier’s own, in a way… and how many people had silver hair these days? Xavier never mentioned having a brother though. In fact, you couldn’t recall him ever mentioning any family members.
“I tried to get him different shoes, but Isaiah simply insisted on wearing those.” Jeremiah leaned forward on the counter, resting on his elbows. “Don’t make fun of him for it,” he mock whispered, hand raised to the side of his mouth, “he’s a bit sensitive.”
“Don’t listen to him, spreading lies is all he’s good for!” the silver haired individual, Isaiah, you figured, finally turned around. His voice could have come across as pretentious and condescending, and honestly it was, but overly so in a way that it felt silly. He sounded so indignant, so personally affronted that it made you laugh. Definitely not Xavier.
“Shush you.” Jeremiah called over his shoulder. He turned around and shook his head playfully, as if to say ‘get a load of that guy’.
“How dare you shush me!” Isaiah yelled back.
You laughed again.
“Do you want to include a card?” Your attention was brought back to Jeremiah, who was in the middle of assembling your bouquet. “Even if it’s not for a special occasion, customers often like to have a message written for them? It’s free of charge by the way.”
“Umm.” You thought about it for a second, but you couldn’t think of a message you wanted to send yourself. “Well, they’re for me, so, maybe not.”
“No problem.” The cashier smiled. He pulled out a card and started writing.
“You call yourself a gentleman and now you’re allowing this young lady to buy her own flowers!” Isaiah’s voice called from behind a wall of plants.
Jeremiah seemed practised at ignoring his companion, paying him no mind and humming a tune as he wrote.
He paused mid brushstroke, and then looked up at you for a moment. “Could I get a name for the order?”
“Sure. It’s Y/N.”
For a second Jeremiah froze, so did Isaiah, you noted, pot stilling in midair. Then just as quickly, they both continued as they were, as if you had imagined the whole thing. You blinked. The smile was back on Jeremiah’s face. “Got it.” He hunched back over the counter and finished whatever he had written. Maybe you had imagined it. That was strange, you thought.
The flowers were nice though. Actually, nice was an understatement you amended, as you lifted them up to your nose to smell them. You didn’t know how but he’d managed to make an arrangement that was so, well, you. Your favourite colours, your favourite flowers, and he’d included pockets of those bright blue forget-me-nots that you loved. They were so hard to find in Linkon City but clearly that was no match for Philo.
It was a good day. And maybe Xavier wasn’t exactly everywhere you were afterall.
On the other side of the crosswalk, he was? Wait, seriously?
You squinted and tilted your head to the side, as if that would improve your vision. Was that? No. You’d been fooled before - you’d literally been fooled earlier today. Maybe silver hair was just in for this season?
Nope, you were right the first time.
The light turned green and as you crossed the street, moving closer, you realised your eyes hadn't deceived you. There Xavier was, standing on the side of a shopping complex you often passed on your way back to your apartment, handing out flyers to passersby. You stopped and stared as people changed their course mid step just to take one from his hand.
There was no way you could pass by without him noticing. It’d be rude to ignore him, you thought, so when there was a slight clearing you moved forwards to stand directly in front of him.
When you arrived, you noticed that in a matter of minutes the stack of fliers had gotten significantly shorter. Oh and Xavier’s face had coloured slightly. The tips of his ears were burning even brighter. How cute.
He seemed to be waiting for your judgement.
You extended your hand towards him.
Xavier looked at it. Then at you.
“Not going to offer me a flyer? Is there a secret code I need to say?”
“Yes,” he said, but handed you a flyer anyway. A smile eased onto his face. “The secret code is: Xavier's the best.”
"Hmm. Maybe I don't want the flyer after all."
"Take it."
"Fine," you rolled your eyes good-naturedly, moving to the side next to him and out of the way of the foot traffic. “I guess I'll remember the code for next time," you replied while inspecting the flyer he’d handed to you. It was advertising a new barbecue chain that just opened up'. Huh.
“I didn't know you had a barbecue side business to promote. When does your shift end?”
Xavier answered you, still handing out flyers to people walking past. “I’m just covering for someone until they come back.” You picked some up from the stack, and began handing them to him whenever his hands emptied. "Although, I did pass by the restarant on the way here, and it smelled really good." He looked off into the distance with a wistful expression on his face.
Wouldn't it just smell like roasted meet though? You weren't sure how one barbecue chain would smell better than the others, but you decided to take his word for it.
“Oh, but it seems like you’ll be out soon.” You gestured at the rapidly dwindling stack of flyers.
His previously weary expression brightened. So cute.
“You’re right. Only 20 more to go.”
After giving away his last flyer, Xavier told you to wait and disappeared, likely to speak to whoever was supervising this flyer distribution service.
“Are you in a rush to get home?” he asked, walking back over to you.
You looked up from your phone and laughed.
“Why are you laughing?”
You shook your head at him.
"If I said I was going to get barbecue for dinner, would you want to join me?”
It wasn’t exactly part of your plan for the day, but you did have leftovers you were supposed to finish at home. Still, despite having no idea how long he had been handing out flyers, you knew Xavier, and you knew he was probably starving. And the way he talked about it, well, you could read a hint as well as the next person, probably.
The way he looked at you made you laugh again. If he had bunny ears, they would have perked up. You turned away to hide the endeared expression on your face, and waiting for a response you started walking. He’d catch up.
Summary: Gojo Satoru liked being spoiled a little too much. At first, you didn’t mind. He had bad days, pretty eyes, expensive taste, and a humiliatingly sweet way of saying thank you when you took care of him. Then one bad night became a habit, the habit became your job, and somehow the strongest man alive forgot you were a person with a body, hunger, and needs of your own. So when he sees you laughing over yakiniku with Higuruma Hiromi, he comes home jealous enough to start a fight he is not ready to finish.
Or, Gojo Satoru gets princessed into oblivion, forgets his girlfriend has needs too, and learns the hard way that “come home, baby” is not enough.
Warnings: Babied & Cute Gojo Satoru, Businesswoman/Sugar Mommy Sort of Reader, Jealous + Possessive Gojo Satoru, Emotionally Neglected Reader, Mild hurt/comfort, Established Relationship, Switch/Bottom/Sub Gojo Satoru, Dom Female Reader, Pegging, Strap-Ons, Aftercare, Caretaking, Relationship Issues, Weaponized Incompetence, Emotional Labor, Argument, Apologies, Making Up, Cake as an Apology, Porn With Feelings as Character Study, Gojo Satoru Needs Therapy But Gets Cake Instead.
A/N: FYI, straight people can also like pegging, so this isn't necessarily about Suguru. Also, pre-Shibuya, so Higuruma is a normie living a normie life. WC: 2.8k
Gojo Satoru had become the most high-maintenance woman in your house, and he still had the nerve to whimper under you.
“Good boy,” you praised, hand steady on his hip while he pushed back against the strap with a broken little sound. “Pretty, spoiled thing. Take it, baby.”
He whimpered something incoherent into the pillow, hair messed up, mouth open and drooling all over your bedding—all that smug power wrung out of him. He looked beautiful, happy, and cared for.
You felt your face arrange itself into the right expression.
Your body kept thrusting how he liked because your body knew the job by now—praise him, hold him, check his breathing, kiss his shoulder when he gets overwhelmed, and make him feel safe while your own heat sat in your stomach with yesterday’s cold coffee and three missed client calls.
Your mind took you to the first time you had met him when he’d been trying to steal your pastry box.
You had preordered the last one from the cafe near your office. He stood at the counter in sunglasses, throwing money at the problem while the cashier kept saying, very politely, that the box belonged to someone else.
Then his hand slid toward it.
You’d caught his wrist.
“Since when do rich pretty boys need to shoplift?”
He stared at you as if being caught had hurt his feelings. He didn’t look guilty, just tired under the designer clothes. He was beautiful in an infuriating way, with an iced coffee full of cream and rainbow sprinkles cooling near his elbow.
You split the pastries with him because he looked seconds from crying if he didn’t get them. Or maybe he’d had a shitty day. You had thought that too.
Thought he had watched the box more than he watched you until you started asking him dumb questions on purpose.
By the end, he was laughing into his coffee.
You gave him the whole box for his number.
Next week, when the cafe had the same pastry again, it reminded you of him, so you called.
The greeting that came from the other end was, “Strongest here.”
What a childish thing to say.
You snorted, and your assistant knocked on the glass wall for you to shut up.
That time was different. He seemed to be in a better mood. Made you laugh, flirted back, showed up with flowers too large for your arms.
A few weeks after that, he let you buy him a bracelet that he wore every day.
Sex was good from the start.
Then one night you offered the strap and he got pink before swearing he would hate it.
He did, for about ten minutes.
After that, your life became management: lube in the bedside drawer, charger in the wall, meetings moved because Satoru had texted, “Baby, come home,” and you had.
At first, he ate you out first, then fucked you properly, making it filthy enough that you forgot the imbalance, then enjoyed whatever you gave him with half-shaking knees.
Then he learned your softness had no boundaries. Meaning, you’d do anything to please others—even ignore your own needs and wants.
The first time had been after a bad day.
Satoru had come home and hadn’t even joked at the door. His sunglasses were in his hand, his shirt collar had been crooked, and there was a dark smear of red on his cuff he had already tried to rinse out. He stood in your kitchen, staring at the expensive cake he had bought you on the way home as if he had forgotten why he was holding it.
You took the box from him and set it on the counter. “Come here.”
He gave you a look, tired pride still trying to stand up straight. “You ordering me around now?”
“For tonight, yes.”
You slow-kissed his lips first, then his cheek, his jaw, the hinge of his hand where his fingers had gone cold. You told him he did not have to take care of you back. He made some weak noise about being the strongest, then let you guide him to bed like a man who wanted the comfort of being taken care of but needed the offer dressed up nice enough for his ego.
That night, he asked you more than once if you were sure.
After, he kissed your shoulder and said, “Thank you,” with his face turned away.
So you forgave how much of yourself it took.
The second time, he had a headache.
The third, he had a family meeting and came back mean looking.
Then he stopped asking if you had eaten before he asked if you could come home. He stopped finding the lube, though it sat in the same drawer every time. He sent photos of the harness laid out on the sheets like he had done half the work. If you said you had a call, he said he could be quick, as if the speed gave the commute time back and pleased every client waiting in the office with complaints. If you came home irritated, he acted wounded until you apologized for the mood he had caused.
Now it was a long job, then boredom, then a pretty pout from your bed while you were still in work clothes and hungry.
Your attention snapped back when Satoru made a small, offended sound beneath you because your pace had gone monotonous and void of worship.
“Baby,” he whined, cheek pressed to the pillow. “Don’t drift off on me.”
Your hand tightened on his hip.
There were words somewhere inside you to explain this. You knew there were. Words for I’m human and alive. Words for I need something too. Words for stop making me into the place you only put everything you don’t want to carry, then forget I exist as a mere mortal.
By the time they reached your mouth, all of them felt shameful.
Selfish. Cruel. Ungrateful. Mean.
So you bent over him and kissed his shoulder.
“I’m here,” you whispered, because it was the selfless thing to do. “I’ve got you. You wanted attention, pretty baby? Take it.”
He melted for you and came hard.
You still did the aftercare right—loosened the harness, wiped him down with the warm cloth, got him water, opened the mango pudding he liked from the fridge because Satoru got cranky after sex if his blood sugar dropped. He lay there pink-cheeked and boneless, one arm flung over his face, smiling into the pillow while you checked his hips and asked if anything hurt.
“Mm. You’re so good to me,” he mumbled.
“I know, baby.”
He laughed, sleepy and pleased, missing the customer-service way you said it—warm from habit instead of feeling. Then he tugged at your wrist until you sat beside him, cheek pressing into your thigh with the effortless trust of someone who had been handled with care and gotten too used to receiving it.
Your own body still ached, unfinished and irritating. Your vibrator stayed in the drawer. Your phone buzzed on the nightstand with a client email, then another, then your assistant asking if tomorrow’s lunch meeting should be moved because she felt like you’d vanish again.
Satoru kissed your knee. “Stay.”
So you stayed until he fell asleep.
In the morning, you woke under his arm with dried lube on your stomach, a dead phone, and a calendar full of apologies.
Luckily, Satoru had school to get to, or work, or whatever vague thing he mumbled about while kissing your cheek before leaving with your spare key in his pocket. You still didn’t know what he did for a living—still hadn’t met anyone from his life.
He, of course, knew your secretary because she had come by more than once with office stationery, documents to be signed, and the stupidly expensive gifts you kept ordering for him like an idiot with a credit card and poor self-preservation.
When you arrived at work, three clients had been ready to quit working with you.
By late morning, you had been only able to retain one, and that one had also given their final warning.
Then Higuruma Hiromi stopped beside your desk with a file in one hand and a vending machine coffee in the other. “Have you eaten?”
You looked up at him.
He set the coffee down. “That answers it.”
Then Higuruma’s assistant, Shimizu, dragged both of you to lunch.
Lunch became staying late.
Staying late became yakiniku, cheap beer, and Higuruma telling you about a client who tried to pay his legal fee with rare beetles. You laughed until your ribs hurt.
Satoru saw you through the restaurant window.
He had been out with Shoko, Nanami, and Ijichi, three names he tossed around while still giving you nothing solid enough about them. Some weekend nonsense, he had called it.
Though you didn’t see him until Higuruma dropped you home.
You were still chuckling softly when you unlocked the door and walked inside, heels hooked in one hand, bag slipping off your shoulder. Then the lamp clicked on.
Satoru sat on your couch in the dark, sunglasses off, one ankle over his knee, looking like he had been hired to kill you.
“Where were you?”
Your heels hit the floor with a heavy clatter, and one hand flew to your chest, bracing for the heart attack.
“Jesus Christ, Satoru. Don’t do that.”
“Tell me.”
“Dinner with coworkers. Ran late.”
“With him?”
“With who?”
“The guy in the suit.”
“You were following me?”
“I saw you.”
You went to your bedroom. He followed.
“Satoru, I want to pee without an interrogation. Please stop acting like I’m preparing to cheat just by having dinner with a coworker when I don’t even know what you did all day.”
“What meeting runs that late?”
You unzipped your skirt. He stood there waiting for an answer.
“The kind where people eat meat and complain about clients.”
You went to pee. He stood in the doorway.
“Was he flirting?”
You flushed the toilet and washed your hands. “Weren't you supposed to be with your boys or something?”
“I left.”
“Congratulations.”
He followed you into the bathroom while you turned on the shower. “Do you want him?”
“You think I want him?” You laughed once, rubbing water out of your eyes. “Satoru, I don’t even know where you go in the mornings. You sleep in my bed, use my shower, know my assistant by name, and I couldn’t pick one person from your life out of a police lineup.”
“That’s different. Don’t deflect.”
“Oh, that’s deflecting!” You wiped the steam from the glass and glared. “Rich coming from you.”
He looked stricken for a split second, and then his gaze hardened again. “You are still not answering my question.”
“You are asking me that while standing in my bathroom with my spare key in your pocket.” You looked at him through steam, alcohol, and months of swallowed irritation. “I let you bat your lashes at half the city because you get bored and I never say a word. I haven’t met any of your people, and yet you moved yourself in because, quote, my sheets were nicer, unquote, and I let it happen.”
His mouth tightened. “So you want me gone?”
“I wanted you to act like my boyfriend.”
“I am your boyfriend.”
“You are my princess with a corporate card.”
He huffed a sarcastic laugh. “So what, now you’re bored of me?”
“You’re jealous of a man who bought me grilled meat and asked if I slept.” You looked at him then and watched his jaw move. “That is how low the bar is right now.”
“So you do want him.”
“Do you even hear yourself?” You laughed, ugly and tired. “You want me available every hour, every day, ready to come home and fuck you because you got needy between errands. I am losing contracts because you text me like a dying harlot with a butt plug.”
His ears went red. “I didn’t ask. You offered.”
“And you loved it. You even beg for it.” You stepped out, wrapped in a towel, and copied his voice with cruel accuracy. “‘Baby, please, I can’t think, just a little, I’ll make it up to you.’ Then you pass out on my pillows, and I lie there wide awake, feeling like a fucking robot. When will you take care of me, Satoru? When will my time come? When will I have my bad day, huh?”
He stared at you like he’d never seen you before.
Your voice softened before you could stop it. “My family raised me into free labor. I’m good at guessing needs. Even better at neglecting myself while giving care. You used that angle well.”
The color drained from his face like you had slapped him.
For one stupid second, you wanted to take it back. You wanted to apologize and say you were drunk, tired, dramatic, and mean. Then invite him in the shower and touch his face, fixing the wounded look on him before it became another thing you had to manage.
Satoru beat you to it. “That’s what you think I’m doing?”
Your throat tightened, but you tried to stick to your boundary. “That is what you are doing.”
“So I’m using you.”
“You’re letting yourself use me because it works for you.”
He looked away first.
Water ran behind you, hitting tile, wasting money while both of you stood there half-dressed and angry in a bathroom that smelled like your body wash. Satoru’s jaw moved, but nothing came out. Not even a joke, soft baby, or dramatic threat about the lawyer.
His hand went to his hair, fingers pushing through it hard.
“You could’ve said something.”
The drunk words ran before you could think them over. “I’m not your mother. I shouldn’t have to tell you everything. You are a grown man.”
His eyes cut back to yours, bright with humiliation now. “Right.”
“Satoru—”
“No, I got it.” He nodded too fast. “Princess with a corporate card. Dying harlot. Robot. Free labor.”
You hated hearing it back.
“That isn’t—”
“It is.” He laughed, a thin sound. “You said it pretty clearly.”
He walked out before you could follow. You heard him moving through your bedroom, drawers opening, one closing too hard. A minute later, your spare key landed on the kitchen counter with a small sound.
The front door shut.
You stood in the bathroom until the steam thinned and the water ran cold.
Then you turned the shower off, wrapped the towel tighter, and picked his shirt off the floor because you hated yourself enough to fold it.
The next three days passed in the meanest way possible.
On the first day, you checked your phone every time it buzzed and felt angry when it was a client. On the second, you ordered dinner and left half of it untouched because the mango pudding in your fridge made your stomach twist. On the third, your secretary asked if you wanted the new bracelet invoice filed under personal expenses or gifts, and you stared at the email until the words blurred.
Satoru did not call.
You wrote one text, deleted it, wrote another, then deleted that too.
At 10:48 PM, with your laptop open and nothing done, you sent the worst one.
come home. i’ll buy you whatever stupid sunglasses you want.
He called after eight minutes. “They aren’t stupid.”
“You coming or shopping?”
He came over with a box and a face full of wounded pride.
“I took advantage,” he said at your door, voice rough. “I liked being taken care of, but I let you do all of it.”
You looked down at the cake inside the translucent box. “Is that my apology?”
“It’s cake and an apology. I panicked.”
You stepped aside.
Inside, he put the cake on the counter. The spare key still lay there from the night he left. Satoru looked at it and didn’t touch it.
Then he knelt in front of you before you could make a joke. His hands rested on your waist, careful for once.
“I’ll take care of you too,” he murmured. “Actually. Food, sleep, sex, work—all of it. You shouldn’t have to beg.”
Your throat closed a little.
His thumb rubbed the exposed skin at your waist. “And I’ll still be pretty.”
You huffed.
He smiled then, small and relieved. “That part feels important.”
You pulled him up by his collar. “Shut up and feed me cake.”
He kissed your cheek, grabbed two forks, and gave you the bigger piece.
A/N: What would you have done? Didn't mind, forgave him, or moved on?
Masterlist
Header images are from Pinterest, and the dividers are mine.
BREAKING NEWS! Targ Industry’s CFO Jacaerys Targaryen was recently spotted on a private getaway with up and coming actress Cassandra Baratheon. Is the world’s hottest bachelor off the market?
it shouldn’t matter to you what the headlines say. he’s just your boss. your very hot boss. it doesn’t matter if he’s dating her. you’re just his secretary.
Modern au!Jacaerys targaryen x Reader | 4.1k | oblivious reader x yearning jace
you thought your boss going on a vacation would be a blessing in disguise. he never takes time off.
ever.
its almost laughable how confident you were you would have a quiet peaceful week to do some mundane tasks you never got around to with him around. it was peaceful, for a few days, before suddenly every major news is posting about your boss and you're rushing to the office for an emergency pr meeting at 10 pm.
instead of finding it out from your job or maybe even the news tab on google. you had found out from popbase. like a fucking loser.
its not like he wasn't allowed to date. he was of course, in private. it looked better for business if he was available. so all the business partners daughters or even wives could ogle at him like hes eye candy and beg their wealthy parents or husbands to invest in targ industry's so they could see him again. or if they were lucky get a chance to speak with him.
he'd turn up the charm, flash a smile and suddenly you were getting signed contracted passed along your desk the next morning. it was simple. it worked.
now the team had been scrambling around to issue a formal pr statement, you've probably rewritten a draft statement about twenty times. it didn't help that nobody from Cassandra's team had even bothered to respond to any of your emails.
that ridiculous part of your brain was thankful for all the mess because if you really had any time to think about it you would be devastated. you had no reason to be upset. he was your boss, the two of you didn't even communicate outside of work related conversations, you didn't see him outside of work related events. none of that seemed to matter to your heart since whenever you had a free moment you would look at the pictures posted by tmz with them walking together in the streets of Sicily and feel sick.
it didn't help that he seemed to be purposefully ignoring you. he had been answering his mother, he send a couple emails to addam from the pr team, hell he had even sent an email to criston from the it team who he can't stand. yet it was complete radio silence from him to you. you had cc'd him into a few emails which he seemed to purposefully wait until someone else replied so he can chime in. then of course there were the texts. the stupid texts you had sent him that you grew to regret more and more as the days past.
it had been 2 am, you were still stuck in he office the night the news broke answering emails from whatever weirdo was up at that time of night sending in inquires about the news. you finally had a quiet lull when you pulled opt your phone and shot him a text. the first one was a basic one, wishing him well with a gentle reminder to check his inbox. the second one was the one that you regretted, staring at it now you can't believe you even hit send on it.
'Also, I hope you're enjoying your romantic trip! You deserve the break!'
why would you send that. it didn't help that the little read at 4:05 am sat at the bottom of the text, mocking you. you we're going to be fired. you were so fucked. lost in your own despair you don't notice the presence in front of you before a gentle hand comes down to knock on your desk. your head snaps up and you immediately go to stand before her hand comes down to rest on your shoulder. "come on I've known you for long enough you don't need to stand every time you see me."
rhaenyra was a sweet woman. you had always pictured ceo's to be rude or scary but she was always kind and always took the time to show her appreciation for her employees, including you.
"of course ma'am." she gave you a funny look before sighing."you should go home, take a half day." you roll your neck before shaking your head, as much as you wish to the triple digit number next to your unread emails prevented you from having it.
"i have so much work to catch up on…" the pointed look she gives you has you rethinking how you planned to end the sentence. "but could i cash that in a different day? i swear i will." you can clearly tell shes reluctant to agree but she knows you well enough to know you wont leave even if she tells you too. "fine. but you will cash it in." you eagerly nod while she rubs the bridge of her nose. she leaves with another pointed look telling you not to overwork yourself.
you stay until 10 pm that night. the only reason you even leave is addam walking by your desk and dragging you out with him for the day. "the boss will be pissed if i let you stay." you tried to argue with him but he wouldn't take no for answer. you didn't get to talk to addam much, thankfully because the only times you ever needed to speak to pr meant bad times, but when you did he was a little shy but he was definitely very convincing when he needed to be. especially since he threatened to tell rhaenyra you were still at the office at this time and you knew she would be mad at you.
"have you heard from your boss?" you press the parking lot button a lot harsher than you intended to at the mention of him. addam turns his head to give you a curious look as you put your head in your hands. "no." he gives you a second to add anything more to your answer but you don't, you hear him quietly hum to himself. "he shot me a text 10 minutes ago."
Oh. he's texting addam and not you. great. he doesn't even work with addam like that. you were so fucked. when you groan to yourself at his answer he catches the back of your blazer before you're able to walk off once you arrive in the parking lot. "okay what the hell is up with you?"
you snap. all your pent up anxiety over this comes spilling out of you as you turn to face him.
"i texted mr targaryen what i thought was an innocent text at the time but i guess he didn't like it since he's left me on read for days now and he's texting everyone else expect me which of course means hes going to fire me and im going to be left without a job and i love this job and i can't believe i fucked it all up!" you take a deep breath putting your hands on your knees to catch your breath like you just ran a marathon. addam had completely frozen in place during your whole rant, his mouth had dropped open in shock. "what could you have possibly said to him?"
you pull out your work phone and show him the text log. his face quickly drops into one of confusion when he reads the message. "hmm. you didn't say anything wrong. Marcus from marketing said something similar in the email chain." this news was meant to cheer you up but instead it just dampened your mood even more. "what did he say?" "he just sent a thumbs down emoji and said to get back to work."
thumbs down? what did a thumbs down emoji even mean in this scenario? you couldn't come up with an answer even on your way home, even as you got home and did your nightly routine. as you tried to fall asleep your brain was plagued with one singular question. why wouldn't he text you back? even if it was just too thumbs up the message even if it was a simple thanks why was he blatantly ignoring you?
you shouldn't even care this much. sure your job was on the line but you knew it wasnt your job that was making you upset. it was him. he was your boss, you had no reason to be upset he was seeing her. your rational thoughts couldn't quell the ache in your chest. it couldn't stop the frown on your face. it couldn't stop you from tossing and turning in bed that night.
your coworkers thought he was a bit rude. abrasive. sure he tended to have a nasty look on that gorgeous face and sure maybe he said things that could be taken as rude but you thought he was kind. kind not nice. he always made sure the staff room fridge was fully stocked, he bought the office lunch once a week, he never complained about people asking for time off for any reason.
he was never anything but respectful to you. of course you had a bit of a crush on him who wouldn't in your position. you spent practically every working hour with him. even if you weren't at work you spent most of your time thinking about him, about the job, the trips you needed to book for him, the meetings you needed to set up. everything your life practically revolved around him. anytime you found yourself day dreaming about kissing him or thinking about going on dates your tiktok algorithm liked to remind you that you weren't in love with your coworker you just spend the majority of your time with them.
maybe you did like him. now was not the time to be thinking of that. you barely get a wink of sleep before its almost an hour before you like to get ready for work. you feel like a zombie when you try to get out of bed. you text rhaenyra and ask if you can cash in that half day in the hopes of catching up on some sleep you missed. she tells you to take the day off and she'll see you tomorrow plus a follow up email that says if you even try to log in on your laptop she'll have the it team remotely shut you out.
you shut off your work phone and throw it in your bag with your laptop before you can regret saying yes. you deserve a day off. the last couple days have been shit its good to take a break. you finally manage to fall asleep after you agree. with your work phone and laptop off you miss the plethora of messages you get during the day.
you wake up in the late afternoon for the first time since you started working at targ industry's. even if you didn't work on weekends your body has become so conditioned to waking up early you can't break that habit. you have a normal day off. you eat lunch, you catch up on your chores, watch a movie, its nice. so caught up in your relaxation you don't even think of checking your work stuff.
you wake up the next day feeling a lot better, maybe rhaenyra was right and you should take some more time off. but today was not that day. its Friday, that means one more day until the weekend and three more days until jacaerys is back in the office. all you can do is pray that your work day ends before 8. 6 if you're lucky.
Greg at the front desk gives you a worried look as you greet him. you don't have time to worry about it you're already a few minutes late. just. as your about to power back on your work phone at your desk loud thundering footsteps catch your attention. your breath catches as you see him, he looks furious. maybe you were imagining things but you swear you saw his face shift once he spotted you. you were watching too many romcoms.
you were so distracted by him you didn't even notice Doug trailing right after time. Doug was head of pr, if he was speaking to jacaerys it clearly had to be serious. you had no idea what they had been talking about he looks more and more irritated the more Doug speaks to him.
"in my office. now."
his eyes only leave yours once he walks past your desk. the harsh look jacaerys gives Doug stopped him right in front of your desk. jacaerys slams his office door shut. you turn your head to see him pacing around his office. dough catches your attention by letting out a loud sigh, you watch as he runs his hands over his face, clearly looking upset. he lets out a shout at his phone ringing and you flinch. Doug was a very serious man from what you knew, it was strange to see him all out of sorts.
"can you please try talking some sense into him." even if it was phrased like a question the tone of his statement was clearly meant to be a demand before he stormed off, phone to his ear.
what the hell was happening.
you're frozen at your desk for a few moments as you try to comprehend what had just happened. why was Doug so upset? why was jacaerys back already you very distinctly remember ordering his return flight to be this upcoming Sunday. you had scheduled the car to be there to pick him up from the airport just two days ago.
his office. you were supposed to go to his office. is this the moment where you get fired?
you close the door gently behind you, letting ut a shaky breath before you turn around to face him.
fuck he was so hot.
he was gripping at the collar of his neck while he sighed, the anger and irritation clear on his face. his jaw clenched tightly as his free hand runs along his scrunched up face. the last time you saw him this mad was when he found out one of the guys from marketing had been harassing you during a company dinner, he had been at it for weeks but you never said anything because you didn't want it to effect work. jacaerys had seen him harshly grip your wrist and snapped. he clearly cared a lot about his staff.
"i can get you some water sir-"
"why would you say that to me?"
you froze. your heart feels like it just dropped out of your ass and on to the floor. the 'im sorry?' you let out is meek and quiet. he was about to fire you. this was it this was the end. you enjoyed your time here, you enjoyed him being you very hot boss. it was over.
if it was even possible he looks even more irritated at your words.
"i can take the press, my staff, fuck even my own mother thinking it was some romantic honeymoon trip. but you?" he almost sounded hurt. no. he did sound hurt. the look on his face was one of despair.
what?
it's like your mind had suddenly turned into mush. everything was being thrown at you so fast you shakily sit down in one of the chairs in his office as you try to gather your thoughts.
"im sorry if i overstepped my professional boundaries sir i promise i will never do it again…" your words trail off as you watch him begin to pace around as you speak. "i really love this job i promise to never make such a mistake again."
you were going to be fired this was it. you would have to say goodbye to addam, rhaenyra, and Greg you really liked those guys. it was over this was it. you don't even notice hes stopped pacing, the look on his face has changed at the sight of seeing you so upset. he doesn't want you to be upset. he says your name softly at the same time as you bring your laced hands up in front of your face. "please don't fire me! im so sorry!"
the room is quiet for a few moments. you cant even bring yourself to open your eyes as you hope with all your body he will change his mind. you hear him move, and suddenly your hands are being brought down from in front of your face. your eyes peak open and you are greeted by the sight of his relaxed, beautiful, face. "darling. im not going to fire you."
…..
what? "what?"
he laughs. its small its more of a chuckle but still he laughs. "did you really think i was going to… no no i swear I've never planned to fire you." he covers your hands with his, you notice he's knees are touching the ground. oh my god he's kneeling. "why would i fire you?"
"because you didn't respond to my text… and that sounds super dumb now that I've said it out loud." he smiles, he has such nice teeth… that's such a weird thing to think.
"I'm sorry i wanted to explain everything to you in person." a more serious expression falls on his face as his grip on your hands tightens "Cassandra followed me to Sicily i didn't invite her and she called the paps to spot us together."
a dragged out oh falls from your lips as you feel yourself switch into work mode. "have you informed security?" he waves your concern away with his hand before he stands, the irritation returning to his features.
"i tried to rush home especially after you had messaged me but some of the business partners met me out there and i had to stay for longer than i wanted to." you don't get why your message had anything to do with his decision but you keep your mouth shut as he continues to speak. "when i arrived yesterday you weren't here and pr decides their stupid grand plan will be for me to pretend to date her for a year before we have some dramatic break up."
he slams his hand on his desk as his head twists trying to unwind the tension he feels in his body. he was so so so irritated yesterday and all he wanted to do was see his pretty secretary that day but she never came in. he thinks he had been so pissed he had made one of the boys in pr cry.
"what good would that do?" "something about it being good for business. my 'image' will improve if im shown im able to settle down." you knew he wasn't a playboy despite the fact the tabloids loved to push that narrative. he liked to flirt with the ladies, it was good for business no matter how much it used to make your stomach ache. he never slept around, he never went on dates, even when girls threw themselves at him he would always just come back to you and tell you he's done for the night.
its a good idea. the reception to the news has mostly been positive, Cassandra stans mostly glad the guy she's chosen to date is actually hot. the business part of you wants to tell him its a good idea, do what Doug asked you to do and convince him its good for business. yet that stupid selfish maggot inside your brain tells you to say its an awful idea. because you don't want to have to be the one to schedule fake dinners and call the paps to spot them doing on walks or concerts together. you didn't want to have to see the two of them together. you didn't want the possibility that it could turn into something real on the table.
"im not going to do it." his voice cuts through your thoughts before you can even bring yourself to speak. it had not even occurred to you that you had been sitting in silence. he had been waiting for you to speak. "you should." you look down at your lap instead of at him. you miss the way his face turns into one more sour, the way his posture stiffens. "don't say that. please don't say that."
you compose yourself enough to look up at him and quickly regret it. he looks devastated. he looks like a soppy wet puppy, was he pouting? "why not? its a good idea-," he quickly turns frantic as he rushes towards you, grabbing your hands from your lap and kneeling in front of you once more. "you should stand up sir-"
"how could you ask me to pretend to be date her when i am in love with you."
you feel like a bucket of cold water just got poured over your body. you must have misheard him. maybe he thought he was talking to someone else? he looks confused by the look of horror on your face. "you must have known, you must know.." he trails off as you stand, walking a couple paces away from him as you try to calm yourself down.
"how was… how am i.." you cover your face with your hands as if it'll do something. maybe if you just pretend he didn't say anything you can move on. its not like you weren't happy to hear that of course you were but there's no way he's being serious. of course you're a catch but a jacaerys targaryen level catch? young rich heir to a multi million dollar business bachelor jacaerys? your boss?
you don't get to see how distraught he's become. he had thought you knew. he had thought he was making himself obvious. he would barely give other girls the time of day, if you didn't bring in lunch to work he would buy you some, he would take some of your work load so you wouldn't be as burdened, he would share things with you he wouldn't dare tell anyone else, he let you talk to him more casually since that seemed to get you to relax. he would put a new bouquet of flowers on your desk ever week. he was a fool.
now he's made you uncomfortable. now you'll quit, go work somewhere else and he'll never get to see you again. he's so sick to his stomach he might throw up.
"im sorry. I'll take it back. we can act like to conversation never happened. i can have you moved to a different department. I'll accept the pr relationship contact from Doug-"
"don't."
your voice cuts through his ramble like a hot knife through butter. he finds himself struggling to breath as he stares at your back. you've wrapped around arms around yourself in a hug, you still haven't turned back to look at him.
"don't what?"
"the pr relationship. don't do it."
he hears you take a sharp breath in before you turn around. his stomach plummets at the sight of your glossy eyes. his brain moving a mile a minute on what he can do to get you to not cry. maybe he should just open his window and throw himself out the tower. he cannot bring himself to be hopeful about your words at how upset you look. "why not?"
you chuckle to yourself as he throws your words back at you. he smiles tightly when you do.
"because… if you're not fucking with me. i really like you too." you have a shaky smile on your lips as you finish speaking.
warmth spreads throughout his body as a huge grin ends up on his face. he lets out a huge sigh of relief as he has to use the chair to help himself stand up, his legs feel like jello from how otherworldly he feels. you laugh at him and he loves it. the two of you move towards one another until you're close enough to wear he can cup your face.
you feel like you're dreaming. the way he's looking at you is something you've only ever dreamed about. he looks at you like you've hung the moon and stars, you're sure your face says the same. "let me take you to dinner." his thumb traces your cheek as you grin. "just dinner?"
"dinner. and your companionship. forever?"
you don't know who leans in first but regardless you two seal the deal with a kiss.
you'll probably freak out later. you might even faint after he pulls his soft lips away from yours. but you'll worry about that later. after work.
not proofread. sorry if this sucks this took me two weeks to write. jacaerys is a loser and the leaks are pissing me off. (edit: ppl are misunderstanding i meant that jace is a loser in my fic not in the show.)
you were going to be late for work. not because you woke up late. not because you took too long in the shower and not because you were doom scrolling in bed and lost track of time.
you were going to be late because your husband, satoru, just couldn't seem to let you go. you found it cute at first, him begging you not to go and whining when you say no, but the act was getting boring especially because you were standing at the door, trapped in his arms for the last twenty minutes.
"for the last time, 'toru. i have to go", he only shook his head and pulled you impossibly closer against him.
"you don't have to work...i make enough for the both of us...you can stay home with me...you should stay home with me", satoru whispered into your ear, nuzzling his face against your neck, inhaling your scent.
"i actually like my job. i know you can pay for everything, but i also want to treat myself sometimes". satoru looked at you like you'd grown two heads. he looked you up and down, his frown deepened and shook his head, no.
"absolutely not. what kind of husband would i be if i just let you spend your hard earned money. only a loser would do that, and I'm no loser.", he pulled you closer to him again, this time peppering kisses all over your face.
"as cute as this is, satoru, i have a life to live"
"yeah, with me". this time he captured your lips in a long, passionate kiss, your lipstick now on him before pulling away and staring at you with the most love sick eyes. "i could just lock you up and keep you all to myself. i bet your boss is an ugly guy"
"my boss is a woman", he pressed his lips together in a straight line and sucked his teeth.
"whoever keeps you away from me is ugly by default. how much should i pay you to stay with me? i'll give you double your current salary-"
"don't be ridiculous, satoru"
"it's 'toru to you", you checked your wrist watch for the nth time and rolled your eyes.
"i'm gonna get stuck in traffic if you keep me here for longer", satoru sighed dramatically and pulled you in for one last hug before capturing your lips again in another kiss. but this one felt different. he kissed you like he would never see you again before pulling back and looking at you with the saddest puppy dog eyes.
"you can go now, my love". he escorted you to your car, his hand on your lower back and once you were settled in your seat, the door closed, you rolled down the windows and you kissed his cheek. "get there safe. call me when you do"
you said your goodbyes and were soon. some time later you realized that you had forgotten your purse. you reached for your phone with the intention of messaging satoru to tell him you were coming back. and to your surprise, you found that he sent a selfie of him posing with your purse, all pearly whites out and your lipstick still smeared on his lips. and below it a text.
my handsome clingy husband: i wont let you go this time if you come back
sukuna was used to getting hit on. normally, he flat out rejects anyone that even makes an attempt to flirt with him. tonight he's taken you on one of your usual date nights, but imagine his surprise when the woman who approaches your table is hitting on you instead of him!
"ryo. ryo, ryo, ryo, i don't know what to get!" you pout, extending a leg underneath the table to graze your husband's calf as he grunts, brows pinched together in concentration as he stares down at the menu
"doesn't matter. i'm ordering half the stuff they have here anyway... you hungry for dessert too?" he questions, and you give him a deadpan look before he dramatically rolls his eyes, eliciting a giggle from you that has the corner of his mouth tipping upwards in a smirk
"fatty," he murmurs, and you make a point to dig the tip of your heel into his shoe, yet even through the pain, he maintains that annoying grin, and you shake your head with a laugh
the restaurant sukuna chose to take you out to tonight was located on the outer edges of the city near the water. your seating is overlooking the ocean, and you're not sure where you should stare—either at the lapping waves shimmering underneath the sparkling sun, or at your husband (an equally irresistible sight). he's wearing a tight black shirt with the first few buttons open, revealing the intricate details of his tattoos and the large expanse of his muscles and chest
a waitress eventually approaches your table. she's pretty—tall, lean, and wearing a dark red lipstick that suits her well—and you feel your heart sink a bit. you're sure she was staring at your table earlier, and you'd already assumed she was keeping an eye out on sukuna. almost subconsciously, you sit a little taller in your chair as she greets you two
"hello! i hope you guys are doing well. what can i get started?" she starts in an extra sweet voice, and you avoid her eyes and instead drum a single manicured finger against the table to distract yourself
you know you have nothing to feel insecure about, but anyone would feel a bit down if attractive women were constantly hitting on their husband, right?
without looking up, sukuna starts
"i'll have a plate of crab cakes, four fish tacos, one chicken marsala, one miso marinated black cob, two fettuccini pastas, one lobster ravioli, and one lava cake—and the center of it better not be undercooked. my wife doesn't like whenever it happens and i want her dessert to be nothing short of perfection." sukuna finishes, and the waitress looks genuinely distressed as she quickly jots down everything he said
"uhm, and all that is for just the two of you?" she questions hesitantly, and sukuna's gaze snaps up with a scowl
"yeah. and?"
you try to stifle your laughter as she quickly shakes her head with a smile, still writing everything down. your husband was... a bit of a big eater.
"no, no, i was just wondering— oh. did you say wife?" she frowns, and you try not to wince at twinge of disappointment in her voice
"if you were thinking i'm single, you're out of luck." sukuna states boldly, not bothering to give her any further attention as he folds up the menu and hands it to her
"uhm... i wasn't wondering about you. i was wondering about you." — and suddenly her gaze is pinned on you, and your eyes widen a fraction
"me?" you squeak in disbelief, and she smirks. it's cocky and slanted and it instantly reminds you of your husband's habit when he's teasing you, and you can't even try to hide the smile on your face as you cover it with your hand, caught off gaurd and embarrassed
"yes, you. you are beautiful. so, are you happily married to this guy, or just marri—"
"that's enough." sukuna stammers, and he looks genuinely mortified by the look of curiosity on your face. you giggle, shaking your head
"thank you... you're very beautiful too." you smile, and she actually blushes at your words, telling you she'll be out with your food soon as she walks back inside the restaurant with a lot more pep in her step than before
sukuna reaches over to pull your hand out of your lap and onto the table, and he adjusts your ring with furrowed brows as you giggle
"ryo—"
"i can't believe that woman's audacity—hitting on my wife! when i get home, i am writing the most deplorable review of this restaurant." he snaps as you let out a sudden laugh
"don't be silly, you big grump! she was nice," you smile, and he drags a hand down his face as if this was the worst day of his entire life.
sukuna wasn't used to women hitting on you. no man ever tried because all six feet of your husband was always looming behind you like a guard dog just waiting to rip someone's head off for looking at you too long, but he never suspected he had to look out for women too!
his brows are furrowed as he rubs a thumb over the diamond on your ring finger, and your gaze softens before you cradle his own larger hand in your own and press a kiss onto his knuckles. he blinks at you a few times before turning away with a huff, the tips of his ears a light shade of pink
"you're mine. you'll never indulge in anyone that tries anything with you, right?" he murmurs, still staring at your interlocked hands as you pout
"of course not." you promise gently, and he seems satisfied by your response as he holds your hand firmly in his own
after a moment of thought, he opens his mouth once again
"do you think we should make out to confirm our status for everyone else here?"
