#She did all that!! She saw all that!!!! And they are married!!!! And they are “happily” married by the end of it!!!!!!

[gojoest]

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃

━━━ synopsis: fate has a strange way of birthing love. you married gojo satoru to stay close to his father — an arranged union built to conceal a scandalous affair. but somewhere between the lies and the silence, another secret began to stir quietly in your chest. one that did not belong to his father at all. 

━━━ content warning: MDNI, fem! reader (she/her), arranged marriage, affair, infidelity, love triangle, age gap (late 50s vs late 20s/early 30s), reader’s age isn’t necessarily specified but she’s written with late 20s/early30s in mind, unreliable narrator, original characters (satoru’s parents: gojo akihito & gojo saori), falling in love, sexual themes but no explicit content, alcohol consumption in a few scenes, reader is drunk in one scene, flashbacks, character death, murder, twists, there’s a specific fire scene that is heavily inspired by the manhwa “betrayal of dignity”, pregnancy, angst with a happy ending, ask to tag if something triggering is missing 

━━━ pairing: gojo satoru x fem! reader ; gojo akihito (oc) x fem! reader 

━━━ word count: 20k+ (…idk what happened there tbh) 

━━━ author’s note: hello guys! this is the idea i first mentioned back in october and it’s finally coming to life! it’s the longest thing i’ve ever written so please be gentle and kind — to me, to the story, and to reader. i did my best to proofread while editing but apologies in advance for any typos, inconsistencies or mistakes that might’ve slipped through! i hope you enjoy the read ♡

Love can make you do crazy things.  

Sometimes it’s a silly behavior that you exhibit, one that isn’t akin to your usual self, one that makes you a bit of a fool. 

You find yourself taking detours to “accidentally” bump into someone. Your heart races at the sight of them, and you disguise your longing behind an awkward ‘What a coincidence!’, but what you really mean is ‘I really wanted to see you! I couldn’t stay away.’ It’s harmless — charming, even. 

But what happens when love blooms where it shouldn’t? When it takes root in poisoned soil, nurtured by secrecy and betrayal — can it still be called innocent? When the heart wants what it shouldn’t, when desire threatens to unravel lives and twist fates — is it still harmless? Still endearing? 

No. The fool knows better — but doesn’t care. 

Blinded by love, reason is cast aside. Judgment dulls. Morality slips through desperate fingers. The choices no longer belong to conscience; they belong to longing. 

Science says that falling in love mimics a drug high — dopamine rushes, rational thought hijacked, impulse overrides consequence. You become addicted. You crave. And in that craving, you’d do anything to have it. No matter the cost. 

-- 

The air in the room is thick. With the windows shut, the scent of sex lingers — trapped between the four walls of the hotel room, clinging to your skin and his. Your bodies lie tangled, worn out and still close. 

“Nobody saw you come in, right?” the whitehaired man beside you breaks the silence, voice low but tender. His breathing has steadied, back to its usual calm rhythm. 

You tilt your head, cheek still pressed against his damp chest. His hand, which had been trailing lazily along your bare back, moves up to cradle your neck — gentle, almost instinctive. Like he’s trying to spare you any discomfort, even now. It makes you smile, the way he always trembles for you. 

“No, no one saw me”, you murmur. “It’s not like this is the first time.” 

“It’s the first time since you got married”, he replies, his tone quieter, more guarded. 

“Is this why you’re so tense?” you let out a feeble laugh. “Nothing’s changed, really — except now we’re both married...” the smile on your lips slowly fades. Your lips part, more words caught behind them. 

...not to each other though — you want to say, but you don’t. You don’t want to break the moment. It’s been too long since you last had this. 

“Actually”, he trails off, reaching for the pack of cigarettes on the nightstand. 

At times like this, you’re reminded, again, how large he is. He barely shifts beneath you, just stretches one arm to grab the pack, the other still wrapped around your waist. He lights a cigarette with practiced ease, tucks it between his lips, and inhales deeply.  

“There’s one thing that has changed”, he says, smoke curling from his mouth. 

“Oh?” 

“I see you every day now.” 

A faint smile touches his lips, softening his blue eyes. He kisses the top of your head, gaze lingering on you. 

That’s right. You do see each other every day now. It’s the consequence of living under the same roof. 

“But even so, moments like this... they’ve become rare. That bothers me.” 

The warmth leaves his voice. His eyes grow distant, pale and cold. “Seems like he is keeping you too busy. Maybe he’s starting to like you.” he speaks in a dull voice. 

“You think so?” 

“He’s around the house more, with you. He used to be gone all the time. That wasn’t supposed to happen.” His tone hardens. ���He wasn’t supposed to act like this.” 

You let out a dry, uneasy chuckle. “Maybe he’s taking after you. Maybe I bewitched him... just like I bewitched you.” 

You don’t mean it. It’s just a tease, but the words land wrong.  

“Don’t joke about it”, he mutters, exhaling sharply. His brows furrow, tension creeping back into his features. “That’d be... problematic.” 

The man beside you is Gojo Akihito — your lover. The former head of the Gojo Clan. He is also the father of your husband. The current head of the clan — Gojo Satoru. 

...you only meant to lighten the mood. But just like his plan —  

It’s not working. 

-- 

Rumor has it: The clan head, Gojo Satoru, is completely enamored with his wife. 

It has become the talk of the mansion.  

“Did you see”, one maid whispers, nudging her colleague as they set the long dining table. “He brought her flowers, again.” 

“That’s nothing”, another chimes in, lowering her voice. “The other day he asked me how to make omurice. Said he wanted to learn it properly.” 

The first two maids lean in, wide-eyed. “And? What happened?” 

“I went into the kitchen early next morning”, she continues with a conspiratorial grin, “And there he was. Apron and everything. Cooking omurice from scratch. Said it was for his wife. Even served it on a fancy plate — with flowers from the garden. I think he picked them himself.” 

The maids collectively gasp, hands covering mouths, eyes sparkling. 

“He’s completely smitten”, one sighs, nearly swooning. “I heard he turned down every arranged match before her — didn’t even consider them. Then out of nowhere, he agrees to this one without a second thought.” 

“At first, I figured he just caved from the pressure”, another adds. “You know how the elders kept pushing. I thought he married her to shut them up.” 

“But now? Look at him. That’s not obligation. That’s a man in love.” 

A round of dreamy sighs circles the table. 

“Remember how he used to show up maybe once every couple of months? Only if something serious needed his attention?” 

“Now we see him every day”, one nods. “And if he’s not home, it feels... weird.” 

“He always comes back”, says another. “No matter how late. And the first thing he does is go see her.” 

“That’s not all”, the first maid says, lowering her voice even more. “The other day, he came home with a wound.” 

“No way. Him?” one of the others gasps. “He’s untouchable — who even got close enough to land a hit?” 

“Exactly. And do you know what he did? He let her clean him up. She asked for the first aid kit, and he just... smiled. The whole time. Like it didn’t hurt at all.” 

A chorus of quiet squeals follows, full of awe and disbelief. 

“He let himself be struck just so she’d fuss over him?” one whispers, covering her mouth. “God, he’s hopeless.” 

But before the fantasy could grow any richer, a sharp voice cuts through the air. 

“If you’re done gossiping”, Akihito says coolly from the doorway, “Perhaps you could focus on the work you’re actually being paid to do. Call everyone when dinner is ready.” 

The maids freeze, spines straightening, heads bowing in rapid succession. “Y-yes, sir. Our apologies.” 

Akihito didn’t linger. He didn’t need to. 

It wasn’t their chatter that irritated him. It was what they were whispering about. What they were seeing — what he couldn’t ignore. That’s what got under his skin. 

--  

“Good evening, wife.” 

You blink at the mirror just as a bouquet of forget-me-nots is gently laid in front of you on the vanity. Satoru leans in behind you, his reflection appearing over your shoulder, smiling. “You look beautiful, as always.” he murmurs against your ear. 

You shift slightly in your chair, but his hands land softly on your shoulders, holding you in place — not forcefully, but firmly enough to suggest he’s not letting you leave just yet.  

“Want me to brush your hair?” 

You sigh and meet his eyes in the mirror. “I can do it myself.” 

“I know”, he says smoothly. “But I want to.” 

Persistent. That’s one thing you’ve learned about him in the month you’ve been married — Satoru always gets what he wants. If you said no now, you wouldn’t put it past him to slip gum into your hair just so you’d have to ask for help. 

Just like he did with your slippers. 

He wanted to put them on for you one morning — for no reason other than his own mischief, you’re sure — but you refused. Later, fresh out of the shower, they were gone. All of them. Every pair. Oh no, we’re out of slippers! Guess I’ll just carry you — he said with that shameless grin of his. And he did. Said the floor was too cold. Couldn’t let his wife get sick, after all. He carried you around the house all morning. Then, right before leaving to run some errands together, he knelt, slipped your shoes on like some smug prince, and you let him — half amused, half annoyed. 

The bastard always wins. 

“Fine”, you relent now, sitting back. 

“Don’t worry”, he says, picking up the brush. “I’ll be gentle.” 

So far, nothing about this marriage has matched what Akihito told you. It was supposed to be nothing more than a formality. He reassured you countless times that his son would not even glance at you — let alone lay a hand on you; that you would probably just see him just once, on your wedding day, and that would be the end of it. But so far, Akihito was wrong about everything. 

He’s never home, huh? — You see him every day. 

He won’t touch you, huh? — Then why does he look for every excuse to be close? Going as far as to get himself injured on purpose and come back without healing himself so you’ll tend to him... Why does he always find a reason to touch your arm, your hand, your back? Why... Maybe, he wants to get in your pants? That must be it... right? Why else would he try so hard to make things work? It’s not like you two married out of love. You could’ve just quietly existed as his wife on paper; he certainly doesn’t have to bother making you an actual part of his life. 

Sure, he is a huge tease. But it’s not the annoying kind. It’s... disarming. You hate to admit it, but there’s something about him. A pull. A quiet magnetism that makes you want to lean in instead of pull away. And sometimes, you forget — forget why you came to be his wife in the first place, that this was never meant to be more than convenience serving the purposes of a scandalous affair. 

Until you remember. Until you look at him and see shadows of Akihito — the resemblance too striking to ignore. A younger version of the man who changed everything for you. 

You sigh, unable to keep your thoughts from wandering. 

“Did I hurt you?”, Satoru asks, suddenly pausing mid-stroke. 

You glance at his reflection. For just a second, there’s something soft in his expression. Worry. “No”, you say. “Just thinking.” 

“About?” 

He continues brushing, careful not to let the bristles graze your skin. Instead, his hand absorbs the pressure — the motion surprisingly tender. Then his hand drops. Light fingertips brush your neck. Two fingers lift your chin, tilting your head back until your eyes meet. “Thinking about someone else while I’m this close to you?” he asks, brows furrowed. His tone is calm, but the edge in it isn’t playful. It’s sharp. Serious. 

“Jealous?” you smirk, trying to deflect. 

He places the brush down and leans in. His head hovering over yours. There’s barely any distance left. When you both breathe out a veil of warm air falls and fills the tiny gap left between your faces. “Very”, he says quietly, his face deprived of the usual grin. “Makes me want to do terrible things to the man in your thoughts.” He’s not joking. Not even a little. 

“I was thinking about you, actually”, you reply. It’s not technically a lie.  

Not accustomed to such intimate closeness with him, heat starts to spread across your cheeks, your heartbeat acting peculiarly too. The nearness is too much. You share a bed, yes — but neither of you has ever dared cross the middle. Not yet. Why beat so fast suddenly, heart? Must be the fact he’s looming over you like this that is making you uncomfortable. Trying to break the tension, you joke. “If you’re planning on doing terrible things to yourself, make sure you don’t die. I’d hate to be widowed so young.” 

His expression falters. For a second, you see it — genuine surprise. It’s satisfying. He blinks, once, twice, head pulling back slightly, fingers at your jaw trembling with something unspoken. But it doesn’t last. He recovers quickly. 

A breathy laugh escapes him as he leans in again. “You were thinking about me? What, something dirty?” 

You scoff. “You wish.” 

“I do”, he replies instantly. “And don’t worry — you’ll get there soon enough.” 

The audacity. 

“What makes you so sure I’ll get there”, you shoot back. He grins, guiding your face back toward the mirror. “If you can’t see it up close...” He taps the glass. “Just look there. I’m kind of a masterpiece.” 

“The only piece you are is a piece of work”, you mutter, turning your head with a huff, your hair brushing against his face. You expect a quip in return. But he goes still. Sniffs. 

“Hmm... What’s that smell?” He leans closer, nose buried briefly in your hair. “I didn’t know you smoked.” 

You freeze. Akihito’s cigarettes. You didn’t wash your hair after the hotel. Damn it. 

“I don’t”, you reply, hoping your voice doesn’t betray you. 

“You smell like cigarettes.” 

“I was with a friend earlier. She smokes. Maybe that’s why.” you lie. 

Satoru watches you carefully through the mirror. “Good. You shouldn’t smoke”, he says at last, straightening up. “My wife has to live a long life. With me.” A smile tugs at his lips. A playful smirk, back to normal. 

You try to summon a sharp retort. Something clever. But all you manage is a tight, fake smile as your heart thunders in your chest. You were almost caught. 

Then— 

Knock-knock. 

“Dinner is ready, sir. Madam.” one of the maids calls from outside. 

“Hai-hai~”, Satoru casually yells out. “We’ll be down in a minute.” 

-- 

The dining room is too quiet. The kind of quiet that isn’t peace, but tension — stretched thin between the four people who sit on the table. It makes the softest sounds feel sharp. Or maybe it’s just in your head, considering the situation. 

It’s tradition, apparently — whenever everyone is home, meals are eaten together. Your least favorite part of the day. Understandably so, given the circumstances: you willingly put yourself here, fully aware you’d be sitting across from the woman whose husband you’re secretly sleeping with, and beside the son you’re technically cheating on — with his father. 

You sit beside your husband, Satoru. Across from you, Akihito — your lover, your secret. Next to him is Saori, your lover’s wife and husband’s mother — regal and silent, her expression unreadable as always, like she’s wearing a careful mask. 

No one speaks when the food is served. Just the mechanical act of eating, a silence that presses against your ribs like guilt. Your appetite has all but vanished since becoming the bride of the Gojo Clan, your stomach perpetually knotted with remorse. Sometimes even water feels repulsive. You often catch yourself wondering why you’re even doing this. Is it really love? You begin to question the choice you made, weighing it with a heaviness that never seems to lift. 

Then, as always, the silence shatters. Satoru reaches over, casual as anything, and plucks a bite of greens from your plate with his chopsticks. “Yours always taste better”, he grins, dropping them in his mouth. “Must be the way you chew”, he says with a mouthful.  

A small, soft laugh escapes you before you can catch it. There he goes with his silly antics again, you think. He somehow always knows how to tug you out of your head, whether you want him to or not. 

Akihito’s chopsticks pause mid-motion. His eyes narrow, barely, but you feel the weight of it. “Interesting”, he says, voice low and smooth, but with a faint edge. “I thought you never touched your greens.” 

Satoru doesn’t look away from you as he chews, slow and deliberate. “Tastes change.” 

The air thins. You take a sip of wine to steady your hands and avoid meeting Akihito’s eyes. You can feel them — heavy, disapproving, and not very kind. 

“They do”, Akihito replies after a moment, setting his chopsticks down with a soft click. “Although not always for the better.”  

You want to look at him, to read what he’s really thinking — but you don’t dare. Sometimes it feels like even a glance might betray you. Especially now, as Satoru shifts slightly in his seat, angling himself subtly closer to you, as if rising to meet some unspoken challenge. 

“I suppose it depends”, Satoru says lightly, the smile still playing on his lips. “Sometimes, watching someone savor something — it can spark a craving in you too.” He smiles at you then — softly — and something flutters in your chest that has no business being there. Then, he adds, with just enough weight to sharpen the air again. “But you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you, old man? How tastes change over time.” 

You freeze, just for a moment. Akihito doesn’t blink. His tone stays dry, his face unreadable. “Was there a point to that?” 

Satoru leans back slightly. “Just that, at your age, I’d expect you to be less surprised when people... shift.” 

Across from you, Saori finally lifts her wine glass. She doesn’t drink — not yet — but she swirls the red liquid slowly, her gaze shifting from father to son like she’s watching something she’s already seen before. They clash often, you’ve noticed. Not loudly, not outright — but it’s always there. A push and pull beneath the surface, a cold war of words and glances. 

Sometimes, you wonder if Satoru knows about the affair. He says things — subtle, but cutting — that make you pause, that make you think he might be more aware than he lets on. Maybe that’s why he’s pursuing you so intently — just to prove a point to his father. But then, there are moments when his gaze softens when he looks at you, when his touch lingers just a second too long. He goes out of his way every day just to be near you. And in those moments, it feels too sincere to be a game. You start to think he might actually mean it. That he’s not just chasing you out of spite — but because he truly wants you. 

You reach for your own glass again, taking another sip of wine, as if it might wash away the tension thickening by the second. But it doesn't. Setting the glass back down, your hand lingers at its base. Your fingers brush against Satoru’s hand that rests on the table between you two. He doesn’t flinch. Instead, his pinky curls beneath yours — just enough to be felt, not seen. You don’t pull away. You know Akihito sees it. You feel it. The tick in his jaw is barely visible, but you notice it. 

“I’ve been seeing you around way more frequently, Satoru. I hope marriage hasn’t dulled your focus”, he says, his voice smooth and pointed. “There are more important things than... comfort.” 

The irony, you think. The words sound like a joke to you, coming from the same man who orchestrated your marriage just to keep you closer and see you more freely. You barely manage to swallow a scoff. 

Satoru leans back in his chair, unfazed. “You’d be surprised”, he says lightly. “Sometimes comfort is the only thing keeping people from falling apart.”  

“It’s rare”, Saori speaks at last, “to see affection in this house. Perhaps we shouldn’t discourage it.” Her words are gentle, kind — at least, on the surface. But they carry the weight of something unspoken, a quiet complaint from a woman who has never been loved by her husband — not in the way a lover is. 

The silence that follows is anything but gentle. Her words hang in the air, delicate yet heavy, like the last note of a song no one knows how to follow. No one speaks. Not right away. You watch Akihito, wondering if he’ll respond — if he even knows how. But his expression remains unreadable, carved from habit more than emotion. Then, without looking at anyone in particular, he speaks, as if the comment never touched him at all. “I meant to tell you”, Akihito says, cutting through the quiet like a blade, “The elders requested a meeting with you tomorrow morning.” 

Satoru’s glass of water stills halfway to his lips. “Can’t”, he says casually. “I’m taking my wife out.” 

You blink. That’s the first you’ve heard of it. 

Akihito’s expression doesn’t change, but the muscle in his jaw tightens — just once, sharply — as he exhales through his nose. “You can reschedule”, he says. “The clan elders don’t appreciate being made to wait.” 

Satoru shrugs. “Neither does she.” He doesn’t even look at you when he says it, but the weight of it presses into your ribs like heat. 

The silence that follows is tight, full of things no one says. Saori watches Akihito this time, her gaze sharp as cut glass. Her husband is acting odd. And she notices everything. 

--  

Gojo Akihito was a man carved from discipline. Now in his late fifties, he was a figure both respected and quietly feared. When he entered a room, silence followed. Backs straightened. Conversations halted. People instinctively adjusted their posture — as if simply being in his presence demanded their best. His presence was weighty, not in a menacing way, but with a gravity that commanded reverence. His name alone held power — spoken softly, carefully, like it belonged to someone who mattered more than most. And he did. Shaped by the will of the elders, Akihito had been molded into the ideal head of the Gojo Clan: composed, unwavering, and dutiful. Obedience had been stitched into his bones from childhood. He was taught not to dream, but to serve. To lead with strength and never stray from what was expected. 

His path had been set before he could walk it — become strong, inherit the clan, marry a chosen wife, produce an heir. And he did. His talents bloomed early. Power came easily to him, and with it, authority. He married Saori, a woman selected by the elders, and fulfilled his role without resistance. Love was never part of the arrangement — but respect was. Even in the absence of affection, he treated her with dignity. They never became lovers — much to Saori’s quiet sorrow, for she had loved him from the very beginning. After they conceived Satoru, he never touched her again. As if it had been part of a duty — fulfilled, then forgotten. 

When he stepped down and passed the title of clan head to his son, Akihito did not fade quietly into the background. His voice still carried weight, often more so than of the current leader. To many, he remained the pillar of the clan. The rock. Unmoving. Unshakeable. Dependable. But even stone erodes, given time. Even the strongest man can change. Even a rock, under enough heat — can melt. 

-- 

Akihito wasn’t supposed to be here. The streets were too narrow, too loud, brimming with color and life in a way that felt foreign to him. He was meant to be elsewhere, at a meeting across town — another empty ritual of clan maintenance. But his driver took a wrong turn, and instead of rerouting, Akihito had stepped out, needing a walk. Needing air. Needing space from the weight that always clung to his shoulders. That’s when he saw you. 

At first, it was nothing. You were just a figure in the crowd — young, distracted, smiling faintly at your phone, coffee in hand. But something about you… stopped him. You passed by without noticing him, and the moment stretched too long. Something about you felt familiar, though he couldn’t place why. A detail misplaced in time. A memory from a life he never lived. He turned — just slightly. Just enough to watch you go. You entered a nearby café tucked between cramped buildings. Small. A little worn. Too cozy, too youthful for someone like him. He should have kept walking. But he followed you inside. He told himself it was curiosity. That he needed a moment to sit, make a call, kill time. But deep down, even then, he knew. He picked a seat in the corner. Three tables away from you. 

He returned the next day. And the next. It was irrational. Dangerous. He wasn’t the kind of man who indulged temptations. His life had been a masterclass in restraint — each step measured, each emotion disciplined out of existence. But you… You sat in the same spot each day, sipping a drink, sometimes reading, sometimes just staring out the window with that faraway look that seemed to see something no one else could. He wondered what you saw. He wondered what you wanted. He wondered what it would feel like to be the thing you looked at that way.  And he hated himself for it. 

You didn’t know who he was. You didn’t know that the man sitting a few tables away had once been the most powerful figure in one of Japan’s oldest sorcerer clans. That he had blood on his hands and responsibilities that still echoed through every inch of his life. You didn’t know that his marriage was nothing more than a political alignment. That he had followed every rule. Sacrificed every selfish urge. That he had never, in over fifty years, been in love. Not until now. 

On the third day, he stopped resisting and made a decision. He stood up, walked to your table, and asked — “May I sit?” 

-- 

Three tables. He was sitting three tables away from you — again. Just like yesterday. And the day before that. Today made the third. 

You’d noticed him immediately. How could you not? Tall, impeccably dressed, white hair, broad shoulders, and unmistakably refined. You guessed he was in his fifties, but he wore it well — almost too well. Dressed in a designer suit, he looked out of place in this cozy, slightly run-down café filled with students and twenty-somethings. Yet, there he was. 

Each time you stole a glance, he was gazing out the window, never once meeting your eyes. But something about him — his presence, the stillness in the way he sat, the ghost of a smile on his lips — kept drawing your attention. Maybe you were imagining things. But, perhaps, was he there… for you? Just as you started telling yourself it was all in your head, he moved. Ah, he’s leaving— 

No — he wasn’t. He was walking toward you. 

Your breath caught. Your eyes widened as he came to a stop at your table. 

“May I sit?” he asked, voice smooth but low, as if careful not to disturb the air between you. You blinked, pulse rising. “Why here?” you asked, managing a dry smile. “There are plenty of other tables, including the one you’ve been using for the past few days.” You motioned toward his old table. “I like the view better from here,” he replied calmly, and took the seat without waiting for permission. 

The view, of course, was you. He had resisted the pull for two days. But today, Gojo Akihito gave in. In his fifties, for the first time in his life — he fell in love. And for the first time… he broke a rule. 

-- 

He didn’t touch you. Not for weeks. Not inappropriately, not even in passing. His interest was always wrapped in respect, laced with a restraint that was somehow more intoxicating than overt desire. He spoke little, but with purpose. He listened like it was sacred. Asked questions no one else had ever bothered to. You told yourself it was harmless. That you liked the attention he was giving you. That you weren’t doing anything wrong… with a married man. It’s just a connection — nothing more. But the way he looked at you… like you were something precious, something rare, he had no right to touch but desperately wanted to — it stirred something in you. 

When he kissed you for the first time, it wasn’t impulse. It was quiet. Measured. Like a man saying a prayer before stepping into hell. And you let him. After that, the pretense faded. You started meeting behind closed doors…  

You were in love, yes. Or maybe, looking back now, you only thought you were. Not the way he was. You were free, while Akihito was chained to a life he could never escape. The deeper Akihito sank into you, the more you floated above him. Untethered. Capable of leaving. And that was what terrified him the most. He needed something stronger — something permanent — to bind you to him. 

One year into your affair, Akihito proposed something unthinkable. 

“An arranged marriage?” you gasped, your voice cracking in disbelief. “To your son?” You tried to push away from him, stepping out of the bathtub, but he caught your wrist and pulled you back in. 

“I miss you too much when you’re away”, he murmured against your shoulder. His breath was hot. His arms wrapped around you from behind, pulling you close, anchoring you to him in the steaming water. “Not knowing when I’ll see you again — it’s unbearable. And knowing it won’t be tomorrow? I hate that.” 

You sat between his legs, your bare back pressed to his chest, steam rising around you like a veil. His head dipped to the curve of your neck. You said nothing. Your lips trembled with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes, with a sob that didn’t quite leave your throat. 

You spoke every day. But meetings were rare. Always discreet. Always in motion. Hotels changed with every rendezvous. Different rooms, different names, different times of arrival. You booked separate rooms but only ever used one. Because what you shared was a scandal. And the walls, anywhere, could talk. He was the former head of the Gojo Clan. A public man. A married man. And in the Gojo Clan, divorce was taboo. Unspoken but absolute. Marriage ended only with death. 

“It’s madness”, you whispered. “You’d just… hand me over to another man like that?” 

“I’m not handing you over”, he said, voice low and tired. “It’ll be just on paper. You know what Satoru’s like — he’s obsessed with his work. Sorcery is the only thing he’s ever cared about. He won’t touch you.” He paused. He knew how it sounded. But to him, it made sense. He was convinced this was the best way to keep you close. Satoru, as far as Akihito knew, had no interest in romance, no time for love. If you married his son, your place in the clan would be secured — and so would your bond to him. Even if you tried to leave him one day, you’d still be part of his world. Divorce, after all, was never an option. “Think about it”, he continued. “We’d be able to see each other more freely. People wouldn’t question it if we were spotted together — we’d be family. It would raise fewer suspicions than what we’re doing now.” 

You stared into the steam, into nothing. “...fine.” You caved. 

Neither of you knew then just how flawed the plan truly was. The flaw had a name: Gojo Satoru. 

-- 

Back in your shared bedroom, you close the door behind you and turn to face Satoru. He’s already tugging off his jacket, tossing it carelessly over the back of a chair. You squint at him, arms crossed. “What was that earlier?” He pauses, one sock halfway off. “Hm?” He looks up at you, eyebrow arched in that maddeningly innocent way. 

“‘I’m taking my wife out’”, you echo flatly. “We made no such plans.” 

He chuckles — a low, amused sound. “Ah. That.” Straightening up, he begins rolling his sleeves to the elbows, wandering toward the bed. “I was too distracted by your beauty when I got home, I must’ve forgotten to tell you.” 

You narrow your eyes. “Tell me what exactly?” 

“That everyone wants to meet you”, he says, as if it’s obvious. 

“Everyone?” you eye him. 

“My students. My colleagues. Most of them think I made up this whole marriage thing just for attention.” He grins like it’s the most absurd idea in the world. “So tomorrow, you’re coming with me. I need to show them that my wife is, in fact, a very real, very stunning person~” 

You blink. “So you didn’t just blurt it out to get out of meeting the elders?” 

He scoffs and flops onto the bed, arms behind his head. “Please. I don’t need an excuse to avoid them. I’ll meet them when I feel like it — not when they demand it.” Of course he would say that. “Besides”, he adds lazily, “I figured we could hang out a little after. Grab a bite or go somewhere. A proper date.” 

You stare at him. “A date?” — “Yeah”, he shoots. “You know, two people spending time together on purpose because they want to?” 

“Satoru”, you sigh, “you don’t have to bother with this kind of thing. This is an arranged marriage, let me remind you. We’re not... required to play house.” He tilts his head, eyes glinting with mock curiosity. “Who said couples in arranged marriages can’t go on dates? That’s a rule now? If it is, I must’ve missed the fine print.” 

He’s relentless — in a strangely charming way. Always pushing, always poking. And the worst part is... he knows you don’t exactly hate it. You glance away, shaking your head. “Alright”, you say finally, “fine” — and he immediately beams like he’s just won something. And maybe he has — in his own strange way. Satoru doesn’t need much to feel victorious. But there’s something you have noticed — how a yes from you is usually worth a trophy in his world, even if you offer it begrudgingly. 

You watch him for a moment, unsure what to make of the warmth blooming quietly in your chest. It's not love. It can’t be. Right? But it’s something. A softening, maybe. A flicker of possibility. Your fingers absently toy with the edge of your sleeve. That strange flutter you’ve been ignoring — the one he keeps coaxing out of you — is getting harder to deny. What exactly are you doing? — you ask yourself. 

And then your phone buzzes in your pocket. You fish it out quickly and glance down at the screen. 

Akihito: Come to the guest house. 

Just like that, reality presses its weight back onto your shoulders. It doesn’t look like Satoru noticed anything, but your hands are already closing the message, hiding the screen like a child caught with stolen sweets. “I’m going to the kitchen”, you say, too quickly. “I want something sweet.” 

Satoru sits up a little. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll get—” 

“No.” You cut him off, maybe too fast. “I’m not sure what I want yet, so I’ll just look around.” His gaze lingers on you for a moment. Something unreadable flickers there — brief, sharp, gone too fast. Then he leans back on his hands, still smiling. “Alright, my picky little bride. Don’t be long.” 

You force a light laugh and slip out the door. 

-- 

Akihito hears your knock — light, familiar — before the door opens. You’re still in your dinner clothes, but your hair is looser now, lipstick faded. You look comfortable, relaxed — and he does not exactly like that. You step quietly, and he lets you come to him without saying a word. For a moment, neither of you speak. 

He looks somewhat tense, but the air between you is still warm with memory — earlier today, your skin beneath his hands, your lips murmuring his name into a hotel pillow. And yet. “I’m sorry for calling you over like this”, he says finally, his voice low. “I just needed to see you.” 

You smile faintly. “You saw me at dinner.” 

“Not like this.” His eyes search yours. “Not alone. Not without... him.” 

You stiffen slightly — not defensively. Just aware. Akihito gestures to the seat beside him. You sit.

“He’s not the same”, he murmurs after a pause. “Satoru. He’s changing.” 

You don’t respond at first. You fold your hands in your lap. 

“You know what he used to be like? Detached. Cold. Always disappearing on missions. He never gave a damn about what anyone thought of him — never entertained sentiment. And now?” He scoffs softly. “Flowers. Cooking. Holding your hand under the table like some infatuated schoolboy...” 

Your mouth opens — then closes. You can’t find the right words. 

“You saw it too, didn’t you?” he asks quietly. “At dinner. The way he looks at you.” 

Your gaze falters. Not guilty — not quite — but cautious. “He’s just playing the part, Aki”, you say eventually. “He’s always been theatrical.” 

Akihito shakes his head. “No. That wasn’t an act.” There’s no bitterness in his voice. No anger. Just... disbelief. Like he’s watching something slip through his fingers that he didn’t expect to lose. “Before you came into his life, he never stayed home. Never cared about meals or traditions or people. He never had time for anything... personal.” 

You look down. 

Akihito studies your profile, as if memorizing it. The curve of your brow, the slope of your cheek. “I know I’m the one who suggested this arrangement”, he says, and his voice is more vulnerable than you’ve ever heard it. “I told myself it was the best way to keep you close. Safe. But now...” He trails off. 

You reach out, take his hand in yours. “I’m still yours, Aki”, you say gently. “You know that.” 

“I want to believe that”, he murmurs. You squeeze his hand. “You can.” 

But your voice falters, just slightly. Just enough for him to notice. His eyes flick up to your face. There’s no accusation in them. Only fear. The quiet, creeping kind that lives under the surface of a man who’s spent a lifetime being in control. 

“I know he’s not you”, you add softly. “I know why I said yes to this. You don’t have to worry.” 

Akihito nods slowly. But his silence stretches too long. You lean your head against his shoulder, and he kisses the top of your hair. Grateful. Reassured — or trying to be. But the weight in his chest doesn’t lift. Because for the first time, he isn’t sure if the threat is outside of what you have... or is growing inside it. 

-- 

“Don’t worry, they don’t bite”, Satoru chuckles, watching you fidget with your sleeves like you’re about to walk into a job interview. You shoot him a dry look. “You say that like you’re not the worst of them.” 

“Me? I’m the warm-up act. They are the terrifying ones”, he teases, nodding toward the lounge room door. You roll your eyes but don’t stop playing with your cuffs. 

“You’ll be fine”, he adds, nudging your elbow gently. “Just flash that charming smile and pretend I’m not hovering behind you like a lovesick fool.” 

“You are hovering.” 

“I’m setting the scene”, he grins. “For dramatic effect.” 

You scoff. “I’m not scared, you know.” 

“Of course not”, he nods solemnly. “You’re just fidgeting because you’re excited to meet my fan club.” You shoot him a sideways glare. He leans over, voice lowering just a touch. “They’re going to love you”, he says, softer now. “They’ve never seen me with someone like you.” 

“Someone like me?” 

“Someone who makes me behave.” 

You don’t get the chance to press him on that. He throws the door open before you can respond — and the room instantly freezes. Chairs creak to a halt. Conversations cut off mid-sentence. All heads turn. A spoon hovers midair. A can of soda stops halfway to someone’s lips. Even the air feels like it’s holding its breath. And all of it — every flicker of curiosity, disbelief, and blatant awe — is aimed squarely at you. 

“Guys”, Satoru announces, all flair and no shame, “This is my wife. Try not to scare her off.” You manage a composed smile, offering a polite nod. “It’s nice to meet you.” 

The reactions come in like dominos. 

Yuuji blinks so fast he looks like a malfunctioning cartoon. “She’s real. She’s actually real.”

Nobara lets out a dramatic gasp. “Oh my god, she’s gorgeous. How is he married to her?” 

“There’s definitely something wrong with her”, Megumi mutters, arms crossed.

“Blink twice if you’re being held hostage”, Maki deadpans without missing a beat.

Even stoic Shoko lifts her eyebrows, taking a slow drag of her cigarette. “I genuinely thought he made you up.”

Ijichi bows at the waist, glasses fogged slightly from the tea steam. “Gojo-san speaks of you often. I assumed it was... metaphorical.” Nanami says absolutely nothing. Just closes his eyes and exhales, a slow, pained breath that says this is beneath me, but also of course this is happening. 

Meanwhile, Geto is the picture of calm. Reclined on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, he simply smirks and raises his hand in greeting. “About time you dragged her here, Satoru.” 

“Don’t encourage him”, Nanami mutters without opening his eyes. 

You can’t help it — you laugh. A light, genuine thing that breaks the awkward spell in the room like shattering glass. The tension in your chest uncoils slightly, and Satoru beams beside you. 

“Oh god”, Nobara groans. “Even her laugh is gorgeous. This is unbelievable.” 

“Do you need help?” Megumi asks again, completely serious.

“She’s under some kind of spell, huh?” Yuuji whispers. “Do we do something? Help her?” 

“No need to rescue her”, Satoru says smugly. “She married me willingly” 

“That’s even worse”, Nanami mutters. 

“You guys are insufferable”, you finally say, smiling despite yourself. 

“You’re perfect for him then”, Shoko hums. 

“Alright, alright, don’t scare her off on her first visit”, Geto says, rising from the couch. He strolls over, offering his hand. “I’m Suguru. Satoru’s better half.” 

“Hey!” Satoru protests. 

You shake Geto’s hand. “Pleasure.” 

“It really is”, he replies smoothly. “Though we may have to talk about your taste in men.” 

“I’ve made peace with it”, you reply with a smirk. The room erupts into scattered chuckles. Even Megumi snorts. Satoru clutches his chest. “I feel so betrayed.” 

“Get in line”, Nanami mutters again. 

“Come on”, Geto waves you over. “Sit. Eat something. Let us dissect your personality in peace.” As you move to join them, Satoru’s hand brushes your lower back — a barely-there touch. Protective. Familiar. You glance at him. He’s still smiling like the sun — blinding and hard to read beneath the surface.  

You ease yourself into a spot between Suguru and Satoru on the long couch. Plates and cups shift around. The lounge settles into casual chaos again, but it’s warmer now — less like scrutiny, more like curious acceptance. As conversations spark up around you, you feel it — a brush at your side. Subtle, deliberate. Satoru’s hand slides across the space between you on the couch. He doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t even look your way. But under the table, his fingers quietly reach for yours. At first, you don’t respond. The chatter of the room covers the rapid thrum of your heartbeat. It feels like everyone might notice, even though no one’s looking. And still — slowly — your fingers curl around his. 

You glance sideways at him. He’s still grinning and bickering with Geto about who’s ageing better — but there’s a flicker in his eyes when they meet yours. Something warm. Something that longs. And Satoru doesn’t look like he’s letting go of your hand anytime soon. 

-- 

Even after leaving the school and walking toward the car, Satoru hasn’t let go of your hand. Not once. And, truthfully, you haven’t tried to pull away either. His hand is warm and steady, fingers loosely laced with yours like it’s always been this natural. “They’re very chaotic”, you say as you walk side by side, the late afternoon sun painting golden highlights into his white hair. “But adorably so.” 

Satoru gasps. “How come you never say that about me?” 

“I do say you’re chaotic.” 

“Not that part”, he pouts, dragging your hand slightly as he walks. “Say I’m adorable too.”

You glance up at him with a smirk. “Why make me lie now?” 

He clutches his chest like you just wounded him. “Unbelievable. And here I was, thinking we were having a romantic moment.” 

“You pouted like a toddler five seconds ago. That was the opposite of romantic.” 

“That was endearing, thank you very much.” He sighs dramatically, unlocking the car with a flick of his keys. “One day you’ll realize just how lucky you are to have married me.”

You chuckle. “I’m still trying to figure that out.” 

As the engine hums to life and the radio kicks in with something mellow, he steals a glance at you. “You liked them, though?”

You nod. “They’re all... a lot. But in a good way. I liked them. They like you, too — though it’s hilarious how some of them thought I was a figment of your imagination at first.” 

“That’s fair”, he shrugs. “Even I sometimes think you’re too good to be real.” You don’t reply to that — partly because it’s sweet, partly because it makes your stomach twist in ways you’re not ready to admit. 

-- 

Instead of taking you to a fancy restaurant, Satoru pulls the car up near a quiet park tucked into a tree-lined stretch of the city. It’s not crowded, the evening air is crisp, and the swings creak gently in the breeze. 

“A date doesn’t have to be complicated”, he says, hands behind his head, strolling beside you. “This used to be my favorite spot when I ditched meetings.”

You laugh. “What a responsible clan head.” 

“Oh, terribly irresponsible”, he agrees proudly. “Now — race you to the swings!”

You both make a break for it, laughing as your shoes hit gravel. You get there first, narrowly beating him (because he let you), and triumphantly claim the left swing. Satoru sits on the other — except, the chains creak loudly as he settles in, clearly too tall and too big for the tiny seat. 

“God, you look ridiculous”, you say between laughs.

“Hey”, he grins. “Let me have my moment.” He tries to swing but his feet keep dragging on the ground. You get off and try to push him but fail spectacularly. “You’re too heavy!” you exclaim. He snorts. “I’m muscle and grace, I’ll have you know.” 

“Lift your legs then! That’s the only way this will work.” 

“If I lift my legs, the swing will snap and we’ll both die.”  

You dissolve into laughter, arms over your chest as you watch him try — and fail — to get any lift. “Hop off now”, you say. “It’s your turn to push me.”

He gets off, and you take over. He starts pushing you gently, and you find yourself relaxing, head tilted back toward the sky as you glide back and forth. You don’t notice how quiet he’s gone until the swing slows and you look back to find him watching you — softly, openly, with none of his usual teasing in sight. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask. He shrugs. “You look happy. I like seeing you like this.” 

Your heart stumbles. And just like that, the real world catches up — Akihito, the marriage, the plan... Guilt prickles under your skin. You’re not supposed to feel this warm around Satoru. Not this content. He notices the shift in your eyes, tension in your smile. “Hey.” He walks in front of the swing, kneeling slightly to meet your gaze. “Where did you go just now?” 

You open your mouth — but you don’t know what to say. There’s too much. You’re not even sure what you’re feeling anymore. Satoru doesn’t push. He simply lifts a hand to brush your cheek with his knuckles, gentler than anyone would expect from a man like him. “If you’re scared”, he says, “I’ll wait. But I’m not stopping.” 

You should say something — anything — but you don’t. Instead, you lean forward without thinking. Just a little. Just enough. And he meets you halfway. You kiss. It’s soft. Uncomplicated. Barely a breath long — but enough to make your stomach flip and your thoughts scramble. You pull back just as fast, cheeks feeling hot, and suddenly shoot up to your feet. 

“I—uh—I’m going to head to the car”, you stammer, already backing away. “Give me fifteen minutes. Just... wait, okay? Don’t come right now.” Satoru blinks after you as you run off, flustered. A slow smile spreads across his lips. He lifts a hand, touching his fingers to where your lips met his. “Why shy away like this now?” he murmurs to himself, chuckling. “It’s not like this is our first kiss...” 

His smile lingers, a little softer now. Almost nostalgic. He watches the direction you went, lost in thought. Because only he remembers. You’ve kissed before. But back then, you didn’t know who he was. And you still don’t remember. 

-- 

Satoru remembers it as clearly as if it had happened yesterday. The memory came rushing back the moment he saw your picture — the proposed match for the arranged marriage. The others in the room kept talking, formalities piling up like a tide of obligations, but he barely heard a word.  

It was you — the girl who stole his first kiss. The girl he never managed to find again. 

It happened years ago, sometime past midnight. He had just wrapped up a mission — a dull one, barely worth remembering — and was wandering the streets of Tokyo, eating red bean mochi with one hand and scrolling his phone with the other. Still in uniform, still buzzing from leftover cursed energy, still too wired to sleep. As he strolled past a row of late-night bars and clubs, the music leaked into the street like fog. Somewhere between neon signs and cigarette smoke, he spotted you — a girl slumped on the curb outside a nightclub, arms wrapped around your knees, head lolling sleepily to one side. You looked like you were dozing off. Alone. Vulnerable.  

He kept walking. At first. But something didn’t sit right. There were a few guys loitering nearby — drunk, leering, the kind of men that don’t need a reason to ruin someone’s night. One of them peeled away from the group and started approaching you, calling out something Satoru didn’t care to hear. He stopped at a vending machine, fingers patting his pockets as if he were looking for coins — but really, he was watching. Calculating. When the guy crouched beside you and reached out to brush your hair behind your ear, Satoru moved. Fast. “Sorry I took so long”, he said loudly, slinging his jacket over your shoulders in one smooth motion as he stepped between you and the stranger. 

The man froze. 

Satoru didn’t raise his voice, didn’t flare cursed energy — just looked at him. Cold. Unblinking. Dangerous. The guy got the message. “I was just making sure she was okay”, the creep stammered. 

“Yeah”, Satoru said flatly. “She is. Now leave.” He didn’t have to say it twice. Once the guys scurried off, Satoru crouched beside you, tilting his head. “Hey. Not a great place for a nap, you know?” You stirred, muttering something incoherent. “I’m serious”, he said, nudging your shoulder lightly. “It’s not safe out here.” 

“Can’t walk”, you mumbled. “Not sure if I’m spinning, or everything else is.” 

He blinked. “That bad, huh?”

You squinted at him through half-lidded eyes. “Are you a cop?”

“No.”

“A kidnapper?”

“Definitely not.”

“Hmm”, you leaned your cheek against your knee. “Guess you’ll do.” 

Satoru stared. “What does that mean?” You reached and tugged his sleeve, and with surprising strength, pulled him to sit beside you. Then, without warning, you laid your head in his lap. “What are you—?” 

“You’re warm”, you sighed, nestling closer. “And you smell nice. But I kind of feel like throwing up.” 

“Please don’t”, he said instantly, trying not to panic. “This is my favorite outfit.” 

You giggled. “You’re funny.”

He looked down at you, at the way your hair fanned across his thighs, at the curve of your sleepy smile. “What are you even doing out here alone?” he asked. 

“I lost my friends”, you mumbled. “Or maybe they lost me. Who’s to say...” 

“You got a phone?” 

You held it up proudly. It was dead. “Perfect”, he sighed. 

Eventually, when it became clear you weren’t going to get up willingly, he gathered you into his arms and stood. “Alright, mystery girl. I’m getting you somewhere safe — where’s your place?” 

“Wait, wait”, you slurred, squinting suspiciously at him. “I don’t know you. I can’t just tell you where I live!” 

“You’re literally unconscious on the sidewalk and I’m carrying you like a bridal bouquet. I think we’re past that point.” 

You didn’t answer. Your head lolled onto his shoulder. He sighed, glanced around. He didn’t know your name, didn’t know where you lived — but you looked about college-aged, and the university campus wasn’t far. It was the best guess he had. So he started walking.  

Halfway there, a group of girls came jogging down the sidewalk, calling some name (yours). They looked frantic — until they saw you in his arms.  “Oh god”, one of them exhaled. “We’ve been looking for her everywhere!” 

They reached out to take you, but you lifted your head groggily, blinking at him like you’d just remembered he existed. You took off his sunglasses and placed him on his head, then cupped his face in both hands, surprisingly gentle. 

“You’re pretty”, you said. 

He blinked. 

Then you leaned in and kissed him. It was soft and quick. “Thank you”, you whispered. “For keeping me warm.” 

And just like that, your friends pulled you away — you still wearing his jacket, him still too stunned to speak. He stood there long after you were gone, fingers pressed to his lips, dazed. “What a weird girl”, he muttered. 

But he’d already fallen for you. 

He tried to find you after that, of course — visited the area again, lingered by the campus, even asked around in his own way. But your name, your face... all of it had vanished like a dream after waking. Until years later — when he saw your photo again. And this time? He said yes without hesitation. 

-- 

The days begin to blend. Soft, warm mornings. Laughter over late breakfast. The rustle of flower petals against your cheek as you wake — a new habit Satoru’s picked up. You open your eyes to a fresh bouquet on your pillow, tied together with a silk ribbon and a folded note tucked inside. 

Roses are red, violets are blue, don’t open the curtains, I'm watching you ;)  S. 

You roll your eyes but smile. By now, your phone is full of messages from him — some voice notes, some texts. Some completely random, like: 

Voice message — 9:07 AM 

Hey, I found this stray cat that reminds me of you. They ignored me when I tried to pet them and just walked off. Thought that was kinda romantic~  

Text — 10:12 AM 

Do you miss me or are you pretending I don’t exist again? Be honest. I can take it. (Don’t be honest) 

Sometimes he’s halfway through a mission and still finds the time to send you a photo of some stupid little charm at a shrine that “looks cursed like you” — and by the time he returns home, you’ve forgotten how silence used to fill the rooms before he came. 

You start leaving notes back. Hiding snacks in his coat. One time, you sent him flowers — as a joke. A massive, bright pink bouquet delivered right to the faculty lounge at Jujutsu Tech. 

Yuuji nearly dropped his drink when he saw it. “Sensei, I thought you were the man in this relationship... but I guess you really shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.” 

Satoru beamed as he held the bouquet. “Listen, Yuuji, I think she’s got me on a leash. And honestly? I don’t mind it.” 

Geto didn’t even blink. “You’ve always liked being domesticated.” 

Nanami groaned in the distance. “Please take your romance outside school grounds.” 

Your life with him feels like a sitcom at times. Like you’ve somehow fallen into a slice-of-life version of your own story. And strangely, you don’t hate it.

But not all lives move at the same pace. 

Akihito watches it unfold from the shadows of his own silence. This was not part of the plan. You’re playing your role way too well to his liking. Are you humoring Satoru’s peculiar behavior for the sake of keeping the peace... or is there something more to it?

He feels the distance stretching. You reply to his messages slower now. When he calls, you sound distracted — not cold, just... somewhere else. Sometimes when he walks by your and Satoru’s room, he hears his son’s voice talking to you and it cuts deeper than he expects. Laughing. Teasing. Talking to you in a tone Akihito used to think was only his to use. 

He remembers your last few moments together, how they’ve been growing shorter. More careful. Your touches — once confident, rooted in secret familiarity — now come with hesitation. Like you’re aware of something new. Something blooming in the cracks you didn’t plan for. You were slipping. And for the first time in a very long time, Akihito doesn’t know what to do. 

He doesn’t confront you. He won’t. Because even now, he trusts you. Even now, he tells himself you would never betray him like that... But still — he’s left staring at the space beside him that used to be filled by you, fingers curled into fists he won’t raise, breathing through a storm he never thought he’d have to weather. 

--  

Evening settles softly across the room like a warm blanket. The lights are dim, casting a gentle golden hue over the shared bedroom you’ve both slowly grown used to — not just as a space, but as a kind of quiet haven. You sit on the bed with your knees tucked close to your chest, absently flipping through some old magazine you already checked out twice. Satoru is nearby, sprawled across the foot of the bed, fiddling with his phone but mostly stealing glances at you. The silence between you is easy now. Not empty, not awkward — just comfortable. 

Still, something hangs between you, unspoken but undeniably there. It’s been lingering ever since that kiss in the park. You haven’t kissed again since, but your touches linger longer now — a brush of fingers as you pass something to him, the slow curl of his hand around yours when you walk beside each other. Close, but careful. 

Tonight feels different. 

“Do you ever miss the chaos?” you ask, not looking up from the page. “Before we... whatever this is.” 

“Before we became a domestic power couple?” Satoru teases, stretching out with a dramatic sigh. “Tragic. I used to be wild. Now I fold your laundry.” You laugh. “You don’t fold my laundry.” 

“I would. For the record. If it meant you’d smile like that.”  

You glance at him now, and his expression softens when your eyes meet. The air changes. It’s in the way he shifts, propping himself up slightly on one elbow. There’s something different in his gaze — not just affection, but hunger veiled by hesitance. You feel it too. That same flutter deep in your belly. The nervous kind. The kind that tastes like anticipation. He moves closer, slowly, watching you for any flicker of hesitation. When he reaches out, his fingers brush lightly along your jaw, his thumb barely skimming your cheek. You don’t move away.

“You’ve been looking at me like that for a while now”, you whisper.

He smiles, a little crooked, a little shy — rare, for him. “Yeah. I’ve been... trying to behave.” 

Your lips part, but you don’t speak. Satoru leans in, and this time, when he kisses you, it’s slower than last time. Less impulsive. More reverent. His hand cups the back of your head gently as he pulls you closer, tasting your breath as if he’s been craving it every day since the last time. And then he pulls back. Breath shaky. Eyes shut. You blink, still dazed from the kiss. “Satoru? What are you doing?” 

He exhales a slow, uneven breath. “Waiting for you to slap me.”

You stare at him. That rare vulnerability in his voice knocks the breath right out of your lungs. “Why would I slap you?” 

“I didn’t ask. I didn’t warn you. I just... kissed you. Again. I told myself I’d wait until you wanted me.” 

You hesitate only for a heartbeat. Then, you lean forward and take his face in your hands, gently pulling him back into you. Your lips find his, and this time there’s no pause. No retreat. He kisses you like he’s trying to memorize you. Every angle. Every sound you make. Your hands find their way under the hem of is shirt, fingertips grazing bare skin, and he shivers beneath your touch. You break the kiss long enough to whisper, “Come closer.”

His forehead rests against yours. “Only if you want me to.” 

“I do”, you breathe, voice trembling but sure. “I want this. I want you.” His arms tighten around you, and it’s slow, almost reverent, the way he lays you down — like you’re something sacred. Clothes are shed without urgency, and his hands trace the lines of your body like he’s reading scripture. The rest unfolds in quiet gasps and whispered names. It's not just desire — it’s need. Familiar, frightening, warm... 

...when it’s over, the silence that follows is different from all the ones that came before. You lie beside him, heart still racing, his fingers lazily tracing circles along your arm. He doesn’t speak. He just watches you, memorizing the curve of your lips, the way your chest raises and falls. And for a moment, you forget every plan. Every lie. Every secret. For a moment, it feels like love. The kind that sneaks up on you — quiet, uninvited, and impossible to ignore. You lie tangled together, your head tucked against his shoulder, his hand tenderly caressing your bare skin. Hearts still thudding. 

Satoru is the one to break the silence, his voice light, teasing (as usual). “So... You really don’t remember me, huh?” 

You blink, lifting your head just enough to glance at him. “What?” 

“Brutal...”, he laughs. “And here I was, thinking I made a lasting impression that night.” 

You narrow your eyes, unsure if he’s joking. “What are you talking about?” 

“Nahh, I get it — you were pretty drunk”, he says, dragging the words out like a cat playing with mouse. 

“Oh god—” You sit up suddenly, sheet gathering around your chest. “Don’t tell me we’ve hooked up in the past and I don’t remember it?” Satoru bursts out laughing. “No, not like that.”

You squint at him. “Then stop being so cryptic and tell me!” 

He stretches, hands behind his head, smug and insufferable. “Let’s just say… you were outside a bar. Alone. Slumped on the curb. And I saved your life.”

You blink again. He continues, barely hiding his amusement. “Some creep tried to hit on you. I intervened, obviously. You asked if I was a kidnapper, told me I smelled nice, then fell asleep in my lap.”

Your jaw drops. “No way.” 

“Oh, there’s more,” he says with a mock-serious nod. “You called me pretty. And you kissed me.”

You gape. “You’re lying.” 

“I’m not,” he says, lips twitching. “And you stole my jacket, by the way.”

Your eyes widen. Something flickers at the edge of your memory. “Wait— that was your jacket?”

Satoru raises his brows, clearly enjoying himself. “Yep.” 

“I always wondered where it came from”, you mumble, stunned. “I kept it for years. I thought maybe someone just… gave it to me out of pity.” 

“Well, I did give it to you”, he says, softer now. “But it wasn’t pity.” 

You’re quiet for a moment, absorbing it all. “I can’t believe it. That was you.” 

He shrugs one shoulder, like it’s no big deal — but his voice betrays him when he says, “Yeah. I looked for you, you know? Went back to that street, hung around your supposed campus. Thought about that stupid night more times than I’d ever admit.” 

You gasp. 

“When your photo showed up in the marriage proposal packet?” He looks over at you, something unreadable in his eyes. “I said yes before they even finished reading your name.” 

You stare at him, stunned. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” 

He smiles, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Because you didn’t look at me like this before.” You lean in, heart heavy with something warm and aching. “How do I look at you now?” 

“Like you might not disappear this time.” 

-- 

You slip into your nightgown, your skin still tingling with traces of warmth and tenderness. The sound of water runs in the background — Satoru in the shower, humming something off-key. A lazy smile plays on your lips as you step out of the bedroom, quietly padding down the hallway. You tell yourself it’s just to grab snacks. Maybe a drink. Something to soothe the afterglow that’s left your heart both full and aching. 

But as you reach the kitchen and flick on the soft underlight, your body seizes.

Akihito is there. Standing in the low light like a phantom, glass in one hand, his other curled into a loose fist at his side. The bottle of whiskey beside him is nearly half-empty. He doesn’t speak right away — just stares at you, and it’s a look you’ve never seen on him before. Not like this. There’s pain, yes. But buried under that is something sharper. Something raw. 

“Akihito...” you breathe, barely more than a whisper. He doesn’t answer. Just brings the glass to his lips again, slowly, as if buying time — or trying to keep himself from saying what’s already clawing its way up his throat. Akihito, huh? You used to call him Aki... 

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes narrowing slightly as he steps forward. You don’t move — not because you don’t want to, but because you don’t quite dare. He stops in front of you, closer than comfort allows. The scent of whiskey and something tired hangs on him — disappointment. His eyes flicker over your face, and you know he sees it. The softness in your cheeks. The haze still lingering in your gaze. The warmth that isn’t his. He knows. Of course he does. But he wants to confirm, one last time. 

His hand reaches toward you, swiftly lifting your nightgown to brush his fingers against your cunt, bare, still wet and sore. You flinch, instinctively stepping back — but his free hand snaps around your wrist. He withdraws his fingers, bringing them close to your face, then slowly rubs them together. Smearing the slick, laced with remnants that don’t belong to him. “You slept with him”, he says, low, flat. No question. Just a quiet accusation. 

Your breath catches. 

He leans in, close enough for his words to brush against your skin. “Do you love him?”

Before your lips can part, before your heart even finds a beat, a new voice breaks the silence. 

“Hey, I was looking for y—” Satoru enters the room, still damp from the shower, water clinging to his chest, a towel slung low around his waist, another in his hands as he rubs it through his hair. The moment he sees his father, he stops mid-step. His eyes lock at his hand around your wrist. His tone drops, his jaw clenches. He immediately yanks his hand away from you, then his eyes dart to the whiskey on the counter. “Old man, did you get drunk enough to mistake my wife for yours?” 

Akihito doesn’t answer right away, but he tenses. For a moment, he seems to fold in on himself — trying, perhaps, to remember who he is, and who he’s supposed to be. “I lost my balance for a second”, he mutters. Then without another glance at either of you, he brushes past and disappears down the hall. 

The silence he leaves behind is deafening. You’re frozen. Like glass on the verge of shattering. Guilt crawls under your skin like a fever. You want to scream. You want to run. You feel like you’ve betrayed them both. 

Satoru looks at you. His expression softens the moment he sees your face. “Hey...” voice gentle now. “You okay? You look a bit... pale.” He tries to joke, but there’s a note of worry breeding into his words. “Did I... maybe go a little too hard on you back there?” A faint smirk, halfhearted. His eyes, though, are searching.  

You force yourself to nod, to smile like you’re fine. “No. I’m okay. I just—” you glance toward the hallway, “I got startled. I didn’t expect to see anyone else awake.”

Satoru doesn’t look entirely convinced, but he doesn’t push either. He just reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch almost reverent. “Next time, tell me”, he says softly. “I’ll walk you around the house like a proper husband.” 

You laugh — weakly, but you manage it. Neither of you says what you’re thinking. Neither of you asks the questions hanging thick in the air. But both of you feel it. Something has shifted. And in the stillness that follows, all you can do is hold your breath and pretend it’s not already slipping out of your control. 

-- 

The soft creak of Akihito’s footsteps disappears into the silence of the hallway as if he is retreating from more than just a room. By the time he reaches the bedroom he shares with Saori, the burn in his chest has settled into something heavier, duller. She is already asleep, curled into herself beneath the silk sheets. He doesn’t even look at her. Akihito pours himself another drink from the decanter near the dresser, the sound of the liquid filling the glass louder than it should. His hand shakes as he brings it to his lips. He has lost count of how many glasses he had tonight. 

He believed he was in control, never imagining, even for a moment, that you might be the one to falter. He sits on the edge of the bed for a while, nursing the bitterness on his tongue, trying to down what feels like the unraveling of everything. His grip tightens around the glass until his knuckles turn white. And eventually, the weight of it — the whiskey, the pain, the loss — pulls him down. He settles in bed, fully clothed, eyes open to the dark. Only when the alcohol dulls the sharpest edges of his thoughts does sleep finally claim him. 

Saori wakes sometime later — hours, maybe. She doesn’t know what stirred her at first. The clock ticks quietly. The room is still. But then she hears it. A soft sound. A broken voice. Akihito. At first, she thinks he is awake, whispering. But when she turns to face him, she sees the tight lines on his brow, his face twisted in restless dreaming. 

...a name falls from his lips like a prayer. Your name.

“Don’t leave me...” He shifts, face turned toward her, eyes shut tight. His voice cracks in a way she has never heard before. “I love you... please... don’t go...” 

Saori doesn’t move. She doesn’t breathe. For a long moment, all she can do is stare at the man she spent more than half her life beside. The man who kept so much from her. Until now.

Everything made sense to her now. All of it. The proposal of a random girl — a nobody, by traditional standards — as a bride for the clan head. His obsessive oversight of your marriage. His silence. His sudden, inexplicable shifts in mood. All the times he came home reeking of another woman. And now this. 

She sits up slowly, placing her hand on her lap as the cold realization settles deep into her bones. Her husband has never said her name like that, even in dreams. A sharp, unfamiliar ache blooms in her chest. It isn’t jealousy — though that is part of it. It is grief. For a marriage that never really belonged to her. For a love that was never hers to begin with. She turns to look at Akihito once more. His lips move soundlessly now, breath uneven. Vulnerable in a way he has never let himself be when conscious. Saori whispers, her voice nearly a breath, “You poor, stupid man...” 

And she doesn’t know whether to feel pity, rage, or heartbreak. So she sits there — in the dim quiet, beside the man who is dreaming of someone else — and tries to remember what it feels like to be chosen. 

-- 

The morning sun spills through sheer drapes. Saori sits before her vanity, back perfectly straight, hands folded in her lap as the house attendant brushes through her hair. She stares at her reflection — still, expressionless. But her eyes, always sharp, betray thought in motion. There’s no puffiness in them, no redness, no sign of the long night she endured beside her sleeping husband and the dreams he whispered into the dark. Not a trace of it reached the surface. Because Gojo Saori does not falter. 

She was raised for this life. Trained from the moment she could walk and speak — in manners, in posture, in etiquette. In silence. In sacrifice. She was chosen for the Gojo Clan as if born for it, bred for it. A perfect match to elevate status and maintain lineage. An ideal bride, by design. Not merely beautiful, but refined. Not merely obedient, but poised. Regal in her restraint. And still, he never loved her. Gojo Akihito, the man she married at twenty-one, gave her everything a wife could ask for — wealth, status, a name that carried power. But not his heart. Never his heart. She spent years trying to earn it anyway. With devotion. With loyalty so fierce it could have moved mountains if he had only looked her way and seen her properly. 

But last night... Last night, in the hush of the sleeping room they shared for so many years, he spoke someone else’s name. Not once. Not carelessly. Lovingly. 

Saori meets her own gaze in the mirror — unwavering, unflinching. She should’ve wept, perhaps. Cried the way lesser women might. Collapsed into trembling disbelief or broken rage. But she had no time for that. No space, in the skin she wears, for such indulgence. Her family name was teetered on scandal, and she bled too much grace into this place to see it torn down now — not by a girl’s foolishness, not by a man’s longing. Gojo Saori was, above else, a guardian of the image. But the image was beginning to crack. And she was ready to protect what needed protecting.  

--  

You sit at the table, eyes tracing the rim of your teacup, steam curling softly into the morning air. You haven’t taken a sip. You haven’t touched your plate. Your stomach is tight, twisted with guilt... especially after last night. 

Satoru is full of light and ease, as he always is — grinning, teasing, tossing playful remarks into the stillness like stones skipping across a glassy lake. His hand brushes yours casually, fingertips lingering just long enough to warm your skin. It's comforting in a way, how unchanged he is. But his energy doesn’t reach you this morning. You smile when you’re supposed to. You answer when he prompts you. But your mind is far away — caught between the memory of last night’s warmth and the echo of Akihito’s voice, flat and cracked with disappointment. 

Akihito sits quietly, as he always does, but today his silence feels heavier. His fingers press against the bridge of his nose, slow and methodical, as if trying to will away a migraine. He hasn’t touched his food. His presence across the table burns into you like a brand. You can’t bring yourself to look at him, but you can feel his restraint like a tremor in the room — barely contained, always building. 

Saori is a vision of composure. She lifts her teacup with perfect posture, takes delicate sips, and sets it down with the precision of someone who has performed this same ritual every morning of her life. Her face is unreadable — not blank, but too measured. There's something behind her stillness, something coiled. But you can’t tell what. She gives nothing away. 

Satoru leans in toward you with a lopsided grin, voice dipped in mischief. His hand brushes your arm again, and for a brief moment, you wonder if he senses how fragile you feel. “You’re awfully quiet today”, he points out. You blink, startled — his voice snapping you out of your spiral — and you force a breath, a small smile. He’s trying to bring you back. The way he always does. “I didn’t get much sleep last night”, you manage, voice low and tight. 

“Tired, huh?” he echoes with a soft laugh, leaning in closer. His voice drops to a whisper, just for you. “Guess that’s what happens after a long, productive night... right?” 

Your heart stumbles. The words land like a thunderclap, disguised as a joke, but sharp enough to cut through your skin. His wink is lighthearted — harmless in his mind — but you freeze. You don’t laugh. You can’t. The knot in your stomach coils tighter, shame rising in your chest. You drop your gaze and press your lips together, every nerve on fire. 

Then comes the sound. A sharp, sudden crack. 

Akihito’s hand clenches around his teacup — or what’s left of it. Porcelain shards glint, splintered across the table and floor. His palm is cut, a slow trickle of blood winding through the lines of his hand, but he doesn’t seem to feel it. He stares at the broken cup like it’s something far away. His shoulders tense, jaw clenched. A man unraveling slowly — but silently. 

Satoru turns toward him, his gaze casual, almost detached. He says nothing. 

Saori moves immediately, her composure untouched as she rises and then immediately kneels beside him without ceremony, inspecting the wound with clinical care. Her voice is even, steady. “Are you alright?” Akihito doesn’t respond. His eyes are still fixed on the broken shards. His breath is shallow. Hollow. You wonder if he even knows where he is. Saori retrieves the first aid kit from the cabinet, her movements smooth, practiced. She tends to the cut with quiet precision, wrapping the bandage around his hand in silence. She doesn’t look at you, not directly — but her awareness is piercing. You can feel her watching, even when her eyes aren’t on you. 

You try not to flinch under the weight of it. 

Satoru watches you now. Truly watches you, and only you. There’s concern in his eyes, but beneath it, something darker — a flicker of something unreadable, as if he’s seeing straight through you. 

--  

You walk Satoru to the front of the estate, the morning sun slowly warming the stone path. He lingers, reluctant to go. “Are you sure you want me to leave?” he asks, searching your face. “You’ve been... kind of out of it all morning.”

You manage a smile, reaching up to smooth a hand through his hair. “I told you, I’m just tired.”  

He’s clearly unconvinced. “Then let me stay. I’ll take the day off, we’ll snuggle in bed, watch trashy movies, eat junk food — whatever you want.” 

“No”, you cut him off gently. “They’ll chew you out for skipping another day because of me. I’m fine, I promise. I just... need a little time to myself.” 

He watches you for a moment longer, visibly debating. Then he leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead. “You better call me if you change your mind. Or even if you don’t. I just want to hear your voice.” 

“I will”, you say, trying to mean it. 

“You won’t”, he mutters. “But I’ll pretend to believe you.” 

You watch him walk away until he’s out of sight. And then the weight returns, heavy and unforgiving. You turn and head back toward your room, your steps slow. You were planning to reach out to Akihito — to talk, to finally be honest. At least with him. You need to say the words out loud. 

Halfway to your door, one of the maids appears at the end of the corridor, bowing her head respectfully as she approaches. “Lady Saori has asked if you would join her for tea in the garden”, she says. 

You blink. “Tea?” 

“She’s waiting for you now”, the maid adds.  

Your stomach twists. This is a first. Saori has never invited you anywhere, never initiated anything outside of polite formality. And now — tea? You murmur your thanks and change direction, heading toward the garden with careful steps. When you arrive, Saori is already seated beneath the wide shade of the cherry blossom tree. Everything is picturesque — the porcelain tea set arranged perfectly, delicate sweets on a lacquer tray. Not a single detail out of place. She looks up as you approach, her posture composed, her expression mild. 

“Hello again”, she says, gesturing to the seat across from her. “Please, sit.”

You lower yourself slowly. “Thank you.” 

She pours the tea herself. No attendants. No distractions. Just you and her. “We’ve never had the chance to talk”, she says, tone pleasant. “Just the two of us.” 

You nod faintly. “I guess not.” 

She picks up her cup, takes a small sip, and sets it down again. “Satoru seems happy.”

You glance at her, cautious. “He is.” 

“I can tell. He’s always been bright, but lately there’s something different. Something new. He’s softer. His laugh is more genuine.” She offers a smile. “He clearly cares for you — deeply.” 

Your mouth goes dry. “Thank you.” 

She hums softly, and then — without a change in tone — asks, “And how are things between you and my husband?”

The question hits you like a stone dropped into still water. No warning. No shift in expression.  

You stiffen, staring at her.

She doesn’t look away, “Not well, I imagine?” voice still calm. 

“I—” 

“I don’t want to hear it”, she cuts in, quiet but firm. 

Silence settles like a weight. Her voice remains calm, but the steel beneath it is undeniable. “I am not blind.” 

You lower your gaze. 

“I see the way Akihito looks at you. I see what it’s done to him.” Her fingers rest gently on the rim of her teacup. “And I know the kind of woman it takes to twist a man like him into something unrecognizable.” 

You flinch. 

“I won’t let this continue. I won’t let you unravel this family from the inside out. If you stay on this path, you won’t just break Akihito — you’ll destroy Satoru too. He’s already too attached. Too invested. And when this blows apart — because it will, like all secrets do — do you really think he won’t be the one to bleed for it?” 

You look up at her, heart pounding. Her words feel like nails driven into your spine. There’s no venom in her voce. No raised pitch. Just control. Cold and deliberate. “I’m giving you a choice”, she says. “You leave. On your own terms. Or I will make sure you have no terms at all.” 

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. What can you even say? What are you supposed to do? Argue? 

“Think it over”, she says, lifting her teacup again. “Before it becomes something you can’t come back from.” Then her eyes meet yours one last time — still poised, but with a new edge. “And don’t even think about telling Akihito we had this conversation.” she adds softly. “Unless you want Satoru to know about it too.” 

-- 

You barely make it back to your room before your legs give out. The door shuts behind you and you crash onto the bed, your breath caught somewhere between a sob and a scream. You press the heels of your palms into your eyes, trying to hold back the tears, but it’s useless now. The dam is breaking. Your shoulders shake, and the sob that leaves you is hoarse, pulled from a place so deep it feels like you’re splitting open. 

Everything was falling apart — like a chain of dominoes tipping one after another. One thing went wrong, and the rest followed, collapsing in swift, inevitable sequence. The worst part? The love blooming quietly in your chest. There’s no use pretending anymore. You can try to lie to everyone else — maybe even try to lie to yourself. But the truth is carved into your every glance, every touch, every breath, every unspoken word between you and Satoru. You love him. But you’re not allowed to have him. Not after this. Not when the damage has already begun to spill over the edges.  

You sit in the stillness for a while, until your tears run dry and resolve begins to settle in their place. There’s one thing left to do — the thing you intended before everything spiraled. You need to speak with Akihito. You pick up your phone and type out the message. 

Meet me in an hour. I’ll send you the location of the hotel. 

Then you get up, dress in silence, and leave. 

-- 

The room is quiet when he arrives. Akihito steps inside and finds you standing by the window, framed in soft, diffused light. There’s something different in your posture — something heavier. He doesn’t speak right away. He just looks at you, then takes a step forward. 

He dropped everything and came to you. Still hoping. That small, foolish hope still flickers in him — that maybe, despite everything, you’ve called him here because you’ve come back. He reaches for you, arms out as if to hold you again. But you step back. 

“No”, you say, voice tight. “We can’t do this anymore.” 

His hands drop to his sides. “What?” his voice barely comes out. You swallow the lump rising in your throat. “Aki... we can’t.” He stares at you. Then — a bitter, hollow laugh escapes him. “So that’s it?” His voice cracks. “You fell in love with him, didn’t you? And all this was for nothing?” 

You close your eyes. The silence answers for you. He paces away, running a hand through his hair, then back again. “God”, he mutters. “I thought this was the perfect plan. I thought — if I couldn’t have you publicly, I could at least have you close. Through him. Knowing he wouldn’t want you, wouldn’t touch you. Knowing that you loved me...” He looks at you now, eyes sharp with grief. “But I was wrong about both.” 

You wrap your arms around yourself. “This was a terrible idea from the start, and you know it”, you whisper. “I should’ve never agreed. I should’ve never let it get this far. I wish I’d never—” 

“Don’t”, he snaps, suddenly raw. “Don’t say you wish you never met me. Don’t.” 

Your breath hitches, but you don’t take it back. His voice lowers, thick with disbelief. “You don’t really mean it... right?”

Your silence cuts deeper than any answer.

He lets out a sharp breath, like it hurts, and moves to step toward you again, in utter denial of what’s unfolding before his eyes. 

“No”, you say, firmer this time. “Please. Just let this be the end.” 

You reach for the door. He follows. For the first time, you leave the hotel room together — not like all the other times, not hidden, not careful. You’re walking away, and he’s chasing you, hand reaching desperately for yours. 

“Wait—!” 

Akihito’s hand closes around your wrist just as you step onto the sidewalk, his grip tight, desperate — like holding on could somehow undo everything unraveling between you.

And then you hear it — a familiar voice calls your name. 

“...is that you?” 

You freeze. Shoko stands a few feet away, dressed in her uniform. Her gaze flicks from your face to where Akihito’s hand still clings to yours, and her expression changes in an instant. 

And just like that — in the space of a single day — everything you’ve tried to keep buried begins to rise. Crashing, all at once, to the surface. 

-- 

The sun is long gone by the time Satoru returns, the estate cloaked in stillness. He steps inside, calling your name softly. When you appear at the end of the hall, barefoot in the dim light, something in him settles — and then, just as quickly, something else begins to stir. You look like yourself, and yet... not. Your smile is soft but distant, your eyes shimmering in a way he can’t place. “I’m home”, he says, shrugging off his jacket. “Missed me?” 

You nod, walking up to him. You press a hand to his chest. “Little bit.” He smiles and leans down to kiss you, and when your lips meet, he feels it — the way you cling just a little tighter, hold just a little longer. It’s like you’re trying to memorize the way he tastes.  

Later, in your shared room, the lights are low and the silence is velvet. You’re already in bed when he returns from the shower, his white hair damp and tousled, towel slung loosely around his neck. He slips in beside you, cold fingers brushing your arm. You shiver, not from the chill — from the weight of what’s to come.

“You said you needed some time for yourself this morning, but you’re still like this”, he murmurs, pulling you close. “I don’t like it.”

You nestle against his chest, pressing your cheek to his skin. “I’m okay now.” 

There’s something in your voice that makes him pause. But he doesn’t push. Instead, he wraps his arms around you tighter, grounding himself in the curve of your spine, the warmth of your breath against him. 

“You smell like cotton candy”, you whisper.

He chuckles, nose brushing the crown of your head. “It’s that new shampoo. Smells fancy, huh?”

You don’t answer. You just reach for his hand and intertwine your fingers with his like it’s the last time... “Will you stay with me?” you ask softly.

“I’m not going anywhere.” he breathes.

“Good”, you murmur, voice barely above a breath. “Then, come closer.”

Satoru tilts his head down to look at you, a flicker of unease moving behind his gaze. “Of course”, he says. “Where else would I go?” 

You pull him down to kiss you again. Deep. Slow. There’s no teasing. No games. Just something desperate threaded through every movement. Like a goodbye wrapped in silk. When you make love, there’s no rush. No fire. Just the quiet rhythm of two people trying to suspend time — to stretch a moment into forever. You whisper his name like a prayer. He kisses your temple like he’s stealing a promise he doesn’t know he’s about to break. 

Afterward, you lie tangled together, your head on his chest, his fingers absentmindedly drawing circles on your bare shoulder. Your breathing evens. Sleep comes to you quickly — a peace you haven’t known in a while.  

But Satoru doesn’t sleep. He watches you in the darkness, his blue eyes searching your face, as if trying to decode something written there. Something unsaid. You’ve never look so peaceful. And, honestly, that’s what scares him. His chest tightens. Something in his gut whispers that he’s missing something. That he’s not seeing the full picture. That maybe... you’re slipping through his fingers.

“Why do I feel like I’m losing you?” he murmurs, barely audible, brushing a thumb along your cheek. You stir, but don’t wake. He leans down and kisses your forehead — gentle, reverent. “I love you”, he whispers into your hair. And for a moment, he lets himself believe it’s enough to keep you. 

-- 

A week passes. The Gojo estate buzzes with preparations for the annual celebration — Saori and Akihito’s wedding anniversary. As always, Saori is at the heart of it all, composed and efficient, orchestrating every detail with practiced grace. Akihito, on the other hand, remains distant. Detached. You barely see him around the mansion. Not a word has passed between you since that day at the hotel. It feels like he’s quietly disappearing — withdrawing, piece by piece — and yet, an uneasy weight sits in your chest. Something feels off. Unfinished. 

One afternoon, as you help Saori sort through invitations, she brings it up — casually. “Have you made up your mind?” she asks, her eyes never lifting from the stack of envelopes. You pause, fingers brushing the edge of an envelope, and answer softly — almost absently. “Who knows.” 

-- 

Morning light filters through the sheer curtains. You’re already awake, lying still in Satoru’s arms. His breath is warm against the nape of your neck, one arm draped lazily around your waist, holding you in place like an anchor. Carefully, you ease out from under his arm. He shifts but doesn’t wake. Bare feet touch the cold floor as you rise and stand in the light, allowing yourself one last look. He’s lying on his back now, hair a tousled against the pillow. Peaceful. Vulnerable in a way only sleep allows. Your chest aches. 

In the bathroom, you splash cold water on your face and lift your gaze to the mirror. Your eyes are red. Hollow. The skin beneath them bruised with fatigue. But beneath the weariness, there’s something else — resolve. When you return to the room, Satoru is stirring. He squints at you with a sleepy grin. “Come back”, he mumbles, voice rough with sleep. “I sleep better when you’re here.”  

You smile softly. “Can't. You know today’s the big day.” 

He stretches like a cat, arms reaching above his head, the sheet slipping down to his hips. “Ugh. Right. Completely forgot about that”, he groans and then rolls onto his side. You manage a quiet laugh. As he nestles back into the pillow, you linger in the doorway. “I love you.” you whisper — quietly, so quietly he won’t hear. Then you close the door behind you. And with that, the countdown begins. 

--  

The Gojo estate is nothing short of magnificent tonight. The garden glows beneath a canopy of paper lanterns, warm amber light spilling across the sea of guests. Tables are dressed in fresh flowers. Soft music hums in the background, blending into murmured conversations and the gentle clinking of glasses. Tonight is a celebration of image — Akihito and Saori’s wedding anniversary. Saori is elegance incarnate, her smile as polished as the pearls at her neck. Akihito stands beside her, composed, offering polite nods and minimal words. Together, they are the picture of grace. But the image is just that — a facade. There’s nothing worth celebrating. Nothing real about the harmony they pretend to share. 

Across the garden, Satoru floats through the evening like a disruption in the symmetry. Dressed in a loose gray suit, tie nowhere in sight, he laughs too loud, drowns juice from a champagne glass, and teases the elders with casual disrespect. No one bats an eye — it’s just Satoru being Satoru. But those who know him — really know him — can see it. He’s restless. His eyes keep scanning the crowd. At first subtly. Then, with growing urgency. You’re not out here. You slipped away earlier, saying something about fixing your dress. But that was over thirty minutes ago. Long enough for the knot in his stomach to tighten. Long enough for his laugh to start sounding forced. 

He leans toward Shoko, who’s sipping wine with a bored expression. “Have you seen her?” 

“Nope”, Shoko replies, unbothered. “Didn’t she say she was heading to the bathroom?” 

“Yeah”, Satoru’s fingers drum against the table. “But how long does fixing a dress take?” 

Across the garden, Akihito and Saori stand side by side as guests gather for the toast. She leans in, whispers something. He nods — but his gaze flickers, briefly, toward the house. 

An elder raises a glass. “To love. To strength. To bonds that stand the test of time.” 

Glasses rise.

Clink.

Applause follows. The illusion holds.

Until— 

BOOM. 

A thunderous crack splits the air. The ground shakes. Heat pulses across the garden like a wave. Screams erupt. From the left wing of the estate, fire bursts through the windows — a wall of flame swallowing the air. Smoke billows thick and choking. Music cuts out. Plates crash. Glass shatters. 

Satoru’s glass falls from his hand and explodes against the ground. Something sharp drives into his chest. He knows — you’re still inside. But before the thought is fully formed, he’s already running.

“WHERE IS SHE?!” His voice cuts through the chaos as he barrels through the guests. 

Akihito starts to follow, face pale, but Saori grabs his arm. Her gaze then snaps to her son. “Satoru, STOP!” she cries — but he doesn’t hear.

To Satoru, the world is silent now. There is only the roar of the fire and the pounding of his heart. He bursts through the estate doors, sprinting toward the source of the flames. He forgets his technique. Forgets his own safety. Forgets everything — except you.

“Please, baby— please, my love— I’m coming, please— Don’t do this to me, please—”, he keeps chanting.

The deeper he goes, the more warped the hall becomes — blackened, unrecognizable. He reaches the kitchen — but it’s empty. Panic claws up his throat. He turns, runs to the nearby bathroom. Kicks the door open. Heat smacks him like a wall. Smoke clogs his lungs. He pulls his sleeve over his mouth and steps inside.  

Then he sees it — someone collapsed near the sink, limbs sprawled. Still. His heart stops. He nearly slips as he rushes forward, dropping to his knees beside the figure. Burnt and unrecognizable. But the dress — what’s left of it — is familiar. The color. The delicate trim. There’s a necklace around the neck, half-melted, but unmistakably yours. “No”, he whispers. “No, no, no—” 

His hand hovers over your body. His throat tightens. Everything around him is heat, noise, pressure, but in his ears, there’s only silence. Like the world just folded in on itself. He doesn’t realize he’s crying until the tears hit his lips — salt and ash. “I was just with you...” he whispers, almost childlike, broken. “You were laughing with me a moment ago...” He leans in, presses his forehead to your shoulder, and breathes raggedly. Body shaking.  

Behind him, voices start to echo. Footsteps. Shouting. Geto is coming to pull him out. But Satoru doesn’t hear any of it. He doesn’t move. He can’t. For the first time in his life, it feels like he’s lost. 

-- 

The fire was quickly contained. The Gojo mansion still stands, its structure untouched. Only the left wing of the first floor bears the marks of the fire. The investigation concluded that the fire was caused by an overheating motor in the bathroom’s ventilation system, a tragic accident. Only one life was lost: yours. 

Your funeral was two days ago. A private ceremony. Satoru didn’t speak during it. He barely moved. Just stood there, hands shoved deep in his pockets, his eyes hidden behind the blindfold. Quiet. In a way he’s never been. 

Now, days later, the world still spins — people still laugh, they breathe, they live. But he’s still here. In the room that was once your shared bedroom. Alone. He sits on the edge of the bed, staring at the chaos of your things scattered around the room. Your belongings — still as you left them — seem to scream your absence. He can’t bring himself to touch them. Not yet. Not ever. The book you were reading, the bottle of perfume on the nightstand, your lotion, your earrings, the brush on the vanity, and your nightgown — neatly folded on your side of the bed. It all kills him. The maids are prohibited from entering the room. He’s made sure of it. The silence of the space, with all its untouched remnants of you, is his alone to bear. 

He buries his face in your pillow, hoping to catch even the faintest trace of your scent. But it’s long gone. A strangled breath leaves him. Then another. And then... he breaks. His hands shake as he scrolls through his phone, endlessly flipping through old texts. Rereading them. The messages that still feel so alive — your voice echoing in his mind. One voicemail stands out. The one you left days before the accident. He presses play. 

“Satoru, stop leaving the toilet seat up! I’m too sleepy in the mornings to notice, but my butt definitely doesn't appreciate an unexpected ice bath.” 

He laughs. Just once. And then, he breaks again. Gojo Satoru, the strongest sorcerer in the world, curls into himself, his body crumpling into fetal position. He cries. Not quietly. No. He cries like he’s been holding it in his entire life, like the ground beneath him finally gave way and left him with nothing to stand on. No air. No reason. 

They say he’s doing fine. Around others, he smiles. He jokes. He walks with that same easy confidence, says the right things, acts like nothing’s changed. But Geto and Shoko know better. They see it in the way he visits your grave every day. The way his shoulders stiffen when someone dares mention your name. The way his hands tremble when they’re not stuffed in his pockets. He’s unraveling. Slowly. Quietly. And still, no one knows the truth. Not yet. Not even him. 

Only Shoko does. 

-- 

You follow Shoko into the morgue at Jujutsu Tech, each step slow and soundless. She doesn’t speak. Just moves steadily toward a counter, where she sets a folder down. Her back remains to you. The silence stretches long and taut. Then— 

“I wasn’t sure what to make of what I saw earlier”, she finally says. “But the fact that you followed me here... it confirms my suspicions.” 

You try to speak, but no words come out. Only a shaky breath escapes, heavy with guilt, regret, and everything you’ve been holding in for far too long. Shoko turns to face you. Her expression is unreadable, but her eyes are sharp.

“You look like you want to say something”, she says. “So say it.” 

The words stumble out at first, fractured and raw. But then they come faster, pouring from you. You tell her everything — the affair, the reason behind the arranged marriage, the lies... everything. And the worst of it — that somehow, in the wreckage of it all, you fell in love with Satoru. You nearly choke saying it aloud, the weight of the truth crushing in your chest.

Shoko listens in silence. She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t interrupt. When you finally stop, she speaks with her usual stillness. “Why are you telling me this?” Then, sharper, “Why not tell Gojo?” 

“No”, you say quickly. “I can’t... I won’t do this to him.”

She tilts her head, gaze narrowing. “You already did”, she replies flatly. “Whether you tell him or not doesn’t change that.” 

Your throat tightens. “I know... and I need you to help me.” 

“Help you?” she repeats. “Why would I?” 

“Because I don’t want him to hurt, not like this.” 

There’s a long pause. Shoko just watches you — assessing, weighing. Then she steps closer, her voice low. “But he will hurt. In a way I’m not sure he’ll ever come back from.”

You meet her gaze, desperation burning in yours. “Please.”

She says nothing, but something seems to be shifting in her. 

“There’s something that will hurt him less than the truth”, you say. “I need you to find a body. Someone who resembles me. Imbue it with my residuals — only you can do that. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Her arms cross slowly. “You want me to find a corpse?” she asks. “You want me to help you fake your death? Is that it?” 

You nod, eyes dropping. “He’ll be better off thinking I’m dead than knowing what I’ve done.” 

“You’re underestimating him”, Shoko says, shaking her head. “You don’t know what you mean to him. This isn’t mercy — it’ll destroy him.”

Her words cut like glass, but you close your eyes. “Please”, you whisper. 

“When?”, Shoko asks, and you blink. “When do you need the body?” she repeats, rubbing the bridge of her nose. 

-- 

(One month later) 

You moved away. Far away. To a small village tucked in the mountains, hidden in a forgotten corner of the country. It’s quiet here — the kind of quiet that doesn’t demand anything from you. No one knows your name here. Not your real one, anyway. You rent a modest cottage, barely furnished, but clean. You wake with the sun, tend to your tiny garden, then walk to the local pub where you started working just enough to get by. It’s simple. Monotonous. A life carved from necessity, not desire. And yet, every night before bed, you check your phone. One conversation always sits at the top of your inbox: Shoko. 

Your last message was three days ago. 

You: How is he? 

Her reply came the next morning. 

Shoko: Still breathing. Don’t ask for more. 

You didn’t. You never do. 

-- 

(Back at Jujutsu Tech) 

Satoru has just returned from a mission, and it’s clear he’s not himself. He’s sharp, but off. The usual cocky confidence has slipped into irritation, and he drifts through the halls with his mind elsewhere. Distracted. A clipboard hangs loosely in his hand, and he’s on the hunt for Shoko — she’s supposed to fill out a report. 

These days, he only drops the act around her. Or Geto. Or, of course, when alone. When he’s not pretending, he’s quiet. Drained. Nothing like the Gojo Satoru everyone knows. 

As he nears the morgue, he slows. A muffled voice cuts through the silence behind the door. It’s Shoko, on the phone. He’s about to knock when he hears it. 

Your name. 

Satoru freezes. Is he finally losing his mind? But then, there’s more— 

“...you need to stop asking.” 

A pause. Then, softer— 

“He... He doesn’t talk about you still. He’s not okay. But you knew he wouldn’t be.” 

The world stills. He doesn’t breathe. Doesn’t blink. It’s like his mind is short-circuiting. Did he hear that right? His grip tightens on the clipboard until it creaks beneath his fingers. But then, it comes again. 

Your name. 

He stands there, stunned for a moment, before his body moves of its own accord. The door opens with a slow creak.

Shoko looks up, and she sighs. “...I have work to do”, she says quietly, and ends the call.

Satoru steps inside and shuts the door behind him. He throws the clipboard aside. He is not smiling, and he’s no longer wearing his blindfold. And for the first time in a month, his eyes are fully visible — different, bottomless, rimmed in red — and they are fixed on her. “Care to explain?”, he says, voice low, flat. 

Shoko doesn’t play dumb. She doesn’t lie. She leans back against the wall, her posture shifting to something almost resigned. She exhales, a soft sound, like she’s been waiting for this moment. She knew it would come. And for the first time in weeks, Satoru’s eyes — his grief-clouded eyes — are lit by something else. Hope. 

“She’s alive.”, Shoko says. The words hang in the air between them, and Satoru’s world shifts. He doesn’t react at first. Just stands there, trying to process her words. 

Finally, his voice cracks — barely audible, barely more than a whisper, like something fragile. “You let me bury her.” 

Shoko’s gaze softens for a moment, but then she sighs, a sound that’s more exhausted than regretful. “She said it’d hurt you less.” 

“Less?” He laughs once, a shar, disbelieving sound. “Less than what?” 

“The truth.” The words come from Shoko with unflinching clarity. “She had an affair with your father.”

Shoko waits. For a reaction. For anger. For questions. For anything.  

But Satoru doesn’t blink. He only asks one question. “Where is she?” 

-- 

The Gojo estate still stands. The first floor — once scorched by fire — has long since been renovated. But beneath the surface, the scars of the past remain. For those who know, it’s impossible to forget what was lost. Akihito sits in the living room, staring down at the floor, his expression hollow. The once commanding patriarch is now a broken shell. His hands tremble as he takes a sip of his drink, his gaze unfocused, consumed by grief. He hasn’t spoken much in weeks. Every time he tries, his voice cracks. The loss of you has shattered him. Sometimes he tells himself it was better this way — better to lose you to death than to watch you belong to someone else. Even if that someone else was his son. For a moment, that thought would make it easier to breathe. But then again, what did it matter? You were gone. And something in him knew — the fire wasn’t an accident. He suspected Saori. Maybe she found out. Maybe she did this to you. Should he kill her? But that wouldn’t bring you back. And besides... the clan. He still had a duty to do. 

Saori sits nearby, her gaze fixed out the window, her lips curling into a faint, satisfied smile. Her eyes flicker to Akihito for a brief moment, but there’s no sympathy in them — only contentment. After everything, she believes fate has finally righted itself. She watches him fall apart with quiet detachment, a sense of calm in her stillness. At least now, he is more hers than he is yours. “Perhaps it was fate”, she murmurs softly, her words for no one but the walls. Akihito’s eyes remain distant, his thoughts far removed from her voice. He’s too lost to hear anything she says — too far gone to care. 

Then, the door opens. Satoru enters, no grand gesture, no announcement. His presence fills the room immediately, thick and heavy, like an impending storm. Akihito doesn’t look up. He doesn’t need to. He knows why his son is here — he can feel it in the air before he even steps further in. Saori glances at Satoru, her eyes narrowing slightly, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. She rises without a word, understanding that this conversation isn’t for her. She leaves quietly, walking past her son with only a brief, knowing look.

The door clicks shut behind her. 

Akihito slumps lower in his seat, but he doesn’t look at his son. He doesn’t need to. The way Satoru stands there, rigid, fists clenched, eyes dark and filled with fury. Akihito feels the weight of it, heavy in the room, before he even lifts his head to look at him.

“You know”, Akihito says quietly, his voice hoarse, a statement rather than a question. Satoru stands still, his jaw clenched tight, eyes burning. He doesn’t answer. The air between them crackles with the unsaid. Akihito presses on, his voice low, laced with a tremor. “How did you find out?” 

Still, Satoru remains silent. His fists tremble at his sides, his breathing shallow, ragged. The words catch in his throat, a clash of fury and hurt. When he finally speaks, his voice is hoarse and strained, as though forcing each word past the tightness in his chest.

“You broke her.” he spits, finally. “You broke the one thing most precious to me.” 

Akihito flinches, the weight of the accusation landing heavily on him. His gaze hardens, but he can’t meet Satoru’s eyes. There’s nothing to say. His son is right — he did break her. And by doing so, he broke his son as well. 

Satoru steps forward suddenly, his movements swift and calculated. The space between them closes in an instant, and Satoru’s eyes, wide with intensity, burn through the silence as he towers over his own father. There’s something primal in the air now — a rawness, an energy that could consume the entire room, the entire estate, if left unchecked. Akihito doesn’t react, he just sits there, knowing what’s coming. He accepts it. The man he once was, gone. And this son — this powerful, broken son — is the reckoning he’s been waiting for. 

“Do you have anything to say?” Satoru’s voice is barely containing the storm inside him. His hands shake, still clenched tightly into fists, but there’s a note of something darker in his gaze — an edge that suggests the breaking point is near. Akihito looks at him, pained, defeated, but remains silent. The words don’t come. 

The sound that follows — sharp and violent — could be a fist crashing into flesh or a bone snapping under pressure. It’s unclear, too quick to pinpoint. The air itself seems to shatter with it.

Satoru turns without another word, leaving the mansion. His hands are covered in blood.

Behind him, a scream shatters the silence. Saori’s scream, high and frantic, echoes through the halls. Saori doesn’t know it yet, but her time is coming too. Soon enough. 

-- 

Satoru knew. He had known for a while. It wasn’t a dramatic discovery. It was quiet and accidental, in fact. It happened early into your marriage, when you were still distant with him — polite but clipped. Somehow always guarded. He thought it was the nerves at first. Shyness. The weight of tradition. But then a month passed, and you still wouldn’t meet his eyes unless it was absolutely necessary. Still flinched when he reached for you. He could handle awkward beginnings, of course — especially for you. He wasn’t expecting a fairytale, you didn’t even remember him. But what he couldn’t handle was not knowing you, the way that you never let him in. 

So he did what a curious man with too little patience like himself might do. He followed you. Not out of suspicion of course. He thought if he observed you from a distance, he might’ve learned things you weren’t ready to tell or show him. Your habits. Anything. And then, one afternoon, he watched you enter a hotel. Alone. Odd. 

Ten minutes later, his father arrived. Very odd. 

Satoru waited. Two hours later, you walked out. Head down, hair slightly mussed. You didn’t see him. Shortly after, Akihito exited the building, adjusting his coat, wearing an expression Satoru had rarely seen on him — satisfied, secretive. And that was it. He didn’t even use his Six Eyes at first. Part of him didn’t want confirmation. Part of him hoped it was just a coincidence. But shortly after, he let his technique drift over your form. And there it was. Residuals. His father’s cursed energy. All over you. 

...and everything began to click. Your stiffness. The arranged marriage. His father’s sudden interest in choosing his bride. How Akihito had spoken of you before the engagement with just a touch too much fondness.  It wasn’t an arranged marriage; it was a cover. You weren’t his. You were his father’s. 

Satoru never confronted you, never let on that he knew. He just watched. Watched the way you disappeared for hours and returned with a soft look in your eyes that was never for him. Watched the way Akihito seemed lighter after seeing you. Watched the lie of a marriage unfold, thread by thread, every day. He never blamed you, though. He thought, maybe this was fate’s twisted way of bringing you back together. Yes, he could’ve easily destroyed it, could’ve exposed the affair and made the clan turn against Akihito. But that would’ve meant the clan turning against you as well. And Satoru never wanted to ruin you, he wanted to keep you.  

So he waited. Watched. Loved you in silence. And when he caught glimpses — that maybe you were beginning to see him, not just the son of the man you loved, that you were starting to change — that was all it took. He clung to that.

Because the thing about Gojo Satoru is that, when he wants something — really, truly wants it — he doesn’t stop. Not rules. Not family. Nothing can stop him.

You had been stolen from him once — the night on the curb, when fate gave you to him and then ripped you away before he could even ask your name. Then it happened again. His father got to you first.

Now, he wasn’t going to let you be taken away from him for the third time. No matter what. Even if it meant choosing heart over blood.

If you had faked your death and disappeared because you believed you couldn’t exist in a world with both of them, then all he had to do was remove the one standing in the way. To keep you. 

-- 

You’re wiping down the tables at the pub, preparing for the new day. Half-focused. Letting the repetitive motion ground you, steady your nerves. Trying not to think about the ghost of him that’s never really left you.  

The door creaks open behind you.

“We’re not open yet”, you immediately call out. Politely, without turning around. “Please come back in an hour.” 

Silence. Neither a response, nor footsteps indicating that the person is leaving. You glance over your shoulder, ready to repeat yourself, but the words catch in your throat. 

Satoru is standing there, leaning against the doorframe. “Won’t you make an exception for me?” he says softly. It’s meant to sound like him — teasing, light — but his voice gives him away. It’s quiet, fragile. Like it might crack if he tries any harder to keep it steady. 

The rag slips from your hands. You freeze. Then slowly, you turn. But you don’t meet his eyes. You don’t dare. “Why would you come here?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. It’s not a question of how he found you. The answer was simple. Shoko. 

He steps forward, slowly. “For you.” 

“For me”, you echo under your breath, more to yourself than to him, a bitter laugh escaping you. “For me, huh?” you repeat.

“For you.” — he says again, with no hesitation. You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to shrink, as if you could fold into nothing. As if it might protect you from the weight of what he’s carrying in his voice. “Did you ever consider that maybe I didn’t want to be found?” 

“I did”, he says. “I considered a lot of things, actually.” He pauses before he takes another step, and then adds, “But the fact you did something so reckless... made me consider that you cared more than I imagined.”

You shake your head, swallowing the lump in your throat. “You don’t understand—” 

“I do.” He cuts in gently. “You thought if you stayed, you’d destroy us both.” 

You finally look up, meeting his eyes for the first time, and something inside you threatens to cave, the devastation in him nearly buckling your knees. “I did something unforgivable.” 

He exhales, like what he’s about to say is so obvious it needn’t be said out loud. But he does it anyway — “I was ready to do anything for you.” 

“Even if what I did was truly terrible?” 

“Even then.” 

He takes another step, and then another, until the distance between is gone. Until he’s close enough to touch. You want to move. To put space between you, but your feet don’t listen. And his presence — it roots you in place like gravity.

“You could’ve told me everything”, he murmurs. “You should’ve told me.” A pause. “I already knew.” 

“What?”, your breath stutters. 

His eyes darken, and a faint, bitter smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “I’ve known for a while.” 

“But... Shoko... didn’t Shoko—” 

“It wasn’t her.” He shakes his head. “I found out myself.” He falls silent for a moment, like the memory stings to recall. 

“And you never said anything?” 

“I had my reasons”, he says softly. “Just like you had yours.” He lifts his hand — the lightest touch — and tilts your chin up. The gentleness nearly undoes you. You try to speak, but the words tangle with the sob building in your chest. It slips out instead — small, broken. His fingers brush beneath your eye, catching the tear before it falls. Even as his own hand trembles. “One word from you would’ve changed everything”, he whispers. “I would’ve burned everything down to keep you safe. Happy.” 

You slowly break under the weight of his words, forehead falling to his chest. You feel the tension in him — not anger, not judgment. Just ache. His arms wrap around you. 

“You were always my girl”, he breathes into your hair. “Even when you didn’t know it. Even when you were his. From the moment you fell asleep on my lap outside that club, you were mine.” 

You tilt your head up, lips trembling. “I’m... I’m really s—” 

“Shh.” 

He leans in, pressing his forehead to yours, the warmth of him seeping into your skin. “I know.”

And then, his lips charge closer — you meet him halfway into a soft, slow kiss. One that is both an ache and a release all at once.

It hurts to want him this much. It hurts to know what you did. It hurts to know that he still looks at you with so much love, even when he knows it all. It hurts, that despite everything, it’s still you.  

-- 

You never thought you’d find peace again. Not truly. But now, the mornings are calm. The nights are quiet. The days pass without dread — light, easy, almost gentle. You and Satoru settled into this small life together, tucked away from the rest of the world. 

He left it all behind — the clan, the title, the crushing weight of being the strongest. Here, he isn’t Gojo Satoru, head of the Gojo Clan or the face of sorcerer society. Here, he’s just Satoru. Your Satoru. The one who wakes up beside you each morning, arm draped around your waist, murmuring sleepy nonsense into your ear. The one who insists on cooking breakfast and makes an unspeakable mess in the kitchen. The one who still leaves the toilet seat up just to hear you scold him — and grins when you do. 

Your belly is growing now — small, round, and full of promise. Sometimes he speaks to it like he already knows who your child will be. Sometimes he rests his head there and falls asleep. Other times, he lies awake with his hand on your baby bump, eyes full of wonder and fear, whispering that he hopes he’ll be good enough — for both of you. 

There are things left unspoken between you. You’ve never asked what happened after he left the clan — or more accurately, what happened before he left. You suspect the truth, of course. There’s no way not to. But you don’t press. And he doesn’t offer. 

Still, you think of Akihito sometimes. It’s impossible not to — he was a turning point, a fire you walked through to become who you are now. And sometimes, in the right light, Satoru looks so much like him. The same build, the same jawline, the same eyes.

But you know better. He’s nothing like him. Akihito, for all his love, always chose the clan in the end. His desires may have been selfish, but they were always entwined with duty. He loved you, yes. But he never chose you. Not truly. 

But Satoru did. He always chose you — even when it broke him. Even when it meant walking away from everything he was. Even when it meant taking a life — his own blood — to protect yours.

When he said, “I was ready to do anything for you”,

...he really meant it. 

[vaspider]

One of the other important cases was US v. Windsor. Edith Windsor's wife, Thea Spyer, passed away in 2009 after they married in Canada in 2007 and had their marriage recognized by their home state of New York in 2008; the couple had been together since 1965 and engaged since 1967. Edie wore a circular diamond brooch instead of a ring to avoid outing herself at work; she was one of the first women to become a senior systems programmer at IBM. Spyer, after being expelled from Sarah Lawrence when a security guard saw her kissing another woman, got her PhD from Adelphi University & became a psychologist with a private practice in New York.

After Thea died, the government refused to honor the spousal exemption to the federal inheritance tax for Edie. She was required to pay $363,053 in estate taxes on the value of Thea's share of their joint property, along with the savings that Thea accumulated during her life. If they'd been considered married by the federal government, that would have been $0.

The underlying principle here extended far, far beyond estate taxes - which would have incredible impact all by itself, especially for couples that were not upper-middle-class like Thea and Edie, since estate taxes on a much more modest house could be devastating to poorer queers and force the sale of the homes in question - and did so immediately. The day after the decision in Windsor, the judge handling McLaughlin v. Panetta, which dealt with veteran spousal benefits, asked how he could possibly find any other way than in favor of granting the petition, since DOMA's definition of a marriage matched that of the statutes defining the benefits, and that had just been found unconstitutional.

Within a month, queer spouses had the same rights under Medicare and Medicaid to be housed in the same nursing home as their spouse rather than being capriciously separated. They started getting death and survivor benefits from the SSA. They could file their taxes jointly. A queer foreign national spouse could get a green card the same way straight couples could. Within six months, the right not to have to testify against one's spouse, FMLA rights, VA rights, and more were added.

But it was still a patchwork of laws and rights that often depended on which state you lived in. Obergefell changed that in 2015.

Fun fact: Edie's lawyer for US v. Windsor was Roberta Kaplan, who is probably better known by younger folx as the lawyer for E. Jean Carroll in E. Jean Carroll v. Donald J. Trump. She and Windsor were both members of Beit Simchat Torah at the time; Kaplan and her wife are still members, AFAIK, but Windsor passed away in 2017.

im going crazy you have GOT to decouple romance/amatonormativity and marriage in your mind. you have GOT to understand that marriage is a legal document that protects you from exploitation especially if you are a woman or a stay-at-home anything. it is not some evil unique to heterosexual people. it is a legal document that says 'this is who i want in my hospital room when i die, this is who i want to have my stuff when i die, THIS PERSON OWES ME RECOMPENSE IF THEY KICK ME OUT OF THE HOUSE I LIVE IN"

You are not immune to being taken advantage of by your partner if you are queer. do not wind up homeless because your garbage live-ins name is on the lease and they decided to drop you like hot coals.

[tqlepatia]

⋮ ⌗┆FA$$HION KILLA .ᐟ ( II )

— OLDER ! RICH ! SEVIKA × MODEL ! MOTHER ! READER ( HCS ) —

౨ৎ - 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒' : " Here it iss !! I writed 2 times and tumblr deleted 😓 but thank God i have a big patience and writed it again, — angst, baby blues implied, and a lot of fluff (･ω･) . ".

𖹭 - Sevika knew she wanted to marry you the second she saw you doing shoots for the bridal collection of Vivienne Westwood, specially on the last dress.

𖹭 - "How would you feel about keeping one of those dresses?" You didn't understand until she pulled a ring from her blazer pocket, unmistakably the one that once belonged to Sevika's mom.

𖹭 - When you walked through the aisle, Sevika let herself cry a little in front of people, for the first time in years.

𖹭 - Honeymoon in Italy. You both barely left the room, too busy making love all day and night.

𖹭 -Sevika bought a new property-lush land, a greenhouse, a marble kitchen filled with cookbooks.

𖹭 - You started sleeping in, missing fittings without guilt—You stopped walking for a season, turned down four campaigns, and didn't feel bad about it.

𖹭 - You began documenting your domestic life privately-film photography, garden photos, table settings.

𖹭 - At night, Sevika would read the newspaper while you journaled on the sofa around the left side of the pool, while sometimes looking at the sky full of stars, sometimes she would stop reading a bit to massage your legs.

𖹭 - You started feeling the difference in your body- heavier breasts, longer naps, sudden cravings.

𖹭 - Sevika notice before you did, She held your hand the moment the test turned positive, barely blinking, just whispering "Okay."

𖹭 - Your bump showed faster than expected, and so did the press commentary.

𖹭 - Many brands of luxury trying to get a piece of the cake, tried to surf on the hype of one of the biggest supermodels being pregnant, sending gifts 24/7.

𖹭 - You began being tagged in "before/after" photos on Instagram, which led you to delete the app and all your social media.

𖹭 - She rubs your back when you throw up and kisses your hair even when you smell like ginger, massage your feet, make your breakfast with help of chefs.

𖹭 - She kissed every new stretch, every soft swell. "You're making something holy", " isn't so graceful that you are bringing another life to this world?" she whispered in soft nights.

𖹭 - Time to time, you realise how much your image was built over validation and numbers everywhere; your height, your weight, how many calories you consumed per day, your number of followers, or even how many runaway shows you got to.

𖹭 - You spent most days on the terrace in robes, drinking ginger tea, reading books about motherhood, so did sevika.

𖹭 - She took over the kitchen. The first time she made soup, she FaceTimed her aunt. You sat on the counter and laughed for twenty minutes at the story of Sevika's short childhood.

𖹭 - Your baby came fast. The labour was simple, you felt bad about the mother beside your room that screamed for hours after you finished your labour, and Sevika was there, holding your hand the whole time, crying as you screaming of pain.

𖹭 - She held the baby first. Then she gave them to you like an offering, the little one was identical to Sevika's baby pictures, for a moment, you thought that the photos had materialised inside your womb.

𖹭 - You bled for weeks, and no one told you how lonely it would feel. The world celebrated the baby but forgot the woman who brought her into

𖹭 - You loved your baby. But sometimes, when the crying didn't stop, you had to put her down and sit on the floor, whispering "Please, please, please."

𖹭

- 𖹭 - 𖹭 - You stayed off the runway for five years. Not because you couldn't. But because you refused to miss her first laugh, her first tantrum, her first step, and all these things.

Some nights, you sat outside on the garden steps and asked the stars for forgiveness for not being glowing, grateful, or the best mom that your daughter deserved.

𖹭 - You and Sevika barely fight, but now you're in a bad mood almost all the time due to the lack of sleep and tiredness, you and she started having little fights till... they weren't little anymore. "I gave up My LIFE for this baby, Sevika! And what did you give up? Nothing! So don't tell me what to do with my daughter." After the fight, she kept silent and slept in the living room.

𖹭 - You cried almost all night that day, at midnight you went to see her awake with the strong brightness of the TV illuminating her face, by your expression she already knew that you were feeling guilty for the words so sharp as a knife earlier. "Lie here love, sleep on my lap, then we'll go to the bedroom, okay?"

𖹭 - Sevika posted photos rarely. The back of your baby's head. You're stirring soup. You asleep against her chest. Always faceless, always sacred, like the world doesn't deserve to see you and your baby.

𖹭 - Your child giggles uncontrollably when Sevika blows raspberries on her little and soft belly, and Sevika grows a habit of treating her like royalty. Some days, the little girl even chooses Sevika’s clothes for work.

𖹭 - The photo Sevika took of you sleeping with the baby on your chest became her phone background for a year ( she changed it for a photo when the little girl took her first steps, you looking at her like this 😮 )

𖹭 - The hate comments stopped mattering when you saw your child run to you, arms open, calling you "mama" and climbing into your lap.

𖹭 - Your daughter painted your nails with Sevika one lazy Sunday. She chose pink. Sevika let her paint hers too. The mess stayed on your hands all day.

𖹭 - You caught her once sitting on the nursery floor alone, staring at the toys. You asked what was wrong. She said, "I never had this. Not even close. I didn't know what it looked like until now." You kissed her temple and told her, "Now you're building it. That's the point." She didn't say anything, just pulled you into her lap and held you like she was grateful you ever existed.

𖹭 - When the fashion house begged you back, you almost said no. Until you looked at your daughter and thought, She should see what it looks like when her mother chooses herself, too.

𖹭 - You worked out until your legs shook, counted almonds, cried over a single croissant, habits thay you got when was just a teenager looking to follow your dreams career, and they're back. But you weren't chasing beauty, you were begging to feel like yourself again, before the world carved judgment into your skin. Sevika found you on the bathroom floor once, scale beneath your feet, and said, "No body is worth this war." But you were already deep in it.

𖹭 - You practice your walks again, more than satisfied when you notice that you still remember perfectly how you used to walk, that was already a part of you, was engraved on your brain—in a way you never forget

𖹭 - The first show you did after five years, you cried backstage. Sevika stood behind the curtain, hand on your shoulder. "You never stopped being a goddess," she said.

𖹭 - After the runway, you went straight home. You didn't want the afterparty. You just wanted to kiss your baby's forehead and check if she was fine.

𖹭 -Interviews started pouring in. You declined most. Until one day, you said yes. It was in your garden. Just two chairs, tea, and wind. The interviewer asked, "How are you so calm now?" You said, "Because I stopped needing approval, the only one I need is from my daughter."

𖹭 -You told her about the hate, the body talk, the way motherhood was romanticized and weaponized all at once. You and the interviewer cried. Not because you were broken. But because healing had finally arrived, The clip went viral. Not for drama. For its stillness.

𖹭 - Sevika watched the interview ten times. "You looked like the woman I fell in love with," she said with a big smile kissing your forehead

𖹭 - Every night, Sevika kissed you like it was the first time. Because in your softness, she found her strength, too.

𖹭 - You started hosting dinners with no phones. Just stories, music, and laughter. You read poetry again. You began to write your own.

𖹭 - When storms hit, Sevika insists you all sleep in the same bed. "Just in case," she says. In case of what, you're never sure. But you never fight it. You like the way she tucks the baby between you two, how her arm curls around both of you like you're precious cargo. You fall asleep to the sound of rain and Sevika's breath, like the world could end and you'd still be safe.

౨ৎ - 𝐓aglist ; @prettyinpink69 , @abbysdollie , @marieeeluvsyou , @littlelovelunette , @madzorwhatever , @zvmbitegirl , @salsalsusu , @kataranda.

[sabrinajenre96]

Title: Double Trouble

Pairing: Tim Bradford x Wife!Detective!Reader

Genre: Humor, Fluff, Light Angst

Rating: T

Word Count: ~1,800

---

Tamara didn’t mean to buy a stolen car. In her defense, it looked like a good deal, and the guy was very convincing.

Which was why Lucy was now hunched over her desk, typing furiously into the DMV and criminal databases. “Okay, we’re close,” she mumbled, narrowing her eyes at the screen. “Original registration says... Jack Butler.”

Angela leaned over Lucy’s shoulder. “Jack Butler? That sounds fake.”

Nyla, sipping her coffee nearby, snorted. “Everything about that car was fake. What does he look like?”

Lucy clicked to open the owner’s DMV photo.

And froze.

So did Angela.

“What the...” Angela blinked and leaned in. “Is that—?”

“Tim?” Nyla finished.

Lucy’s jaw dropped. “That’s not Tim.”

Angela tilted her head. “No. That’s Tim... if he spent a lot more time drinking beer and getting tattoos.”

Nyla let out a low whistle. “That’s Tim with a daddy bod and a lot of ink. Kind of hot, not gonna lie.”

At that moment, you passed by with a coffee in hand. “What’s going on?”

Angela waved you over. “Y/N, you need to see this.”

You leaned in, eyes landing on Lucy’s screen. You nearly dropped your coffee. “Oh my God. It’s like someone cosplayed your husband after watching Sons of Anarchy.”

The group burst out laughing.

“That’s not him,” Lucy said again, but even she sounded unsure.

---

Ten minutes later, Tim walked into the bullpen. He immediately noticed the group of women all looking at him like he’d grown a second head.

He narrowed his eyes. “Okay... why are you all looking at me like that?”

Angela turned away, giggling. Nyla smirked.

Lucy bit her lip and gave an innocent shrug.

You sipped your coffee, eyes twinkling. “No reason. You just... ever think about getting a full sleeve tattoo, babe?”

“What?”

Angela nearly choked on her gum.

---

When Jack Butler was finally brought into the precinct and tossed into an interrogation room, the group gathered behind the two-way mirror—Tim included.

Jack leaned back in the chair like he owned the place, arms covered in tattoos, a smug grin on his stubbled face.

Tim scowled. “He looks nothing like me.”

“Oh please,” Nyla said. “You two could be twins... if your twin got into a motorcycle gang and stopped doing pushups.”

Angela laughed. “He’s you, Tim. Just... the alternate timeline version.”

You grinned. “So we’ve got Tim... and Dim.”

Everyone cracked up—except Tim.

“Really?”

You kissed his cheek. “Sorry babe. But that was a really good setup.”

---

Hours later, another surprise.

Jack’s girlfriend was brought in.

None of them were prepared for her.

Red and black hair, tight black jeans, heels that could kill a man, blood-red lipstick, a silver nose ring... and a face that could stop traffic.

Lucy’s mouth dropped. “Oh my God.”

Angela blinked. “Is it just me or... does she look like—?”

“Y/N,” Nyla confirmed. “If Y/N went full bad girl.”

Tim, now just as intrigued, smirked. “We need to show her this.”

---

“Hey babe,” you said, walking into the observation room. “What’s with the mystery call?”

Tim pointed at the mirror.

You turned—and saw her.

Your mouth opened. “Is that...?”

“She’s Jack Butler’s girlfriend,” Lucy said.

You stared. “She looks like me. If I got possessed by Harley Quinn and lived at a dive bar.”

Tim raised an eyebrow, smug. “Still think it’s funny?”

You blinked. Then tilted your head. “Okay, you know what? She’s sexy. Dim’s got taste.”

Tim's smirk vanished.

You turned toward him, smirking back. “But you’ve got taste too. I mean—look who you married.”

Angela snorted. “If I wasn’t married and completely in love with Wesley... and Y/N and I swung that way... I’d have stolen your wife.”

“Hey!” Tim glared.

You laughed and slid your hand into his. “Relax, husband. You’re the only Tim for me.”

Tim pulled you close, muttering, “Damn right. That’s my wife.”

Nyla grinned. “Aww. I love a happy ending... even if it started with identity theft and a stolen car.”

[milkmily]

Invitation ³ [Zayne]

Zayne x non mc! Reader

Sum. You and Zayne got an invitation to a wedding, but it was to attend the wedding of the people you two love, both heartbroken. (Smut, piv, oral, Zayne may be a bit out of character so I am sorry, it's been a while I've written smut so forgive me, As well for typos sorry)

<- One | Two | here(last part) | (possibly a lil short story not sure ->

Layla is MC(my mc/ oc)

It was sudden, as he pulled Layla into his office she couldn't stop her sobs. What had happened? What is going on? He worried as he saw her cry. He hasn't seen Layla cry in a while. Last time he saw her cry was when Sylus said his vows to her. Zayne tried to calm her down, give her time to breathe and let it all out. He had his arm wrapped around her as she wiped her tears away, her sobs turning into gasps.

It was all so confusing and it hurt seeing her like this, it truly did. “I'm sorry Zayne…” she mumbled. “About What?” He asks. “I just barged in here and…” She sighs and shakes her head. Zayne rubbed her shoulder and said, “It's fine, tell me.” Layla looked at him and her eyes broke him. She looked so sad, The shine in her eyes was gone. What had happened? Was it Sylus? “Sylus and I had a talk…” Oh so it was him. And something in him burned. Layla continued, “It was about her.” You. It was about you. Why you?

“Everything went okay, it was amazing really. But the problem was that Sylus kept bringing her up. It didn't bother me because I'd bring you and Caleb up from time to time.” She says. “But then he said how she's been distant, replying to his texts late and that when they'd meet again that they would need to talk.” She says. “I know that they are close but to keep bringing her up on our honeymoon? I talked with him and told him, he seemed not to have taken it well.” She says as her hands start to shake again, the tears building up into her eyes. “A-And he said that not to think too much of it, he said I over think! Of course I do!” She sobbed. “So we just started to argue. He thinks that you also get in the way!” She cried. Zayne froze as he heard that. Him? But he hasn't done anything. “I tried to talk to him but he just…we couldn't.” She says, sounding so broken and scared. “I love him so much, I don't want this argument to end what we have.” This was the first time he's heard her say that. ‘I love him…’ Why can't he get that through his head though? And why does he feel relief at hearing them argue? What was wrong with him?

“Perhaps you two need space?” He suggested and Layla looked at him and she seemed offended. “Space? But why? I mean, we are married to be together. I don't want space from him, I want him to be with me. I miss him already.” She cried. Zayne looked away. He didn't like hearing that. It brought him shame even thinking about how he's actually happy they argued. He wrapped an arm around her and said, “We have to do things we don't like in order for things to work, Layla.” she shook her head and connected to sob. He wrapped his arms around him and closed his eyes. “I'm sorry…” he whispers and she breaks more.

As he hugged Layla back, he felt like how he used to be with her. The way his heart beat at how close she was, but right now it felt hurt for her. Sadness as he Sees her cry. Maybe if they had gotten married instead, Zayne Would of never made her cry, never would have argued with her and always agreed with her. Everything.

“Zayne…?” He turns and sees you, standing right at the door, a box of macaroons at hand. And he remembered. He remembered you'd be at the hospital in his office with a gift. He felt guilty but all he thought of really was Layla and how hurt she is. You awkwardly looked away and said, “I'll leave. Um, I'll just leave these here…” You placed the macaroons down on the desk. You looked at Zayne who was looking right back at you. Zayne saw hurt in your face again, maybe even betrayal? It was the same face You had when you saw Layla and Sylus dance in their wedding. Zayne said nothing though. He still had his arms wrapped around Layla, his head laying on top of hers. But as he watched you leave, he felt guilty, even more than before.

It was quite between you and Sylus. You fidget with your fingers as you stare down them. “What happened?” You asked, still not looking at him. Sylus looked away, he seemed to feel guilty. He didn't feel guilty. “Me and Layla argued.” He says. Ah, the first argument for the newlyweds. “About what exactly?”

“You.” Your eyes go wide and quickly look at him. “Me?” You asked and he nodded. “You've been distant. You don't answer any of my texts, maybe like a day or two later and you don't call.” He says. “It had me worried. You know how worried I've been? I've had to make Luke and Kieran search for you to see what you've been up to. All they told me is you've been with that doctor.” He says. “I don't trust him, I've told you before.” He glares. Your eyes are wide at his words. “So you kept talking about me to your wife?!” You yelled and Sylus raised a brow at your reaction. “I just said I've been worried about you and you're mad?”

“Of course I am!” You yelled. “You talked to your wife about me? On your honeymoon? Seriously? Think about it this way, what if Layla was talking about Zayne to you saying how she's worried he hasn't answered any of her texts or calls, how would you feel?!” You say and Sylus looked at you. Men sure are stupid. He just looked down and you shook your head. “I understand you've been worried about me but you have to know I can handle things myself. And yes, I've been hanging out with Zayne. There is nothing wrong with that.” You say. Sylus nods and says, “I would like to apologize…” you shook your head and said, “No, apologize to her. Not me. You have to talk to her and explain. You are a smart man but for some things you aren't Sylus.” You say.

You noticed something though. You didn't react as you used to towards him. Your heart didn't jump as you saw him or how he talked to you. Nothing. Maybe if you had heard that a month ago where you were madly in love with him, then maybe you would have fallen more for him and even would have done something. But here you are, helping him try to talk to his wife and apologize. You felt normal around him. You sigh and say, “I will be back in a bit alright? I don't suggest taking some time off from seeing each other as the relationship might affect it, but talk to her. Reassure her that you are with her. And if she needs time, then let it happen, just keep talking and text Her.” You say. Maybe everything you are telling him is something you would have wanted with him. But now, you don't and only want what's best for his wife and him.

“Where are you going?” He asks. “To see Zayne. He had surgery today and I got him something.” You catch yourself smiling at the box of deserts and Sylus noticed too. He nods, understanding. “See if Layla is there, you don't need to tell her anything, I'll just want to know where she is, that's all.” He says. You nod and grab the box. “Help yourself around.” And leave.

You walked to the hospital building. The closer you got, tell more anxious you'd get. You wondered what Zayne would be doing now? Be in his office and review work? Sit and simply think? What is it he's doing?

You walked to the elevator and as the numbers got closer to Zayne's office. You were smiling and noticed that. You noticed how your heart beat fast and how anxious you felt just at the thought of him. The doors slid open and you walked out. As you get closer and closer, You breathe in and open the door. Zayne lets you anyway now. No need to knock, he will know. But you Were met with Layla crying in His arms.

The strange thing was the hug didn't hurt, it was the expression on his face. He looked like he had missed her, he felt hurt for her and most of all, he looks In love. The way his hand coos Her back and holds Her makes your heart ache. And just by that, you can tell Zayne really hasn't moved on, has he? “Zayne…” you called his name and he turned to look at you, his eyes going wide. It was quiet. Your eyes go to Layla who still had no clue you were even in the same room. Well, now you know where she is.

“I'll leave. Um, I'll just leave these here…” You placed the macaroons down on the desk. Your hands shake as you stare at the box for a second. You looked at him and saw he looked nervous, as if he had gotten caught stealing candy like a kid. You looked at Layla and back at Zayne before leaving, closing the door behind you. You stare down at your shoes and bite the side of your cheek as you walk to the elevator and press the button. Your whole body felt tired. You felt tired. Your feet somehow make you walk back home with the strength you had left in you.

You were hurt once again.

You had forgotten Sylus was even at home. You opened the door and were welcomed by the smell of food. You slip off your shoes and walk to the kitchen. “You don't have a lot of things Here sweetie, so I cooked what I could with what you had.” He says and turns to look at you but all he was met with was hurt. “Is something the matter?” He asks. Your gaze was low, avoiding him and all you could do was nod. Sylus knew you wouldn't want to talk about it so he stayed quiet. “Just take a seat and I'll give you some dinner.” He says and goes back to humming. You quickly got distracted because of how horrible he Sang. You chuckled and sat down.

Dinner was made with a glass of wine on the side. But all you thought about was Zayne. Sylus probably was thinking about Layla too. And you spoke, “At the wedding…” Sylus raised A brow. “You told me if I was hiding something.” You say and he nods. “I was…but if I had told you it was wrong. So I said when the time comes I'll tell you.” You say. And you felt right now that possibly today was truly the right time. “When I got the invitation, I was devastated. I cried when I saw your signature On it because it was true, you were going to get married.” You say as you look down at the now finished dinner plate. Sylus stared at you as you spoke, he could see how much you've been holding in and how painful it has been. As he heard you, it started to click to him. “At the wedding too, I cried. But when I saw you dance with her, I felt so broken, that my heart just started to hurt because I remembered the time we had danced together. It meant so much to me because that's when I realized how in love I was with you.” You say and move your gaze to his. “I don't expect you to risipricate the feelings. I already know that. But I just wanted to say it.” You sigh, the feeling of something taken off your chest. Sylus had thought for a moment and he nodded. “Thank you for telling me.” He says. You nod and start to eat.

It's been four days already since Sylus decided to stay over at your place. You had agreed only if he helped around the house to clean. He may be your boss but you are on vacation right now and he is not going to be sleeping here for free. The past four days you didn't contact Zayne. Everytime you thought of him your stomach hurt from anxiety and you'd distract yourself. You kept remembering how he held Layla, how he comforted her and the expression on his face. How could you forget that? You'd be at random thoughts by yourself in your bedroom about things. Things as in: was your love life messed up? Why is it messed up by tragedy? One sided love situations and conflict.

As for Layla and Sylus, they still talk and keep contact. Layla had wanted some distance from each other for a while, saying it was the best choice. You wonder if maybe Zayne had suggested that so he could be around Layla again. Sylus didn't like the idea but went along with it, he just had told Layla to text him often. They do make phone calls here and there but it's awkward since that wall is still between them. You can tell how desperate Sylus is to see Layla again. Sylus was on a call in the living room with Layla and you were in your bedroom again with your own thoughts. That's when the doorbell rings, you snapped out of your thoughts but still stayed in the same position on your bed. You knew Sylus would open the door either way. “Are they home?” You heard a familiar voice and stood up. You hesitated for a second. As soon as you heard his voice, you were quick to follow. You sigh and walk to the front door where Sylus and Zayne stood. Zayne's eyes moved to look at you and he seemed a bit tired, like he hadn't slept well the past nights. “Here she is.” Sylus says and walks away, leaving you two to talk.

“Are You alright? You haven't answered any of my texts and I worried something might have happened.” was the first thing he said. You avoid eye contact but look back at him. “Sorry, I've kept my phone on do not disturb.” You admit. He nods and says, “I've been trying to contact you for the past two days, I was worried since you didn't answer my calls and texts.” You are a quick texter.

“I Apologize, Zayne. I'll check on my phone again.” You say and Zayne sighs. “Is something the matter?” He asks. You shook your head. “No. Just handling Sylus. I'm sure you're doing the same with Layla.” He looked away and nodded. You nod back and say, “I have to go back in. I need to help cook dinner.” Zayne looks at you. It seemed he didn't want you to leave but let's you, giving you a nod. “Alright, but please, just answer my texts or calls.” He pleaded before he excused himself and left. You close the door and quickly ran to your room for your phone you unlocked it and saw everything

I would like to apologize about today. If you Have time, could you Come to my office tomorrow?

I hope your night goes well today.

And then it goes to the next day.

Thank you for the sweet treat, they were delicious. I Apologize for the calls as well.

Would you like to go out to eat at a restaurant? Layla recommended it, she says it's good.

Hello?

Missing call

Are you alright?

Then a day passes.

How was your day?

Is something the matter? Layla had told me Sylus is at your place? She says you're fine.

Did I do something wrong?

And then the next day.

I am sorry but I worry for you. I'll be going to your house to see how you are.

And it ends there. You sigh and answer the texts,

Hey Zayne, sorry again. And yes, I would like to go to the restaurant. Just tell me when and what time and I can see.

To your surprise he answered quickly.

Is tomorrow night fine? I can pick you up.

You looked at his text, your heart beating quickly, making you groan at your decision.

Yes, that works.

Layla had talked with Sylus and she said she needed some space. She would still contact him but needed to think things through. As for Zayne, He stayed beside her. Always did. The first day, he had helped Layla feel better by making her something to eat, get her to watch something to distract herself but all she did was look at her phone and answer it as quickly as she could when a notification came through. Which would bother Zayne. And Layla noticed but she said nothing about it, why should she?

Zayne looks at the TV, it was some romance Christmas movie Layla had picked. He saw the two love interests build a snowman and quickly thought of you. He remembered when he made the small snow kitty for you and saw how your eyes went wide and they shined at how cute it was. He couldn't help but smile at that thought. But for a second he remembered the expression you had when you saw him with Layla. The hurt. He looked away from the TV, no longer wanting to see it as it reminded him of you. He walked to his office and from afar he could still see Layla stare at her phone screen in hopes for any message or call to come through. Zayne looks down at his own phone and sighs, no message from you at all. Maybe you have been busy with something since Sylus came back. He grabbed his phone and texted you.

I would like to apologize about today. If you Have time, could you Come to my office tomorrow?

I hope your night goes well today.

The next day comes. Layla was asleep in the guest room while he got up early to head to work. He opens the fridge and sees the box of macaroons. Zayne's sweet tooth kicked in and he grabbed one out of the box. He took a bite out of it but it tasted bland. Yes, it was sweet as he always likes but it doesn't taste the same. That's when he thought of you, when you two went to eat something after his dentist appointment. You being the tease and evil person you are, got yourself some macaroons and eat them slowly in front of him. It did bother him because he did want to eat one but the stupid cavity was killing him. That's when he grabbed your hand without even thinking and took a bite out of it. Your eyes went wide and felt his lips touch your thumb before he backed away and chewed. “It's good.” He says and you groan. “Your cavity! Listen to what the dentist said!” You say as you pull on his shirt. “Doctors lie.” He mumbles. You rolled your eyes and just laughed.

Zayne was brought back to his own reality, the box at front of him. He sighs and looks at his phone. Nothing from you yet. He quickly typed:

Thank you for the sweet treat, they were delicious.

He had expected you to see his text already but nothing. He sighs and leaves his house. At work he was staring at his phone any second he could. Nothing from you yet, which had him start to worry. You never do this, well, haven't done any of this before. If you were busy you'd always tell him beforehand. Now nothing, at all. He'd send a text here and there and maybe a call or two but nothing. At home, Layla talked about Sylus but in reality, he didn't pay much attention, he was so busy on his phone that he just couldn't.

Layla looks at Zyane and asks, “Is everything alright?” but he'd nod. Layla wasn't stupid, she's known him since they were kids. “Tell me.” She says, this time being in front of him. It almost felt like the right moment to speak since he's finally gotten her full attention now. His lips part and speak. “I am in love with you.” but when they slipped his lips, it felt wrong. Yes, it is wrong he basically confessed to a married woman but it was the fact his own feelings told him that it was wrong. That maybe he just wasn't in love with her anymore.

Layla's eyes were wide at his sudden confession. “Zayne…” she says and signs. “I'm married to Sylus. You already know.” She says and Zayne nods. “I…I know.” He says but it still felt wrong. Like as if those three words weren't meant for her but for you. “I Apologize, Layla. No. It is wrong of me I-” he groans and sighs. He finally speaks about you to Layla, how he feels around you, how he's felt, and what happened at the wedding. Which Layla listens to it all. “I see.” she nods. “Well, Sylus talked to me about her as well.” He quickly turned and raised a brow. “He is staying with her. I thought you knew.” She says but Zayne shook his head. She looked away and sighs. “Just take her out to this restaurant, yes?” She said as she looked it up on his phone. “It's really pretty there.” She smiles.

The next day came and Zayne couldn't stand it anymore. You completely ignored all his texts and calls and he's worried. He grabbed his keys after work and drove to your house. Zayne was met with Sylus at the door instead of you. “Where is she?” He asks, which sounds a bit demanding but he's desperate to see you. He hears footsteps and he sees you, finally again. You seemed fine, maybe a bit tired which he worried about but that didn't matter, he finally got to see you.

“Are You alright? You haven't answered any of my texts and I worried something might have happened.” was the first thing he said. He noticed your eyes move away from him. You were avoiding eye contact. “Sorry, I've kept my phone on to not disturb.” You admit. He nods and says, “I've been trying to contact you for the past almost four days, I was worried since you didn't answer my calls and texts.” You are a quick texter.

“I Apologize, Zayne. I'll check on my phone again.” You say and Zayne sighs. “Is something the matter?” He asks. You shook your head. “No. Just handling Sylus. I'm sure you're doing the same with Layla.” He looked away and nodded. You nod back and say, “I have to go back in. I need to help cook dinner.” Zayne looks at you. It seemed he didn't want you to leave but let's you, giving you a nod. “Alright, but please, just answer my texts or calls.” He pleaded before he excused himself and left. He sat down in his car and sighs, looking up. His phone vibrates and sees you replied to his other text where he had suggested a restaurant to eat at.

Hey Zayne, sorry again. And yes, I would like to go to the restaurant. Just tell me when and what time and I can see.

He was quick to reply, happy to see your text:

Is tomorrow night fine? I can pick you up.

Yes, that works.

The restaurant was nice, the lighting was great from where Zayne and you sat and had a great view outside the window. You two were at 5 stories high in a building. You two could see the lights from below. You had probably worn the wrong wear for winter but still went anyway. Zayne had taken notice of something, you didn't start a conversation. You always do. You always bring some little thing and it goes after that. He cleared his throat, making you look up at him. “Layla had recommended this place, it has a nice view too. I think I like it.” He says and you just nod. He didn't expect that reaction, he expected more like how you always do. “What do you think of the place?” He asks. Zayne was very nervous, very. He isn't used to you being so quiet. He honestly thinks you don't like the place.

“It is nice, it does have a nice view from here.” You say and your orders come. He thanked the waiter and looked at you. You didn't seem very enthusiastic today. What was wrong? Did he do something wrong? Is the restaurant not to your liking? But Layla said it was the best place. “I'll be back. I am going to use the restroom. You can start to eat without me.” You say, the chair screeching as you pushed yourself away and stood up. Zayne sighs and looks down at the food, his own appetite going away. What was wrong with you? Are you okay?

“Zayne?” He looked up and saw Layla. His eyes are wide and says, “what are you doing here?” she smiled and nervously looked away. “I came here to eat. With Sylus.” But didn't he say at least they needed a week apart? This is Layla, she never listens anyways. Layla then just starts to talk about the talk Sylus and her had.

You didn't want to be at the restaurant. Well, more like not be around Zayne. You still haven't gotten over everything. When he mentioned Layla you just nod, what do you say? He just keeps mentioning Layla while you two are eating, it's annoying.

When the food arrived, you excused Yourself and walked to the restroom. You looked at yourself in the Mirror And sigh. Why are you like this? Zayne genuinely wants to spend time with you again like last time. You smiled at that thought. You washed your hands and walked outside. As you walked out, you noticed Layla with Zayne. You saw the way Zayne’s eyes looked at her, the way his head tilted to the side slightly to listen to her speak. He hummed and nodded at the things she said to him. His expression looked like: yes, I am listening to you. But that look said more. Yes, keep talking to me. His eyes never leave her face as he smiles at her and nods. It almost felt like back in high school when a boy looked at a girl he liked and listened to everything she said and agreed with almost everything she said. You wanted to be her. You wish you were her. Why was she alway so lucky? Why couldn't it be you? Was this hatred? Was this jealousy? Which one is it because you yourself don't even know. Why did he even invite you anyways if he'd be talking to her and looking at her like a puppy dog does rather than to be looking at you. It was the exact same with Sylus. All the same the exact look and head tilt. And exactly the same right now, be in the background of them both. Why are you letting yourself repeat all of this over again? Why are you allowing this pain? Why can't you let go? Why are you allowing him to make you feel so confused? He's given you a sign that he does like you but does he love you? Just as much as you love him? Soon his eyes moved away from her and saw you, but it seemed he saw your own expression too. Pain. You just stood there as you stared right back at him. Maybe you weren't mad at Layla, it was Zayne you were mad at. As much as you didn't wish you could, you can't control how you feel. Why is he like this? He's giving you so many mixed signals that you finally snapped.

You quickly walked up to the table, grabbed your purse and walked away. You walked to the elevator and bit down on your lip as you held in the tears. You quickly walked out as it made its stop and opened the doors, wind swishing in your face, making you shiver. Winter snow and yet, you didn't bring a damn coat. You sigh but still walk out. You'll just have to endure it.

Zayne was quick, he excused himself, paid the bill and left. He rushed to the elevator and rushed out. The wind blew in his face once he opened the doors to leave. You were probably freezing too. He ran and he finally saw your silhouette. He ran and called your name, making you turn. You cried? “Zayne, don't run, the floor can be slippery!” You say as you walk up to him. But you suddenly stopped. Zayne reaches you, panting And looks at you. “You can't walk out here in the snow, it's cold.” He says as he holds your shoulder. You tried to push him away from your shoulder but he had a good grip on you. “Please, let me drive you back home.” He begged and took his coat off. He places it on your shoulders as he looks at you. He cupped your chin with his hand and lifted it up to see you had indeed cried. Why did you cry? What had he done wrong? “What did I do?” He asks. Zayne has to know immediately what it was that he did to make you cry. Your eyes looked away and he sighs. “Please tell me, what is it? I've never seen you cry and I never want to see you cry because of me. Please tell me what I've done wrong and never do again.”

Zayne pleaded, making your heart beat. Right now, probably wasn't the best time to react to how he pleaded. He's never been like this to you, so his pleading made your face Heat up. You wanted to stay mad at him. But how could you when he was practically begging for you to explain what he's done wrong so he never does again. This is why you love him. “I…” you stop. You were about to say you love him. Was now the right time? When will it ever be the right time? You want to tell him because you're scared that it will all happen again when it's too late for you to say how bad you fell in love with him. He was waiting, shivering while he still held his hands on your shoulder as he waited. You looked at him and suddenly got closer to him. Zayne looks down at you and gets closer too. Why are you two getting closer? What is going on? Zayne's hands creep to cup your head and he brings you closer, his lips brush against yours and stop, was he waiting for you to push him away? You quickly crushed your lips against his and wrapped your arms around him. You kissed him and felt his own lips move against yours, making your heart beat fast. You moved your hand to his face and rubbed your thumb against his cheek as you kissed him. You two pulled apart needing to breathe and you speak, “I love you Zayne.” You were nervous. “I fell in love with you, Zayne. I fell in love with you. I felt so hurt that you hugged Layla, that you talked to her, that you looked at her the way I wanted you to look at me.” You felt the tears come again. “I feel so hurt because it feels like it's all happening again where it's always me who falls in love, it's always one sided. That's why I left. That's why I cried.”

Zayne backed away to look at her, his hands never leaving her. He was guilty for making her feel this way. He never wanted to and never will again. “I'm sorry.” He apologized. “I am sorry for making you feel this way and for confusing you.” He says as his thumb rubbed your cheek, wiping away a tear. “I love you too, and I am sure of it.” He says. Your eyes went wide at his words and you were about to say something about Layla but he spoke first,

“I told Layla how I felt, I had to. I can't keep my feelings in.” He says. “It was obvious I'd be rejected but…it felt as if I let go of something heavy, it was reliving.” He says and you lean to his touch. “But it made me think that I really do not love her. I simply missed my friend.” He says. “Being around you made me forget, I want to apologize for everything making you feel this way.” You smiled and just waited for him to say the words, the words you've been wanting to hear again. “I love you.” He says and you brought him in for another kiss. You pulled away and said, “Let's go home. You're shivering, Zayne. It is cold.” but his lips kept kissing you. You smiled and said, “We can go to your place…?” He stopped and looked at you just to confirm if it was what you were actually thinking about and you just grinned. Zayne blushed and sighs. He fixed his glasses and cleared his throat. “Alright.” He said and you laughed. “You are so cute, Zayne.” You say. “Before we go, let's go for a walk. I still need to process everything you told me.” You say as you hold on to his coat and Zayne smiles as he sees your blush. “Alright.” He wrapped an arm around you to keep you warmer. “We could go to a shop some day to get you a coat.” He says. You lean on to him and nod. “That sounds nice.” You whispered and you two walked.

Zayne's hands never leave you as soon as you walk inside his house. You weren't even given time to slip out of your shoes. Zayne already had his lips on your neck, his hands holding your waist. You softly gasp and hold on to him. “I need to take my shoes off Zayne.” You whisper and he gently sucks on your neck. He kissed it and held your hand. “Okay.” He whispers and kisses your hand. He goes on his knees and holds your foot up. Slowly remove your shoes and kiss your thigh. He moved his other hand to remove the other one and kissed your other thigh. Your heart was beating like crazy and you couldn't resist anymore. He was just everything. You wanted him so badly.

Zayne smiles at you and says, “You wore a tight dress with tights on a cold day with no coat…” He moved his hands up your thighs as he never broke eye contact. “It looks perfect on you, just isn't perfect for winter. You'll catch a cold.” He says as he holds your inner thigh and squeezes it. You bite your lip and run your fingers through his hair. “I have a doctor to care for me if I do get sick.” You say and he chuckles. “I suppose you are right.” He kissed your inner thigh and his hands went higher and higher, making you pant and feel anxious at his touch. He looks up at you asking for permission. You nod and feel his hands go under your dress, gently pulling down the black tights. He raised your dress a bit and could see the wet spot. You anxiously bite down on your thumb as you look down at him and he smiles. He rubbed his thumb on the wet spot, making you jump.

Zayne slowly moved his thumb up and gently rubbed on your clit, making you shiver. He was staring at you still, seeing every reaction and movement you made, his eyes never leaving you. You lean against the cold wall as his thumb rubbed gently. His other fingers moved to the side of the panties and moved them aside. He took off your tights and panties fully and got between your legs, looking up at you. His hands slowly brushed up and down your thighs, his face getting closer and closer to your core. His thumb brushes up and down between your folds. Zayne groans at your soft whimper. He opens your folds with his fingers. You gasp as you feel his tongue brush in your folds, Zayne needing a taste, he was hungry and desperate. He looks up at you and his tongue goes to your clit, attacking it and sucking on it, almost as if he was a starving man. You moan and hold on to his hair. You could hear the slips, groans and moans that would come from Zayne. You were getting closer and closer, you needed more. You started to ride his face, his nose brushing against your clit as he ate you. His eyes cut tightly close, the grip he had on your thighs tight. His hands move to your ass, pushing you closer to him. His other hand was already unbuckling his belt and pants. The tent in his pants was so painful. He sucked your clit and you see stars. You moaned his name as you arched your back, riding his face though your orgasam. Zayne groans and pulls away to gasp. He looks at you, sweating and panting after the orgasam.

God, you look so beautiful right now. He needed you. He quickly gets up and brings you in for a kiss. You could taste yourself on him as you shared the kiss, your hands quickly wrapping around him. His hands went to your waist and he pulled away panting. “I need you.” He says and lifts you up, making you yelp. You were gently placed on the bed and you looked at him. He unbutton his shirt and your eyes go wide. What a view. He looks at you and grins. You grabbed his arm and pulled him to you, moving your hands to his abs and smiled. “Wow doctor.” You giggled and he chuckled. Your hands slowly moved up to his chest, making him gasp and groan. You could see how red he was. It went all the way to his ears. You kissed his cheek and whispered, “I can't anymore Zayne, I need you.” sending shivers and making his cock twitch in his boxers. Your hands run up and down slowly on his sides. Zayne's eyes moved down to your chest. He can no longer look away. You're looking right at him too, no? Then he has every right to look as well.

His cold hands slowly moved to the strings for your dress and he pulled them down. Zayne looked at you and you were staring right back at him, your top teeth biting down on your lip and your chest rising up and down. Your hard nipples could feel the fabric slowly get pulled down and finally, they were out. You looked at him and waited for his next words. But it is more of an action guy. He moved his hand to your chest and cupped one. He goes to your other breast and kisses the nipple, making you whine and bring your chest closer to his face. He opened his mouth and gently sucked on the hard nipple that was eager for his attention. His tongue swirls around in circles, making you moan and run your fingers through his black hair. You moaned his name and he looked back at you.

His cock was already out, his boxer gods knew where. Zayne pulls away with a ‘pop’ and goes to suck the other one. He wanted to make you feel good, make up for the time he made you feel hurt, feel betrayed by him. He always wanted to do this to you, make you moan and make you feel good. He's had dreams about it. That night he made that little snow kitty, he had a wet dream about you, moaning his name and begging for him. He woke up to his boxer wet and had to hand wash that. Which was embarrassing really. And since then he's thought of you and had more dreams of you. So having you here right now, made him so happy and especially turned on. Zayne moved his hand down to your thighs and gently rubbed your clit. He opens your wet folds and moans on your breast. He grabbed his cock with his other hand and rubbed the tip of his cock between your wet folds, his tip more wet with your folds. You squirm under him, moving your hips to feel more.

Zayne couldn't hold it any longer and looked in his nightstand. A box of condoms. He quickly opened it and gently put one on. You looked at him and tilted your head. He grabbed a pillow and laid it under you. “For better support.” He says. You smiled and nodded. Zayne brings you in for another kiss and gently pushes Himself in you, making you two gasp. You felt so warm and tight around his cock. He opened his eyes and saw how your eyebrows arched, your teeth biting at the bottom of your lip and your chest rising and filling. He kissed your cheek and whispered, “You are so beautiful.” before he thrust, making you moan. His hands moved to your hips for better support and moved his own hips away from yours and thrusted in once again. His pace was slow, making you whimper and moan. You needed more, you needed more of him. “Zayne, please.” You pleaded, his cock twitching inside of you. His thrusts become faster this time, making you hold on to him. “Z-Zayne! Ah! So-so good!” You moaned, making him groan at how you felt and sounded.

He pressed his chest against yours and brought you in for a kiss. The kiss was sloppy, the pleasure in your body making it impossible to give him a proper kiss. He Slips his tongue in you, his tongue exploring your mouth. Your eyes rolled back for a second, your breath becoming heavy and louder, your back arching and sweaty everywhere. You were close again. So close. But he stopped. You whimper and look at him, your expression showing why he even stopped. “Not yet.” He pants out and suddenly you're flipped. You're on top of him, his cock was pressed against your ass. He was smiling up at you. What an amazing view it was to him. To see you on top of him, panting and looking down at him. His hands grab the dress and pull it off of you. It got in the way anyways. Zayne grabbed his cock and taped it on your ass. You grinned down at him and said, “You're an impatient doctor. I thought you were supposed to be.” You say as you rise yourself up. “How can I?” Zayne says and pressed the tip of his cock to your cunt and you lower yourself. He groans at the once again warm sensation on his cock. Oh how he wished he could feel you without the stupid condom.

You pressed your hands down on his chest and started to move, back and forth. Your poor clit rubbing against his lower stomach, getting it wet. Zayne holds on to your hips and thrust in you, making you scream. He lifts his hips up and fucks himself in to you while he sucked on one of your nipples. You grabbed on to the head of the bed as he fucked himself in to you. “Ah- I love you.” He suddenly groans out, making your pussy clench. He bites down on your nipple. You could hear his pants getting heavy and louder. His thrust became more sloppy. You moaned, “I L-love y-you- ah!” Your eyes rolled back, throwing your head back as you came in his cock, making Zayne groan and hold tightly onto you as he cums as well, filling the rubber up with his hot cum.

You two pant, trying to catch each other's breath, your sweat mixed with his, the room feeling warm and the lingering smell of sex filling it. Zayne gently lays you down in the bed, took off the condom, wrapped it up and threw it away. He grabbed a towel and handed it to you. “Here, wipe off the sweat. I'll prepare a bath for us.” He said and placed a kiss on your cheek. You smiled at him and kissed him back before he could leave. You gently wiped off the sweat on you and stared up at the ceiling as all you can remember what had happened. You smile to yourself and think, today everything went well. He loves you, he really does and he proved it to you today.

Zayne gently moved his hands up and down your side as he kissed your neck. You relaxed on to him, the warm water and cent of lavender in the bath making you feel relaxed. You talked to him about Sylus and how he had stayed at your place to explain why Sylus had even opened the door. You also told him that you too confessed to him but you didn't want to hear Sylus opinion, it was something you just wanted to get off your chest. Zayne listened to everything you told him as he continued to kiss your neck.

“Will you stop? Don't your lips feel sore already?” You smiled and Zayne Chuckles. “They are sore.” He placed one last kiss on your cheek. “How do you feel?” He asks. “Amazing.” You smiled. Zayne shook his head and said, “No, in general. Do you feel hurt? Sore?” ah, the doctor instincts. But it did feed his pride a bit when you said that. “I'm alright, Zayne.” You reassured him. As Zayne watched you close your eyes and relax on him, he thought for a second that maybe, he just wants to marry you right now. His hands slowly move to your breast and he cups them. “Hey!” you say and he just chuckles. He closed his eyes and imagined you in your beautiful wedding dress, your beautifully made hair, and your long veil. You two slowly danced together as you looked up at him and smiled, maybe even cry, well, it would be him crying at how beautiful you would look.

Zayne just wished that the day would come when everything was ready just for him to ask.

___________________________________________

Tags:

@nm4565natty @animegamerfox @crimsonrubie

___________________________________________

I am so sorry it took me a good while to post. As you saw in the top im not sure if I'd write something small but who knows? Thank yoh everyone for reading i love you all <3

[bwobgames]

Marigold still wonders, how deep does Nina’s vision go?

Did she know? All those years ago, how much she wanted her?

Did she saw her soul calling to her, trapped and twisted between her own ribs?

Did it convince her to wait?

Marigold is cruel. She was taught to be so.

To take what she needs, no matter what others feel.

But she cannot help but regret.

Did Nina saw in her eyes, the day of her wedding?

Did she see her resignation? Her want?

They were never meant to be together, she told herself, her path was not entwined with hers.

Marigold will marry a man. And Nina will find someone that’s actually good.

Someone who’s not blind. Someone who’s not cruel. Someone who can freely love her.

Someone who’s free.

She never felt older than on her wedding day.

“Please don’t wait for me Nina. This is what I was meant for.

Be free, love someone else. Someone who deserves it.

Please, don’t let me hurt you more”

But Nina has never been one to make things easy for herself.

And she waited.

And she helped.

And she restrained herself. Even when Marigold no longer wanted to.

They knew their roles and played them well.

There’s nothing left.

She drifts to sleep with the memory of their private slow dance lessons.

It’s 11 pm.

.

.

.

It's 3 am

She feels… a strange pressure in her chest.

Sometimes she gets nightmares about being buried in balcony rubble, but this feels more… realistic?

Is she experiencing sleep paralysis? For the first time? Here of all places?

She tries to open her eyes, sleep paralysis lets you do that, right?

She braces herself to see the shape of the demon her brain conjured up.

Oddly enough, she can move her hand. But then what is…?

She fully opens her eyes and sees…!

<PREV START NEXT>

[nerdycheol]

All I Ask || J.W.W

🥀pairing: jeon wonwoo x reader

🥀genre: angst, unrequited feelings(?), lmk if I missed anything

🥀wc: 785

summary: you've been love with your friend Wonwoo for a long time, but what do you do when he comes to your door the night before his wedding

(a/n): reposting this cuz tumblr flagged my content for no reason :|

^^ dividers by @strangergraphics

You’re brushing your teeth when he knocks.

Not a text, not a call–a knock.

It’s nearly midnight, the night before his wedding, and the last person you expect to see when you open the door is Jeon Wonwoo. Hair slightly tousled. Tie undone. Eyes red-rimmed and tired.

“Hey,” he says, like it’s any other night.

You blink. “Wonwoo... what are you doing here?”

He shifts on his feet, glancing down the hall. “Can I come in?”

You step back before your brain catches up.

He walks in like muscle memory. Drops his keys on the little dish by the door, shrugs off his jacket, toeing off his dress shoes in the corner–like he’s done a hundred times before. But this time, everything is different. This time, he's getting married in less than twelve hours.

You stand frozen, toothbrush still in hand. “You know what time it is?”

He gives a half-laugh. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Wonwoo…”

“I just needed to see you,” he says quietly.

That shuts you up.

You return to the bathroom to rinse out your mouth and buy yourself thirty seconds of composure. When you come back, he’s seated on your couch, staring at the photo on your shelf–the two of you in college, mid-laugh, arms around each other, before either of you knew what heartbreak felt like.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he says.

You don’t disagree.

But you don’t ask him to leave either.

You pour two glasses of wine and sit beside him. Close, but not touching.

“I rehearsed vows today,” he says. “In front of her family. My family.”

You nod. You saw the photos on social media. He looked happy. Happy enough.

“She’s great,” you say.

“...she is.”

You take a sip of your wine.

The silence grows heavy, like a storm threatening to break.

Wonwoo shifts, facing you now. “Do you ever think about it?”

Your fingers still around the glass. “About what?”

“Us.”

Your breath catches.

You’ve buried that answer a thousand times. But tonight? Tonight, everything feels raw and unfiltered.

“Yeah,” you admit. “More than I should.”

He nods slowly, like he’s relieved you said it first. “I thought I could get over it. I thought... marrying someone else would make it easier.”

Your heart pounds.

“Did you love me?” you ask.

“I still do.”

The words hit harder than they should.

You whisper, “Then why her?”

He exhales, hands gripping his knees. “Because with her, it was easy. It was never complicated or scary. You and I… it always felt like a cliff I was too afraid to jump off.”

You try to laugh, but it sounds like a sob. “So you picked safety.”

He looks at you then, like it’s the last time he’ll ever be allowed to. “I picked someone I thought I could live with. But I keep thinking about the one person I might not be able to live without.”

Your chest tightens. It’s too late for this. It’s always been too late.

He swallows hard. “Just for tonight… can I stay?”

You should say no. You should throw him out and tell him to go back to the life he chose.

Instead, you say, “Okay.”

You leave the wine glasses on the coffee table.

When he follows you into the bedroom, you don’t ask questions. You lie down in silence. He hesitates at the edge of the bed–until you reach for his hand.

He exhales shakily and climbs in beside you.

There’s no kissing. No rush. Just the quiet slide of limbs under blankets, the slow exhale of breath when his arms wrap around your waist. The press of his chest against your back. The warmth you’ve had for years, though you never truly had it.

His voice is a whisper in the dark.

“I’m sorry.”

You close your eyes.

“I know,” you say. “Me too.”

You wake up alone.

The space beside you is still warm, but the sheets are undisturbed. There’s a folded blanket at the foot of the bed. The glasses–washed and set aside.

No note. No message. No goodbye.

Just the quiet hum of a city morning and the knowledge that, by the end of the day, he’ll belong to someone else.

You sit on the edge of your bed, staring at your hands like they’re foreign.

You gave him your heart years ago–he only borrowed it tonight.

The tears come slowly. Not dramatic. Not loud. Just quiet, inevitable drops that slide down your cheeks and into the collar of the hoodie you forgot you were wearing–his hoodie.

You don’t stop them. You don’t chase him.

You just let it happen. Like everything else.

Because he didn’t choose you.

And you didn’t stop him.

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[satoshy12]

Jack Fenton is Orm Marius And Maddie is Penthesilea

Both royals left their old lives, and went to start a new life. For Orm it was losing the throne. He should try new stuff.

For Penthesilea, well she left to see the world again, see what had changed since the last time she left.

They took new names and actually liked both the idea of ghost hunting. Like Vrykolakas and other spirits. Seems to remember both of their lives, before they went to college.

+

One thing led to the next. They did marry and both had Jazz/Jasmine and, later Daniel/Danny. While all others did think both did die, hearing no news from them for years.

Well for the Young Justice.

Batman saw who the family of Danielle was, as he did a DNA test on the newest member of the team. As he does too all members of the League and villains.

For Dani, it was a side job. As Dani didn't like being bound to anything, Bruce was okay with her leaving to travel the world and only joining for short missions.

Well. After the DNA test, he did call Aquaman and Wonder Woman to ask. If they knew anything about the family relationship they seem to have with Phantasm.

[juniorsailmakermattcruse]

I’m thinking about how stupid the Doof is Phineas’ dad theory is and the more I think about it the less it makes any sense to me. like apart from it being a terrible 1 (singular) date where he “never saw her again,” when exactly do they think the conception of Candace & Phineas took place? if somehow they conceived Candace on the date they had (they didn’t) that would make them both like 30 years old and they definitely are not. and they’d have had to go back ~5-6 years later and have another kid, which couldn’t happen because it was ONE DATE THAT THEY WENT ON and ALSO. Also if he’s Candace’s dad that means he cheated on Charlene (who he was still married to at the time she was born) and left his <1 year old daughter (who he very obviously has loved thru her whole life) to go have another one with another woman. and then 5ish years later he’s like “hey I want to add a sibling to my secret other family”? or something? This really is not something he would ever do ever. I can’t even think of this hypothetically it’s so stupid and dumb

Literally the only reason I can think of for this theory is that people saw that one screenshot of a tumblr post saying “omggg guys they went on a date do you think he’s Phineas’ dad???” and they have never actually watched the actual episode that screenshot is from or even just that one scene, all they know is that they went on a date. but like literally that scene exists to negate that whole theory but it just fueled people’s belief in it instead because they did not bother to actually watch any of it they just saw that one pic and were like “omggg I just noticed that Doof & Phineas both have triangle heads maybe they’re related?????”

(to be fair if Dan & Swampy had included a single other character with a triangle head they wouldn’t be so unique but they’re the only ones not even any background characters)

anyway I just can’t get into the minds of normie fans I just cannot relate at all

[bartxnhood]

40s! bucky barnes headcanons

synopsis: a collection of 40s!bucky barnes bc he is very dear to me.

warnings: none really, mainly fluff, just a tad of angst at the end.

a/n: hiiii all!! this is the first installment of my headcanon series. i’ve never really done headcanons like this before but i thought it would help me find my groove of writing again. i do have another bucky fic in the works along with a bob one!!

not proofread

requests open

Copyright © 2025 bartxnhood. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧

40s!bucky who first met you in a medical clinic when he was getting medicine for whatever sickness he had conjured up this time. but, it was really an excuse to see you again.

40s!bucky who never believed in love at first sight, it was a lame fairy tale for kids to believe in. but on that fateful day and his eyes landed on you..oh he was absolutely smitten.

“i’m gon be marryin’ her, steve!” his dopey smile is something steve has never seen before, his eyes glittered with something steve wasn’t familiar with. only seeing that gleam in his eyes whenever your name came up in conversation. “does she know this, buck?”

“she’s about to!”

40s!bucky who showers you with anything your pretty little heart desires. new diamond earrings? done. flowers? done. that dress you’ve been eyeing in the boutique down the street across from your work? it’s lying in the break room for you at work.

“bucky, this all too much” you’d finally confront him as you stand in the living room of your apartment as he’s handing you a new gift.

“what do you mean, doll?” bucky hesitates, afraid he’s crossed over a line. his step towards you is light and gentle, he drops the box to the table. “did i overstep or cross a line?” he asks softly. “never” you say, smiling softly. “i just..i don’t feel like i deserve this”

40s!bucky who doesn’t understand why you think like that. to him you were the brightest star in the night sky, the light of his day, you were every good thing that bucky didn’t deserve.

40s!bucky who calls you a plethora of different nick names, ‘doll’ and ‘baby doll’ were his two favorite. you would always blush, the nicknames stirring up butterflies in your stomach.

40sbucky who is pretty affectionate, even in public. considering his past, he’s so proud to show you off. bucky feels like the luckiest man in the world knowing you’re with him.

40s!bucky who tells you he loves you multiple times a day. there’s not really a reason behind why he does it, he just feels the need to make sure you’re aware that you’re the only one for him.

40s!bucky who found out he was a jealous man because of you. not anything you’d do, of course. but when he took you out dancing one night he couldn’t help that burning sensation he felt in his chest as he saw a man across the room eying you.

40s!bucky who keeps a collection of records tucked away in his apartment just for you, knowing how much you love music.

40s!bucky who dances with you in the living room with nothing but a small lamp lighting up the room. the two of you swaying to the soft jazz that bucky picked.

40s!bucky who picked out the perfect ring only a year of dating. keeping his promise that he’d marry you, even when everyone around him told him he was insane.

40s!bucky who asked your family’s permission for your hand in marriage promising to give you the best life you deserve.

“this is awfully soon, james.” your father would say, sitting across from bucky. “understandable, sir. but i do not wish to be away from her. i will give her the best life possible.”

40s!bucky who told you to wear your best. there were over two dozen roses in his kitchen, all prepared for you.

40s!bucky who is surprisingly a wonderful cook and prepared a huge candlelit dinner to show how much he loves you.

40s!bucky who finally popped the question after dinner, standing on the fire escape of his apartment while drinking wine.

“i have never met anyone quite like you. from the moment i met you, i knew you were the one for me. you make my heart skip a beat and fill me with more joy than i ever thought possible. will you do me the honor of becoming mrs.barnes?"

you’d say yes of course.

40s!bucky who holds you close when he finally confessed that he was drafted. gushing your cries as you grip onto him for dear life. feeling your world crumble beneath you. terrified.

“don’t cry, doll..” he says into your hair. “i’ll be home. i’ll come back to you”

“you better, james. god dammit you better come home to me.” you sobbed.

40s!bucky barnes who writes you letters every day after he was drafted. long letters, you can feel the anguish and pain from the way he scribbles his words on the stained paper.

40s!bucky who always professes his love at the end of the letters. “my heart aches for you. my soul yearns for your touch. i love you baby doll. i’ll be home soon.”

40s!bucky who sent back his dog tags so you’d have a piece of him while he’s away.

40s!bucky who wears his wedding band around his neck every day. often finding himself fiddling with it absentmindedly. missing you more than anything else in the world.

40s!bucky who gives steve the rest of his letters and wedding ring and tells him to look after you. he didn’t know why he didn’t, maybe a hunch.

40s!bucky who never returned home. but steve made sure everything was sent to you.

40s!bucky who pledged his undying love for you in each word on the paper. thoughtful words you never expected him to conjure.

40s!bucky who now only lived in your heart with every beat.

[andy-15-07]

The One That Got Away

PAIRING: Tommy Miller x reader

Word Count:1082| requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

The Last Of Us Masterlist

Pre-Outbreak – Austin, Texas

"You’re really gonna leave the house lookin’ that good and not expect me to say anything?"

You smirk, leaning against the kitchen counter, coffee in hand. "You’re really gonna be late for work again if you don’t stop flirting with me every morning."

Tommy wraps his arms around your waist from behind, lips brushing your ear. "Ain’t flirtin’ if it’s true."

"Still makes you late," you tease.

"And worth every second." He spins you around, kissing you like the world isn’t on fire, like nothing could go wrong.

Post-Outbreak – Jackson, Wyoming (Years Later)

"Tommy!" Maria's voice cuts through the biting winter air as she hurries toward him. "We’ve got a new group coming in. Patrol found them southeast , couple of 'em are hurt."

He sighs, tossing his gloves into the bin outside the stables. "Another one? That's the third group this month."

"I know. But there’s someone you’re gonna want to see." She hesitates. “I didn’t believe it at first.”

"What do you mean?"

Maria tilts her head. "Just… come with me."

He walks through the clinic doors, the cold following him in. Jackson’s med bay is warm but tense. People shift around, helping a few newcomers settle in. And then,

He sees her.

You.

You're sitting on a cot, bundled in a jacket too big for you, bandage on your arm. Your hair’s shorter, skin a little rougher, but your eyes , those damn eyes.

He freezes.

You look up.

And your whole body stills.

"...Tommy?" your voice comes out cracked, disbelieving.

His feet move before his brain catches up. “No way. No. No, you," he stumbles, chest rising fast. "You died. I saw the house. I saw the flames,”

“I got out,” you whisper, tears immediately spilling over. “I ran. I,Tommy, I looked for you for years.”

Tommy’s hands are on your face before either of you can say anything else. "Jesus Christ," he breathes. "You’re real. You’re,"

“I’m real,” you nod, laughing through the tears. “You’re real, too.”

Later That Night – Jackson Lodge

You're sitting by the fire, wrapped in a blanket Maria brought, sipping hot tea. Tommy hasn’t left your side.

"You really thought I was dead?" you ask softly.

"I didn't just think it," Tommy says, voice tight. "I knew it. There was no way someone could’ve made it outta that mess. We lost power, the whole block was burning, your street was overrun. I... I lost it."

You stare at the fire. “I remember the screaming. The smoke. I grabbed a bag and bolted through the back window when I heard the infected. I thought I’d find you on the road.”

"I went back for you. I swear. Joel tried to stop me, but I went back. Place was gone."

“I kept hoping maybe you’d made it out. That maybe I’d see you again.” You glance at him, smiling sadly. “Guess we’re both stubborn like that.”

He chuckles dryly. “You have no idea.”

A Walk Through Jackson – The Next Day

"So… married, huh?" you ask, nodding at his wedding band.

Tommy hesitates, then nods. “Yeah. Maria. She’s good people. Smart. Brave. Keeps me grounded.”

"I figured you’d find someone," you say, forcing a smile.

He studies you. “That a problem?”

You shake your head. “No. Just… weird. We used to talk about getting a dog, a porch swing, a bunch of loud kids running around.”

Tommy sighs, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. “Yeah. We did. Life just had other plans.”

“Clearly.”

You stop walking.

“Tommy… do you ever think about what it would’ve been like if none of this happened?”

He nods. “Every damn day.”

Flashback – A Week Before the Outbreak

"You gonna marry me someday?" you ask, half-joking as the two of you lie in bed, limbs tangled.

Tommy looks down at you. "You kiddin’? I’d marry you tomorrow if I could afford a ring."

"You don’t need a ring."

"Well, I want one. You deserve more than some last-minute courthouse vows and a beer after."

You grin. "What if I like beer?"

He laughs. “Then I’ll buy you the fanciest beer in the state and make sure you’ve got that porch swing, too.”

Back in Jackson – Present Day

"Things have been… hard," Tommy says later that evening, walking you back to the guest house. “Even in this place. Even with good people. You keep surviving, but it doesn’t mean it stops hurting.”

You nod, voice quiet. “You were the only thing that kept me going some days.”

He looks at you, raw emotion swimming in his eyes. “I never stopped loving you.”

“Don’t say that,” you whisper.

“Why not? It’s true.”

“Because you’ve got a life now. A wife. A town. And I’m just… a ghost.”

He grabs your arm gently. “Don’t do that. Don’t talk like you don’t matter.”

“But I don’t belong here.”

“You belong wherever you want to be.”

Silence stretches between you. Snow begins to fall.

“Can I stay?” you ask.

His voice breaks. “Please.”

A Few Weeks Later

Life in Jackson is calm. Quiet. You help in the greenhouse. Get to know people. Share meals in the dining hall. Sometimes Maria watches you and Tommy with a distant expression, unreadable.

One evening, as you and Tommy walk past the stables, you break the silence.

“Does she know?”

Tommy nods. “She knew the second I saw you. I told her everything that night.”

“What did she say?”

He hesitates. “She said love before the world ended still matters. She said she wouldn’t stand in the way of what we were… whatever this is.”

You stop. “And what is this, Tommy?”

“I don’t know yet,” he admits. “But I know I don’t want to lose you again.”

You step closer, snow crunching beneath your boots.

“Then don’t.”

That Night – Tommy’s Porch

He brings out two mugs of hot cider, handing you one before sitting beside you.

"Think we ever get to be happy again?" you ask.

"I don’t know if it’ll look the same as before. But I think we can make somethin' new."

You glance at him, warmth flickering in your chest. “Even without the dog and porch swing?”

He smiles. “Well, we’ve got the porch. And I’m sure someone’s got a mutt around here.”

You both laugh.

Then you lean your head on his shoulder.

And for the first time in years, it doesn’t feel like the end of the world.

It feels like a beginning.

[theshiniestgemstone]

Hi! I was wanting to request a fic where Gideon and the reader are getting married, but she doesn’t have any family and therefore no one to walk her down the aisle. Reader has a close relationship with Jesse and asks him if he’d walk her down the aisle. Maybe a scene with Gideon thanking Jesse for being there for the reader? Thank you so much! 😊

Jesse was notoriously sore that Gideon had asked Eli to officiate.

He didn’t throw one of his fits about it, shockingly, but everyone could tell he was in a mood the moment he saw OFFICIANT: ELI GEMSTONE printed in bold at the top of the wedding binder. His jaw clenched, eyebrows twitching just slightly before he tossed the binder aside like it was nothing, like he didn’t care at all.

Gideon tried to explain. Said it wasn’t personal, said he hadn’t even really thought about it that way. Only that Eli had less time ahead of him than behind, and this might be one of the last big milestones he’d get to be part of. He wasn’t trying to slight his dad. Just trying to make space for the man who helped raise him to bless the life he was starting. Besides, he was already planning on asking Jesse for any future baptisms they may need.

But Jesse wasn’t hearing it. He got pouty and petty, muttering under his breath during planning meetings and refusing to RSVP to the rehearsal dinner “until the schedule’s finalized.” He let the hurt sit there and fester in silence, too proud to say he felt left out.

Until you said it.

“Don’t worry, Jesse,” you offered one afternoon while flipping through swatches at the compound, not even looking up. “You can walk me down the aisle if my folks don’t show.”

That stopped him cold. He looked at you like you’d slapped him with a silk glove. He looked surprised, confused, and a little embarrassed. He scoffed, quietly kicking himself for being rude but not quite sure how to take it back without making it worse.

“Yeah, sure. Whatever,” he said, brushing it off like it didn’t matter. Like there was no world in which a father would skip his daughter’s wedding.

But it did matter. More than he could say.

The truth is, Jesse doesn’t have many soft spots. Never has. But his most unexpected one is you. Maybe it’s because you’re nothing like Judy. Maybe it’s because you see him as more than just a blowhard, or maybe it’s just that you treat him with a tenderness he doesn’t quite know what to do with.

Whatever the reason, he took to you in a way that surprised even himself. The daughterless man did everything he could for you, like buying snacks he thought you liked, reminding security to let you in without hassle, loudly pretending he wasn’t proud when you did something impressive.

He picked on you constantly, of course. He called you “rookie” or “Mrs. Hollywood” or “bossy” depending on the day. But when others joined in, even in jest, he was the first to shut it down. There was something in the way he mirrored how Eli had always been with Judy when they were kids. A little rough around the edges, but protective beneath it all. Jesse might have started out playing the role of grumpy father in law, but over time, it shifted into something softer.

He never realized how much he’d mourn the things he didn’t get until you came along. Walking a daughter down the aisle was never something Jesse Gemstone had imagined for himself. Not really. But when you started showing up, bright-eyed and stubbornly loyal to Gideon in a way Jesse hadn’t seen before, something shifted.

You weren’t just a perfect match for his eldest. You were… familiar.

He saw flashes of his mama in you. The same quiet way you lit up when someone asked for help, the patient twinkle in your eye as you leaned in, genuinely listening like whatever they had to say was the most important thing in the world. There was something about your smile, too. He noticed how how it curled just slightly when you were trying not to cry, or laugh, or say something you shouldn’t. It reminded him of home.

The rehearsal dinner was short. The wedding planner was efficient, a little too brisk maybe, guiding everyone through the schedule like it was just another job. The afternoon sun made the linen tablecloths glow, but no one seemed to notice.

You looked pale.

Nervous.

Gideon stayed close, but even he couldn’t ground you entirely. You picked at your food, just nudged it around your plate like maybe if you stared long enough, the knot in your stomach would dissolve. Jesse noticed. He also noticed the three empty chairs on your side of the table.

They sat there like ghosts, right next to your maid of honor, whose smile grew more strained by the minute. The rest of your side looked unsettled, unsure if they should acknowledge the absence or pretend like everything was fine.

Jesse didn’t say anything at first. Just watched you. Watched how your hands trembled when you reached for your glass. Watched how your eyes darted toward the door every time it creaked open, only to look away just as fast.

You were still holding onto hope, even if you didn’t say it out loud.

+++

“They were supposed to start ten minutes ago,” Kelvin muttered, glancing around the garden with a slight edge in his voice. He shifted in place, tugging at the hem of his suit jacket as he looked toward the grand oak where the altar had been set up, gorgeous, bathed in late afternoon light, but still glaringly empty.

“Think she’s gettin’ cold feet?” Judy snickered, not bothering to lower her voice. She twisted a curl around her finger and leaned into the drama, clearly enjoying the rising tension.

Jesse turned his head so fast it was a wonder he didn’t strain something. He fixed her with a look of pure disgust, eyebrows raised, mouth tightening. “Shut up, Judy,” he hissed. “They’re probably just lookin’ for something.”

But even as he said it, he couldn’t keep his eyes from drifting back to the altar. To Gideon, standing alone under the canopy of flowers, his posture stiff and hands wringing in front of him. His son looked calm to the average eye, but Jesse had known that boy since he was a colicky redhead screaming his lungs out in the nursery and he could tell when something was off.

A few more restless minutes ticked by. Then the wedding planner snuck in through a side entrance near the edge of the garden. She moved fast, keeping her clipboard clutched tight to her chest. She leaned in close to Gideon, whispering something just out of earshot. Whatever she said, it wasn’t rehearsed.

Gideon’s expression didn’t change much, but Jesse saw the sharp inhale, the subtle flinch behind the eyes. Still, the boy nodded, straightened his shoulders, and followed her toward the house without a word.

The guests didn’t notice much. A few tilted their heads, whispering amongst themselves. The band shuffled awkwardly on the edge of the gazebo.

But Jesse noticed.

He noticed everything. Including the three empty chairs on the other side of the aisle, still untouched. Like placeholders for ghosts. Like reminders that not everyone showed up when it mattered most.

He looked toward Amber, whose brow was gently furrowed in concern. She was watching him. Always did.

“I’ll be right back, baby,” Jesse murmured, leaning in to press a kiss to her temple before slipping down the side of the seating area.

His gut told him where he needed to be.

Jesse moved with purpose down the polished hallway, past the catering crew and distant murmurs of the planner on her headset, ignoring the looks shot his way. He didn’t bother knocking when he reached the bridal suite. He just opened the door and stepped inside.

The room was divided by a decorative folding screen, preventing both of them from seeing you. Light from the tall windows cut across the space in long, golden stripes, casting shadows that told him everything before he heard a single word. Your silhouette was unmistakable behind the divider. Your arms flailing gently, hands waving like you were trying to fan away a panic you couldn’t outrun. Your shoulders shook, the fragile line of your back crumpled in on itself. You were trying not to sob. Jesse could hear it in the choked breaths you took between words.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice strained and cracked. “I just… I thought maybe they’d walk through the door. Or call. Or something. I told myself I wouldn’t let it ruin the day. I’m so sorry, Gideon.”

“Baby, they don’t know what they’re missing,” he said gently. “This isn’t about them. It’s our day. You don’t have to be okay right now, but I swear to you, we’ll get through it. You’ve got me. You’ve got everyone who showed up. And if you want to walk out there and skip the whole damn thing, I’ll follow you anywhere. Just say the word.”

Jesse stood at the threshold, the sound of your breath hitching making his chest tighten. He didn’t mean to overhear. He wasn’t trying to intrude, but something about the sight of you doubled over in grief behind that fancy screen made his hands curl into fists at his sides.

“Gideon,” Jesse said, voice low but steady, “can I talk to her?”

Gideon looked back at him, worry still written all over his face. He hesitated for a second, then swallowed hard and gave a small nod. There was a flicker of relief there too, like he was grateful someone else had come to carry the weight for a moment. “Sure, Dad.”

He gave the divider one last glance before quietly slipping out, the door clicking shut behind him.

Jesse stepped farther into the room, eyes still on the divider. “Y/N? It’s just me.”

A pause.

“Go away, Jesse.”

He sighed softly. Not defeated, just understanding. He moved slowly, like the wrong sound might send you crumbling. “I know this is probably the wrong time to ask,” he said, scratching the back of his neck, “but, uh… does that offer still stand? For me to walk you down the aisle or whatever?”

The silence stretched thin. Then came the rustle of fabric, a sharp sniff, and finally, you stepped out from behind the divider.

Your makeup was smudged just a little at the corners of your eyes, but you still looked beautiful, like the air had tried to crush you and you stood up anyway.

“You’d do that?” you asked, voice small, disbelieving. “For real?”

Jesse nodded without hesitation. “Yeah,” he said simply.

Then he crossed to the table beneath the window, where your bouquet rested, all wildflowers and soft blooms. He picked it up with surprising gentleness, examined it for a second, then plucked a single sprig and tucked it into the breast pocket of his suit.

“I know you didn’t buy a dress like that just to cry in it all day.” His words were casual, but they landed like a warm blanket. “Let’s go make you a Gemstone.”

The music started soft and slow, and as the guests rose to their feet, Jesse offered you his arm. You looped yours through his with only a moment’s hesitation, but that was all he needed. That split-second where your fingers tightened around his jacket sleeve told him everything.

You trusted him.

Not because he was perfect or said the right things. Hell, most of the time he said the wrong ones. But you trusted that he’d show up. That he meant it when he said he’d walk you down the aisle.

And now here you were glowing in your dress, eyes still glassy but no longer unsure, as the two of you moved down the aisle together, step by steady step. The late sun filtered through the trees, casting golden light over everything, and Jesse felt a strange tightness in his chest, like his heart had grown too big for his ribs.

Every so often, he glanced toward the front, where Gideon waited, standing tall, hands clasped tightly in front of him, jaw working like he might cry if he breathed too hard.

And when you reached him, when Jesse placed your hand in his son’s, something unspoken passed between the three of you.

Jesse blinked hard, clearing the sudden sting in his eyes. He wiped a tear off his cheek with the side of his thumb, trying not to make a big deal out of it, but you saw. You and Gideon both did.

He hugged you first, your hand still in his. “You look like a miracle,” he whispered against your hair. Then he hugged Gideon, pulling him close and clapping his back just once before stepping aside.

With a quiet breath, Jesse took his seat next to Amber, who wordlessly reached for his hand. He felt the stares in the way Judy was blinking like she couldn’t believe what she’d seen, Kelvin mouthing something to Keefe. But Jesse didn’t look their way. He didn’t need to.

Eli gave him a small, proud nod from the front row. That one, Jesse let himself return. But it all fell away the second he looked back at you and Gideon.

The way you looked at each other with your eyes full, hearts open, steady like the world could spin apart and it wouldn’t matter. Jesse had never seen anything like it. And for a man who’d built his whole life on faith, that look felt like church.

As the ceremony shifted into the reception, laughter and clinking glasses filled the garden. Jesse tried to melt into the background, plate in hand, drink untouched. But people kept finding him.

“You really saved the day, Jesse.”

“Didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Big softie, huh?”

He nodded, shrugged, offered polite smiles and a grumbled, “It was her day,” each time. And that was the truth of it. It wasn’t about him. It never had been. He didn’t need the credit.

He’d already gotten his reward. He got it in the way you smiled when you saw Gideon, and the way his boy had looked back like there was no one else in the world.

The music had quieted. The candles burned lower. A few relatives still hovered by the dessert table, sipping from half-full glasses and swaying gently to the fading hum of the band packing up. Most of the guests had already filtered out, throwing hugs and laughter over their shoulders as they went.

Jesse stood just outside the garden tent waiting for Amber, her jacket draped over one shoulder, tie loosened, shoes dusty from the grass. He glanced up at the clear sky and let out a long breath like he was finally letting go of the weight he hadn’t realized he’d carried all day.

He was about to head toward the lot when he heard footsteps behind him.

“Hey,” Gideon said.

Jesse turned, and there was his son with his bowtie crooked, hair a little frizzed from dancing, eyes shining with something heavier than the night deserved.

“Hey,” Jesse replied, adjusting the jacket over his shoulder. “Y’all takin’ off?”

“Yeah,” Gideon nodded. “Almost. Just… had to find you first.”

Jesse raised a brow. “That right?”

Gideon stood there for a beat too long, shifting once, then squared his shoulders. “I just wanted to say thank you. For what you did today.”

Jesse shook his head, already brushing it off. “Ain’t nothin’. Just walked her down an aisle.”

“No,” Gideon said, firmer now. “No, it was something. You showed up for her. You didn’t make it about you, or the fact that she asked grandpa to officiate, or whatever else could’ve gotten in the way. You just… showed up.” His voice wavered then, and Jesse watched him exhale through it, struggling to keep control.

“You showed me what it looks like to be a real man. What it looks like to take care of people.”

Jesse blinked. Once, then twice. His jaw flexed and he looked away, fighting off the way his throat was tightening.

“Well,” he finally said, voice rough. “That’s what daddies are supposed to do.”

They stood there in silence for a second too long before Jesse reached out and pulled Gideon in, arms strong and firm around his son’s shoulders. He clapped his back, maybe a little too hard.

“I’m proud of you, Gideon,” he murmured. “I mean it.”

“I know,” Gideon whispered. “I love you, Dad.”

Jesse didn’t say it back. At least, not in words. But he held on tighter, a little longer, and when he finally let go, there were tears in both their eyes.

Then Jesse gave him a crooked little grin and swatted his arm. “Now go on. You got a honeymoon to get to. Don’t keep your wife waitin’. Last thing you need is someone bitching at you when you’re supposed to be relaxin’.”

Gideon smiled, nodding. He backed away a few steps before turning and jogging off, a soft whoop echoing from the garden as he returned to your side.

Jesse stayed behind for just a second longer, watching the two of you disappear into the night hand in hand, faces lit by nothing but headlights and each other.

[smilingformoney]

Champagne Problems

Chapter 4. How Did It End?

Lionel/Reader

Summary: In 1989, an argument breaks out at Sinclair's wedding; in 1971, Lionel and Sinclair move to Cambridge to start university.

Word Count: 14.2k

cw: drug misuse (specifically cocaine), cheating

Read on Ao3 or the below the cut:

1989

You weren’t surprised to discover that Sinclair’s wedding was taking place at a vineyard. It seemed exactly the kind of unnecessarily extravagant place a rich person would hire out for a wedding.

You couldn’t help but wonder how much Natalie was contributing towards it. Between Helen’s millions and Sinclair’s millions, the Bryants had more than enough to fund the whole thing; you didn’t expect Natalie’s job as a secretary paid nearly as well.

The whole thing had Sinclair all over it. It was in a vineyard in France, because of course it was, and most of the guests, you discovered as you mingled, were people Sinclair knew. Relatives, co-workers, friends, friends of friends, partners of all the above. They all knew Sinclair somehow, and had either never met Natalie, or like you had met her only briefly in the shadow of Sinclair’s energy.

Not for the first time, you wondered what Sinclair saw in her. She seemed nice enough, and she was certainly pretty, but she wasn’t very interesting.

As you met more and more of Sinclair’s friends, you began to feel out of place, not because you weren’t rich - he had plenty of normal friends - but because you weren’t married. Sinclair’s last minute invitation had included a plus one, but you’d come alone, and you were feeling it.

You wondered if maybe this was, at least in part, the reason Sinclair had proposed to Natalie after only six months: all his friends were married. You heard countless stories about Sinclair being a groomsman; at 36, he was probably feeling like he was missing out by not being married. And Natalie, pretty and nice Natalie – she was good enough.

You hoped she really was good enough for him. Sinclair was one of the sweetest, funniest, kindest people you’d ever known, and you didn’t want him wasting his heart on someone he was settling for.

You certainly weren’t the only person who thought they were something of a mismatch. Numerous guests made comments about their strange pairing, and how quickly Sinclair had proposed.

“Has he had many girlfriends before her?” you asked one of Sinclair’s old university friends who’d introduced himself as Nigel. “I’m a bit out of touch, last one I knew about was Emily.”

“Emily!” Nigel exclaimed. “Now that’s a throwback. No, he’s had plenty since her. Poor thing, he was devastated by that one. Devastated by all of them, really, he throws his whole heart into every girlfriend he has.”

“I’m not surprised; he throws his whole heart into everything.”

Nigel nodded in agreement. “Aye, that he does. Right, let me think — so you knew Emily. That ended in third year — he was balls deep in his dissertation when she wanted him to be balls deep in her.”

He guffawed at his own joke.

“Oh, here’s the kicker though — two weeks they’d been broken up, he was still miserable of course, and she went and slept with his cousin.”

You choked on your drink.

“What, you mean Lionel?”

“Yep, nothing gets you over an ex like shagging his nearly identical cousin, I suppose. Well, after that was Amiee, lovely girl she was — he was gonna propose, actually, but she moved abroad. Then there was Laura, now Natalie. No, wait, there was Alex just before Amiee. Anyway, I suppose this time he decided to lock Natalie down before anything went wrong.”

You grimaced. “That’s not really the reason to get married.”

Nigel shrugged as if it were no big deal. “Not everyone gets married for true love. Sometimes it’s enough love.”

The door to the ceremony room was opened then, and an usher announced that it was time to take your seats.

You’d been to a lot of weddings by now: like Sinclair, your friends around you were all getting married. And at every one, the ceremony room had had a groom’s side and a bride’s side. There was no such arrangement here: apart from the front rows reserved for family, anyone could sit anywhere.

You wondered if it was because there were very few, if any, guests for the bride’s side.

You decided to take a seat near the back. You didn’t know anyone, and you were a last-minute invite; you’d feel a bit of an imposter ingratiating yourself into the swarms of family and friends.

A figure appeared next to you, and although you were staring off into space, you just knew who it was.

Maybe you had a connection. Maybe you recognised his scent. Or maybe you just recognised the energy of a self-absorbed arsehole.

“Sinclair wants you to sit up front with the family,” Lionel said.

You reluctantly looked up at him.

Dammit. Why did he have to look so handsome in his three-piece suit?

You glanced up to the front of the room. Sinclair was hovering around the altar with his other groomsmen, but he caught your eye and waved you over with a grin.

“Alright, but he’s responsible if Georgina kills me.”

The corner of Lionel’s mouth twitched, as if he were trying not to smile.

“It’s been seventeen years, [Y/n]. She’s over it. Come on.”

You took a steadying breath, then followed Lionel up the aisle. Sinclair greeted you with a grin and a bear hug, as if seeing you at his wedding was the best thing that had happened all day.

“[Y/n], I’m so glad you made it! Here, you sit with Mum. Mum, you remember [Y/n], right?”

You turned to where Helen and Georgina were sitting, Georgina at the end of the row on account of her wheelchair, and a seat next to Helen left empty for you. They were both in their sixties now, but neither of them let that stop them looking absolutely amazing: they were both completely grey, and while Helen had cut her hair short, Georgina had styled hers into an elegant ‘do that had definitely taken hours.

If either of them held any resentment for you, they didn’t show it. Helen stood to greet you, and you found yourself pulled into another bear hug.

“Of course I remember you! I’m so glad you’re here, [Y/n]. I couldn’t tell you how excited Sinclair was when he told us you were coming. Come, sit, sit.”

She practically pulled you into your seat. The seat on the other side was empty, and you really hoped Sinclair wasn’t doing something stupid like putting you next to Lionel.

As Helen chatted away to you, out of the corner of your eye, you saw Lionel was standing with Sinclair, talking to him in hushed tones.

The three groomsmen were all dressed identically to Lionel, except that his pocket square was a different colour, denoting that he was the best man.

You smiled. Of course he was the best man. Who else would Sinclair have asked? He had more friends than you could count, but Lionel had always been his best friend.

To your relief, Lionel didn’t sit next to you; when the ceremony began, he took his seat across the aisle from Georgina. You ended up sat next to one of the other groomsmen instead.

Sinclair certainly seemed happy. But whether he was happy to be getting married to Natalie or just to be getting married at all, you weren’t too sure.

The wedding breakfast was, of course, extremely generous. Sinclair went all out on the food, and when he gave his speech, he used cue cards to stop himself going off on tangents, though you did see Lionel nudge him a few times to bring him back on track.

When finally the speeches were done and the food cleared away, it was time for the first dance.

Sinclair was very good at a lot of things, but dancing wasn’t one of them. They’d clearly rehearsed it, and you could see Sinclair’s brow furrowed in concentration as he focused on remembering the dance moves and not tripping over Natalie’s feet.

The song ended, and finally you were free of the formalities. You grabbed a champagne flute from a passing waiter and practically ran outside, where several tables and chairs offered a reprieve and some ashtrays.

“Not sticking around to dance?” said a familiar voice as you took a much needed drag from your cigarette.

You turned and, sure enough, there he was.

“I’m not drunk enough yet,” you said shortly. “But I’m working on it.”

Lionel took an unoffered seat next to you. He rested his chin on his steepled fingers and looked at you.

“You know, if you’re going to be friends with Sinclair again, you’re going to have to talk to me at some point.”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

Lionel scoffed.

“Really? Nothing at all?”

“Is there something you expect me to say?”

“No, of course not,” Lionel said bitterly. “You had nothing to say that night either. No explanation, just… gone.”

You laughed. “I thought you were intelligent, Lionel. Did I need to explain myself?”

“After what you did to me? Yes! I gave you everything, [Y/n]! And I wanted to give you so much more! But you just… left. One word, that’s all you gave me. All our relationship came to was one bloody word. So, yes, a little explanation would have been welcome.”

You took a long drag from your cigarette and looked at him.

“Wow. All this time, I thought you knew. I thought it would be so easy for you to connect the dots. But you’re so fucking narcissistic, you probably don’t even realise you did wrong, do you?” You shrugged. “I’m surprised Sinclair didn’t spell it out for you.”

Lionel sighed and rubbed his temple, as if the conversation were giving him a migraine. “[Y/n]... I am not a man who asks for things. I take them. But I am asking you now to give me an explanation. Please.”

“Wow, the P-word. Did that hurt to say?”

Lionel slammed a fist on the table.

“Dammit, [Y/n]! I loved you! I fucking loved you and you didn’t even –”

“If you loved me, you wouldn’t have cheated on me!”

There was a long pause as you stared one another down, both daring the other to break, but Lionel’s silence told you everything you needed to know.

You scoffed and sat back in your seat. “You’re not even trying to deny it,” you muttered as you put out your cigarette in the ashtray.

Lionel groaned and held his head in his hands.

“How the fuck did you know?”

“Sinclair’s not stupid. He knew something was up. You really thought you could have it all, didn’t you? You thought you could fuck around when he wasn’t there and he wouldn’t notice. You didn’t even try to be discreet, because why would there be consequences for your actions? And you’re such an egotistical arsehole that even now, after seventeen years, you still can’t figure out that you fucking around and my leaving you were connected!”

“Of course I thought about it, but I didn’t think you knew! I didn’t think Sinclair knew, much less that he’d tell you.”

“Of course he told me! He may be your cousin, but that doesn’t mean he’s anything like you. He has morals. He knew what you’d done and what you were planning, and he knew he had to tell me.”

“Fucking bastard,” Lionel cursed. “I’ll have him for this.”

“No, you bloody well won’t,” you said sharply, standing up as if to block his way. “None of this is his fault. You cheated on me. You broke my heart. And, yeah, maybe I should have spelled it out for you. I’m not squeaky clean in this. But Sinclair is, and this is his wedding, and you are not going to ruin it by blaming him for something that was entirely your fault.”

“We could have worked things out!” Lionel shouted. He was on his feet now too, towering over you, though you showed no sign of being intimidated by his height. “I knew it was wrong, so I stopped! I wanted this” - he gestured around him - “and everything that comes with it. I wanted to give you everything, to be loyal, to live with you and share my life with you. I realised that I couldn’t have it all, and so I chose you. I wanted to give you the world, I could have given you the world!”

“We don’t need anything from you, Lionel! Not your broken promises, not your money, nothing!”

He stared at you, brow furrowed. You shook your head, grabbed your drink, and stepped away from him as you took a long gulp of champagne.

Eventually, Lionel spoke.

“What do you mean, we?”

You turned back to him, frowning. “What?”

“You said, ‘We don’t need anything from you.’ Who’s we?”

“Me, I meant me – I. I don’t need anything from you.”

He approached you slowly, methodically, like – well, like a lion hunting its prey. You knew from the stern expression that you were fucked, and when you backed into the wall, you had nowhere to run.

“[Y/n]. I’m going to ask one last time. Who - is - ‘we’?”

“Me…”

“...And?”

You glanced away instinctively, but you steeled yourself and looked him in the eye.

“Our son.”

- - -

1971

After your Paris trip, you were hit with some serious post-holiday blues. Not only did you have to return to boring old England, but you missed being in a bubble with Lionel. You’d spent the entirety of Sunday in your hotel room, having sex and ordering room service, drinking and smoking, having sex again, and resting as much as you could before Lionel was ready to go again.

He hadn’t been exaggerating — he really was like a wild beast that had been unleashed. He’d been able to hold back before, when sex was just a fantasy, but now that he knew what it was really like, he couldn’t get enough.

And he was adventurous. He wanted to have sex on every surface possible. On the sofa, in the jacuzzi - which was a godsend when your muscles ached - and even, occasionally, in the bed.

You were, of course, very eager too. But he really seemed to be aiming for the fifty times a day that lions apparently shagged when they were in heat. And Lionel was definitely in heat.

“I’m going to buy my own private jet one day,” Lionel murmured to you on the plane home — first class, of course. “Then we can fuck in midair while I fly you around the world for romantic getaways. Where do you want to go next? I hear Italy’s very romantic.”

You went straight home after landing, as you knew your mum would worry if you didn’t, and on Tuesday you went back up to Windsor to see Lionel again.

“You should just move in, [Y/n],” Sinclair said as he greeted you with a bear hug, as if you’d been away for months, not days. “Lionel’s so grumpy when you’re not around. He mopes around like a lovesick puppy.”

“No, I don’t,” Lionel insisted. “Come on, [Y/n], let’s go upstairs —”

“Aww, c’mon, you guys just spent a whole weekend together, and you wanna run off for some privacy already? I’ve been so bored here on my own!”

Sinclair flopped down on a nearby armchair dramatically.

“And you want to leave me alone again!”

You laughed at his endearing antics.

“Alright, fine, let’s have some lunch first,” Lionel agreed reluctantly.

Sinclair cheered, whether for food or company or both, but he was too distracted by stuffing his face and telling you every thought he’d had since last week to notice that Lionel was getting very handsy with you on the sofa.

After pulling his hand away from roaming under your t-shirt for the third time, you made an excuse about needing the bathroom, and snuck away upstairs.

Lionel got the hint, and he followed you soon after.

“Christ, I thought he’d never let us go,” he growled as he tugged your t-shirt over your head. “I could have stuck my hand in your knickers and he wouldn’t get the hint.”

You giggled. Lionel pushed you backwards onto the bed and climbed on top of you, condom already in hand as he pulled your shorts down your legs.

“Those little booty shorts aren’t helping. All that thigh on display, just waiting for me to do this…”

He placed his hands on either thigh and pushed them apart, then growled with desire when he saw his prize.

You tried to be quiet, conscious that Lionel’s bedroom was right above the sitting room you’d left Sinclair in, but he had other ideas.

“What do you know? My bed squeaks,” Lionel laughed as he pounded into you hard enough for the bed to start protesting.

Your response was a garbled moan, and Lionel grinned. He loved it when he rendered you speechless. It was usually then that he asked you questions - how does it feel? Can you feel my cock stretching you out? Do you want me to slow down? - just to hear you trying to formulate a response.

You burnt through condoms like wildfire. Lionel had to buy a new box at least every week, and you just knew that he was so confident and smug when he returned to the pharmacy yet again for more condoms.

The summer ended far too fast. Lionel never ran out of fancy places to take you (when you managed to convince him to put some clothes on and get out of bed), Sinclair never ran out of interesting things to tell you about, and it was only when you physically saw Lionel packing up that it really hit home that he was leaving.

“You’ll come visit me, right?” you asked him for the umpteenth time as he tried to squeeze all of his identical white shirts into one box.

“Of course I will, chérie. I can’t promise how often, I’m sure I’ll have a lot of studying to do, but I’ll come back as much as I can.”

“Mmm, I don’t think your cock’ll let you stay away for very long,” you teased, coming up behind him to trace your hands over his shoulders as he continued folding shirts. “You’ll be going from fucking every day back to wanking every day, it’ll be torture.”

Lionel smirked.

“We’ll just have to make up for it when I come back.”

You tried not to cry when he left. You knew he liked to be stoic and strong, and he told you lions don’t cry. You were his lioness, as he loved to remind you, so you did your best to keep the tears at bay.

With many final kisses, hugs, I love yous and promises to call, you finally let him get in the car. You hugged Sinclair goodbye too, and he had no qualms about crying as he said goodbye to you.

It was three long, excruciating days before you had a phone call.

You almost fell down the stairs running when your mum told you Sinclair was on the phone.

“Sinclair, hi! How was the move? How are you? How’s Lionel? Is Cambridge boring? It’s totally fine if you wanna come back.”

Sinclair laughed on the other end of the phone. “Hello to you too, [Y/n]! I’m great, and Lionel’s great too! Sorry we haven’t called, it took ages to get the phone line installed in our flat. The guy literally just left, I called Mum first, then I called you. Lionel’s out, otherwise he’d be the one calling you, obviously, but I didn’t want you to worry. Cambridge is so fun! This first week is just social stuff, that’s what Lionel’s doing, he’s at the get to know you event for his course. Mine’s tomorrow. He misses you loads. So do I! I wish you could have moved with us, it would be so cool if the three of us were living together! Though we’d never get any coursework done I suppose, we’d be having too much fun. Lionel definitely wouldn’t. Do you want me to ask him to call you when he gets in?”

“Oh, yes, please!” you said, glad to finally get a word in. ”Mum said she’s gonna get a second phone that I can keep in my room since I’m gonna be using it so much. When do you guys start your classes?”

“On Monday! We got our timetables yesterday, we actually have one module together! Most of my classes are 9 o’clock starts, but I don’t mind, I like getting up early. It also means I have more time later in the day so I can do more societies! There are so many, I wanna join them all, but I don’t think I’ll have the time. I know Lionel wants to join the Future Leaders Society. That’s for people who want to be innovators, and we both know what his ambition’s like, and I bet he’ll make loads of connections. He said I should join too but it clashes with the Rambling Society, and I really wanna join that one. That’s rambling as in walking, not as in talking a lot, I don’t need a society for that, I know I do enough of it myself! Oh, wait, I think he’s just — hey, Li! Li, the phone’s working! [Y/n]’s on the line now, do you wanna talk to her?”

After a moment or two, you heard Lionel’s familiar voice, and just a simple “Hi, [Y/n]. Has Sinclair let you get a word in yet?” was enough to make you feel warm and comforted.

“One or two. How was your event? Sinclair said you were meeting people from your course.”

“Mmm, some very interesting people there… and some very uninteresting people. It’s a curious mix. Some are clearly only doing Business because that’s what their parents told them to do. I expect half of them will drop out by the end of the year.”

“Leaving only the best still in it, I suppose?”

“Exactly. I’d wager there’ll be no more than ten left next year, mark my words, and I’ll be top of the class, of course.”

“It’s not a competition, Li.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, everything’s a competition. I compete to be the greatest, Sinclair competes to be the loudest, and you compete to be the sexiest. We’re all winning, of course.”

You smiled and glanced around to make sure your mum wasn’t eavesdropping from the corridor again.

“I miss you,” you said quietly. “I keep thinking about you. Sleeping alone in my bed sucks.”

“I miss you too, chérie,” Lionel said in a low voice, similarly making sure Sinclair wasn’t eavesdropping. “Wanking into my hand’s just not the same anymore.”

You giggled, blushing. “Lionel! What if Sinclair hears you?”

“Oh, please, like he doesn’t do it too. I have to go, love, I really need a shit —”

“Charming.”

“— and I think Sinclair will burst if I don’t tell him how this event went soon. I’ll call you tomorrow, alright?”

“Okay. I love you, Li.”

“I love you too, chérie.”

“Tell her I love her three!” Sinclair called out in the background.

You laughed.

“Tell him I love him four.”

Lionel sighed. “Sinclair, she says she loves you four.”

”Yay!”

“I can’t believe I’m sharing a flat with him,” Lionel said, but you could hear the smile in his voice. “Bye, love.”

“Bye.”

Lionel called you again at the weekend, and you could tell by his voice he was hungover. He must have really drunk a lot to be hungover since, apparently, lions don’t get hungover.

Your mum got the second phone installed a few days later, and you were able to call Lionel with some privacy. He and Sinclair both already had lines in their bedrooms, and when Sinclair was out at his morning class and your mum was at work, Lionel called you with a very naughty idea.

“You want me to what?”

“You heard me. I want you to put your hand in your knickers and tell me how wet you are.”

“Not very, I just woke up… and you’re not here to wake me up with your wandering hands.”

“Mmm… we’ll soon change that, chérie. You’ll just have to be my wandering hands for me, won’t you? Let’s see… I usually start with touching your tits. I love feeling your nipples growing hard in my hands. Do you think you can make them hard for me?”

Lionel wasn’t the only one calling you regularly; Sinclair called often to catch up. Sometimes you felt like you were getting a university education by proxy when he rambled on about what he was learning on his course, although you didn’t really understand most of what he said. What you were more interested in hearing about, and what Sinclair was very happy to change the subject to, was a girl called Emily he’d met at one of his societies.

With no Lionel around to distract you, you became bored very quickly, so you asked your dad for more hours. He was trusting you more and more, and when he began scheduling you to open the cafe at 5 o’clock in the morning, you found it easier to stay at his the night before, rather than commuting in from Winchester — and so you found yourself spending half your nights at your mum’s house and half of them at your dad’s.

They weren’t the only parents vying for your time. Helen and Georgina had apparently decided, as Lionel’s girlfriend, you were the stand-in for their sons at the parties and events they were always going to. You couldn’t say yes to everything, as much as you wanted to — there was no way you could go to a fundraiser or whatever it was (you were never really sure) in London the night before you had to open the cafe at 5am – but you were always happy to attend when you could.

You were busier than you’d ever been. You had a full-time job now, working more hours in a week than you would have spent at school a year ago, and you had managed to find yourself caught between four parents in three different places — your mum in Winchester, your dad in Basingstoke, and Helen and Georgina in Windsor.

So when Lionel’s calls became less frequent, you didn’t notice at first. You were busy, and so was he. Even Sinclair was calling you less, busy as he was with the five university societies he’d finally settled on, and of course the girlfriend he was so in love with.

Christmas break finally came, though your dad reminded you every time you mentioned it that there was no such thing as Christmas break, and in fact the cafe would be busier than ever at Christmas with all the shoppers about. He wasn’t cruel, though; he let you take the weekend off when Lionel and Sinclair came home.

It was snowing harshly the day they were due back, and you spent the whole day worrying about their drive home. Georgina and Helen had the heating on and the fireplace crackling, and you were drinking them out of their hot chocolate, but you didn’t feel truly warm until you saw Sinclair’s car coming up the driveway.

You rushed out to meet them, the snow crunching beneath your feet as you ran as fast as you could without slipping over. Sinclair had hardly turned the engine off when Lionel was climbing out of the passenger seat, looking adorably grumpy in his big winter coat, and within moments snowflakes began landing in his soft blonde hair.

His grumpy expression quickly melted away when he saw you. He grinned, and you practically jumped into his arms.

“There’s my girl!” Lionel said with relief as he embraced you. “Oh, chérie, I missed you so much. Come on, upstairs, let’s fuck.”

You laughed and hit his shoulder playfully as he set you back down in the snow.

“Keep it in your pants, mister. At least let me say hello to Sinclair first.”

Sinclair was wading through the snow around the front of the car, his eyes barely visible between the hat pulled low and the scarf wrapped around his face. He waved at you, then promptly slipped and fell.

“Oh, no! Sinclair, are you okay?” you gasped, trudging over as quickly as you could to help him up.

“I’m okay!” came Sinclair’s muffled voice somewhere beneath his scarf. He finally stood up straight and pulled down his scarf to give himself some air to breathe. “Hi, [Y/n]! You wouldn’t believe how crazy the motorway was. I thought I was going to crash, like, ten times! But we made it!”

With a grin, he wrapped his arms around you as best he could considering his many layers.

“I’m so cold, though! Have Mum and Georgie got the fire going?”

“Yes, get yourselves inside, it’s freezing out here!”

The three of you carefully made your way into the house, treading carefully so as not to slip (again, in Sinclair’s case). A couple of the housekeeping staff were taking Lionel and Sinclair’s suitcases inside, and the boys both groaned with relief when they passed the threshold and were met with warm, central heated air.

Helen and Georgina came over to greet their sons, and Helen fussed over Sinclair’s inability to go more than a few feet in the snow without falling flat on his face.

“Hot toddies all around, I think,” Georgina decreed. “Come on, let’s get you two by the fire.”

Within minutes, you were all gathered around the fireplace with soothing hot drinks in your hands, Lionel and Sinclair sitting closest to the fire as they defrosted from their long car journey, and through chattering teeth Sinclair gave a blow-by-blow account of each near-crash they’d experienced, and the two actual crashes they’d seen.

Your hand was in Lionel’s, your chair pulled up close to his so you could rest your head on his shoulder. As Sinclair rambled on, every now and then, Lionel squeezed your hand or kissed the top of your head, and even occasionally managed to get a word in to contribute to the story.

When finally Sinclair finished his story and moved on to talking about his new girlfriend, Lionel decided it was time to unpack his suitcase. You stayed downstairs a little longer to watch the entertaining show of Helen quizzing Sinclair about when she was going to meet his girlfriend, then decided to make your way upstairs to check on Lionel.

You found him in his room, suitcase nearly unpacked, though the thought of finishing it was immediately forgotten when you walked in.

“God, finally, I thought you’d never come up here,” Lionel growled with relief. He dropped the socks in his hands and crossed the room to pick you up by your hips and twirl you around to deposit you on the bed, causing you to squeal with laughter.

“Clothes off, now,” he demanded, his hands already on his belt. “I have waited way too long to fuck you again.”

“Hey, you’re the one who never came home to visit,” you pouted, though of course you obediently pulled your jumper over your head. “You promised you’d come home for weekends, and you never did.”

“I know, chérie, I’m sorry. I could never find the time. But I’m here now, and I am going to remind you who you belong to.”

You shivered a little in the cold when your clothes were off, but Lionel quickly warmed you up when he pushed you onto your hands and knees on the bed and swiftly entered you from behind.

“Fuck, I missed this,” Lionel growled as his cock slid up your walls. “Perfect… fucking perfect…”

He gripped your hips firmly and wasted no time fucking into you hard and fast, as if he had to make up for the last three months.

Your hands clenched into fists as you held on uselessly to the bedsheets. There was no use trying to get any sort of purchase; the only thing keeping you in place was Lionel’s firm grip on your hips, pulling your body back towards him with every passionate thrust.

He was grunting with every thrust, and occasionally between grunts you heard a moan of your name. He must have known when your orgasm began to build, and being the arsehole that he was, he pulled out, leaving you hanging — but not for long. He flipped you onto your back and climbed on top of you, the promptly began fucking you again.

“I want you to look at me when you cum,” Lionel growled between gritted teeth. “I want to watch as you come undone. I want you to know that you’re mine.”

“I am yours, Lionel,” you promised. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer, and he promptly dipped his head to your neck to pull at the skin with his teeth. You whined at the sensation, and he looked up at you, grinning proudly.

“Yes, you are. My fucking lioness. No one could ever — ever compare to you. Fuck. You take me so fucking well. [Y/n]…”

He was like a man crazed. His hips were pounding into you, his fingers gripping your shoulders like you were his lifeline, and his lips and teeth were grabbing at every inch of your skin they could reach.

“I love you, Lionel,” you moaned as you ran your fingers through his hair and he moaned right into your ear.

“I love you too, [Y/n]. I love you. I fucking - nngh! - love you so much.”

Your orgasm was building up again, and this time, he was going to let you have it. He heard your moans increasing in pitch, felt your walls squeezing him, and he just continued mumbling words of affection into your ear as his cock kept pummelling in and out of your desperate, hungry cunt.

“That’s it, good girl - good girl, cum for me. Cum around my cock, chérie. Mhm, that’s it — Christ, you’re so fucking beautiful. So perfect…”

You cried out his name as you came, and when he followed shortly after, your name sounded more like a roar.

He collapsed on top of you, panting, and the cold air stung against your sweaty skin. After a few moments, he shifted and pulled out of you to discard his condom in a nearby bin. He wrapped you up in his arms and took you under the duvet to cuddle, his lips ghosting your skin as you both laid there, content, warm in each other’s arms and in the afterglow of sex.

“Lionel… how would you feel about not using condoms?”

He didn’t respond at first. He just laid there, his arms still around you, though you felt a stillness in him.

“I don’t want kids,” he said firmly.

You shifted to prop yourself up on your elbow and look at him. He was looking at you with a frown, trepidation written all over his face.

“I was thinking I could go on the pill. I really… I really want to feel you properly, Lionel. I want to feel your skin against mine… and I want to feel you fill me up when you cum. Don’t you wanna know what it feels like raw?”

Lionel looked you up and down hungrily. “Yes, I do. Fuck, I do. I want nothing more. But…” He sighed and shook his head. “It’s too risky. I think it’s safer if we keep using condoms.”

“Okay,” you said, a little dejected. You’d really thought Lionel would jump at the idea.

“I’m sorry, chérie,” Lionel said softly. He pulled you back in close to him and kissed your forehead gently. “But I really don’t want you to get pregnant, and I’d be too busy worrying about it to enjoy it. You understand, don’t you?”

“Of course I do, babe,” you said. You kissed his shoulder and looked up at him with a smile. “I just thought you’d like it, but if you’re not comfortable, that’s okay. I just want to make you happy, Li.”

“Oh, you do,” he said earnestly. He stroked a sweaty strand of hair away from your face and smiled. “You have no idea how happy you make me, chérie. I love you.”

You kissed him, and though you intended it to be a gentle peck, he apparently had other ideas and kept his lips firmly pressed against yours.

You lazily threw a leg over his hips, intending to make out for a bit, but you felt something very familiar resting against his stomach.

You broke the kiss and giggled. “Again? Already?”

Lionel grinned with pride. “I’m always ready for you, love.”

“Mmm, clearly. Alright… but it’s my turn.”

Lionel opened his mouth to question what you meant, but all he let out was a groan when you adjusted your hips and sank down onto his cock, ready to ride him until the bed gave out.

- - -

The Christmas holidays went by far too quickly.

Your dad was right: there was no Christmas break at a cafe. But he was your dad first and your boss second, and he’d survived the Christmas period without you, he could do it again. Despite your insistence that it was okay, he point-blank refused to schedule you in for more than a few shifts a week.

You spent almost every day with Lionel, and it was like he’d never left. You spent a lot more time indoors than you had in the summer, not nearly going out as much, but neither of you had any cause to complain — it was just an excuse to spend longer in bed. When you did go out for some fresh air, somehow you gave Lionel cause to throw a snowball at you, and a snowball fight erupted, though a truce was quickly called when Lionel managed to pin you down in the snow and pepper you with kisses instead.

Christmas Day was unlike any Christmas you’d had before. In the past, you alternated Christmases between your parents, and it was always a small affair with just the two of you. This year, you were told in no uncertain terms that you would be spending Christmas with Lionel and his family — and so were your parents.

Your parents, who hadn’t actually seen each other for years, not since you became old enough to travel between them yourself. Your parents, who hadn’t met Lionel yet, and now they were going to meet the whole gang in one fell swoop.

They were civil with each other, but not friendly. They didn’t really talk to each other directly, you noticed, and sat as far from one another as they could. Lionel charmed them, and Sinclair entertained them with his endless stream of interesting facts.

Yours weren’t the only divorced parents in the house that day: Sinclair’s dad was there too.

“This is really weird,” you said to Lionel quietly once you had a moment alone amongst all the conversations, drinks, cigarettes, games and more drinks. “My parents, Sinclair’s parents…”

“We just need my father and we’ll have the whole set,” Lionel said casually as he lit up a cigarette. “Good thing he’s not here, though. I’d probably punch him in the face.”

“Have you heard from him?”

Lionel shook his head and tucked his lighter into his pocket.

“Not a peep. Let it stay that way.”

Christmas Day was one thing; New Year’s Eve was another.

You thought you’d been to some insane rich people parties already, but New Year’s Eve was on a whole other level. Helen and Georgina hosted, as they did every year, and the party was apparently so insane that they’d never let Sinclair and Lionel attend before as they were underage; they’d always gone to a party at a friend’s house.

Even with all the time you’d spent at the mansion, you’d still never managed to explore every single room, and tonight, every single room was in use. Every guest room was made up, every random room that had no apparent purpose filled with rich people drinking, dancing and doing drugs. Marquees in the garden hosted even more revellers, and you were sure at one point you saw Harold Wilson snorting a line of coke.

You loved a party just as much as any other eighteen-year-old, but this was a lot. You hardly saw Helen and Georgina, as they were playing the roles of hostesses, and when you lost Lionel in the crowd, that was when you started to panic.

You looked for him everywhere, but he was nowhere to be seen. Just as you were considering calling a taxi to take you back to Basingstoke, you heard something between a sob, a moan and a retching sound coming from behind a bush.

You followed the sound to investigate and found Sinclair kneeling in the dirt, his head buried between two ferns as he fertilised the soil with the remnants of his dinner.

“Sinclair, hey,” you said softly, kneeling down next to him to rub his back gently. “You okay there, mate?”

“No,” he groaned, his head still between the ferns.

With apparent great effort, Sinclair came out from within the greenery and sat back on his bum.

He looked awful. His face was pale, his eyes half-closed, and his wet face indicated he might have been crying too.

“Did you drink too much?” you asked, rubbing his shoulder comfortingly.

Sinclair shook his head.

“Did you… take something else?”

He nodded.

“As well as drinking?”

Another nod.

“Sinclair, please don’t tell me you took coke.”

“‘Kay, I won’t,” he said miserably.

Who on God’s green earth would possibly think it a good idea to offer Sinclair Bryant cocaine? He was already vibrating with energy most of the time, adding cocaine would probably give him a heart attack. Add alcohol as well, and you were just glad you’d found him conscious in the bushes and not dead.

“Come on, let’s get you inside,” you said. You put Sinclair’s arm over your shoulder, put your arm around his waist and tried to lift him. “Crikey, you’re heavy. Come on, you gotta help me out here.”

Sinclair’s response was a garbled moan, but he at least managed to push himself to his feet with your assistance. You readjusted your grip on him and did your best to drag him back towards the house, his feet stumbling along the way as he did his best to walk.

He tried to talk to you, but at some point between his brain and his mouth the words turned into mumbled nonsense. You, meanwhile, tried to get him up the stairs, but he decided that the middle of the staircase was the best place for a nap and tried to curl up to sleep.

You tried to drag him to his feet, but he was a useless lump.

“Sinclair, you can sleep in your bed! Come on, it’s like, thirty seconds from the top of the stairs to your bedroom.”

You tried to pull him along the floor, but he was still too heavy. You weren’t quite drunk, but you’d had enough to drink that your strength was not at its peak.

“Sinclair, c’mon, please,” you begged. “You need to get to bed.”

“‘Sokay, I can sleep here,” Sinclair mumbled.

“Emily’s waiting for you in your bedroom, don’t you wanna see her?”

His eyes shot open then and he looked up at you.

“Emily?”

“Yes, Emily. Come on, let’s go see her, okay?”

Sinclair nodded and, with the help of the bannister on one side and you on the other, pushed himself to his feet.

“Thought she was in Cardiff,” he mumbled, his ability to formulate words apparently now rejuvenated after his short stair nap.

“No, she’s here,” you lied. “She’s in your bedroom, so let’s get you there, okay?”

Sinclair smiled happily and nodded, letting you guide him down the hallway to his bedroom door. He tried to open the door, and when he couldn’t get in, he moaned sadly, like a wounded puppy.

“She locked me out!”

“No, Clair, we locked our bedrooms to keep guests out, remember? Where’s your key?”

He reached into his pocket and grinned victoriously when he pulled the key out. He tried to put it in the lock, but it wasn’t until you placed your hand over his and held it steady that he managed to get the door unlocked.

He swung the door open with more force than necessary, and within a few steps, Sinclair was face-down on the bed.

You took the key out of the keyhole, closed the door behind you, and locked it again.

Finally, a moment of peace.

“You said Emily was here!” Sinclair grumbled.

It was a short moment.

“Yeah, well, I lied. I had to get you off the stairs. What if you threw up all over that carpet? You wanna explain that to your mum?”

Sinclair, who was now sitting up on the edge of the bed, folded his arms like a petulant child.

“I wanna see Emily.”

“Emily’s in Cardiff, Clair. You’ll see her really soon, I promise. Now, let’s get you into bed. Do you think you’re gonna be sick again?”

Sinclair shrugged, still sulking.

You sighed.

“Alright, fine. Let’s just get you into bed. Where do you keep your pyjamas?”

Sinclair pointed at a chair in the corner, which had a pile of worn clothes on it, including a set of pyjamas, which you retrieved for him while he tried his best to take his shoes off.

“Here, let me do that,” you said. You put the pyjamas down on the bed next to him and knelt down to untie his shoes. “You get your shirt off.”

Sinclair was quiet while you untied his shoes and slipped them off, and when you looked back up at him, he was still fully clothed, his arms folded protectively over his chest.

“Sinclair. Shirt. Off,” you said firmly.

He shook his head. “Can’t let other girls see me naked.”

You scoffed and shook your head incredulously. “Sinclair, first of all, this is the least sexy situation I’ve ever been in. There’s a high chance you’ll throw up any second, and if you do, I’m sitting right in the firing line. Second, I’m not other girls. I’m [Y/n]. Lionel’s girlfriend. Remember?”

Sinclair looked at you properly, and seemed to recognise you suddenly.

“[Y/n]! Yeah, you’re [Y/n]. Lionel’s [Y/n]. He loves you loads, you know.”

You smiled. “Yes, he does, and I love him loads too. And if he were here, he’d also be telling you to get into your pyjamas, so how about we give that a go?”

Sinclair nodded and started trying to unbutton his shirt, but his drunk and high fingers had lost all dexterity. He whined in frustration, so you took over, and to your relief he let you kneel in front of him and unbutton his shirt without complaint.

“[Y/n], do you think it’s too early to tell Emily I love her?” Sinclair asked as you continued working on his buttons.

“Do you love her?”

Sinclair nodded enthusiastically. “I do, I really do! I think I wanna marry her one day.”

“Well, it’s never too early to tell someone you love them, if that’s what you really feel. But marriage — it might be a bit early for that.”

“Lionel wants to marry you.”

You froze and looked up at him.

“…What?”

Sinclair nodded, grinning with excitement. “He does! He’s not gonna propose yet but says he wants to marry you one day. Ohmygod, maybe we could have a double wedding! You and Lionel, me and Emily. Wouldn’t that be so fun?”

“That’s… not something to think about yet,” you said firmly. “It’s too early for me and Lionel, and it’s certainly too early for you and Emily. Right, shirt off, pyjama top on. Reckon you can do your trousers yourself?”

“Yeah, I think so…”

“Good. You do that, I’ll find a bucket or something in case you’re sick again.”

You went into the bathroom and spotted the bin. You tied up the liner and took it out, leaving the bin empty and ready to catch any last bits of dinner Sinclair might have left to bring up.

Back in the bedroom, Sinclair had managed to get his pyjama top on and was lying on his back, his eyes closed, apparently having given up halfway through unbuckling his belt.

“Jesus, Sinclair,” you sighed. “You’re like a giant baby.”

You put the bin down by the bed and reached down to unbuckle his belt for him.

“Please don’t let Lionel walk in right now,” you muttered as you loosened his fly, trying carefully to avoid even lightly brushing against his boxers.

Sinclair’s eyes snapped open when you reached for his waistband.

“I can do it!” he insisted.

“Okay,” you said, raising your hands in innocence. “You’re a big boy, I’m sure you can take your own trousers off.”

You stood up straight and looked away as Sinclair tugged his trousers down. They went flying past you in the vague direction of his clothes chair, and you heard some more fumbling as he finished putting his pyjamas on.

“Done it!” he announced proudly.

 You turned back to him, and sure enough, Sinclair had managed to get into his pyjamas almost entirely by himself.

“Well done, Clair. Now to get into bed. Can you do that?”

“Oh, I’m an expert at getting into bed!”

He stood, pulled back the duvet, and practically dove under the covers. You laughed as he pulled the duvet up to his neck, leaving only his head resting on the pillows with a contented smile.

“Very good, Sinclair, well done,” you laughed. “Now, the bin’s here in case you need to be sick again. How are you feeling now?”

“Sleepy,” Sinclair replied, his eyes already closed.

“Okay, I’ll leave you to crash. And please don’t ever take cocaine again, okay? You are the last person in the world who needs a stimulant.”

“Sleeping,” Sinclair said insistently.

“Okay, sleeping. Good night, Clair.”

“Night, [Y/n].”

You took his key and locked the door behind you as you left. You managed to find some water in the kitchen and brought it back up for him, leaving it on the bedside table for when he woke up. Not wanting anyone to disturb him, you locked the door again and pocketed the key, making a mental note to let him out in the morning if he didn’t have another key in there.

You were just thinking about going to try to find Lionel again when you were suddenly grabbed by the wrist by a figure moving at twice the speed of a normal human being and dragged down the hallway to Lionel’s room, where your kidnapper practically barrelled into the door to open it before throwing you face first onto the bed.

The door slammed shut, you heard a key turn in the lock, and you barely had time to turn around when Lionel was pouncing on you. His kiss was hardly a kiss, and more a very enthusiastic attempt to get his saliva all over your face.

“Lionel, what —”

“Need to fuck you,” he growled desperately, his hands already fumbling with his belt.

“Where have you been? I was looking for you for ages.”

“Downstairs. Legs, open, now.”

Before you had a chance to obey, Lionel grabbed your knees and pushed your legs apart, forcing your skirt to bunch up around your waist. He growled and pushed your knickers aside with one hand while the other lined his cock up with your entrance. He was about to thrust into you when —

“Lionel, condom!”

He swore in frustration and practically threw himself across the mattress to wrench open the bedside drawer and pull out a condom.

Lionel had been wild and passionate since that day in Paris, but as he tore the condom wrapper open with his teeth, you realised this was something else. He was like a man possessed — or a man on copious amounts of cocaine.

You sat up and took Lionel’s face in both your hands, forcing him to look up at you from where he was trying to roll the condom down his shaft.

You looked in his eyes. The usually amber iris was hardly visible between his dark, wide pupils and the red of the bloodshot whites.

“Lionel, how much cocaine have you taken?”

“None.”

“Don’t lie to me!”

“Okay, fine, two lines. But I’m fine, chérie, I swear —”

“Don’t you chérie me. I’m not fucking you if you’re high.”

Lionel groaned in frustration. “I’m fine, really. Come on, let’s just do it, it won’t take long —”

He wrapped his arms around you and rolled you back onto the bed, kissing you sloppily again as he tried to align his cock with you again, the condom still only half rolled down.

“Lionel, seriously, stop it. I don’t want to fuck you like this.”

He groaned again, but he pulled away.

“I’m so fucking horny, [Y/n], I’m about to burst!”

“Then have a wank, but we are not having sex right now. I’m not aroused, it’ll hurt, and you’re not thinking straight.”

“Gah, fine.”

Lionel yanked the condom off his shaft and tossed it aside. He took his cock in his hand, and you’d hardly had chance to sit up properly before he came, his seed launching into the air by a few centimetres before landing on the bed.

“Would have been better in your cunt,” Lionel grumbled as he wiped his hand on the sheet.

“Yeah, well, too bad. Was it you that gave Sinclair coke?”

Lionel’s head snapped up to look at you with a frown.

“I’d never give Sinclair coke, he’d have a heart attack. Why, has he taken some?”

“Yeah, I found him outside mid-crash, vomiting in the bushes.”

Lionel swore loudly and tried to get up, but his trousers were still halfway down his thighs, so he ended up falling on the floor with a thump.

“He’s fine, he’s asleep,” you said as Lionel tried to stand up again. “I got him into bed, despite his best efforts to sleep on the stairs.”

Lionel paused trying to do up his fly.

“…He’s alright?”

“As he can be. He’s got water and a sick bucket. I even managed to keep him awake long enough to get him into his pyjamas, though I did feel like I was dressing a giant baby.”

Lionel sighed with relief. He finished doing his trousers up and began pacing around the room frantically, running his fingers through his hair.

“If I find out who gave Sinclair cocaine, I am going to fucking throttle them,” he swore. “Some fucking idiot probably thought it’d be funny. Fuck! I shouldn’t have left him alone.”

“You left me alone too.”

Lionel stopped his pacing and looked at you.

“Did I? All I remember is I lost you in the crowd, the next thing I knew I was in the sitting room with a rolled-up tenner. I don’t even remember… my mind’s blurry…”

He pinched his nose and furrowed his brow as he tried to put the pieces together, but it didn’t help that the drugs were still coursing through his system and his brain was moving too fast to stop and think.

“Li, can we stay in here for a bit? The party was getting a bit much for me anyway, and you’re probably gonna crash soon. I don’t want to have to drag you up the stairs like I did with Sinclair.”

Lionel laughed at the thought of you dragging a half-asleep Sinclair up the stairs. He looked up at the clock on the wall, and through his blurry, drunken vision he could just make out that it was 11.40.

“I hope I don’t pass out like Sinclair before 12. I want that New Year’s kiss.”

You smiled.

“Well, I’ll tell you what. I’ll go and get you some water and something to eat. You stay here and… I don’t know, run around in circles until the drugs wear off. We’ll have our New Year’s kiss, and by the time you crash, you’ll already be in bed. Unlike Sinclair, who crashed in a bush.”

Lionel nodded, and you could see by the way he was twitching and shifting his weight from foot to foot that he was still feeling the effects of the cocaine he’d taken, although the insane horniness seemed to have washed away when he came on the bed.

As you stood up from the bed and pulled your skirt down, you glanced at the stain he’d left.

“And if you’re feeling up to it, maybe change the sheets while I’m gone. I don’t fancy sleeping under a jizz-stained duvet.”

1972

A few days into the New Year, it was time for Lionel and Sinclair to go back to Cambridge. You didn’t bother holding in your sobs this time, and Lionel gently wiped a tear from your cheek with his gloved hand as you hugged him goodbye.

“There, there, love. We’ll be back before you know it. I promise I’ll call you as much as I can.”

You nodded, sniffling.

“I love you, my brave lion.”

He grinned. “And I love you, my fierce lioness.”

Lionel pressed a firm kiss to your cold lips and turned away to climb into Sinclair’s car. You turned to Sinclair and gave him a big hug.

“I’ll call you too, [Y/n]!” Sinclair promised. “And I also love you. Platonically. I don’t have a cute pet name for you, though.”

You laughed and pulled back from the hug. Despite the cold, and despite the sorrow at saying goodbye, he still shone with energy.

“Well, then, I’m going to call you a golden retriever,” you decided, “because if a golden retriever were to stand on its hind legs and turn into a human, I’m pretty sure it would just turn into you.”

Sinclair’s eyes lit up and he grinned. “I love that! Okay, we need to go, I want to get there before the sun goes down. Bye, [Y/n]! This has been the best Christmas break ever with you around. Thanks again for looking after me at New Year’s, if it weren’t for you I might have still been in that bush the next morning! Oh, and make sure you tell your parents I said bye, it was so great to meet them at Christmas —”

Sinclair was interrupted by the sudden honking of his own car’s horn. You both looked over and saw that Lionel had leaned over to the driver’s seat to slam his hand down on the horn.

“Sinclair, stop hogging my girlfriend and get your arse in the car!” he shouted, his voice slightly muffled by the car window.

“Go on, Clair, get going. Have fun talking Lionel’s ear off for the next two hours.”

Sinclair laughed and gave you one last hug. Lionel honked the horn again and kept his hand pressed firmly down until Sinclair had opened the car door and sat himself down.

You took a few steps back to give them some space to drive off, and with one last wave, they were gone.

Spring went by excruciatingly slowly, but at least you were busy. In late January, your dad opened a second branch of his cafe in Reading, so he was spending more and more time there, which meant leaving you to open and close the Basingstoke cafe on your own — so much so that he officially promoted you to assistant manager.

Sinclair and Lionel did come home for Easter, but it was over far too fast. You couldn’t get away from work as much now that you were assistant manager, and the boys had to prepare for their exams soon, so you only managed to see Lionel fleetingly. Easter came early that year, so they were due back at university before their birthdays, which meant you didn’t even get to celebrate with them.

Eventually, summer came around, and they came home. You managed to take some leave from work so you could spend time with Lionel, who was even more excited to see you than ever before. Helen and Georgina’s birthday party marked a year since you’d officially called yourselves boyfriend and girlfriend, and Lionel was actually humming to himself as he got dressed for the party.

“What’s got into you?” you asked with a laugh as you emerged from the bathroom, having finished your make-up, and heard his humming as he stood in front of the mirror.

“Nothing. I’m excited for the party, that’s all.”

“You explicitly told me last year you hate your mum’s party, that’s why you invited me, to make it bearable.”

Lionel shrugged, but he was still smiling as he adjusted his bowtie.

“I have a good feeling about tonight, that’s all.”

“Hmm, I don’t know… I think you know something I don’t.”

Lionel turned to you with a cheeky smile and pulled you into his arms.

“All I know is that I love you, chérie, and if you don’t know that, I’m not sure what else I can do to prove it.”

You giggled and batted his chest playfully. “You charmer, you. Well, whatever you’re avoiding telling me, I’m sure I’ll find out in due time. Now, I promised Sinclair I’d help him choose the wine from the cellar. Why he wants my opinion, I have no idea, but I’ve learnt not to question him.”

“Because asking him one question inevitably leads to a long-winded answer?”

“Precisely. I’ll see you in a little while, okay?”

“Alright. I love you, [Y/n].”

“I love you too,” you said with a smile. You leaned up to kiss him, then left to go and meet Sinclair in the wine cellar.

You’d been in the wine cellar only a few times. It was a strange place, completely cut off from the rest of the house, and when you closed the door behind you, it was easy to forget there was an entire house above you.

Sinclair hadn’t got a headstart, apparently. The wine was all still untouched, and he was pacing back and forth, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

“Hey, Clair. I’m here as promised. Not sure why you want my help with the wine, though, I know nothing.”

He froze when he saw you, his eyes wide in alarm, as if he hadn’t been expecting you.

“[Y/n], hi. Um, I lied. I don’t need your help with the wine. I need to talk to you… privately.”

You frowned and looked at him curiously. Whatever it was, it was clearly causing him great distress. You approached him and took his hands in yours, stopping his nervous fiddling with his shirt.

“What’s wrong, Sinclair? Is it something to do with Emily?”

He shook his head.

“No. No, not Emily. It’s about… Lionel.”

“Lionel? What about him?”

“Maybe… maybe we should sit down.”

Sinclair led you to a corner of the cellar and you both sat down on the small sofa you hadn’t even noticed before. It faced a low table, which you suspected was for tasting the wines to choose the perfect vintage.

Sinclair’s shirt sleeves were the next victim of his nervous fidgeting. He was leaning forwards slightly, his elbows resting on his knees as he stared at the floor, as if what he had to say was written down there somewhere.

“It’s two things, actually. One he doesn’t know that I know, and the other… he told me, but he made me promise not to tell.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t —”

“No, I have to,” Sinclair insisted. “I have to. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t. He’d probably say I’m betraying him by telling you, but… I’d be betraying myself more if I didn’t tell you.”

“Sinclair, you’re scaring me,” you said in a quiet voice.

He sat back, took a deep breath, and looked at you. The devastation and fear in his eyes had every worst scenario running through your head.

“Lionel’s been cheating on you.”

Your stomach dropped. You felt like someone had wrapped a fist around your heart and squeezed it tight. You didn’t even know what to say, what to think… your first instinct was to refuse to believe it, to insist Lionel would never do that to you. But another voice in your head told you that it explained a lot of questions you had been asking.

You’d told yourself he was becoming distant and calling less because he was busy with coursework, but if that were the case, why was Sinclair able to find the time to call you more regularly than your own boyfriend, when Sinclair’s timetable was much more hectic?

And you’d never understood Lionel’s reasoning for refusing to stop using condoms. You could go on the pill, you’d offered to several times, but he’d always said that he wanted to use condoms regardless. Because he didn’t want you to get pregnant, he said, but the pill was just as effective.

“How do you know?” you asked after a long moment of silence.

“I was suspicious for a while. He’s been acting weird all year, but I always put it down to adjusting to university, to missing you, to going out too much. The first thing that made me think something was up was when I was taking the bins out and I went into his ensuite to empty his bathroom bin, and I saw used condoms in there. I asked him about it, and he said he — he wanks into condoms to save on mess. I believed him.

But after a while, I started noticing a pattern. I always empty the bins on a Thursday, because the bin men come on Friday morning, and I would see the condoms on the top, like he’d just put them in there. Then there was a bank holiday, so the bin day changed, so I emptied it on a Wednesday instead, before I went to play cricket. And there were none in there. I thought that was weird, like he was wanking weekly, on a Wednesday. Who schedules that?

And then I had an awful thought. What if he was using them every week at the same time… because he was seeing someone every week at the same time? Specifically, while I was at cricket. I thought there was no way that was true. He loves you, he wouldn’t do that to you. But then he said something. We were at the pub with some mates, you know, boys’ banter. And he made a joke, he said, ‘I wank every day and that’s still not enough.’ But I thought that couldn’t be right, because I always found the condoms on the Thursday, and there were only ever one or two. Not that I counted, but the only other things I ever saw in there were empty loo rolls and beard hair. You know, they stood out. I’d have noticed if there were seven.

And so I… I decided to investigate. To see what he was doing on Wednesdays while I was at cricket. One of the guys on my course does photography as a hobby, he likes to sit in trees and photograph birds. So I asked him if he could try and see into our flat.”

Sinclair reached into his jacket pocket with a trembling hand, and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

“He gave me a few pictures. Some of them were - um - more explicit. Far more of him than I ever wanted to see. But this one showed enough to prove what was happening without, you know, showing too much. You don’t have to look at it, I just thought if you wanted proof…”

You snatched the photo from Sinclair’s hand before you changed your mind.

The sound you made then would haunt Sinclair for years to come. It was the sound of his friend’s heart breaking, of all your hopes and dreams for a future with Lionel smashing to the ground.

Sinclair’s friend had a good camera. It was Lionel, alright. Your boyfriend. He was sitting naked on the sofa, an expression on his face you’d seen many times — one you thought only you had seen. A naked woman was kneeling in front of him, her head in his lap, and his hand was on the back of her head.

“I’m really sorry, [Y/n],” Sinclair said quietly.

You shook your head, eyes still glued to the photo, as if looking at it longer would make it stop existing.

“Not your fault,” you said, your voice cracking slightly.

“I should have said something… shouldn’t have believed him about the condoms.”

You scoffed. Fucking condoms. No wonder he was so insistent on using them. Well, at least he was keeping you safe from STDs while he fucked other girls.

“Who is she?”

“I don’t know. I asked my mate to go back the next week and see if he could get a picture of her face. And he did, but… it was a different girl.”

Your fist clenched, and the photo became crumpled in your hand.

“...A different girl?”

Sinclair nodded, his eyes wide with trepidation, as if worried what you might do next.

“A different — what, does he fuck a different girl every week?!” you shouted, throwing the screwed-up photo on the floor.

It was one thing if it was another girlfriend. If he’d fallen in love with someone else but didn’t have the guts to break up with you, that was one thing. But if it was different girls, that meant he was just shagging them, and that made it worse, because it meant that putting his dick in something wet was more important to him than you were.

“I don’t know, [Y/n], I’m sorry, we broke up for summer that week so I wasn’t able to ask my mate to go back.”

“Did you confront him about it?”

“No, I’ve not told him that I know. I wanted to speak to you first. I thought you should decide what to do.”

“But you came home weeks ago! Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“I’ve been trying, but it’s so hard, [Y/n]. I kept changing my mind whether to even tell you or not, and whenever I did decide to tell you, I couldn’t get you alone. You’re always together. And you’re so happy together, I didn’t want to upset that. But when he told me about tonight, I knew I had to tell you.”

“Tonight?” you said with a frown. “What about tonight?”

You knew it. There was something Lionel wasn’t telling you. Something that was making him excited for a usually dreaded occasion…

“He’s going to propose.”

The fist that had gripped your heart earlier seemed to squeeze even harder.

Lionel was going to propose. He was going to get down on one knee, in front of everyone, and ask you to swear your fidelity to him, when he’d spent the better part of the last year sticking his cock in a different woman every week.

You stood up and prepared to storm out, but you heard Sinclair calling after you.

“[Y/n], wait —”

You paused at the bottom of the stairs and looked back at him, tears in your eyes.

“Thank you for telling me, Sinclair. You did the right thing.”

You left before he could convince you not to.

- - -

Sinclair usually dreaded his mum and Aunt Georgie’s birthday party, for all the reasons Lionel had told you last year. But this year, he was dreading it more than ever before.

He couldn’t get you alone again. He wanted to ask you what you were going to do, but you were nowhere to be seen, and he knew you hadn’t said anything to Lionel, because he was still buzzing with excitement for his grand proposal.

Everyone was in on it and, not knowing anything about what Sinclair had told you, Helen and Georgina were excited too. They both adored you, and they were sure you’d say yes.

Sinclair adored you too, of course. He wanted you to be his sister so badly. Okay, technically if you married Lionel you’d be his cousin-in-law, but Lionel would always be his big brother in Sinclair’s mind, so as far as he was concerned, if you married Lionel, you’d become his sister-in-law. And in some ways, he already saw you as his sister. You were definitely so much more than just his cousin’s girlfriend.

That was what had made the whole thing so difficult for him. He’d promised Lionel not to tell you about the proposal, but he knew he’d never forgive himself if he let you be proposed to in front of all those people without knowing the truth.

He hoped you could work it out. He certainly hadn’t told you in order to break you up. But you had to have all the facts before you made such a life-changing decision.

When his mum and aunt started herding guests into the main entrance hall, Sinclair knew it was time. He tried to find you, but among the crowd it was impossible. He didn’t catch a glimpse of you until you, he and Lionel were being herded up to the landing that overlooked the room.

Lionel had planned it all meticulously. Sinclair stood with the two of you on one side, his mum and aunt on the other. They quieted the crowd and Aunt Georgie spoke as if she were about to give a speech. On cue, Sinclair moved over to stand by his mum, leaving you and Lionel alone.

Georgina announced that Lionel had something to say, and suddenly all eyes were on the two of you. This was it. Your boyfriend, the person you loved and trusted most in the world, the person who’d betrayed you so utterly that looking at him now just made you want to cry — he was about to propose to you.

In front of everyone. Sinclair, Helen and Georgina, who’d taken you in as their own. Extended family, friends and friends of friends, they were all gathered together, all listening attentively as Lionel addressed them.

“A little over a year ago, just before the end of term, I had my future planned out. I was going to go to university, get a first class degree in Business Studies, and become a great businessman. I’m still doing all those things, of course; watch this space.”

A polite titter came from the crowd, and Lionel flashed a grin.

“But I hadn’t accounted for one thing. I hadn’t considered that one day, I’d sneak out of college for a smoke and find a strange girl I’d never seen before trying to peek into the windows.”

He looked at you with an amused smirk.

“I know what you’re all thinking — no, it wasn’t the boys’ changing room.”

Another polite laugh from the crowd.

“It was the Art classroom. You see, we had some original Monet paintings on display, and she wanted to see them. So I, never one to deny a beautiful woman in need, helped her sneak in to see them.”

Yeah, and you won’t deny any woman in need of dicking down, you thought bitterly.

“She left before I managed to get her number, but with the help of Sinclair here” — he gestured to his cousin, as if anyone was in doubt who he was — “I managed to track her down. She, it transpired, had been looking for me too, and was only too happy to let me take her out for a drink. The rest, as they say, is history.”

Lionel turned his attention fully to you. You were trying to keep your face blank, but you had no idea how you were coming across, only that Lionel was undeterred.

“[Y/n], despite my assertions that it was impossible, you really have tamed this lion. I have every intention of becoming the great man I’m destined to be, but I can only do it with you by my side.”

The crowd gasped as Lionel dropped to one knee. Somewhere, you heard a camera clicking. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring box. He opened it to present you with a sapphire-encrusted ring, and in another version of events, you might have marvelled at how beautiful it was.

“[Y/n] [L/n]… will you marry me?”

His speech was still ringing in your head. I had my future all planned out… I’m never one to deny a beautiful woman in need… I managed to track her down… I’m destined to be a great man.

It was all “I” and “me.” It was all him. His life, not yours; his plans, not yours. Most of the people in the crowd didn’t know you, and nothing Lionel had said had told them anything more.

It wasn’t about you — and maybe it never had been.

You took a steadying breath.

You loved him. You hated him. You didn’t want to break his heart. He’d already broken yours.

You only had one thing to say before you turned and left.

“No.”

- - -

1989

“Our… son,” Lionel repeated slowly. “You were… you were pregnant.”

“I didn’t know then. I only realised a few weeks later.”

“Oh, well, that’s alright then!” Lionel exclaimed sarcastically, waving his arms in a wild shrug. “It’s not like you had my phone number or my address. It’s not like I was trying to call you for weeks afterwards. It’s not like you could have fucking told me!”

“Would it have made any difference? I didn’t want you in my life, and you made it perfectly clear you didn’t want kids.”

“Just because I didn’t want to be a father, doesn’t mean I wouldn’t have! You had no right to make that decision for me, [Y/n]! I mean… Christ. How old is he now? Sixteen? Does he even know?”

“No. He knows who you are only because you’re famous. He has no idea I ever even knew you, let alone that you’re his father.”

“Does Sinclair know?”

“Sinclair? No, why would he know?”

“Well, he knew about everything else apparently.”

“No, Sinclair doesn’t know. I cut off contact with him too. It fucking sucked, because he’s one of the best people I’ve ever met, but I couldn’t bear to look at him, not when he looks so much like you.”

Lionel collapsed into a chair and buried his head in his hands.

“Christ. I can’t believe this.”

“If it makes you feel any better, you’re not on the birth certificate, so you don’t have any responsibility for him. If something happened to me, he wouldn’t show up on your doorstep.”

“But we used condoms!” Lionel said with a frown, pulling his hands away from his face to look at you, bemused. “We always used condoms.”

“Condoms break,” you said with a shrug. “Even your fancy ones.”

Lionel swore. He stood up again and began pacing around, running his fingers through his hair. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to either of you, you were being watched from a window, although your argument was muted to your observer.

“They’re really going at it,” Georgina said with concern. “Maybe we should intervene. I know Sinclair wanted to get them talking, but I don’t think this is what he hoped for.”

“He’s your son, George, you might be better equipped,” Helen replied, leaning over her sister’s head to peek outside.

“You know I want to, but I’ll feel ridiculous trying to calm him down when I’m all the way down here now. I know it’s his day, but maybe we should send Sinclair.”

Helen glanced over at her son, who was currently trying to balance chatting away at some friends with stuffing his face full of food from the buffet.

“I think you’re right. We just need to make sure nobody follows him outside. Tell you what, I’ll get the microphone and keep everyone distracted. You get him outside and guard the door.”

“Deal.”

Within minutes, Sinclair had abandoned his conversation and his plate of food, his aunt was parked in her wheelchair in front of the door, and his ears were being subjected to one of the worst arguments he’d ever heard.

“YOU JUST SAID I MADE THE RIGHT CHOICE, SO WHAT DOES IT MATTER?”

“IT WASN’T YOUR CHOICE TO MAKE, [Y/N]!”

“What the fuck is going on out here?!” Sinclair demanded. “This is my wedding! It’s supposed to be the happiest day of my life! Why are you having a bloody screaming match?!”

“Tell him, [Y/n]!” Lionel said to you with a sneer. “Tell Sinclair the truth. You won’t tell anyone, will you, Sinclair? Considering you didn’t tell me for seventeen fucking years why the only woman I’ve ever loved rejected my proposal in front of our entire family!”

Sinclair held his hands up innocently. “It wasn’t for me to tell! Wait – tell me what? Is there something else?”

Lionel stared daggers at you. You sighed and crossed your arms.

“I have a son,” you admitted. “We – we have a son.”

Sinclair’s jaw dropped. He looked between you and Lionel like you were playing tennis.

“Wait – you mean you and Lionel have a son? Li, you never told me –”

“That’s because I didn’t fucking know, you nitwit!” Lionel snapped. “You wanted to know why we’re having a bloody screaming match – that’s why. Because [Y/n] just told me that we have a bloody son.”

Sinclair stared at you as if you’d just grown an extra head. “Well… what’s his name?”

You laughed and shook your head.

“Lionel hasn’t even asked that yet, and it’s the first question out of your mouth.”

“You didn’t ask his name?” Sinclair said to Lionel with a frown.

“I don’t want to know! I don’t want to know anything. This isn’t changing anything. Clearly, [Y/n] thinks they’re getting on just fine without me, so they can continue that way. I don’t want to know his name, his school, his birthday, nothing. What I would like to know, however, is why my wheelchair-bound mother is sitting in front of the door like a fucking bouncer.”

Lionel pointed towards the door; through the window, the back of Georgina’s chair was visible.

“She’s making sure nobody follows me out here. So we could have a private conversation.”

You sniffed and stood up straight.

“I’m sorry, Sinclair. You’re right, this is your day. I ruined your mums’ birthday party in ‘72, now I’m ruining your wedding day. I should leave.”

You went to walk past him, but Sinclair placed a hand on your shoulder.

“I’m sorry, [Y/n]. I thought if you and Lionel talked, you could work things out. At least put the past behind you.”

You shook your head.

“Sinclair, you’re sweet. But this is too messy to just talk it out. Um, but before I go…”

You took both his hands in yours and looked at him seriously.

“I know my opinion doesn’t matter, and you can make your own choices, and I might be totally wrong about this. But for what it’s worth… you can do so much better than Natalie.”

You gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“Bye, Clair. I really hope you prove me wrong.”

You didn’t give him a chance to respond, and you didn’t give Lionel a second glance. You opened the door back into the reception, and Georgina moved her chair out of the way. You locked eyes for a second, and you hesitated.

“Georgina… I’m really sorry I ruined your birthday. Would you tell Helen for me? I’m – I’m gonna go, before I ruin this wedding too.”

Georgina didn’t say anything, so you left.

You were at the reception desk, waiting for a staff member to call you a taxi, when Sinclair came jogging up to you.

“[Y/n], wait!”

“Sinclair…”

“Just… one thing. Would you tell me your son’s name? I know Lionel doesn’t want to know, but I’d really like to, if that’s okay with with you. And maybe one day, if he does want to know… I could tell him. So he won’t have to bother you.”

You smiled. How was he always so sweet? It was his wedding day, you’d just blown up at his cousin and told him you didn’t like his new wife, and he was still concerned about you.

“His name is Cole.”

“Cole. Cool! Cool Cole, ha ha. Um, I don’t suppose we can still be friends, can we?”

You shook your head, tears welling in your eyes. “No, Sinclair, I’m sorry. I want to be… and maybe one day we can. But you’re too close to Lionel.”

Sinclair nodded his head sadly. “I understand. Well… it was nice seeing you again, [Y/n]. Despite the argument, I am really glad you came. If you ever need anything - and if Cole ever needs anything - just come find me, ‘kay?”

You nodded. Sinclair kissed you on the cheek, and with a sad smile, he turned back to the party.

[mysteriousxgirls]

Liyana sat still, barely blinking, her milkshake long forgotten between them. She heard every word he said. Not just with her ears—but with her heart. The way his voice dipped low when he talked about the jobs, the blade, the books… the way he laughed, soft and almost self-conscious when he mentioned poetry. She used to joke he didn’t have the patience to read instructions on a cereal box, and now he was quoting verses to keep himself sane. That alone nearly undid her. She could feel the pressure building behind her ribs, the kind of ache that didn’t explode—but cracked you slow. Piece by piece. Her fists tightened under the table, nails biting into her palm. It was the gang. She knew it. She hated them for it. They had sunk their teeth into him back then, pulled him under when they were both too young and stupid to understand the cost. If they hadn’t? God, if they hadn’t—he wouldn't have gone down like that. Wouldn’t have done time. Wouldn’t have had to fight to survive in a place that didn’t give a damn whether he made it out whole.

And maybe… just maybe, they’d still be something. Married, even. Kids, maybe. The house with the loud music and the sink that always leaked, the kind of chaos that made life feel alive. She closed her eyes for a second, jaw locked tight, and inhaled slowly—then looked up again. A small smile tugged at her lips, soft and proud and aching all at once. “Yeah… I can see you worked out,” she said gently, letting her gaze drift over him, teasing—but the weight in her voice still clung to her like fog. “Poetry, hm? And reading? Look at this guy doing shit he never done before.” The corner of her mouth lifted, a weak attempt to pull the mood out of its heaviness, because that’s what she did. She’d always been the one to make him laugh when the silence got too sharp. “Tattoos, huh?” she said, voice a little lower now. “Then I think you gotta give me one. I want a new one. You still got a steady hand, or you outta practice?” She reached across the table, brushing his knuckles with hers just briefly, just enough to let him know: she was still here. Still saw him. Not as the man prison tried to shape—but as the boy who once promised her the moon from a corner store parking lot. And as the man who, despite everything, had survived.

Diego leaned back in the booth, arm draped over the top like he owned the space, but his fingers drummed slow and steady against the vinyl. He looked at her—really looked—and when he spoke, his voice had that low, gravelly calm that came after too many years of holding shit in. "Ain’t much to tell that don’t sound ugly, but… you asked." He glanced at the shake in her hands, the soft curve of her cheek where color bloomed. She still got shy when he looked at her too long. Still cute as hell. Still dangerous. “Worked out damn near all day. You stop moving in there, you lose yourself. Weights, pushups, whatever. Best thing to pass the time" His fingers paused. A slow exhale.

"Did kitchen duty for a while—servin' trays, cleaning grease off floors. Then laundry. Janitor shit. Cut grass when they let us outside. I ain’t complain. You get too picky in there, you starve." His gaze dropped for a second, to the table, to the half-melted milkshake between them. He tapped the condensation with his knuckle. “Kept my head down when I had to, pero I ain’t let no one punk me." He shifted, something almost like pride tugging at his mouth. “Cut hair for ramen, candy, all that. Got nice with the blade. Tatted a few guys—just names at first, little pieces. Then they started coming to me for tribute pieces. Their kids, moms, dead brothers... shit like that." He looked back up at her then, and this time his eyes weren’t cocky—they were just tired. Raw. Honest. “And yeah… I read. A lot. Who would've thought, right?" A short, breathy laugh. "Kept my mind right. Business, street psychology, law shit. Even read poetry once. No lie. Kinda hit. “

[fandomlit]

haunted by the living (sirius black x reader)

requested by anon "hello! can you please write for older!sirius? it’s hard for his wife to be comfortable in his presence again after so long so she kind of ignore him because she just doesn’t know how to act, and during a meeting with the order, he saw her talking with everyone expect him. like she’s even close to severus and he gets jealous."

summary when sirius returned from azkaban, the idea of seeing you was his greatest motivator. but when you don't know how to interact with him, he's left to wallow until remus convinces sirius to show you the man he's been all along; the man you fell in love with.

warnings ANGSTT, pure angst so much of it, swearing, drinking

a/n okay so maybe i got carried away w this one but im obsessed with this idea

gif cred belongs to @peaceseller

it was hard to get back into normal life after spending so long is azkaban. sirius was finding different ways to adjust every day--from the amount of his appetite, to even feeling like the days were faster. there were many things different from before his time in prison to the modern day. but there was one thing in particular that he hadn't expected to change to much:

you.

you and sirius had been married for two years when he was arrested, but had been pining lovers in hogwarts for three years before that. he dreamed of you nearly every day in his azkaban delusions and the moment he first saw you again brought sweet, sweet relief to his heart. that is, until you completely turned away from him and resumed talking with a confused molly.

he felt like he's been walking on eggshells ever since.

you still stopped by grimmauld place nearly every day like every member of the order, but it was always in the company of someone else and never did you offer more than a few glances at sirius throughout the evening. if his cabin fever in the old, traumatic home wasn't already driving him mad, your interactions surely would. but he had no idea what to do.

he confided in remus one evening after everyone else had left. they sat in the kitchen, a warm butterbeer in remus's grasp with a glass of firewhisky rested in sirius's.

"it breaks my heart, moony," sirius spoke gravely, gaze trained furiously on the table as he thought about the mere glimpse he had gotten of you that day before you turned away from him. "i don't know what to do."

remus was silent for a long moment, nodding minutely to himself. "i think she's just scared, sirius."

sirius's head snapped up and he was less than surprised to feel a tear shake loose and roll down his cheek from the movement. "scared? of me?"

remus's lips pursed. "no," he said softly. "not of you, i don't think." he let out a sigh and tilted his head back, looking somewhere faraway as he considered his words. "i think she just spent so long thinking of you in a certain image, in a certain sense of betrayal, that it's hard for her just to go back from those thoughts. she can't just rewire her brain all in a month, you know. i imagine she's just struggling to grasp that you, this entire time, have just been you.'' though his heart panged harshly in his chest, sirius watched remus's expression carefully as he continued, "y/n was completely broken after you were taken, sirius. she didn't want to believe a word the press was saying, because she knew you better than anyone else, but sitting there in denial hurt her.

"after a while, i think it was easier for her to believe what they were saying rather than sit there knowing that you were innocent and there was nothing that she could do."

they were both silent for a long time after that, drinking thoughtfully.

"do i just wait it out?" sirius asked quietly. "wait until she comes to me?"

remus let out another long sigh, raising his mug to his lips again. "it's hard to say." sirius nodded, looking down at the near-empty glass in his hands. "but if i were you.." his gaze raised again. remus gave him a smile that was half-amused and half-pitying, "i would start to try to make her see that you're the same as you've always been. stop the moping, start becoming someone who can't be ignored. you know--start being more.. you."

sirius contemplated that for a moment before letting out a short laugh. "you were always the schemer of us, moony." he smiled at his friend, to which they both laughed and clinked their glasses, downing the rest of their drinks before they began to delve into ideas.

it was three days later that you made your next appearance at grimmauld place for their weekly reports over dinner. sirius and remus lingered by the doorway, helping everyone with their coats and making sure mrs. black stayed quiet as they entered.

when you arrived with tonks, you gave remus a hello and him a brief nod before you began to remove your coat. sirius slid behind you swiftly and grasped your collar before your hands could even get near.

he felt you stiffen for a minute as he muttered a gentle, "allow me." keeping a respectable distance and touching anything other than the thick material of your coat as little as possible, he helped you slip your arms out and then take it into his hands to hang up.

"thank you," you spoke softly, not making eye contact as your head inclined in his direction. before he could even breathe, you whisked into the kitchen with tonks following behind with a grin on her face. she turned and flashed sirius a thumbs up before disappearing around the corner.

sirius didn't realize that he still wasn't breathing until remus clapped him on the back. he grinned, his heart fluttering like he was a pining student all over again for you. "she spoke to me!"

"it's a small start," remus nodded, laughing as if he was just as relieved as sirius was, "but it's a start!"

sirius rode that high for the rest of the evening, despite having no other opportunity to directly interact with you again. but the few glances you stole at him that evening had him feeling especially prideful when he went to bed that night. it was the most hopeful he had felt since he first saw you.

a few nights later there was no regular order meeting, but many of the members ended up in grimmauld place anyway. it was a less serious evening than usual; there was little news to work with that week, and so there was a jovial, casual dinner that ensued. it wasn't the first time that such an occasion occurred, but it was the first time you had attended an evening like this.

sirius, as per usual, had made some grumble about being cooped up in the dusty home, which was received with better spirits than usual. many of the order teased him as they downed their meals and drinks.

remus nearly choked as a tipsy tonks pointed at sirius with her fork, "maybe if you looked less like a criminal you'd be more fit for the public, eh? lose the facial hair, i say!" the table burst into laughter, even kingsley tipping his head back to let out a deep laugh.

sirius threw his hands up. "no razors in azkaban, you know!" the laughter only continued, and sirius couldn't keep the grin off of his face as he saw you laughing along. "you stay a certain way for ten years and you find it hard to go back!" he saw something flicker in your eyes for a moment when he glanced over, but his attention was grabbed again before he could decipher it.

"i think it'd help if you didn't have that mischievous look about you," bill grinned, leaning back in his chair. "you've got that look that fred and george always do--you always look like you're up to something." the table chuckled again.

"should've seen him when that mischief was at work," remus mused. "could never keep a secret when him and james had some new scheme forming. right, y/n?"

there was a collective intake of breath--or maybe that was just me, sirius thought to himself--as the attention of the table shifted to you. you had a wary look in your eyes as your cheeks went adorably red, but you still smiled with a chuckled, "don't i know it." your gaze turned to sirius for the briefest of moments, but that short second where your eyes met had his entire body feeling electrified.

"so, y/n," tonks piped up as everyone had nearly finished their plates. there was several conversations going at once now; kingsley and moody were muttering to each other about something more serious than the tone at the table, while bill and remus chuckled to each other. but the second your name was spoke, he was zoned into your expression. "what have you been up to? i feel like i never see you outside of this place anymore!"

"yes, i'm sorry, dora," you smiled guiltily. "work and order duties have been keeping me plenty busy lately. we're getting closer to winter, which means people somehow get more reckless."

sirius couldn't help but smile at that little implication--you were still working as a healer, then. his mind flashed with memories of you patching him and the other boys up back in the hogwarts dormitories and the hell you would give them for their recklessness on nights other than the full moon. that helping, passionate y/n was still sitting in front of him, even if she was more reserved in present company. his heart sank when he acknowledged that it was mostly his presence tampering down your energy.

".. seems to happen every year!"

you suddenly let out a loud laugh at whatever anecdote tonks had just finished, and sirius snapped out his brooding mind. you held a hand to your mouth as the uncontrollable laughter spilled out, your friend looking positively self-satisfied as she shot a pointed look at sirius. he raised his glass minutely to her when he took a sip.

"you never fail to entertain, dora," you sighed and sirius found his eyes glued to your bright features; the flush on your happy face and the unconscious curve of your lips were so familiar to him that his heart ached. he knew he had to be smiling himself.

eventually, moody stood up to go and rest of the group followed. remus stayed behind, saying something about having a drink before turning in, but sirius's gaze was too focused on your retreating form and he found himself following the group to see them out.

they all gathered their coats and began to step out one by one, waving their tipsy and happy goodbyes to sirius as they went. you were the last of the group, and shockingly you offered him a wave and wary smile before turning around. he gave you a nod before turning, not wanting to press his luck with you any further this evening--he already had plenty of dream fuel for that night.

"by the way," you offered, and sirius immediately spun back around to see you gazing at him, but with a less cautious smile on your face, "i like the facial hair." you turned and left before sirius could even think to react. he let out a laugh when he could breathe again, grinning like a maniac to himself.

"what's got you kicking your feet?" remus questioned, nudging a glass of firewhisky toward sirius, who immediately took a swig before throwing his hands dramatically out.

"i'm never shaving again."

sirius noticed a serious increase in efforts to interact from you after that evening. it was never anything major--just more smiles and looks and you seemed to get more and more comfortable every time you returned to grimmauld place.

but it was two weeks later when it at all came together.

it had been a quiet day around the house, and sirius had just accepted that it was going to be a day without a visit from an order member when the front door opened. moments later, you stood in the kitchen doorway and his heart stopped.

you seemed taken aback to only see sirius standing there. "hello, sirius." his heart hammered as you placed a gentle hand on the doorframe. "sorry if i'm interrupting your evening.. has severus stopped by at all today?"

he couldn't help the burn of jealous that instinctively sparked in his chest at the idea of you seeking out severus instead of him. "no, not today." you nodded, still hesitating in the doorway. "why?"

you shrugged. "just checking in on hogwarts mostly. and harry." his lips quirked at that. a few moments of silence passed where he couldn't decide what to say, but knew that he would say anything to get you to stay at least a little longer. but just then, kreacher set down a dinner plate at the table and you broke the silence with a soft, "well, i'll let you get to your dinner, sorry if i interrupted your evening." you began to lean away and sirius couldn't let it happen.

"you should stay." the words came out quickly, and probably more desperately than he would have liked, but they made you pause. "for dinner," he clarified, and nearly immediately kreacher set another plate at the table. sirius had never felt a deeper appreciation for the house elf than in that moment.

you seemed to grapple with yourself internally for a moment, eyes locked on the plate of food and what it could possibly mean to you. residing it as his last effort, sirius spoke sincerely, "please." your eyes drifted to meet his and he couldn't read your expression, but you finally stepped into the kitchen.

"you've always been very convincing, sirius." he didn't bother to suppress his grin as he stepped over to help you remove your coat and pull out your chair for you. he scrambled to sit as you spoke your thanks, noticing how intensely his hands were shaking as you took a long sip of your water.

you both had barely began to eat when sirius couldn't hold his tongue any longer--not with you finally sitting alone with him. "how have you been, y/n?"

you nodded as you swallowed your bite of food. "good. things have been hectic lately, but i've been known to handle chaos well." you looked up at him to see him smiling knowingly and nodding along. a small smile crept to your lips as you spoke softly, "how have you been, sirius?"

hearing his name on your lips, so casually, was like a breath of fresh air and heaven all in one. he forgot his cabin fever for a moment. "fine enough."

"i'm glad," you spoke gently. he realized his gaze was heavily locked on you and rushed to look away, picking at his plate for a moment so as to not make you uncomfortable. he would never forgive himself if he ruined this night by being too eager.

there were a few minutes of silence where he tried to mentally dig up any casual conversation starter that wasn't ,"how's the weather?" or, "what did i miss?". but you put a stop to those thoughts when he heard you take a quiet, shaky breath.

"i'm sorry, sirius." your voice was no louder than a whisper, but his gaze snapped to you in an instant. you were staring down at your plate of food, fork trembling in your hand. "i-i know i've been terrible. i've been avoidant and distant and-and everything a wife shouldn't be." his heart broke at the tears that slipped down your cheeks. he bit his tongue and resisted the urge to wipe them away for you--this was your moment of truth, not his. "i've just had a hard time believing any of this is.." you lifted your head and wiped the tears from your cheeks, but your eyes still didn't meet his. "real."

sirius nodded. when it seemed you weren't going to speak again, he said quietly, "i know. me either, honestly." your gaze finally turned to him and you seemed less than surprised to find his already burning into yours. "from my imprisonment to my release, all of this has been unbelievable. and truly.." his hand inched toward yours on the table. he took it as a small victory when you didn't flinch away. "i don't blame you one bit for your reaction."

your gaze flicked between his hand, so close to yours, and his solemn face. "you don't?"

"no," he whispered seriously. "at first, i was hurt. remus heard me blubber about it for weeks." his heart swelled with a small bit of pride when your lips quirked at that. "but he helped me understand your perspective, and i see why you would be hesitant. you thought you were lied to, and after so many years you found out that that was a lie. it's hard to live like that."

you shook your head. "i'm so sorry, sirius." once again, his name was bliss on your lips. and he nearly ascended when your hand was the one that reached to his, fitting your palm perfectly into his grasp. he squeezed tight, feeling like a schoolboy again at the way such a small touch made his heart pound. "i never wanted to believe any of the lies, but.. when no one's around to tell you they're lies, it's so hard. and then to find out that i was right all along, it was such a shock, i.." you frowned at him. "i didn't know what to do. who to trust. it took me back to all of those years ago when you were taken from me and i could barely breathe, let alone think."

his heart ached for that past version of you that he couldn't comfort. but it swelled for the version of you that bared the truth to him now. "i know. and i swear, y/n, i will never give you a reason to doubt me again. i-if you choose to give me another chance."

he was worried he had jumped the gun when more tears slid down your cheeks. "sirius black, do you seriously think i would leave you now?"

sirius couldn't help the joy that forced him out of his chair. his arms wrapped around you, forcing you to stand with his embrace. you immediately clung to him and he never in his life had felt something so inherently right.

he pressed his lips to your hair and whispered, "i love you so much, y/n." at first he thought it was too quiet to hear until your face turned out of his chest and toward his.

"i love you, too, sirius," you spoke, and leaned in to kiss him. he instantly melted into you and realized his earlier thought was far too soon: this was right. this was everything.

sirius kissed you as delicately and as passionately as he could all at once; like he was trying to tell you about all of the thoughts he'd had of you over the years, of how he dreamed of this very moment, while at the same time praying that if this were a dream, he wouldn't shatter the illusion.

you kissed each other breathless, until you couldn't stand it. but standing in that cool kitchen with your foreheads pressed to each other, faces flushed and eyes hooded, it felt just as intimate as anything else.

"please, y/n," sirius whispered, "stay with me."

you pressed another long kiss to his lips. "i don't think there's any chance of getting me to go now." sirius couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. before either of you could say another word, he scooped you into his arms as you gasped. you laid a hand on his still-pounding heart as he carried you away to the stairs.

and as you lay in bed together, your eyes memorizing every feature of the face you hadn't gazed upon in far too long, you muttered to him one last apology, "i'm sorry. i had something so wonderful taken away from me once.. i couldn't bear if that same thing was taken again."

sirius's moonlit eyes turned to you, and the adoration in them stole your breath. you weren't sure your heart was going to survive this evening. he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. "i'm not going anywhere, my love."

[lostsyren]

ʚଓ⋆ mariposa

{summary: after rafe told her to marry him and quit her job sofia is left unsteady from the break up. she finds work at a strip club to make ends meet. on the other side of the island, rafe is feeling similarly unmoored…so he takes a trip with barry to blow off some steam…}

{a/n: sorry for being inactive! busy with uni work! but i had this in the drafts and finally decided to finish it! i mostly avoided writing it because it made me upset, but the idea wouldn’t leave so hereeee, it’s long, be warned!}

{warnings: sex work, disassociation, misogynistic language, lots of angst}

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He got his money back. With interest. More than half a mil securely transferred into his account. But coming back home to Kildare wasn’t like he imagined.

In the back of his mind Rafe had slotted away ideas for honeymoon destinations, bridal shops on the island, the name of her family church. But now all that information was useless, and he tried to slowly part ways with it.

Part ways with the memory of Sofia too.

She’d listened to him. Of course she did. Every single piece of her was effaced from the house: the hair ties she’d leave around on the counters, her toothbrush in the bathroom, the book she kept at his on the nightstand. It’s like she scrubbed extra carefully making sure there was zero trace of her left in his life.

But when he saw the pile of neatly folded T-shirts in his drawers– T-shirts he’d given to her, Rafe swore he felt his heart lurch into his throat. That gut wrenching, sick feeling only proliferated when he spotted the glint of his mother’s diamond ring on the living room table. Fuck Sofia for making him feel like that. For making him feel bad. He can just imagine her now– her big puppy eyes on the other end of the phone line, watery and so god damn wounded, as if she was some tormented saint.

He hoped he’d see her at the bar. The reason? He couldn’t say. Maybe so he could see her wallow in her choice to betray him. Or maybe it was to talk– ask her why the fuck did she do that– why the fuck did she ruin it? He was doing so well, he was so good.

But of course she listened to him. Yet again. She always listened. Nodding her head like a good little girl.

Yes baby? Sure thing Rafe! Okay babe…

He remembered with a bitter, guilty twang what he said to her when he was down on one knee.

Quit your job…

And she went ahead and fucking did that didn’t she? Serves her right. Whatever money Groff and Hollis gave her must’ve been enough to tide her over. That what he told himself at least, to subdue the guilt.

Rafe sniffed a sharp inhale of air, throwing his drink back with a cold disregard. It was too bitter– the new bartender was shit. Rolling his shoulders, Rafe strained to shut off his eddying thoughts. He didn’t have time to worry about her. He had other things to deal with.

First order of business: pay Barry back for his boat.

Rafe left the country club, heading over to Barry’s place down by the docks. It was nearing sunset and by the time he reached the house, the sky was streaked with lines of orange and pink.

Barry was already sitting on the porch, smoking a blunt, lazy smirk on his face when he saw Rafe pull up in his Mercedes.

“You better be here to reimburse me for my shit bro.” Barry called out when Rafe exited the car.

“Don’t worry Barry, I get paid you get paid– just like old times amiright?”

Barry let out a low chuckle, opening the front door to let Rafe in, “except I never did get paid all that often huh?”

They ended up on the kitchen counter (much more spacious than the dingy kitchenette at the trailer park) sipping at beers Barry pulled from the refrigerator.

“So, you back for good now? No more crashin’ boats on distant shorelines typa shit anymore?”

Rafe nodded with a wry smile. “Yeah…back for good.”

“Your girl must be happy you’re home, huh?”

Rafe’s smile faltered and brows furrowed, like two deep notches on his forehead. Barry picked up quickly on his tangential plummet into anger. Or annoyance. Rafe swung between the two quickly.

“She not your girl anymore or is she not happy you’re back?”Barry needled.

Rafe’s eyes darted downward, his nostrils flaring slightly. Barry never did know when to lay off.

“What did you do country club?”

“What?” Rafe hissed, finally snapping at his provocation, “what did I do? Why do you assume it was my fault?”

Barry was unfazed at his sudden slip into anger, like he’d seen worse. He just chucked coolly, taking another languid sip, “‘cause it usually is dawg.”

Rafe’s blue eyes burned with a flash of hot emotion. Why did everyone think everything was on him? He’d treated her so fucking well and here Barry was looking at him as if he’d thrown her out on to the street. “Yeah well it wasn’t my fault. It was hers. She fucked up. Not me.”

“What did she do? Cheat on you with that frosted tips guy? Y’know– Table topper or whatever?”

Rafe scrunched his nose at the image, “hell no. She sold me out. Fuckin’ pogue mentality isn’t it.”

He didn’t even know what he was saying at this point. He just knew that it hurt her whenever he’d say that. Pogue. Injected with such venom. She couldn’t hear him, but blaming her shut down the question that endured in his mind all across Morocco and Lisbon. That bounced around the spongy walls of his brain.

What did he do to make her betray him?

That’s the thing about saints– they never act without a just cause.

Rafe didn’t bother looking at Barry for reassurance. He could never glean that out of him. He heard his ex drug dealer scoff under his breath, the glass lip of the bottle hitting his golden tooth as he took another swig.

“Yeah well this pogue right here sold you out too– now you’re sittin’ n drinkin’ with him.”

Rafe’s nose twitched. He hadn’t made that connection in his mind.

“Yeah well I knew you were a piece of shit. She– ” Rafe had to pause, levelling his breath as his chest constricted, “she wasn’t.”

A silence settled. A nausea tossed about the pit of his stomach.

Barry intervened with a harsh slap against the counter, “okay well I know just the thing to get you out of this weird ass funk, country club.”

Rafe flickered his red rimmed eyes up to meet Barry’s. “You do? And don’t say dope.”

Barry laughed, licking his lips, “good one. Nah not this time. The only remedy for a breakup is some more pussy.”

Rafe shook his head almost immediately, “what the fuck bro?”

“Just chill a’ight? There’s this strip club that opened couple months ago the next island over– we should go. Maybe it’ll get your mind off of things.”

“What? Like right now?”

“Yeah why not? I’m down.”

Half an hour later, after Barry poured some liquor down Rafe’s throat to make him more amenable to the idea, they were driving down the OBX bypass, on route to Island Paradiso.

***

It was just meant to be a bartending stint. Just so she could get back on her feet again.

She’d tried to get her old job back at the country club, about to get on her knees and beg her manager. But it was too late.

The position had been filled��tough luck kid.

Four years she’d slaved away making margaritas and wiping down countertops, all with a pretty smile on her face, and it was gone. Just like that.

All because of Rafe Cameron.

Sofia shook away the memory of him as if it was detachable, like he was just simply velcroed to inside of her brain and all she needed to do was shake her head and tense her jaw and he would come tumbling out of her skull.

She was good at hiding from things. She was good at ignoring the glaringly obvious pitfalls of her life. But with that man, he insisted himself onto her subconscious. He was inside of her, reminding her of how stupid she’d been. She can’t even blame him– she saw this coming a mile away. She just didn’t want to believe it. So she hid like she always did, nestling comfortably in the Egyptian cotton sheets of his bed, swaddled in the cushiony notion that they loved each other and that was all that mattered.

“Sofia wake the fuck up!” A voice on her left suddenly called out.

She snapped out of her lapsing thoughts (she’d found herself floating in a dissociative haze more and more often these days) and looked down to see the drink begin to overflow onto the bar.

“Shit shit shit I’m sorry,” she began, scampering to clean up her mess.

“That’s coming out of your cut okay?”

Sofia just nodded, her stomach twisting with a sharp tug. She needed that money.

When she was with Rafe, he’d always needle her about her job.

You can always quit you know…I already pay for all your shit, you don’t need it…baby just stay at home with me, yeah…

It’s like he didn’t even consider that she was responsible for other people. The money wasn’t for her nails and hair and whatever other things Rafe ‘took care of’ for her. She had her family, her siblings, her parents. They relied on her.

It was clear to her Rafe never had anyone rely on him. She could tell by the way he acted. Even though he forced himself to be needed (throwing his money everywhere, cornering people into a pseudo dependency), Sofia could sense the childishness of his whims. It was like when she’d gotten $50 dollars for her Quinceañera and went out with her siblings and cousins to the store and made everyone buy some candy, because it was on her. Rafe forced everyone to buy candy just so he had someone to eat his with.

Sofia knew all this yet she still went ahead and quit her job, turning this pseudo dependency into a full blown reliance. And what did Rafe Cameron do as soon as there was someone who truly relied on him? He kicked her out, when she didn’t play the way he wanted to play.

But again, Sofia couldn’t blame him. It was her fault for hurting him. Her stomach writhed again at the memory of her duplicity. Worst thing was, she hadn’t even touched the 25k Hollis gave her. It just sat in the shoebox under her bed gathering dust at the heed of her guilt.

Instead she picked up a job at a club, next island over. There was nothing for her in Kildare. With all the rezoning laws and the steady trickle of Figure 8 moolah finding its way into the Cut, more businesses were shutting down, replaced with scaffolding and TO LET signs.

Thankfully a friend of hers knew of a bartending gig, less than an hours drive away down the highway.

And that’s how she ended up here. Under the neon lights of a very different type of club.

At first, that’s all it was. Make the drinks and serve the customers. But the tips were nothing compared to the country club. Why tip the bartender when you could pay for a lap dance?

And when the bills at home started piling up, her parents questioning if her manger had docked her wages (she still hadn’t told them she’d quit, let alone how she was engaged for a freak second), that’s when she’d looked over to the main stage, littered in a blanket of Benjamins and swallowed her pride.

“Sofia you’re up in a bit,” called her manager, Hayes.

She nodded with a smile, still cleaning up the sticky surface of the counter top. Hayes was a nice man– mid forties, tall and burly with long brown hair that he slicked back and a scruffy beard. He spoke with a thick, southern twang and could be found smoking a cigar in the room overlooking the club.

“Okay boss.”

Sofia headed back to where the girls were. She hadn’t made much friends. No one liked it when there was new blood– it meant there was less for them. So Sofia just stayed in her lane, not biting when they threw her a bone to chew at and eventually she became just another dancer trying to make her way.

And besides, it’s not like she was replacing them. Sofia could just about walk in her heels, and she avoided anything too risqué. She’d told Hayes about her qualms and he’d listened.

She only danced three days a week. The rest were solely bartending. She got to keep her clothes on (which wasn’t much to begin with) and she could decline the private dances if she wanted to. Hayes would always vet the guys who’d be interested in her. Sofia didn’t know if he was just humouring her, but that little thumbs up he’d do made her heart beat a bit more evenly, especially when she’d be grinding up against the patrons.

“You know what songs you’re dancing to tonight?” Sofia looked behind her in the mirror as she was applying her makeup to see one of the girls hover by her shoulder.

“I gave the DJ the list you wrote me,” she resumed her eyeliner.

She eventually made a singular friend. Her name was Mina and she was a regular. Mina was all warm skin and tough love. She was only a couple years older than Sofia, but Sofia often forgot that fact when she’d lived so much life in comparison to her. She was the one who helped her get to grips with it all: makeup, clothing, name.

“You gotta have a stripper name baby!”

She’d said, starring at a newbie Sofia, whilst taking a drag from her cigarette.

She told her to lean into being Latina– Sofia needed a niche. Something these men could remember her by. If she wasn’t going to show her tits or pussy then she needed to distract them with something else.

So Sofia settled on Mariposa…Spanish for butterfly. It was cute. Sweet. Pretty. That paired with the sultry reggaeton music Mina suggested she go with, the flashy gold jewellery and the hot pink and red sets, the cash came quick, patrons slipping bills down the waistband of her pants and dip of her bralette.

Sofia was used to the routine of things now. She felt more confident on stage. She couldn’t do any of the more skilled moves the other girls excelled at, but she could dance half decently. And besides, the money she scraped from bartending covered what she wasn’t making.

She tried not to think too hard about what she was doing. The minutes when she was on stage it felt like a pink, glitzy mist settled over her– the glitter on her eyes and the lowlights on the floor tugging her into a dissociative state. It was just her and the music. The faces in the crowd blurred and she focused on the feel of the paper tickling her skin rather than the brush of beer stained fingers. No one groped or mauled– Hayes was a scary man with a gun. Sofia sometimes saw it peek from his waistband whenever he’d stretch.

She just let her thoughts dissolve into jelly and felt herself float from her body, detached.

At least for the moment.

The guilt hit her when she’d be asleep in her bed, that ineradicable Catholic upbringing making her skin feel dirty and heart throb in her chest. That’s when she’d bring her hands together and look up to God, begging him to understand, pleading for him to see her point of view. No one else seemed to.

But right now, she focused on her reflection in the mirror, trying to ignore the dark bags under her eyes from the late hours and shoddy sleep.

Sofia reached for the concealer.

***

Rafe entered the club following Barry’s lead, the sound of bass and smell of alcohol hitting him instantly.

His eyes roamed around the room. The dull glow of pinks and purples and reds shrouding everyone’s faces in a thick shadow.

Rafe had never been to a strip club before. He’d lied about it for sure– his fraught year at college making him real good at coming up with shit. But the idea of paying to see a woman flash her tits at you was stupid to him, as if porn didn’t exist.

But maybe Barry was right. He’d held Sofia in such high regard and look where that got him. Miserable and depressed, flushing money on overpriced shots at a strip bar. He needed to distract himself– make the image of her leave his brain, because no matter how drunk or dazed he got, all he could see was her face when he closed his eyes.

“You feelin’ better yet?” Barry chucked leaning against the bar beside him. He watched as Rafe’s gaze roamed the club, straying when it reached the dancer on the stage, her body wrapped around the pole.

“No,” he grumbled, throwing back another shot, quickly growing bored.

“You don’t need to stick by me y’know? Go get a lap dance or some shit or a closer look at least.”

“Why don’t you?”

“Because I’m a cheap bastard who likes to watch and not tip.”

Rafe just rolled his eyes at that.

The song finished, the dancer collecting her cash before leaving. Rafe took the chance to order another round of drinks.

“And now on stage, the gorgeous Mariposa!” The low warbled announcement from the DJ was followed by another song.

Rafe took a seat beside Barry, just as his drink arrived, before turning to look on stage, maybe ten metres away from the bar.

The next dancer walked on and Rafe felt his heart drop into his stomach, his chest suddenly rising and falling as he strained to prove himself wrong against the lurid stage lights.

But the closer she got, walking down the stretching runway of a stage, it was undeniably her. Each freckle and mole and that birthmark on her lower back visible, her skin bare and lucent for everyone to see.

Shock turned to anger, like a spark to gunpowder.

He suddenly jumped out of his seat and turned towards Barry, his hands clutching at his shirt, nearly dragging him off the barstool.

“You knew– that’s why you fucking brought me here didn’t you?” He snarled, eyes dilated and mouth curled.

“What the fuck man! I don’t know what you’re sayin’” Barry pushed back, trying to make sense of Rafe’s outburst.

“Then why is she here huh? Why did you bring me here? To show me this shit? To make me look stupid?”

“Who’s here? You’re not makin’ any sense man– just calm down a’ight.” Barry took a more consoling tone, on seeing Rafe’s downturned lips, and glassy eyes. He wasn’t just angry…he was upset.

Rafe let him go, gesturing toward the stage, his head bowed fists dropped at his side.

“You’re telling me you didn’t know?” He murmured quietly, blue eyes wild and darting, looking at the shiny floors of the strip club.

It took Barry a while to recognise Sofia but when he did, he realised he’d messed up big time bringing Rafe all the way here.

“Shiiit man– I didn’t. She must be new.”

Rafe recoiled at that, his face screwing up, threatening tears. He could put two and two together and figure out what the fuck someone like her was doing in a place like this. Why she wasn’t at the country club anymore. Why he’d never seen her around on Kildare. She’d listened to him. She always fucking listened.

For the first time since Morocco, the possibility that Groff was the one who lied suddenly occurred to Rafe. If she’d gotten paid, if Sofia was actually a part of their schemes like he’d said, why was she debasing herself for money?

Rafe suddenly felt a deep and ringing shame, as if he’d just realised who she was. A pogue. No different to Barry.

And he’d just thrown her out with nothing.

No. No. She betrayed him. She hurt him. That was the truth. That’s all that mattered.

Then why did he feel like such a piece of shit?

Rafe turned around slowly to look at the stage bringing his gaze up to her.

She moved with a quiet grace, her skin glittery and bronzed. She looked like the models on the porno mags he’d secretly look at when he was a kid– shiny wet skin, scanty pieces of fabric that dug into pliant flesh, limbs that stretched and twisted. He felt his pants tighten, and stomach churn– getting hard and feeling sick.

His brows furrowed and twitched and his mouth did the same. He waited for her to take notice of him. But all her attention was on the men surrounding the stage.

Sofia dropped low on her hands and knees. She arched her back slowly and smoothly, crawling down the platform. She lingered so they could stuff her bra and underwear with dollar bills while she smiled prettily at them with thick eyelashes. Rafe simultaneously burned with a viscid desire that pooled in his stomach and a raging envy that bored a hole inside him.

He began to near the stage, but felt a hand yank at his arm.

“What are you doing bro?” Barry said, coming round so he was facing Rafe.

“Get off me,” he pushed his grip away, resolute in heading to the stage.

But Barry persisted, “what do you think you’re gonna do huh? If you mess with the girls you’re gonna get your ass beat.”

Rafe just clenched his jaw, “what? They’re not gonna let me tip her?” His voice was low and thick with a sarcastic drawl.

Barry eyed him for a moment, his hand still on his arm, “I think we should go Rafe, let me take you home.”

Rafe simply let out a short, sharp laugh, “didn’t you say get a closer look? I’m just listening to your advice Barry.”

And with that, he shoved him out the way, making a beeline to the stage.

***

When Sofia was up there she let her thoughts switch off, settling into her role. She was good at that– pretending. She would do it at her old job, acting the part of the smiley waitress or the diffident bartender. She’d mould her face into the expressions they’d want to see: chirpy grin, bright eyes, patient brows.

This was no different. It was just another role, where she moulded herself into what others wanted to see.

And right now they were all here for her tits and ass, so she sank down on her hands and knees, slinking across the dollar strewn stage, and gave them it.

Sofia tried not to look too hard at the faces. Sometimes she’d become injected with paranoia. That maybe one of dad’s work buddies would be there, or one of her old customers. And they’d see her. Desperate and lost, scraping the floors for cash.

Where was her kook boyfriend now huh? Had he grown tired of her? Serves her right for turning her back on her own people.

Just take their money and go. That’s what she told herself. She can spiral into a mess of self loathing and regret later on, when she’d paid off this month’s electric bill.

Sofia moved in time with the music, passing people with cash ready in their hands. She sank down low to receive it, before moving on to the next.

She felt the next hand before she met his gaze. The touch of a metal ring against her skin, the tickle of paper slotting into lace straps.

Sofia smiled sultrily, her lips caught between her teeth as she looked over at the next patron. She was good at maintaining her demeanour, clinging to that act she put on.

But the veneer faltered, her smile fading and eyes widening as if she was prey and she’d just been caught. In who’s cutting jaw? Rafe Cameron and his razor-sharp bite.

At first she blinked, begging for it not to be him. Maybe it was the lights. Maybe it was just somebody who looked like him. But the longer she stared, the deeper her stomach sank.

He’d just wedged a wad of cash in the waistband of her pants, his face stony and unreadable. But in the brilliance of the strip club lights, Sofia swore she saw his eyes gleam with unshed tears.

It must’ve only been a couple seconds, but it felt interminable to her– her arms wobbling with her weight as she buckled from the shock. Thankfully the song was coming to an end, so she stood up, suddenly too aware and too embarrassed to do the final flourishes of her dance. She instead just grabbed the cash on the floor and headed off stage, pulling out the dollars shoved in between her costume.

Her entire body was on fire, the room suddenly too hot and the air too thick. She needed to get out of here. She needed to breathe. She needed to calm down.

“Just gonna pretend like I don’t exist then huh?” A voice called out from behind her. Sofia’s heart grew heavier and heavier with each passing moment, her chest constricting and snarling up.

She could just carry on walking. Not look back. Ignore him. Isn’t that what he wanted? Her out of his life? They were done weren’t they? So why was he rubbing in it? Couldn’t he just leave?

She felt hot stinging tears prickle in her waterline that she willed away. She didn’t want to look even more stupid than she already did.

Sofia stopped and turned around slowly, the cash still in her hands. She faced him, struggling to keep a straight face let alone speak. Everything in her just wanted to cry. Seeing his face made it worse. He looked so damn pitying.

“Why did you do it?” He asked, voice almost strangulated. His face looked angry but his eyes betrayed him– he seemed almost ashamed. Which was funny, seeing as Sofia prickled with a similar shame.

She just shook her head, her curled hair, swept over to one side, tumbling down and curtaining her face. But Rafe didn’t accept her concession that easily.

“No– I deserve an answer. You played me didn’t you? You and Hollis and Groff?”

Sofia’s vision blurred, the tears beginning to flood and blear, “yes but I tried to take it back! I tried–You just didn’t listen.”

“Why are you here? What are you doing Sofia?” His voice broke at her name, coming out in a choked rasp. “You fuckin’ played me for money didn’t you? Then why are you out here whoring yourself out?”

His words felt like a punch to the gut, her palms slick with sweat now, sticking to the paper in her hands. It wasn’t anything she hadn’t thought herself. Whore. Slut. Skank. Was he actually looking for an answer? Or was he here to hurt her again. Just like she hurt him.

Sofia realised she’d had enough of trying to decipher Rafe Cameron.

“You got it all figured out don’t you Rafe?” She decided she didn’t want to be apologetic anymore. So she nosedived straight into angry and bitter.

He mirrored it perfectly. “Tell me then, tell me what I’m missing?”

Sofia shook her head with a bitter scoff. “Thanks for the tip,” she muttered, before turning on her heel and heading for the dressing room.

“No you can’t just do that. I deserve some explanation–“ Rafe surged forward, grabbing her arm and yanking her towards him.

His grip wasn’t rough or harsh but it was enough for Sofia to trip and stumble over her heels, hitting the floor with a dull thud. Her money slipped from her hands, littering the space around her as she winced from the pain.

That’s when the commotion started.

“Hey what the fuck do you think you’re doing bud.” Sofia heard Hayes’ voice call out. She looked up to see Rafe crouch half down, as if he was offering to help her up. She recognised his friend, Barry, behind him surveying the scene, eyeing Hayes who came storming down the club floor.

“Just go Rafe, for your own sake,” her eyes softened for a moment.

“Step back now, or I’ll fuckin’ make you.” Hayes called out, pushing past Barry.

Barry put himself between Hayes and Rafe, the latter one now crouched down beside Sofia. And all she wanted was for the floor to give way and swallow her whole.

Barry yanked Rafe up by his collar. “We were just leavin’– weren’t we?”

“I was just helping her up, chill okay?”

Sofia needed to get up off her ass and away from this situation, suddenly feeling way too exposed, the image of her half naked on the strip floor vinyl, surrounded by crumpled dollar bills and three grown men dawning on her. Her stomach rolled with heavy waves of shame that hurt.

“You okay sweetheart?” Hayes asked from above.

Sofia nodded, not making eye contact and bringing herself to her feet.

“Sofia– fuck, tell him you know me. We were just talking.”

“I don’t care buddy, you leave now or I’ll have you thrown out.��� Hayes’ face was stern and scary as he met Rafe’s eye line.

Sofia shrank in on her body, trying to make herself invisible. She felt Rafe’s burning gaze on her, as if he was forcing her to look at him. Usually she’d fold, giving into his stare. But this time she persisted and left, disappearing past the doors heading to the dressing room. Let them sort it out– she didn’t need to embarrass herself anymore than she’d already done.

As soon as the double doors to swung shut, and she’d safely deposited her cash in her bag, Sofia broke down in her mess of tears and wracking sobs that had been begging to surface the moment she spotted Rafe on the club floor.

She tried to avoid her reflection in the mirror and instead sank down onto the floor, grateful for the cool feel of the plasticky tiles wash over her naked, burning skin.

***

Rafe paced the parking lot, biting at his thumb. He’d spotted Sofia’s car and now was just waiting for her to come out.

“Get in the truck Rafe, I’m not playin’ with you.” Barry said, leaning against the hood of his truck.

“Just go, you don’t need to wait up.”

“Don’t you think you said plenty? She got the idea.”

Rafe shook his head vigorously, his nose scrunching up. Why was Barry being so sympathetic towards her? Why was he treating Rafe as if he was some abusive piece of shit who’d treated her horribly. “What do you think I’m gonna do to her?”

Barry chucked, the sound dark and sardonic, “ain’t you jus’ gonna rub her face in it a bit more? Remind her of her fuck ups? Just leave her alone man. I think you’ve hurt her enough.”

Rafe narrowed his eyes, stopping in his tracks, “what do you know about Sofia? What do you know about us? Huh?”

“I just know what I saw back in there. You make up these big shiny promises and never make good on them– and that’s what you probably did to that girl. That’s why she’s here at some low rent strip club tryna make ends meet. So the least you can do is give her the decency of pretendin’ like you didn’t see shit.”

Rafe’s mouth twisted in a scowl. Barry was meant to be on his side.

“You’re acting as if it’s my fault she’s here. She could’ve come to me– talked to me and fixed all this shit! But nah– she decided that this was the better option instead of having a single conversation with me.” He gestured wildly at the club behind him, the neon header flickering and spluttering in the brisk night.

Barry scoffed, the usual humorous glint in his eyes snuffed out, turning them coal like and hard. “Would you have listened though, dawg?”

Rafe was silent at that unable to give him an answer.

Barry plowed on, “I think you forget not everyone’s from Figure 8. She ain’t like your country club chicks.”

Rafe laughed but the sound was hollow, “think I’ve heard this all before man. Just cause you’d do anything for money doesn’t mean every pogue on the cut will.”

Barry’s lips thinned and Rafe knew he’d taken it too far, “maybe if your head wasn’t shoved so far up your own ass you’d understand why people do what they do. You’re actin’ all high and mighty– does she know about all the shit you’ve done?”

The air between thing changed. This is the first time Barry had brought it up and Rafe felt that familiar mix of anger and nausea froth up again. Barry knew to strike where it hurt.

A small smirk played upon his friend’s lips. “God forbid she whores herself out– but you’re good to kill people huh?”

Rafe tensed his jaw, face contorting with muted rage, it took everything in him not to stride forward and wrap his hands around his throat. “Fuck you.”

“Get in the truck.”

At that moment, Barry’s gaze disappeared behind Rafe’s head, only for a second, but it was enough time for Rafe to notice and spin around.

And there she was.

Sofia was heading to her car, wrapped up in her coat, bag hoisted high on her shoulder.

“Rafe, just leave her,” Barry warned.

“I know you think I’m just some asshole, but I care about her okay? I care about you too. I’m not– I’m not just some jerk. I just want to talk to her alright?”

He waited a moment, for Barry to give some sort of flicker of approval. But his dark eyes and sharp jaw remained set in place. Rafe scoffed, shaking his head. Approval from Barry was like drawing blood from a stone. But he still always found himself clawing for it.

Rafe’s tone quickly devolved into disdain when he realised Barry was as bloodless as ever, “fine– don’t believe me.” He ground his teeth, before turning around towards Sofia.

***

Hayes let her go home early, after Mina had found her curled up in a ball in the dressing room. She’d peeled off her costume, changing into her sweats and T-shirt, before grabbing all her things and leaving.

She let herself find comfort in the soft fabric of her clothes as she left the club, cold wind sluicing her face. She didn’t have to suck in her stomach or arch her back anymore. She could just slouch and cower from the rest of the world.

“Sofia! Wait!” A voice called out from her left. She turned to see Rafe approach her, hand outstretched and face hopeful.

He’d been waiting out here all this time? Sofia prickled with unease, her body tensing up on hearing his voice.

“What do you want Rafe?” She managed to rasp out, voice sore from all the crying.

“Please just hear me out okay?”

Sofia knew she should just get in her car and begin the drive home. But there was still a part of her that resounded with a dull regret at the way things ended. If he had things to say, well then so did she.

Sofia stilled in her tracks and waited for him to catch up to her. In the distance she could see Barry watch the pair, arms folded, expression indecipherable in the dark. Sofia didn’t know why, but his quiet presence calmed her fluctuating breath. He’d always been sweet to her, even when he didn’t need to, and funnily enough, she felt safer than if he wasn’t there.

“You good? I didn’t mean to trip you up.” Rafe began, semi breathless. He gave her a once over. Sofia must’ve looked terrible. She could feel her mascara clump in her waterline– there had to be streaks of black running down her cheeks, her foundation caking up and smearing. An acrid insecurity suddenly washed over her.

“I’m fine.” Her words were meant to come out as callous. Assertive. But instead, all she managed to muster was a hoarse squeak.

“Good, good,” he ran a hand over the back of neck, Adam’s apple bobbing as he struggled to speak, “was that your boss? Back in there?”

She nodded.

“He didn’t get mad at you did he?”

Sofia sniffed, nose still runny from her crying fit moments earlier, “no, Hayes is good, he takes care of us.”

That seemed to upset Rafe, Sofia noting how his eyebrows furrowed and mouth warped into a frown.

“How long have you been– uh doing this?” His hands gestured to the building behind her, the neon lights spelling out ISLAND PARADISO casting the dull building in a hellish, red glow.

Sofia could tell he was struggling to keep calm. His whole body bubbled with an effervescent energy she couldn’t pin point. Was it anger? And if he was angry was it at himself or her? Sofia would bet money the answer was her. He was never wrong in his book, she’d noticed. Nearly two years of being with him, holding him to her chest as he revealed his pain, kissing his cheeks and tasting his tears, Rafe never found fault in himself. It was always someone else who made him this way. There was always some other Big, Bad thing that had hurt him. Sofia realised she’d just become another one of those bad things.

But she kept her misgivings to herself just yet. “Coming up to a month. It started off as just bartending, but the tips were nothing compared to the country club.”

Rafe nodded, swallowing as if he was digesting this information, “the pay off from selling me out not enough was it?”

Sofia tried to withhold her wince. She knew it was coming, but still it hurt. “Rafe… it was a mistake. I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

Sofia bit her lip, struggling to maintain eye contact. His eyes could be so intense sometimes, so cold and blue. It was too much. “I didn’t think you were serious about us. I heard what you said– that day at the club. I guess I just wanted to hurt you like you hurt me.”

She chanced a look at his face, his expression splitting into confusion, “what did I say? What are you talking about.”

“You were talking to Ruthie and Topper. You said I was just a hookup. That you wouldn’t live with me because you had standards…and I just snapped. Hollis gave me 25 thousand. I still have it– it’s yours.”

Rafe just shook his head, sifting his brain to reach for the memory. “No…no Sofia what the fuck? Why didn’t you just speak with me huh? Even when I called you asking you to explain you were quiet?” His tone was imploring as he neared her in one wide step, his body angled down so he could meet her eyes. Was he apologetic? Did he feel bad?

Sofia felt the gates of her heart open, spurred on by the possibility of his understanding. “Because I thought it was true! I wasn’t anything to you. You would just drag me around everywhere but make it seem like we were nothing serious…what you said that day was just the final nail in the coffin. Then you started talking about a future together– when you took me to see Goat Island– and I was so confused. I tried to take back what I did. I tried to fix it! But you wouldn’t listen Rafe. Then you went ahead and proposed– saying you didn’t care about what I did, that you still loved me! What was I supposed to do huh!? I was scared to say anything on that phone call, but you didn’t even give me a chance. You ended it just like that.” The tears started falling again her voice rising and falling, hurtling out of her control.

Rafe’s visage eddied between hurt and aggravation, held together with twitching features and watery irises. “That’s not fair Sofia and you know it.”

“And this is!? What more do you want from me? I’ll send the money to you tomorrow okay? You told me we were done and I listened. I’m sorry I made you loose everything but that wasn’t my intention. I just wanted you to want me Rafe, not just string me along like a person for hire.”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing right now? Selling yourself?” Sofia could tell he knew it was a low blow from the way he waited a moment before saying it. As if considering if it was worth it. Obviously it was. He couldn’t help himself.

“Can you stop? Do you think I feel good about this? Do you think I want this?” She hated how broken she sounded, how helpless she probably looked.

Rafe suddenly switched from restrained and controlled to desperate and pleading. His hands rose up to hover over her arms, ready to hold her like he used to. Like it was second nature. Like he did that day on the shoreline overlooking Goat Island. “We can fix this. Move back in. We’ll go back to normal.”

“You’ll resent me. Look at you, you already do.”

Rafe shook his head, “I don’t resent you– I– I need to make things better baby, I can’t let you do this shit.”

Sofia blanched at the endearment, feeling her heart ache and twist almost to the point of bleeding out of her chest, “your word means nothing to me Rafe. You want me to quit this job too before you throw me out on my ass next time I make you upset again?”

His mouth screwed up, eyes narrowing in offence. He didn’t like the way she framed the truth it seemed. Sofia found a smug satisfaction at jabbing at him like that.

“Just go. I’ll figure it out. I don’t need your pity.”

“You don’t get it, do you? You hurt me too Sofia. I don’t pity you– I miss you. We can get past this.”

Sofia shook her head, the tears that had collected in her ducts overflowing onto her splotchy cheeks, “how can I believe you huh? Look where it got me last time I put my faith in you.”

Rafe just swallowed thickly, sniffing and letting his head drop. He was quiet for a while stepping back from her. Sofia watched his face shift through a whole spectrum of emotions as if he was deciding what route to take. Finally he sighed, deep and defeated and ashamed, running a coarse hand through his cropped hair.

Rafe slowly neared Sofia, bending down low and finally bridging the distance. Sofia would’ve stepped back but something about the way he looked at her, sincerity finally filling blue irises, reminded her of the day she realised she’d fallen for him. He’d been caught under the light of the North Carolinian pines, looking at her with that dopey smile. And now here he was again, not angry, not moralising, not resentful, but honest and kind. So she let him hold her arms.

“Keep the 25k. Use it. Get yourself out of this shit hole. If you change your mind you know where to find me…I’m sorry Sofia, for not being the man you deserve. I tried, I really did–” Rafe paused taking a shuddering inhale of air, “I didn’t mean for this. I was looking forward to marrying you.”

Rafe didn’t even let the words hit her before he leaned forward bundling her up in a tight hug. Sofia’s first instinct was to refute it, but when she felt his arms envelope her, his scent fill her nose, she crumbled up against the wall of his chest and sobbed quietly.

Rafe broke away first, his body lowering to meet hers. He brushed away the hair that stuck to her brine coated cheeks, blue eyes flickering all across her face, as if he was committing it to memory. “If anything happens, you can call me yeah?”

Sofia’s eyebrows softened, knowing she wouldn’t need to. But she nodded anyways, more for his sake than her own.

“Bye Rafe,” she finally mustered, voice close to a whisper, before slipping out of his hold and heading to her car.

She didn’t hear him say anything else. Not a final one up. Or a biting dig to remind her she was the one in the wrong. He just stood where he was, watching her as she drove out of the parking lot, face almost solemn as if he was grieving.

She drove away, the sound of the tyres rolling across the backroad gravel, filling the silence. The heavy feeling in her chest lingered, just like it did the day he broke things off between them.

Sofia had more than just guilt and regret to deal with tonight, the sticky tendrils of heartache already wrapping around her throat, making it hard to breathe.

***

Rafe walked back to Barry, who’d remained in the same position as he left him: slouched against the hood of his truck, arms folded across his chest.

“You ready to go now?” He asked, in a bored drawl. But if he was so bored, why didn’t he wait in the truck?

Rafe nodded, maintaining a stoic expression.

The two left the strip club parking lot completely silent, the extent of what he lost dawning on Rafe as they reached Kildare, thirty minutes later.

“What am I supposed to do Barry?” Rafe finally said, the first word spoken in the stifling truck.

“You move on.”

“But she needs my help.”

Barry let out a soft inhale of breath. Was it a scoff? Or was it a sigh? Rafe didn’t know, but when Barry finally answered, his was expression unreadable. “She doesn’t trust you anymore, man. So you either wait it out or move on.”

“I can wait.” If there was any possibility he could have her again, he’d hold on to it. Rafe Cameron was nothing if not insistent.

Barry cocked his head, “for her to trust you again?”

“Yeah– what? You think she won’t.”

“I’m surprised she ever did in the first place. I think she’s learned her lesson.”

Rafe laughed sardonically. “Like you did? You keep taking me back.”

Barry considered him for long while, glancing over at Rafe in the shadowy truck, “yeah well I’m hopin’ she makes better choices than me now.”

Rafe scrunched his nose, a heady mix of rage and shame pooling in his stomach. “Whatever. I’m trying to be better man. I love her. And I know it’s real because I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. It’s different with Sofia.”

“Different how?”

“She lets me be the better version of myself. It doesn’t hurt with her.”

“Like it hurts with me?”

“No. Not you.” The answer was quick on his tongue.

Barry sighed, his hands tightening on the wheel, “y’know why I’m tellin’ you to leave her alone? It’s because you may not be hurtin’ but she is.”

“Why do you care so much?”

Barry considered his questions for moment. “She was nice to me, she didn’t have to be, but she was.”

“She’s nice to everyone.”

“So why do you think you’re special?” Barry gave him sidelong glance. He wasn’t mean or bitter or cruel. He spoke plainly, as if it was just a regular question.

Rafe was silent at it. Fuck Barry and his esoteric quips.

“She’d hurt less if she was with me. I can take care of her.”

“You can barely take care of yourself dawg.”

“Whatever Barry. As if you’re so perfect. I may not be the best person on earth but I’m not the worst either, okay? I get shit done. I take care of things. I’ll take care of her.”

“She’s not one of your things.”

“Stop fucking twisting my words.”

“I’m just sayin’ what I’m hearin’ and seein’…you clearly care for her, I’m not disputing that. I don’t know man. I just feel bad for her.”

Rafe stirred with guilt. The notion that she was in that place because of him slammed right into his chest. What would she be doing if he hadn’t fucked her at his party two summers ago? Would she be in college, like she dreamed about? Or would she have found another job somewhere on Kildare? Would she at least be happy? Rafe recalled the bubbly, bright girl, with her cute little bangs and glittering hazel eyes, who couldn’t stop smiling up at him. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. His heart twisted, convulsing inside his chest with a sharp potent pain.

Barry had pulled up into his driveway, stopping the car outside his house.

“So you’re gonna wait for her then?” He remarked, turning to face him, features lit up by the motion sensor lights of Rafe’s courtyard.

“Yeah. I’ll wait.”

“Well good luck country club. I’ll see you around.”

Rafe left his truck, Barry quickly reversing down the driveway, leaving Rafe standing alone outside his house.

When he’d go inside he’d be alone too. He wouldn’t stumble over her trainers in the doorway, there would be no leftovers from her dinner on stove, the hallway light wouldn’t be left on (because she didn’t want him to trip up in the dark).

And when he’d crawl into bed, the sheets would be cold. He’d reach out and graze nothing but air. And soon enough, the faint, lingering smell of her shampoo would fade from the pillows too.

Rafe didn’t believe in god, but he knew that Sofia did. He looked up at the night sky, littered with stars and puffs of grey cloud, and whispered quietly under his breath.

“Please let Sofia be okay. Please let her find her way back to me.”

It was the first time he’d prayed in a long while. The whole thing felt like such a cop out. Saying words instead of actually getting up and doing shit? But if Sofia wasn’t going to accept his help, listen to him when he finally needed her to, then this was the least he could do.

“Please make it all be okay again.”