#The Alumni Spot

[goonmilk]

Breaking News

Mama we made it! The Alumni Spot was featured on Good Morning Washington ABC7 News last month and I had the pleasure of capturing the Behind The Scenes footage and getting a cool lil shoutout for my Photography and Marketing at The Alumni Spot. Also got some great shots of Yadi and Trae Backstage. The segment focused on Yaddiya’s continued community involvement and his venture into the Restaurant business, the amazing food Chef Chefe curates in the Alumni Spot, as well as how it all came about from Yaddiya’s Long Live Gogo Movement.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

reunion

Pairing: Art Donaldson x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only. minors, please get off my lawn.

Notes: Not beta-read because when is it ever.

Length: 4.5K

Warnings: Slow burn; unrequited love; angst; yearning; divorced Art Donaldson; oral sex (female receiving); vaginal sex; safe sex

Summary: It wasn't that Art Donaldson was the one that got away. It was more like Art Donaldson was the one that never really knew you existed.

"Did you hear Art Donaldson is supposed to be here?"

The question is whispered behind you and makes your hand freeze in its signing. You're half-bent over the table at reception, fingers tight around a pen as your mind is jogged.

No way was he turning up, that's what Anne had said.

Tashi will be there, she's the head of the goddamn reunion committee, the ink is still wet on their divorce—that's what Anne had said. Hell, she'd sworn it.

So what the hell is he doing here?

The sound of your name jogs your attention and you manage to finish signing in. You straighten, taking up your name tag and haphazardly slapping the adhesive onto your top. You need a drink, and quickly. You're halfway to the bar before you feel someone wind their arm through yours.

"Okay, I know you didn't wanna come—"

"Anne."

"And I so appreciate you being here so that I didn't have to come alone—"

"Anne—"

"But I got some news and it's going to be a little shocking so I think you should hear it from me—"

"I know he's here."

"What?" Anne freezes, her arm dropping from yours. You turn to see her looking stricken, her cheeks pinking with panic and embarrassment. You sigh softly, glancing around your fellow alumni. Less than half of them look familiar; your eyes catch on the odd face before you realize that you're inadvertently looking for him.

"Look, there are, like...Five hundred people here, alright?" You add. "I probably won't even see him."

"We can go."

"Look, we made the trip, we're here, we may as well stay. It's fine, okay? We're all adults here! It doesn't matter!" Your insistence is chased by a slightly hysterical laugh. "It was, like, a hundred years ago."

"...You're sure?"

"I am positive."

Positive that you need a drink, and positive that you're going to regret agreeing to stay.

--

It wasn't that Art Donaldson was the one that got away. It was more like Art Donaldson was the one that never really knew you existed.

You were friends, sure. You palled around, had a few classes together, hung out at a few parties—but he was so in love with Tashi Duncan that you'd never made his romantic radar. You'd forced yourself to believe that that was for the best, that you didn't need his love or romantic validation to be happy. But you couldn't pretend that wanting him didn't sting.

He'd had a couple of girlfriends while you were at Stanford, but you could always feel, always see that they were never really his priority. It was Tashi, then tennis, then them.

The two of you had kept touch a little after college, but you'd pushed yourself to move on. Conversation had begun to fade, and when he hadn't tried to keep it up, you had resolved to let him go.

You'd avoided his name in the news as much as you can, but it had been hard. He was on billboards, packaging, tv—it was like you couldn't escape him.

Want melted to sadness; sadness shifted to annoyance; annoyance hardened into disdain. You couldn't see his likeness or hear his name without rolling your eyes. It wasn't his fault, of course, but the prospect of running into Art fuckin' Donaldson made you queasy.

Still, you put on a brave face for Anne, forcing your focus into conversation.

It's a struggle to keep your gaze from seeking him out. You take each sip with a little white lie, convincing yourself that you're looking to make sure you can avoid contact. You spot Tashi a couple of times, but you don't go out of your way to say hello. She's surrounded by a cloud of people—taking pictures, signing programs and name tags and old Duncanator shirts.

When Anne insists on going to say hello, you force a small smile.

"You, um—you go ahead," You nod, taking a couple of steps back. "I'm gonna get some air."

Anne's dark eyes flit over you questioningly before she blessedly lets it go, nodding and going on her way. You turn, swiping a fresh drink off of a passing waiter's tray as you leave.

It takes a few moments for the buzz of conversation to clear from your head. You take a gulp of the prosecco, wrinkling your nose. It's a little sweeter than you usually like, and doesn't mingle well with the three other drinks that you've downed. Tashi's not going to find your lack of presence or greeting conspicuous; you'd been cordial and on speaking terms in college, but the two of you had never been close.

Damn, but it's chillier outside than you thought it would be. The reception had been so warm, so crammed with people. Paired your head being near-permanently on a swivel, you hadn't realize how hot and tense you'd been.

You frown at the waft of cigarette smoke that catches your nose. Who the hell is still smoking in this day and age—

"Are you hiding, too?"

Maybe you can feign that you didn't hear him—that the sound of his voice didn't jog a hundred memories and trigger a flurry of butterflies. But before you can stop yourself, you turn, the words, "I thought you quit smoking," tumbling out of your mouth.

Art's smile widens as he draw the cigarette back from his lips, a stream of smoke pushed out of the side of his mouth.

"I did. Quit quitting, though." He takes one more puff before he flicks it away, drifting closer. "Hi."

Hi, like it's not the first time you've seen him in the better part of a decade. Hi, like neither of you are oceans from where you where when you last saw one another.

"Hi," You manage. He doesn't hesitate to draw you into his arms; he seems to almost do it without thinking. You only allow yourself a moment of resistance before you raise and curl your arms around him. The clean scent of his pressed jacket and woodsy cologne are muddled with smoke. The fingers of one if your hands curls covetously in the fabric of his jacket as his palms smooth gently over your back. You hear him draw in a deep breath, feel him hold it, and then release it with a soft hum.

"How the hell are you?"

Probably better than you are these days.

You shrug a little, mumbling, "Fine."

He draws away, eyes skating across your face.

"You don't sound so sure about that."

"I'm sure."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm."

You can feel him winding up for another pass at it, but you hold your glass out before he can. His fingers brush against yours as he drains it.

"Why are you hiding?" You ask. He shrugs, nods toward the door.

"It's a lot in there. I forgot what these events are like."

"People wanna congratulate you. They're proud."

"Are you?"

"I am, but I'll hold off. Don't wanna crowd you."

Your attention is drawn from Art's smile as you hear someone clearing their throat over the speaker system inside:

"If we could have the reunion chairpersons to the stage, please!"

You glance toward Art and find him fidgeting, his thumb smoothing across his bare ring finger.

"…Do you wanna go back in?" You offer. He considers before he says, "Wait here."

You watch curiously as he darts inside, and are stunned when he reappears a moment later. You just barely catch a glimpse of the bottle of champagne clenched in his fist before he rests his other hand on your lower back, steering you away with an urgent murmur of, "C'mon."

--

"I'm surprised you came," You tell him. Art doesn't look at you for a moment, and you take the chance to lean back against the hard plastic seat. He's as beautiful as he was the last time the two of you were together, the night before graduation—practically in the same seats. You don't know if he was thinking about that when he'd led the way into the stands, chosen where to sit. Maybe it was pure muscle-memory.

Either way, you don't know how long the two of you have been sitting out there, knees bumping, passing the bottle back and forth. You take in his profile—the slope of his nose and cut of his jaw; the bob of his adam's apple as he swallows.

"My therapist said it would be good," He finally admits. "Told me I needed to get out more, start getting back into events, work at the foundation...What about you, huh?" He turns, brows raising. "You always told me that you hated this stuff."

You're surprised he remembers.

"I do hate this stuff, but," You shrug. "Anne didn't want to come alone."

"You're a good friend. I never forgot that." He sits up and passes the bottle back to you. "What happened to us, huh?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why did we stop talking?"

I couldn't keep begging for scraps of attention.

"I don't know," You deflect. "Guess we just lost touch. It happens."

"I shouldn't have let it happen to us."

You look down at the bottle, sweeping your finger across a slipping drop of condensation.

"You were busy."

"You weren't?"

"Not in the same way," You laugh self-consciously.

"What were you busy with then, huh?" He shifts, thigh pressing against yours. "You used to always say you'd uh—burn out by twenty-six."

"Yeah."

"Did you?"

"Oh, it didn't take nearly that long."

"What!" He laughs. "What the hell happened?"

"I don't know what to tell you, man. A girl can only take a soul-sucking marketing job for so long."

"So what do you do now?"

"Still in marketing, but I'm a manager, so. Still soul-sucking, but making a little more money."

"You like it?"

"God no, but I don't know what else I would do." You pass the bottle back.

"Could find something for you at the foundation."

You wrinkle your nose, shaking your head as Art sputters a laugh, asks, "What?"

"Don't do that, Art."

"Don't do what?"

"I don't need, you know—"

"We could use you—"

"You don't even know what I do at work."

"I bet it's great—"

"You don't even know if I'm a good worker—"

"Sure I do, I know you."

"No, you don't!"

You know it's a mistake the second it leaves your mouth. Art's smile wavers as he leans away again.

"I just mean—" You try.

"I know what you mean. It's been a long time."

"...Yeah, it has." You take the bottle back, drawing deeply from it before passing it back. "I should get going. I'm sure Anne's looking for me."

"Sure."

You don't say goodbye or tell him that it was nice to see him. You just make as hasty a retreat as you can without tripping over your feet.

--

@ a_donaldsonofficial requested to follow you. 3h

You're not sure what surprises you more—the follow request or the message in your DMs: Dinner?

--

His groan is sinful and low, and makes you rethink ever losing contact with the guy. Under the warm glow of the diner's lights, his eyes slip shut, fingers tightening around the bun.

"...When's the last time you had a burger?" You finally manage to ask.

"I can't remember." He admits it through the mouthful, and you don't begrudge him the couple of flecks of food that land on the table. You smile, plucking up a couple of fries.

"Art?"

"Mm."

"Why'd you ask me to dinner?"

Art sets the burger down as he swallows, taking off his napkin to clean off his hands.

"I was thinking...About what you said at the reunion."

"Mhm."

"About me not knowing you. You're right. But you know what?" He presses on before you can process your surprise. "I don't think you know me, either."

You think for a moment, brows furrowing. He's right. You know the image of Art Donaldson that's been projected to you over the years—on tv screens, in magazines, in online clips.

"...I don't think I do," You agree.

"Figured we should fix that. Catch up, fill each other in on what we've missed."

"Okay."

"So, after college..." He trails off, waving his hand. "Fill me in."

"Moved to New York."

"Uh-huh."

"Working in marketing."

"Burned out before 26—"

"Yeah, hit my capitalistic peak at 23."

"That fast?"

"I mean, that's the last time I remember giving a shit about work, so. Yeah."

"Relationships?"

"...A couple," You admit.

"Serious?"

"Yeah. One."

"Married?"

"No. Engaged." His eyes drop to your bare left hand, and you hurriedly tuck it into your lap. "Formerly engaged."

"What happened?"

"It just didn't feel right. I don't think either of us were ready."

"...Was it anyone I knew? I don't remember you dating much at school."

"Guess I didn't."

"You weren't shy."

"Well no, but—"

"So what was it?"

"I had the worst crush on you, dude!" It's another mistake, but where the last one seemed to make Art retreat, this one leaves his gobsmacked. His eyes widen, mouth opening in a wide smile.

"You what?"

"Oh, kay, you know what—"

"I had no idea!"

"I was very subtle."

Art leans back in the diner booth, watching you openly. You can see the gears turning in his head, and you wonder what he may be remembering, holding up and twisting about in this new light.

"...Huh," He mutters.

"You can feel free to forget that at any time."

"I don't think I will...I wish I'd known."

You consider for a moment before you shrug. "I don't know. I'm kinda glad that you didn't."

"Really?" His brows knit with confusion. "Why?"

"I don't like coming second, Art."

Art nods slowly, and you see something tight pass across his face before it's smoothed away again.

"You know what?" He smiles bitterly. "Neither do I."

You nod toward his plate.

"Your burger's getting cold."

--

"So, uh..." Art clears his throat as the two of you take slow, drifting steps to your car. "I'm gonna say two things, and I don't want you to think that they've got anything to do with what you said earlier."

You know exactly what he means, but you just grumble, "I said a lot of things earlier."

"I think we both know which one I'm talking about."

"Uh-huh. So what's up?"

"...I wanna see you again."

"Okay."

"But things are a little...Messy right now. Tashi and I are working on getting Lily into a regular rhythm and it's harder than we thought it would be."

You lean back against your car, tucking your hands into your pockets.

"Mhm...I hesitate to ask."

"Yeah."

"How does this have to do with what I said earlier?"

"I just don't want you to think that this is—"

"A consolation prize?"

"Something like that."

"Whatever you need to do to get in a good place with Lily is fine, Art, you don't need to justify that to me."

"Even if it means you come second?"

You tip your head to the side, pursing your lips. "It's different when it's your kid. I meant that I didn't want to be second to—You know."

"...Yeah," He mutters, looking at his feet as he takes another foot forward. "And for the record, I was thinking of asking you out again by the time we sat down."

"You could've changed your mind."

"I didn't. And I don't want to."

You smile, nodding. "Well I don't want you to, either." You straighten up as you fish into your bag for your keys. "Call me the next time you're in New York."

"Sure."

You reach out, cupping his cheek and leaning in, pecking his cheek. You pull away, smiling at the flush creeping across his face.

"Goodnight, Art."

"Night."

--

It isn't easy at first. Messages are far and few, mostly how are yous and how was your days. You think that as nice as the little swell of contact has been, that's all it'll be—but the two of you both start to really try. The odd text becomes the weekly phone call. Weekly phone calls become daily FaceTimes. On the nights when he has Lily, they're late, usually when you're getting ready for bed. On the nights when he's on his own, the two of you eat dinner together and chat over your calls. It isn't always perfect, but it's more than you could've anticipated from that dinner a couple of months ago.

--

"She down?"

"Yeah."

"Are you in a hotel again?"

"...Yeah." Art seems to admit it grudgingly, and you smile a little as you take up your toner and a cotton pad.

"There's nothing wrong with leaning into it if it's working," You argue. "And not to be that bitch, but you're not exactly broke."

"Might be if she keeps ordering room service and movies on-demand."

You laugh softly, turning your attention to your reflection as you swipe the toner across your face.

"How's your day been?" Art asks.

"Fine, standard. I had to fill out an assessment ahead of my annual review."

"When's that?"

"End of the week."

"How do you feel about it?"

"Mm," You shrug reaching for a serum. "Fine, I guess. I'm doing okay, my team's hitting their targets."

"You're doing better than okay."

"Art."

"You are."

"Well. Thank you for that." You glance over as he goes quiet, catching a glimpse of him as you smooth the serum into your skin. You raise your brows at the sight of his gentle, warm smile. "What is it?"

"You're beautiful."

Your face goes warm at the compliment, and you bite the inside of your cheek to tamp down your wide, idiotic smile.

"You are tired, huh," You deflect.

"I mean it."

"...I know," You murmur, reaching for your moisturizer. "Tell me what you got up to today."

"I had a meeting at the foundation. We're starting planning for the gala."

"Oh yeah? Have you done them before?"

"We've had three before, but I was usually playing or training, so I haven't been as involved in the planning."

"How's it been?"

"We're still in the preliminary stages, but it's been interesting, you know, seeing how the pieces come together before I usually see them."

You nod, picking the phone up from the mirror holder and heading into your bedroom.

"Where are you gonna have it?"

"We're still scouting locations...As a matter of fact," Art adds, "We're considering a few in New York."

"Oh?"

"I'll be down there for at least a few days, and I wanna see you."

You grin bashfully as you climb into bed, settling against your pillows.

"I wanna see you, too. Are you gonna, um—I mean, is Lily gonna be with you?"

"No, it'll be Tashi's weekend."

"Okay, cool. Just wanna make sure I don't mess up your time."

"I appreciate that." Art's tongue swipes across his lower lip, eyes sweeping across your face. "I gotta say..."

"Mmm?"

"I'm looking forward to seeing your apartment."

"Oh, really?" You chuckle. "Why's that?"

"It'll be interesting, that's all. I mean, you already take me to bed every night."

You laugh, covering your eyes as you groan, "Oh, god, shut up!" as Art chuckles.

"Let me know when you're free," You add. "Your schedule's gonna be weirder than mine."

"Yeah, I will, as soon as I know what it is." You watch as Art lays down, propping his phone up on the nightstand. "...Can you stay on?"

"Yeah," You soothe, setting your phone on the nightstand in suit. "Until we fall asleep."

"Okay," He murmurs. The two of you settle in on your sides, watching one another on the phone.

"Night, Art."

"Sweet dreams."

--

The restaurant is picked. Your nails are done, your hair is done; you get a new dress, new shoes, a new bag. You're going to have an amazing night—a good dinner, a great conversation, and, if you have any luck, an amazing good night kiss.

--

You know the minute you see him that you're not making it to the restaurant. Art's eyes sweep over you in covetous wonder when you open the door. He closes the gap between the two of you, drawing you into his arms, and this time you go without a second thought. He presses his face into your neck, letting out a gentle hum at the scent of your perfume. The tip of his nose trails up over your jaw, his lips brushing the corner of your lips as his forehead rests against yours. He sighs as you draw in a nervous breath, and he sways in, lips pressing to yours.

You raise your hand to cup his neck, shivering as his hands smooth over your hips. He guides you deeper inside, blindly reaching back and shoving the door shut behind you as you fling your purse toward the bench in your entryway. His kisses grow hungrier as he steers you down the hall. You slip your tongue along his, smoothing your hand up to grasp his hair. Your fingers fumble with the buttons on his shirt, exposing more of his pale, muscled chest to you. He slides down the zipper on the back of your dress and leans away just long enough to draw the dress up over your head. His eyes sweep across you, taking in your lingerie.

You hook your thumbs under the band of your underwear, giving them a teasing wiggle as you back further away from him. You expect him to follow, but he steers you back against the wall, dropping his head to suck hot kisses along your neck and down to your chest. He yanks one of the cups of your bra down, taking your nipple into his mouth. You bite your lip, tipping your head back against the wall and whining as he slots his knee between your thighs. You roll your hips down against the hard muscle as he laves and teases your nipple, reaching up to thumb and tweak the other.

"Art—Mm, god that feels so good."

He groans against your skin, trailing his kisses further down as he lowers himself to his knees. You look down as he curls his fingers around your panties—and waits. You smile softly, nodding, murmuring, "Please?"

Art grins, pressing a kiss to your hip before he gently eases the fabric down, waiting for you to lift your feet so he can fling them away. He leans in, swiping his tongue across your aching clit. Your knees would knock if he wasn't wedged between them. You draw in a shallow breath, letting your head tip back as he draws your leg over his shoulder. You shiver at the feeling of the chilly air against your heated, slick flesh. He nuzzles and laps against your cunt, taking each tip of your hips in stride. His hand smooths up your trembling inner thigh, giving your ass a gentle squeeze before he teases a finger into you. You whimper at the touch, unable to help the way your pussy clenches around it.

Art groans at the feeling, turning his head to smear his lips slips against your hip.

"Goddamn," He breaths against you.

"More."

You feel more than hear his gentle chuckle as he eases another finger in.

"Need it bad, huh?"

"You have no idea."

"I'm getting a pretty good idea." He turns his head, leveling a sucking kiss to your clit that makes you cry out. You tighten your grip on his hair as he pumps his fingers harder, curling and scissoring them as he pushes you closer to the edge.

"Art—Mm, god, fuck, yes—Yes—" Your toes curl in your shoes as your hips rabbit down against his face and fingers, chasing the swell of your orgasm. You look back down as he draws back and find his lips and chin shining with your juices.

"Bed," He urges.

"You can fuck me right here."

Art laughs, standing and smoothing his hand over your thigh.

"We're doing this right."

"We could be doing this right...." You slid your hand down his chest to palm his cock through his pants. "Here."

You grin as Art's eyelids flutter, his dick twitching against you.

"Bed," He insists again.

It isn't far to go, and the two of you are entirely bare by the time you get there. You scooch back onto the bed, spreading your legs as he rolls on a condom. He's over you a moment later, and you watch the bulge of his biceps as he braces his hands on either side of your head. You bite your lip as you feel the brush of his cock against your entrance. You reach down, grasping his cock and guiding him closer.

You tip your head up, tongue teasing the seam of his lips as he eases into you. You melt into the mattress as he crushes against you, filling you completely. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, sliding your legs over his, as if you'll manage to fuse the two of you together. Art's tongue swirls around yours before he captures your lips in a kiss, rolling his hips slowly.

"More," You plead, but Art keeps his pace achingly steady, even when you try to pick up the pace.

"You feel so fucking good," He breathes, "Even better than you taste."

"Harder, Art, please, god damn, please," You whimper. He tips his head to the side nipping at the hinge of your jaw as he reaches down, hiking your hip up even higher. Your mouth fell open with a stunned moan as he presses deeper, the slap of his hips filthily filling the stifling air around you. You arch up against him, nails raking down his back as you feel the swell of another orgasm.

"Art."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm—Fuck, almost—"

"That's it." He sucks his fingers between his lips before he slips them between your bodies, swiping across your tender clit. You begin to close your eyes, but he tuts softly.

"Don't—Don't close your eyes—Look at me," He orders between breaths. You force yourself to focus on Art, taking in the flush on his cheeks, his almost dazed eyes.

"You, too—" You urge.

"Yeah—"

"Oh—yeah," You gasp, unable to keep your gaze on his you cum. You feel Art's hips slap roughly against yours before he slows, groaning low in his chest. You draw in a deep breath as your heart pounds in your chest, sinking back against your pillows as he settles down over you. You smooth your hand over his nape, smiling as he nuzzles against your shoulder, dropping tender kisses to your skin.

"...Art?"

"Yeah?"

"I think we're going to be late for dinner."

--

"You know, I've been thinking."

"You've been doing a lot more than thinking, mister," You mutter, and grin as Art laughs. You cuddle closer against his side, nuzzling into his chest as he tightens his arm around your shoulders.

"I'm glad I didn't know you liked me in college."

"Really?" You tip your head up, brow furrowing. "Why's that?"

"...I wasn't ready for you back then." He smooths his fingers along your jaw, eyes wandering your face contemplatively. "It's like you said, you know. You would've come second."

You nod, turning your head to press a kiss to his palm.

"I don't think I was ready for you, either," You admit. Art smiles.

"And you are now?"

"More than."

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @amneris21

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage​​​ ;  @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity

@millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ;

@buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989

[eevees-hobbies]

My Boyfriend Works at a Butler Cafe - NSFW

Author’s Note: This is in response to the maid cafe requests I’ve gotten. While I don’t think I can add to the body of work that other content creators have already contributed to the fandom, I am dropping this at your feet. It may or may not be inspired by my trip to the Butler Cafe at Anime Expo, hehe.

Content Warning: Fem!Reader x Multiple Characters (Mostly separate). Contains Fluff and Smut (Smut indicated by “after hours” text). P in V. Use of pet names like pretty girl, Daddy, possessiveness in Sakura’s, sex in public, cunnilingus, sharing, mention of a handjob, reserve cowgirl. Tis smut!

Synopsis: Picture a scenario in which Umemiya is concerned about the welfare and sustainability of some of the shops in Makochi, primarily because many of the shops are owned and kept up by some of the more elderly inhabitants. Some stores are dilapidated and at risk of shuttering their doors, which Umemiya sees as a significant loss to the community. After brainstorming potential ways to earn some donations, he has a brilliant idea! It’s a concept that has almost every Bofurin alumni grinding their teeth and shaking their heads in protest. Welcome to the Butler Cafe!

Word Count: 3.2K

Cottage dividers by Saradika. Story and character banners by me.

“I’m so happy to see you, baby!”

If he weren’t volunteering his time to work in the cafe, he would be terminated immediately. As soon as he sees you walk through the door, he shouts your name from across the dining room and beelines straight to you, arms open and with a broad smile on his face. 

The customers he was just serving? Ignored.

He’ll make sure to sit you in his section and pull up a chair to chat with you, which is a significant annoyance to management as Umemiya is a big draw to the cafe. His admirers line up at least an hour before the restaurant opens to see the cutie with the toned biceps serving them strawberry crepes.

Regardless, I hope you’re comfortable with your lover staring into the depths of your eyes—and soul—as you recount your day. 

He’s so incomprehensibly smitten with you that the only thing that he’ll allow to interrupt your verbal reverie is him spoon-feeding you a piece of cake. 

“I’m so glad you came to visit me today! Wait, what do you mean you’re genuinely here to eat lunch?”

Grade: C+

After Hours

“Let me have some of you before my shift, sweetheart. I need you.”

“D-don’t worry about those…let them fall.” Paperwork, pens, and even a stapler aren’t safe from the laws of gravity as Umemiya picks you up and pushes you onto the desk in the back office. He only has so much time before opening the Butler Cafe doors, and he needs to fill your womb to ensure himself a good shift.

Could you imagine a sex-famished Umemiya? It’s a terrifying thought!

You kiss each other hungrily, tongues meeting outside your mouths before you can press your lips together. Your hands are already fussing with his uniform, particularly where his toned chest strains the buttons of his ironed coat.

“If I’m not inside you right now, baby girl-” His sentence is cut off as his mouth latches to the sensitive skin on your throat, suckling and nipping until the spot begins to sting. But if it hurts, you aren’t showing it as your eyes roll back into your skull. 

He’s pressing his body into yours as though he’s attempting to collapse into you. His hands desperately tug at the fabric that covers up his favorite parts of you–your breasts, your stomach, and most importantly, the sweet treat you have between slick-stained thighs.

“Ume, this has to be a quickie!” 

You can feel him grumble against your skin, lips trained into a pout as he grapples with your words, but he knows you’re right. He shifts the seat of your panties to the side and sinks into you, inch by agonizing thick inch. 

And you thought you were ready. You thought the way your cunt was drooling for him just by seeing him in his uniform would mean you were fully prepared to take his girth, but the sheer thickness still has you gasping and gripping his shoulders.

“Shhh, you can take it, pretty girl. You always take me so well. I got ya’”

As he’s pushing into you, his words slur, drunk off your pussy, head swimming with love, lust, and adoration for his sweet girl. There’s no time for preparation; his shift starts soon, and weren’t you just rushing him, anyway?

But for all the stretching you must endure from taking him, Umemiya is still nothing but gentle.

“God, you’re perfect.” His fingers stroke your cheek, and you melt into the familiarity of his soothing touch. “Keep your eyes open for me ok, love? You close them, and we start over.”

Once you collect yourself, walls finally fitting snugly around him like a glove, you bat your eyelashes innocently, brushing your lips against his thumb before sliding it into your mouth. You don’t break eye contact with him as you flirt your tongue against the underside of his thumb, pretending as though you’re sucking on something much bigger and thicker—that of which is already inside of you.

For a brief instant, you see something flash in Umemiya’s eyes, something that you feel sink into your spine and crawl its way up each individual vertebrae with sharpened claws, something that would threaten your health and ability to walk if you were home instead of at the butler cafe. But he begrudgingly sets his desire to defile you to the side and removes his thumb from your mouth, hand moving down and using that same digit to rub at your clit.

“I love it when you help Daddy out like this. Suuuuuuch a good girl.”

The way the desk bangs against the wall and drags across the linoleum floor as he drives his thick cock into your sopping-wet mess makes you consider that you two might be found out before your quickie can conclude. 

Grade: A+

“Stop staring at me like that, and hurry up and order!”

“Ugh!”

Death has never been more welcome as soon as Sakura dons the butler uniform. Even worse is when he peers into the dining room and sees you. 

Why would you do this to him? Why would you show up here? Don’t you have any pity for him, or is this all some sick, twisted fantasy for you? 

He’s spiraling!

Staff must physically grab him and force him onto the cafe floor. 

He’ll approach you, grumbling, and every bit of him the reddest he’s ever been—and is that steam pouring from his ears?

As he mumbles out the delicacy of the day, you have to lean in just to hear what he’s saying.

“S-stop pretending you can’t hear me!”

But best believe that when he sees another butler giving you too much attention for his liking, he’s stepping in and taking care of all his girl's orders.

“Hey, she’s mine.”

“Y-you mean the table, right?”

“She’s mine.”

Oof, he said what he said!

And if Umemiya is popular with the younger crowd, Sakura, to his disdain, is popular with the older ladies. They don’t think he’s particularly cute or lovely to look at; they just enjoy a visit from this loud-mouthed kid telling them to hurry up and order.

They think he’s a hoot and taking method-acting to the extreme.

Aren’t the tsundere types so cute? 

He’s honestly a really bad butler. His inability to be friendly to the customers—except you—and attempts to always switch his shift with someone else does not go unnoticed by management.

Grade: F -

After Hours 

“I kinda like fucking you at work.”

As you gazed down at your plate, an unfinished parfait staring back at you, a simple sentence was all you needed to gulp the rest of the dessert down and follow your butler outside.

“Gonna be good for me and finish that so I can finish you, yeah?”

Um, fuck yeah!

“S-sakura, don’t you have to clock back in?” You mumble into his ear; you know you sound like an absolute mess, your breathing rapid and uneven, with small moans erupting from your throat.

“Fuck this job.” He has your hands pinned above your head; your legs are wrapped around his waist as he fucks you against the alley wall behind the cafe. “I’m exactly where I should be.”

His thrusts forward are hard and urgent, but the retraction of his dick is slow, drawing out the feeling of your satin walls grazing every inch of him. Your slick is staining his bicolored pubic hair as he grinds into you. His fingers dig into your wrists, seemingly in rhythm with each snap of his hips. 

“G-god, Sakura! Maybe I should make you dress up like a butler more often?” 

“P-pervert, you’d like that, huh? You want me to dress up as your fantasy and fuck you in costume?”

He nestles his face into your neck. You sound so good for him, and how could he resist the urge to take you outside and fuck you right here and now with how pretty you look?

You’re intoxicating, you’re perfect, you’re about to make him fucking cum, fuck! He considers pulling out, letting you finish him off with your hand or that cute mouth of yours, but you grip your legs around him in a vice grip.

“H-haru, stay inside, please?”

Oh, god, how could he say no to that? To you? He smashes his lips against yours, moaning loudly in your mouth as his cock twitches, spurts then fountains of his love and devotion for you filling you up to the brim.

His shift at the butler cafe is the last thing on his mind as he wraps his arms around your waist, peppering kisses against your lips and cheeks.

Grade: A+++++++++++++++++++++++

“Hey, you came just to see me, sweet girl? Aw, I’m so lucky.”

Although he technically didn’t have to attend this fundraiser, given his relationship with Bofurin and Makochi, he thought it was a good idea to show up ready to work.

Togame quickly becomes a shift manager. He’s reliable, a natural leader, and every client likes talking to him and even though he doesn’t walk with a sense of urgency, they don’t mind!

When Togame sees you enter the cafe, he’ll shoot you a lazy grin—the kind that makes your heart skip a beat and forces you to long for him even when he’s right there in front of you.

During his lunch breaks, he’ll take you out on the private patio he reserved just for you two and have the butler on duty bring out all the cafe items he knows you’ll like. 

As you speak and enjoy your time together, he’ll grab your hand in his, rough fingers drawing smooth circles around your knuckles, deep-green eyes trained on yours, and occasionally flickering down to look at your lips.

Of course, you want to kiss him, but he’s at work!

Knowing precisely how you are, Togame makes the first move, leaning over and capturing your lips in a kiss that is soft, unabashedly intimate, and that of which touches the furthest and most difficult-to-reach edges of your very soul. He’s breathing life into you, and before you know it, he’s pulling away, smirking, daring you to be the aggressor, and daring you to follow him. And you are, and you do.

Grade: A

After Hours 

“Gonna make you cum before my shift, beautiful. How does that sound? Look at me when I ask you a question.”

Your trembling hand shoots out to grasp the ledge of a nearby shelf in the cafe’s backroom. Togame has your legs draped over his muscular and broad shoulders with your back against the wall in the back office.

Togame loves using your thighs as earmuffs. The harder you squeeze, the more he can tell how good of a job he’s doing. When you squeeze and tremble because he’s sucking on your labia, taking each one into his mouth, sucking, biting, he knows that he’s doing exactly what he needs to get you to absolute euphoria.

“Jo,” you hiss through parted, glossed lips, “They’ll be able to hear us!”

“No, they’ll be able to hear you.”

And he’s right. He snuck you into the back prior to his shift so that he could devour you as though you didn’t pack him a bento box. 

But he’s doing such a good job, licking at your clit until you feel a dull throbbing sensation, making out with your pretty pussy until thick cream coats his lips, and leaving a reflective sheen on his cheeks. 

Unfortunately, the diners aren’t too far away, and you don’t want them to hear every sound Togame is pulling out of you.

And as though he’s intentionally trying to make you louder, he flicks your clit with the tip of his tongue, no longer teasing the nub but making deliberate infinity shapes that make her twitch.

“I’ll stop when you cum in my mouth, baby.”

He wants you to cum? Might as well take him up on the offer. 

You grab loose fistfuls of his hair and start grinding on his face, allowing his nose to rub against your clit as he offers your pretty hole free use of his tongue.

“That’s my girl. You’re such a good listener.”

“Jo, don’t talk with your mouth full.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Grade: A+

“I’m at your beck and call. Whatever you need is yours.”

To no surprise to anyone, Suo is poised and proper enough to make the butler gig look easy. He knows how to carry the trays without spilling a single crumb of food, he knows where to put the silverware when placing them on the table, and he’s certainly never stressed out during a midday rush.

However, his faults lie with you.

When Suo sees you enter the cafe, he becomes apathetic to the other patrons. He still serves them, yes, but his thoughts are obviously elsewhere. His eyes hardly leave you, watching as you bring a fork up to your mouth and it pushes past your plump lips. 

Your tongue darting out to lick the whipped cream from the corner of your mouth has his eyes widening ever so slightly, and the tea kettle he’s pouring tea from shaking just a bit. 

And when he’s able to serve you? He’s never been happier. Sure, you may not have asked for that extra piece of pie, but you’re absolutely going to get it. Can’t possibly drink any more tea? Nonsense. He’s topping you off again.

Anything for you.

Always.

And forever.

Grade: B

After Hours

"Pretty girl needs to cum at least one more time for us. I need you to cum in my friend's mouth before I touch you."

Your pleasure is Suo’s pleasure, so be a good girl and spread your legs for his friends, mkay? Suo’s tongue slides into your mouth as his fingers brush against the strands of your hair that have managed to fall into your face. 

He can’t help but admire you, your beauty, and your fucked out expression as your mouth opens and closes, waves and waves of pleasure rocking you to your core. 

His beautiful girl.

The cafe's shades are drawn closed, and the interior of the restaurant is only illuminated by dim amber lamp lights placed sporadically throughout the medium-sized room. 

Suo cups your chin, his mouth only leaving yours as he tilts your face forward, “Tell Sakura how much you like when he sucks on your clit.”

Sakura grunts from between your thighs. He’s on all fours, face so flush against your cunt that there’s surely no room for him to breathe. But if that’s the case, he isn’t indicating that oxygen is a necessity as he’s dragging his tongue, flattened and broad, against your swollen clit in long licks. 

“That feels really good, Sakura. You’re doing such a great job.” You pause, but Suo’s quick, heated glance in your direction wills you to continue. “You’re doing a great job, and I like when you suck on my clit”

“Good girl. It’s important to thank your butlers. Now be sure to thank Umemiya, too.”

You turn your head to the side, gazing up at Umemiya, who is pulling up his undershirt in clenched fists, exposing his toned stomach and chest, and his pants hanging loosely around his thighs. His pectorals have been a rosy pink all night, the persistent blush only spreading as he lays witness to you and what you’re capable of.

Your hand is wrapped around his cock, fingertips unable to touch each other from the sheer circumference of him, but dammit you’re trying. “Thank you, Umemiya, for letting me jerk you off.”

Suo lets out a quiet hiss, pleased with your obedience. He grips you by the cheeks and leans down, his lips so close to yours, his eye peering into your soul.

“Who do you think should go first? Which butler would you like to request, love?”

You’d smirk if his hand wasn’t forcing your lips into a pout, but your eyebrow twitches, and you get that familiar glint in your eye that Suo loves so much.

“I don’t think anyone has to take turns. Everyone pick a hole.” 

Grade: A+

“P-please tell me how I can help you?”

When you see Nirei in his butler outfit, you swoon. How could someone so innocent and cute look like that? And while he blushes and stutters when taking your order, he’s probably the most impressive butler in the cafe.

He knows the menu like the back of his hand, is always on time, and is willing to stay late if need be.

Unlike the other participants on this list, your presence isn’t enough to shake Nirei, and admittedly, that might hurt a bit, right? In actuality, Nirei does so well because of you.

He knows you’re watching, so he’s careful with every movement and every word he says. He so desperately wants to impress you. So you might not always see it, but he’s watching you out of the corner of his eye, hoping you saw him interact with a client with perfect protocol. 

As you have lunch with your friends and your eyes meet, he’ll shoot you a little wave as he turns his attention back to a customer. Your friends will giggle because how did YOU trap someone so cute, sweet, and innocent?

And you’ll take offense to that because 1) you aren’t a predator who hunts cute little animals–-Bambi is most certainly safe when you’re around and 2) Nirei is anything but innocent.  

Grade: A+

After Hours:

"O-oh god! You’re amazing, so beautiful, please don’t stop! I-I’m gonna..!"

With shaky hands, Nirei hangs onto the plush of your ass–and on for dear life–as you ride him in reverse cowgirl position on the floor of the Butler Cafe. 

“O-oh, my god…” He musters the strength to bring his head up to look at you expertly bouncing on his dick, swallowing him whole like you were made for this.

He doesn’t think he’s going to make it.

“Y/N! P-please slow down!”

You let out a breathless giggle, your nails digging into his thighs for leverage as you sit up straight and roll your hips. “You did so well serving me today, Nirei! I’m just rewarding my butler.”

God and he’d serve you for a lifetime if it meant experiencing this.

“D-do you know what I’m doing right now, baby?”

He lets out a grunt, the only sound he can manage, as the muscles in his calves tighten to the point of almost cramping.

Fuck, why are you so good at this?

You swivel your hips to the left, right, up and down, dragging the head of his cock against your g-spot. “I’m spelling your name.”

S-spelling his-

Oh, fuck.

Nirei bites his lip, eyes rolling into the back of his head as something so inevitable, so ridiculously powerful, hits him like a freight train. A cross between a whimper-whine escapes from parted lips, and it catches you off guard because, if anything, his moan is a clear indication of how much he desires you and how much he’s always wanted you. 

You consider stopping, the rolling of your hips slowing, but the feeling of immense pressure makes you moan. The licking of your lips replaces the cocky grin on your face as you throw your head back.

Because, god, there’s just so much of it! 

You look between your legs as his cum drips from your cunt and onto the cafe floor. His balls still clenching and unclenching as he continues to pour into you. 

“Nirei, there’s so much!”

“Mmmm, h-happy to give you some more?”

Grade: A+

Special thanks to @suosgirl and @hayatoseyepatch for your ideas/contributions. 

[stsgluver]

𝐒𝐍𝐀𝐏𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓 𝐏𝐓.𝟑 — gojo satoru

synopsis. nobara is ill and what better way to spend your day off than trying to figure out who your teacher's high school girlfriend is?

wc. 3.5k

tags. gojo x reader, fluff, one suggestive joke, reader is in gojo's class, implied utahime x shoko, only half proofread

a/n. it's nearly midnight and im so tired and I have to be up at 6 tomorrow but I needed to get this done. I hope there's not too many mistakes <3 the ending is kind of shit but idc :) jk i do pls like it

previous part / next part / series masterlist

“are you sure you’ll be okay alone?”

nobara lazily lifted her head from beneath her duvet, orange bangs clinging to her sweaty forehead as she let out a series of harsh coughs. megumi winced from the doorway, inching back ever so slightly - he'd already brought in a couple bottles of water and a box of tissues, he wasn't looking to contract whatever flu-like disease she had caught.

she rolled her eyes at his not-so-subtle antics and raised a weak thumbs up. “go on fushiguro, i know how much you're dying to spend the afternoon with itadori and sensei."

“haha,” megumi uttered with the most sarcastic tone he could muster. on second thoughts, maybe being sick for a week wouldn't be so bad. with nobara gone, there was no buffer for his teacher and classmate to pester. “call me if you get worse, you know the second years are useless.” 

nobara gave the younger boy a quick salute and small smile, “yes boss.”

she dropped her head back into her pillow and waited till she heard the door click shut till she slipped a little less than elegantly out of bed. whilst yes, there was no denying that she was definitely sick, she also had a mission she couldn’t give up on.

in the three weeks, four days and an unknown number of hours since she had found the dvd of her teacher in his youth, she had been putting all of her free time into trying to find you. megumi had been a dead end when she’d tried asking him about you again and, although nobara knew he had a soft spot for yuuji, she didn’t trust the pink haired boy to treat this situation sensitively.

initially, she’d even considered asking gojo about it but she decided against that pretty quickly. that could get awkward very quickly and she still had at least two years at the school. 

then, she’d moved onto searching through the school for traces of the alumni. all she’d managed to find was a single photo; one that included both kyoto and tokyo students. you were tucked into gojo’s side with your arm around shoko. geto was there too: him and gojo side by side as they always were in their teenage years. all of you were grinning and genuinely happy. where had it all gone so drastically wrong?

nobara wondered if it was geto’s fault that gojo’s class had been all but erased – an effort to forget that the worst curse user to live had in fact once been an aspiring sorcerer.

her next plan (and one she hadn’t full considered the logistics of completely just yet) was to watch every single video on the dvd because surely at some point, there would be some clue of who you were or where you’d gone. 

and even if there wasn’t, what else could she possibly do to amuse herself whilst she was on bed rest?

with a huff, she grabbed her laptop and dropped back onto her bed, tucking herself under the covers. opening up her laptop (her password being ‘12345’), she clicked unpause on a video she’d started the evening prior.

“–and that’s it basically.”

shoko waved her hands around, sat on yaga’s chair at the front of the classroom with a blackboard filled with scribbles behind her. it wasn’t anything legible, more like swirls and stars and nobara thinks that, if she looked hard enough, in the corner were two little stick men: gojo and geto. an unlit cigarette sat between her lips as she kicked her legs up onto her teacher’s desk. yaga clearly wasn’t in the room. 

“that made no sense whatsoever but woo! shoko!” you clapped, out of frame of the camera but enthusiastically nonetheless. the aforementioned girl narrowed her eyes at you across the classroom.

“that’s why i made a video, for you to look back on duh,” she tsked, nodding her head towards the camera. “plus it is easy. i expected dumb and dumber not to understand but you?” shoko patted away a few non-existent tears, taking on the role of disappointed parent and their once star student.

except you’d never really excelled in a class with two prodigies and shoko actually loved having the upperhand in at least one area of sorcery.

shoko picked up the camera, holding it upwards to give a full view of her outfit and hair – like it was any different to any other day she attended school. she swivelled the spinny chair over to an occupied desk, slotting next to it and moving the camera so that it captured all of you in the frame. gojo was sat down in the seat, glasses propped up onto his forehead as you sat sideways on his lap, unsuccessfully trying to decipher shoko’s teachings on the board.

“understanding reversed cursed techniques is way harder than understanding cursed techniques,” you tried to justify, pointing to the board that showed the squiggles that ‘symbolised’ performing a reversed curse technique. stealing gojo’s glasses and popping them on your own face, you popped a quick kiss to the side of his head, “plus, why waste my energy? you’ll figure it out so i never have to.”

“the things i do for you,” gojo sighed happily, dropping his head down onto your shoulder as his arms looped around your waist. the orange-haired sorcerer could practically hear yuuji’s gasps at the simple displays of affection and she almost felt bad for watching some of the clips without him.

almost.

nobara was never one for romance – drama, such as the fight between gojo and naoya, that was her scene. but even she couldn’t help herself from smiling at the teenage love between the two of you. maybe she should give her teacher more credit – there was more to the six foot two man than just his over the top personality and questionable teaching methods.

“this is meant to be an educational video! be less couple-y!” shoko complained, scowling and shuffling away on her chair again.

“oh, we could make it very educational,” gojo wiggled his eyebrows, the devious smirk on his lips only widening at your flushed expression as you tried to hit his chest. failing, though, as he isolated his cursed technique to uphold a thin barrier between your hand and the material of his uniform.

there was the teacher she knew – keen to annoy even those he loved the most.

shoko must’ve ended the video out of spite after his comment, because nobara found herself staring at a black screen. 

all that she’d learnt so far was that you couldn’t perform a reverse cursed technique as a teenager. maybe that was what killed you? if you were even dead, that is. but given the damage that curses can inflict on sorcerers, whether or not you were able to execute a reversed cursed technique could literally be the difference between walking away from a fight a little tired or in a body bag.

nobara coughed several times, picking up the open bottle of water from her bedside table and taking a sip to try and ease her scratchy throat. scrunching up her nose at the slight sting of swallowing, she clicked the next available video, not putting much thought into her choice.

it was you and nanami in frame in a library by the looks of it but if it was on campus, nobara didn’t know where. christmas decorations decorated the shelving units behind you – tinsels of gold, red and green, and hanging snowflakes. you were both wearing your usual uniform but you also had a santa hat on and tinsel lining your jacket.

“we’re the only two on campus,” you said quietly, “because everyone else’s parents loved them–”

“we couldn’t afford to go back for the holidays,” nanami cut you off, without glancing up from what he was writing. being from two non-sorcerer families was a disadvantage normally in terms of status and inherited techniques, but holidays were somehow worse. 

gojo had offered to help you out with a ticket back to your parents and had even extended an invitation for you to stay with him but you didn’t want to leave nanami alone (and although he didn’t seem grateful, he was glad you were there).

“it’s fine. academic comeback time,” you held up a book to the screen. being in a class with three exceptional sorcerers meant that studies were often sidelined to try and improve and perfect your techniques. holidays were usually your opportunity to catch up on the missed classwork and homework you’d fallen behind on.

nanami less so – if anything he was reading ahead. tokyo had never been renowned for academic scores until he’d come along.

“i don’t get why the camera needs to be here,” nanami complained.

“to record us study! it’s motivational.”

“sure,” nanami hummed quietly, reading over your shoulder at the work you’d already completed prior to setting up the camera. “that’s wrong. this is simple mutipli–” he paused at the sound of rustling and his brows furrowed as he tried to peer round the bookshelves. 

“merry christmas!” 

nobara snickered as nanami jumped at the sudden voice and appearance of three people behind him. gojo and geto were capable of masking their cursed energy (and shoko’s) so that they wouldn’t be noticed slipping into the library. although gojo had nearly screwed that up by pulling out a chair trying to trip up geto.

“ieiri!” you slipped out from your seat, running up and hugging your classmate. in the process, the camera got knocked so it was facing the ceiling. nobara frowned as she turned the brightness up on her laptop as if though that would somehow bring everyone back into grame. in the periphery of the screen she could make out just the heads and foreheads of the student sorcerers.

“hi satoru, missed you too satoru, so glad you came to see me satoru,” the white haired sorcerer pouted at the lack of attention and nobara is sure someone responded to him but the audio is muffled by two voices closer to the camera’s microphone.

“here!” haibara slipped into the seat next to nanami that you had occupied moments prior and held up a small wrapped box with red ribbon tied neatly in a bow. “i picked it up on the way. merry christmas nanamin!”

“thanks yu,” nanami smiled softly at his classmate. well that’s what nobara thought he did anyways, his eyes lifted into half crescents but she wasn’t actually sure what his mouth was doing out of frame. she’d never seen the blond so happy from a simple gesture.

she clicked off the video even though it still had thirty seconds left to go. it wasn’t much fun just watching people’s foreheads and she highly doubted that nanami was about to fix the camera’s position.

so you were from a non-sorcerer family and possibly not able to use reverse cursed technique. it wasn’t much but facts were still facts.

there was a little more deliberation before she chose her next video, settling herself back into her cushions as she waited for it to load.

the screen was suddenly very bright and nobara winced, turning it down as the surroundings came into focus. it was the inside of an arcade and the camera was pointed directly at one of those claw machines. inside were different sized plushies of spiderman and haibara was the one controlling the claw.

nobara could vaguely make out everyone’s reflection in the glass – to the left of haibara was geto (who was also the one holding onto the camera), gojo and you, and to his right was shoko, nanami and maybe also utahime? shoko had her arm around a blue haired girl either way.

“no! so close haibara,” you patted the youngest boy on the shoulder gently as the plushie he’d managed to pick up slipped from the claw’s clutches before it could be dropped down the chute and retrieved.

“can i try?” gojo asked and, from the annoyed groans, nobara assumed it wasn’t the first time he’d interjected.

“no, he’ll get it this time,” geto encouraged and gojo flashed him a look of disbelief. 

“if gojo wants a go he can have it!” haibara tried to step away from the machine but nanami halted him, slotting several more coins in the machine.

“take your go yu.”

“i’ll get you a slushie if you win,” shoko called out, clapping her hands together as he accepted his fate, hesitantly pressing down on the buttons as he peered through the side of the machine to get a better angle.

“haibara, haibara.” all of them were chanting his name now, and that was enough of a boost for him to finally get one of the plushies over the barrier and down the chute. the camera shook unsteadily as geto jumped and six of them crowded the youngest in a joint hug.

nobara could see yuuji in haibara and megumi in nanami and herself in shoko and she had to stop herself from tearing up. nanami and shoko seemed like strangers these days and she couldn’t even imagine waking up and yuuji not being the first one to greet her outside her room. 

we’ve got a mission here, she reminded herself, shaking her head lightly before moving onto the next clip.

“utahime, say hi,” you lowered the camera to the kyoto sorcerer’s height. she was sat cross-legged on the floor with a jacket flung haphazardly over her head to try and block out the sun that beamed down.

“hi!” utahime waved, smiling as you dropped down next to her. in her hands was a partially made daisy chain that she’d started to entertain herself whilst she waited for the tokyo students. despite being in kyoto, she’d always chosen to join yourself and shoko at events over her own classmates.

“who do you think is going to win the exchange event this year?” you asked with a raised brow and utahime grimaced.

“don’t make me compliment him.”

“are you implying that our edge is not because of me?” you looked at the camera with a disgusted expression, like you had the power to outshine the gojo satoru, she rolled her eyes – gojo’s dramatics were rubbing off on you. “for that i’m telling ieiri. you may be her girlfriend–”

utahime hit your arm and her eyes darted around for anyone that could’ve heard (like you were not sat alone in a field together whilst the others warmed up), “shut up! we’re not like that…”

you nodded with a condescending hum. “then kindly could you please stop calling her till three in the morning, some of us need our beauty sleep.”

“you’re only ever up at three am because you’re sneaking back from gojo’s dorm,” she retorted with a pointed look. you opened your mouth to defend yourself 

“true,” you jumped at shoko’s voice, swivelling your neck around to find the third piece of your trio standing behind you. shoko gestured towards your uniform jacket, “and if she pulls down her collar there’s a massive hickey i had to help cover up this morning.”

utahime erupted into a fit of giggles and you eyed the camera like it was some sitcom and you were breaking the fourth wall.

“you’re such an asshole.”

shoko pushed in between the two of you to make herself the middle. “you love me.”

nobara frowned as the video ended. while it wasn’t overly helpful, it reaffirmed the seriousness of your relationship with her teacher… but that was obvious from the lovesick heart eyes he constantly had in every video you were together.

although, she would have to show it to maki – the two had suspicions about the kyoto teacher and tokyo healer and this all but confirmed that they were right. 

nobara scrolled down till she found a thumbnail of you, geto and gojo sat around a table of food.

“zenin naoya,” you started, chopsticks in one hand as you held a bowl of food in the other. gojo pretended to vomit at the mention of his name. “yes toru, appropriate response, but have you heard about him and the kamo girl?”

geto nodded with a mouth full. “the one who studied abroad?”

“yes! her,” you waved your chopsticks in his direction, “anyways, she cheated on him.”

the dark haired sorcerer made a sound of shock, “they were together together?”

you nodded enthusiastically, offering gojo some of your rice. “mhmm, they got together new years eve.”

“that did not last long,” gojo snickered. nobara peered at the date in the corner of the screen in a retro, yellow font; 15 january 2006.

“best part? it’s not even the first time,” you revealed, picking up some salmon sushi off of gojo’s plate and quickly eating it.

“stop,” geto gasped and nobara was shocked. this man was a war criminal now, and yet ten years ago he seemed so far from it, gossiping like he was a teenage girl.

“which like i don’t get,” you frowned. “i dont know why he’s trying to save face over some two week old relationship. especially if she’s already cheated multiple times.”

“he’s just desperate because it’s the first girl to ever want to actually be with him.”

“oh yeah she really wants to be with him,” gojo uttered sarcastically with a sparkle in his eyes. he would have a party at the downfall of the zenin.

“are they staying together?”

“i think so,” you nodded, holding a hand over your mouth as you spoke and finished your mouthful. “it’s what me and shoko told him to do, well shoko. he facetimed shoko.” you clarified following gojo’s less than pleased expression. nobara didn’t doubt that naoya had caused some tension in your relationship (though she refused to believe it was ever because you had been interested in him) and she wished that you’d switch the topic solely onto that. that was the sort of drama she was after.

“youre telling me he facetimed ieiri to tell her he’d been cheated on?” geto could bearly finish the question without laughing and he shot gojo a look. “odds on him trying to make yn jealous.”

you couldn’t stop yourself from snorting. “oh yeah because hearing all that made me want to leave satoru for that thing.” sarcasm or not, your words were taken literally by your boyfriend who draped all one hundred and ninety centimetres of himself across your body. “oh my god you’re so heavy.”

“it’s just my love for you in physical form. don’t be mean,” he whined.

nobara didn’t even have the energy to laugh quietly at the pathetic nature of her teacher as she felt herself drifting off. it was fine, she thought, only a quick power nap. she’d earned it, watching all those clips expended lots of energy.

“kugisaki?” gojo gently knocked at the young girl’s door. he’d left yuuji and megumi to do laps to check nobara was still alive and well. the illness had made its way through half the school already and while it obviously wasn’t something fatal, he knew better than to take any risks.

he knocked again and waited thirty seconds before he opened the door enough just to peek in and–

“satoru.”

gojo felt his heart drop at the sound of your voice. one he hadn’t heard in almost two years and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so unsteady and thrown off guard. the mere sound of your voice had startled him and gotten more of an upper hand than any curse he’d ever had to exorcise.

although his world had stilled, reality continued on and he was forced to hear himself hum in response. he didn’t have to see the video to vividly remember the day, to remember the smell of the grass and your perfume that were coaxing him into a nap that would make you both late to yaga’s lecture.

“do you think we’ll still be together once high school is over?”

“hope so,” he murmured, half asleep, and gojo wished his younger self was more aware, telling you how much he wanted to be with you, savouring every second he had in your presence rather than sleeping it away. 

like that could’ve changed the outcome.

slipping into her room, gojo lifted the laptop off of her sleeping figure (definitely still alive and breathing). with a press of a button, the disk popped out and he set the device onto the ground as he contemplated what to do.

he could break it in half, make it seem like an accident that nobara hadn’t noticed in her ill state. or he could use his cursed technique and completely eviscerate it from existence.

or maybe he could keep it.

gojo gave nobara one last glance as he silently closed her door once more, grateful for the blindfold he wore as he headed back outside to his students.

taglist. @thefictionalcharacterssimp @hana-patata @mor-pheus @leathairs @sh0ek0 @maliakealoha @levisteeacup @g-kleran @stevenknightmarc @n1kimura @darliingyu @saturn-alone @splxtscreen @leah-rose03 @rinshoe @laurenzitaa @patricia142lilian @sabo-has-my-heart @wooasecret @dahliawarner @kysrion @dreamerdeity @mwah-chia @geromiegerald @arminsarlerts @maliakealoha @cherrypieyourface @k4romis @monsieurgucchi @bofadeezs @777userz @polarbvnny @chonkercatto @tenshis-cake @haitanibros0007 @ba-ks @liaurokodaki @urfavvirg0 @lofasofabread @r0ckst4rjk @vee-ai @aiikuraa @melileli0001 @rinshoe @vinivave @yell0wdreams @sukunasleftkneecap @malikazz243 @sad-darksoul @giannitaa @maliciousmace @name-insert @splxtscreen

this tag list is insane ty all for the support

[streetlightyeri]

oklahoma smokeshow ; t.o

"cause you're a small town smokeshow."

w.c.: 6275

content: lovers to enemies (?) to lovers, angst, fluff, do i have to disclose natural disasters lol, death of a family member, no beta, and as always: FMC is named but has no descriptors

-

The thunder rumbled around Harlow, the sky turning blue with every flash of lightning. These circumstances aren’t what she pictured coming back to Oklahoma to be; the forecasted unprecedented storm week seemed like it was less of a random once-in-a-generation weather cell and more like a physical amalgamation of her emotions. She spent the entire plane ride pretending to be asleep with her head covered so the flight attendants didn’t see her tears; her seat partner acted like he didn’t hear the occasional sniffle. Harlow was grateful for that.

The rental she chose was the last truck on the lot: a Toyota Tacoma with an Arkansas license plate. She wanted to kick the metal plate and pretend it was her ex’s University of Arkansas alumni plate. Instead, she pretended to be normal, and climbed in, immediately turning on the seat warmers and relaxing against the leather. She pulled the seat up the farthest it could go; whoever rented before her practically had it brushing against the back row.

She felt like she was back in high school, driving her dad’s truck to Dairy Queen with her friends. Now, she couldn’t even remember the last time she saw a truck. She spent most of her time on the metro or in a yellow taxi. After her and Tyler’s blowup breakup, Harlow declined her full ride admission to University of Oklahoma and accepted a spot at Columbia University. She fantasized about him showing up at the airport to wish her luck; he didn’t. Similar to how she just did, she pretended to be asleep while she cried on the plane to JFK.

Tyler Owens got famous - there was no other way to say it. He was a hot-shot storm chaser with seemingly little regard for the dangers. But Harlow knew; he was calculative and a downright mathematical genius when it came to tornadoes. He completed his degree in meteorology a year early with high honors. He walked summa cum laude. Harlow watched the livestream. When she walked across stage in her powder blue cap and gown, she couldn’t help but wonder if he did the same. Or if he did it when she walked again two years later for her Masters. And again when she walked four and a half years later for her PhD.

She didn’t just run from him: she ran from the town of Clearwater, Oklahoma. Harlow was . . . a smokeshow. There was no denying it. But she was more than just attractive and Prom Queen. She was valedictorian, president of the Beta and Spanish Clubs, the organizer of natural disaster relief programs across the county. But everyone in Clearwater saw her as one thing: Tyler Owens’ pretty girlfriend who would soon be nothing more than a passing face on the street with a baby on her hip with another on the way. And Harlow couldn’t deny that maybe . . . just maybe she would’ve enjoyed that. But there were so many things that she couldn’t do in Clearwater, so many opportunities outside of the county lines.

But Tyler didn’t want that. He found out she applied to more than just UO and laughed at her. He asked what she could possibly want to do that wasn’t already in Clearwater, asked if she thought she’d be able to leave her mom. And Harlow couldn’t answer. She had nothing concrete that she wished for; she had nondescript dreams of moving away. She spent so long being what everyone wanted her to be, she had no clue what else there was to wish for - what else there was to be.

Their argument was one of her core memories, and in the Tacoma, even with the radio on and the thunder nearly shaking the road, she could hear everything like she was there again, that night 2 weeks after Prom as she helped him clean up his gear from his first ride of the season.

-

Tyler threw his rope down against his saddle. “If you hate it here so much, maybe we shouldn’t be together then!”

“Maybe we shouldn’t!”

The empty arena was completely silent. The groan of the tin roof in the gentle breeze was the only thing that interrupted the tense moment.

He swallowed hard, but didn’t move from his spot a few feet away from her. “Is . . . is that what you really want?”

Harlow tried to shrink in on herself, wrapping her arms around her torso, still wearing his sweatshirt. “I don’t - I don’t know, Tyler. The problem is I don’t know what I want, just what everyone else does. It’s just - you can’t understand. You’ll never be able to understand.” She dropped her arms and opted to lean against one of the bull shoots, the cold, rusty metal grounding her.

He just turned around, busying himself with tightening the straps of his gear. He was silent.

“Tyler-”

He shrugged so hard it shut her up, reaching in his pocket and tossing his keys onto the dirt. “Take the truck. I’ll get my keys and my stuff tomorrow. I’ll call for a ride.”

Harlow crossed her arms, “No, I’m not taking your truck.”

“And I’m not having you staying here in the dark waiting for someone to pick you up. So unless you want me to drive you home, take the damn truck.”

Harlow picked the keys up from the dirt. She cried on the way home then in her mom’s lap. After nearly an hour of listening to her daughter cry, Shiloh James brought her daughter to the family laptop and had her sign into her University of Oklahoma admissions portal and deny her spot. Shiloh looked at her diploma from UC Davis hanging on the wall, “Sometimes a fresh start is what you need most.”

-

Now here she was, back in Clearwater for the first time in years. The few times she visited before were quick, a few days at most before she jetted back across the country; she never came during storm season, too afraid to cross paths with him or hear his name.

This time, Harlow had taken a month off work to spend time with her mother. All it took was one call from her mom's nurse Kelly for Harlow to book her plane ride home.

Shiloh scolded Harlow when she learned she took a month of unpaid leave. “Honey, you’re being dramatic. Your coworkers need you more than I do here! Honest. I haven’t felt better.”

Harlow playfully rolled her eyes at her mother and cuddled against her on the couch, pretending once again that she was here for different reasons. “Nah, I think they’ll be just fine.”

She was learning she was really good at pretending. But, maybe she had been all her life.

-

Harlow dropped her mom off at her best friend’s house as was customary per Kelly. Shiloh had long since stopped treatment and no longer cared about keeping distance from her loved ones. So Thursdays became nights for her to spend with Ruth to reminisce on their years together. Harlow planned to spend the night getting drunk and pretending her life wasn’t unraveling, like she wasn’t about to spend the weekend deciding between cedar and mahogany and pine.

Instead, she got a call from a college of hers in New York, Kate.

“Hello?” She answered, not sure what could prompt a call like this at 5pm. The two were work friends, the one the other would drift to during conventions - nothing more. Neither liked talking about anything personal. She could count on one hand the amount of real conversations she’d had with the girl. But perhaps weather could get her mind off the storm brewing in her life.

“Hi, this is Dr. James?” Kate sounded unsure, as though her number may have changed.

After receiving confirmation, Kate started into a spiel about how she was in need of a second opinion on the cells that were forming over the next few days in Oklahoma.

“Wait,” Harlow cut her off, “Are you . . . in Oklahoma?”

Kate swallowed, “Yes, as a favor to a friend. He’s testing out new equipment.”

“I mean - I’m in Oklahoma as well. I can meet with you, if that’s easier. That way I can see the models you’re describing.” Harlow wasn’t sure why she was so ecstatic to help. Maybe she just wanted a distraction, a taste of what Tyler did every day, what prompted him to leave Clearwater just a year after she did.

After half an hour of preparing a bag with her laptop and other essentials for the night she was going to spend at the motel, she was headed towards a town a few dozen miles north. The ride was the same as every ride through the Great Plains: filled with wheat, windmills, and cows. When she finally arrived at the address she was given, Harlow sighed and looked at the backseat, wishing she brought extra blankets. The parking lot was full: there was no chance of her getting a room that night. Nevertheless, she unbuckled, pulling her bag from the passenger side floorboard. She didn’t need to search for the StormParr trucks. They were stark white with the brutalist style logo slapped on every inch of the vehicles. She scanned the group for a second, looking for Kate - or any woman in general.

Kate saw her first, gently waving her over to introduce her to the group. After a while of comparing models and data (most of which was written off by the StormParr team and deemed as rudimentary), Kate got the hint that Harlow was about to snap. In an attempt to mediate, she cut off the tall, broad man while he was in the middle of talking about his data collection, “I’m sorry, but I really do have to run to the restroom. Dr. James, would you mind accompanying me?”

Harlow gave her a thankful look. The two set off to Kate’s room on the second floor. “I’m sorry about all of that. I thought what you said was very helpful. The prediction of rain habits in the area can definitely contribute to the-”

She cut Kate off with a raised hand and a laugh as they ascended. “It’s fine, really. I have a PhD in Climatology. I’m used to being talked over by men. It’s not like they’re paying me, so I don’t really care.”

They were about to start up the second set of stairs when a man called up at Kate, “Well if it isn’t Big City! That was a good call today!”

Harlow would’ve thought they were talking to her if she hadn’t known Kate was surrounded by these same groups of storm chasers for the past couple of days.

Kate rolled her eyes and whispered to her, “Tornado Wrangler crew.”

Harlow felt her eyes blow wide and her blood run cold. She could hear the rushing in her ears and her heart pumping in her chest. Through the ringing in her ears, she heard Kate introducing her, “This is Dr. Harlow James.”

She got the nerve to turn to see the group of people. They looked exactly how they did on YouTube - cool, fresh, and close knit. Harlow felt like she was looking into a portal to what her life could’ve been. Harlow swallowed hard, the world spinning around her aside from Tyler. His eyes were locked on hers, his face giving none of his thoughts away. Harlow wasn’t as confident in her own facial features. Of all the things to come out of their mouths, she wasn’t expecting one of his crewmates to know about her.

“Of course we know her!” Boone laughed, “We use her weather mapping patterns to plan our-”

Tyler’s boot connected with his side, making him yelp in pain.

She felt her stomach jolt upwards. Harlow gripped Kate’s arm, whispering one word: “Bathroom.”

The blonde took her up the rest of the stairs. The second the door was unlocked, Harlow made a B-line for the bathroom, falling to her knees and emptying her dinner into the toilet. Kate stood awkwardly at the doorway to her hotel room, acting like she couldn’t hear her colleague vomiting through the door. She walked to Harlow’s duffel bag and rummaged through it until she found her mouthwash.

She mulled over if she should check on her or leave her be and throw the mouthwash bottle into the bathroom like it was a grenade. She was given a few extra moments to decide when a knock interrupted her thoughts. Kate opened the door, expecting Javier coming up to apologize for his crew’s actions towards Harlow but instead was met with Tyler Owens.

She couldn’t hide her surprise, “Oh, um, hello.”

He looked down at her hand and saw the travel sized bottle of Listerine. He tried to peer around her, but Kate pulled the door. He realized how it must’ve looked, “I came to check on her. Is she okay? She looked like she was about to faint.”

It was clear there was a history between the two, but Kate couldn’t tell what exactly it was. She wasn’t sure if she cared either. But she wasn’t about to leave this girl who she brought over. Kate tried to lie, to say that she was fine and just using the restroom, but a particularly violent gag sounded out.

He looked like it took all of his willpower to not push Kate out the way and run to the bathroom. “I just need to make sure she’s okay, alright?”

Kate went to deny him again, but Javier came up the stairs at that moment, talking without looking until he got right to her door, “Hey, Kate, I want to apologize about the way they treated Dr. James. It was entirely unprofession- oh . . .”

Javier sized up Tyler, whose jaw was locked. He turned to Kate instead. “Where’s Dr. James? I want to apologize personally.”

“Bathroom.”

He nodded in understanding when he heard another gag and Kate slightly raised the bottle in her hand.

“Please,” Tyler pleaded. “Let me check on her. She will dry heave until she passes out. She’s done it since we were kids.”

Kate wanted to say no, but the sounds were not letting up; if anything, they were getting worse. And she was not good with comforting someone or with bodily fluids. She glanced between the two, eventually stepping outside and handing Tyler the bottle. “Leave the door open.”

“Of course,” he assured her before bolting to the door. He knocked softly and was answered by a dry heave. He swallowed thickly, his voice soft, “Harlow?”

She made no noise of acknowledgement. He knocked again to nothing. He tried the handle, and it was miraculously unlocked. Once the door swung open, he was met with Harlow on her knees, arms wrapped around the toilet, dry heaving so hard her back arched up and down. He got on one knee next to her, gently running a hand down her back as he said her name. Her body shook with another heave. He pulled the hand towel off the bar on the wall and ran it under the faucet before wringing it out and placing it across her burning neck. That seemed to snap her out of the cyclical vomit-dry heave moment she was having. Her breathing started to deepen and even out as she reached up to flush the toilet twice. The redness in her face started to recede. She braced herself to stand, but didn’t have the strength to do so yet and almost stumbled head first into the counter.

Tyler was quick, “Whoa, whoa, darl- Harlow.” His hands reached out to steady her against the counter. She took deep breaths as she regained her bearings, running her hands under the cool water. She washed her mouth out, taking a swig of the mouthwash he offered. She splashed her face with water. She rubbed away the residual tears that formed during her vomit spell. Her mascara was still smudged underneath her eyes.

“Can you uh, grab my toothbrush and a shirt?” He didn’t need any explanation as to why she couldn’t get it herself. He brought them to her after practically emptying her duffel bag contents onto the bed. He ran a soothing hand up and down her back as she kept her eyes on the running water. She took another swig of mouthwash and swallowed it for good measure. He closed his eyes and turned away as she changed her shirt.

“You good?” He asked. She wanted to throw up again at how soft his voice was.

She nodded. She glanced up and met his eyes for a brief second before wiping her nose with a strangled laugh, her voice raspy, “Great first impression.”

She wiped up the water droplets on the counter with the towel he gave her earlier, doing anything to not look at him or acknowledge how close he was after a decade of nothing.

“Harlow.” His voice was still soft, but firm. “What did those guys say to you?”

She scoffed and wiped her wet hands on her shirt before walking out the bathroom. “Nothing I can’t ignore. I’m used to it.”

“What do you mean?”

She shrugged, putting her things back in her bag that were strewn across the bed, “The usual. No one taking my models seriously because I was the only female graduate in my PhD program and because I’m the only person using them.”

“I use them.”

She pulled the zipper, staring so hard at her bag Tyler thought it might burst into flames, “So I’ve heard.”

There was a beat of silence. “Why’re you working with guys like that?”

That made her look up, eyebrows knitted. “I’m not. I have no clue who they are. I came here as a favor for Kate. We’re professional acquaintances. It was a coincidence we were both here.”

She said too much with that because he immediately asked, “Why are you back in Oklahoma?”

She kept her response short and guarded, “Seeing mom.”

Silence stretched on for an awkward amount of time. Harlow went back to looking at her bag. Tyler’s eyes never left hers.

“Let me take you get food. You just flushed yours down the toilet.”

“No!” Harlow almost jumped back as she heard those words. “No, no, I’m fine.”

He cocked an eyebrow, “When’s the last time you ate?”

“I ate on the way here.”

“And that’s gone. Before that?”

Harlow tried to do the math in her head. She skipped lunch because she was so worried about getting her mother bathed for her night with Ruth. She picked at an egg this morning but couldn’t stomach it, too aware of the texture of it. She wasn’t about to tell him she hadn’t digested a meal since the night before, so she opted for “A while.”

“I’m taking you get food. Come on.”

There was little reason for Harlow to argue - if she said she was going to bed he’d insist on walking her to her room and then she’d have to admit she didn’t have one, or that she was going to get food herself and he’d insist it was pointless to go alone if he was offering to drive.

That’s how the two ended up at a 24/7 diner, cramped into the only booth available next to the front window where everyone walking past could stare at them. It felt very similar to how Harlow felt when the two were a couple in Clearwater: watched, judged, and laughed at.

The two did not talk. Harlow became more comfortable with looking up, so instead of staring at the plate the entire meal, she was able to get as far up as his nose. His eyes were off limits in her mind. If she looked at them this close up, she was sure she’d feel everything she felt that night in the arena come rushing back.

-

She wasn’t sure how the two ended up in a pasture across from the diner, but she had made the mistake of looking at his eyes when his hand covered hers when the bill came. And she did feel all of those emotions come rushing back. It felt like their argument picked up right where it left off. The tall grass tickled her legs that were now accustomed to fancy lotions.

“I LEFT BECAUSE IT WASN’T FAIR! IT STILL ISN’T!” She shouted at him, hoping no one across the street could hear.

“What are you talking about?” Tyler scoffed.

“I left because the only thing I could ever be in Clearwater was ‘Tyler Owen’s girlfriend.’”

“Would that really have been so bad? A picket fence? A few babies?”

“No! It wouldn’t have! But you got to be Tyler Owens. Hot-shot bullrider extraordinaire. Loved by everyone. I was nothing more than the town smokeshow, and that’s all I would ever be.”

“You chose to go to college!”

“And look where you ended up! Mr. Summa Cum Laude! Why was it okay for you to go and not me?”

Tyler couldn’t hide the shock on his face. “You . . . you kept up with me?”

Harlow nodded. “Yup. Watched the livestream of you graduating. Even though you started a year after me, we still ended up graduating the same year.”

“But why keep up? You left. You went to New York.”

“I was going to UO at first. Wanted to stay close to you. They were gonna pay for everything, can you believe that?” She let out a humorless laugh. “Then we broke up. And my mom told me to go to New York. Get a fresh start. Turns out I fucked up that fresh start, too.”

He knit his brows. “What do you mean?”

Harlow fell onto the tailgate, her feet dangling. She tried to speak but only a sob came out. She hung her head and squeezed her eyes shut, a tear running down her nose and falling onto the dirt. Tyler walked over slowly and apprehensively took a seat next to her. She didn’t move to bite his head off or push him off. After a few seconds, she was able to compose herself to say the words she’d been refusing to say. The ones she refused to repeat to Nurse Kelly. The ones she knew her mom didn’t like. “She’s dying, Tyler. That’s why I came home - to plan her funeral. The doctors gave her until the end of the month. I-I left and never came back, and now I’m never gonna see her again.”

“Oh, baby,” his heart clenched. Of all the people in the world that deserved something like that, Shiloh was the last one. She raised Harlow alone after her father skipped town when she was two. She baked homemade cakes for him on his birthday and included him in Christmas and donated every penny she could to those in Clearwater who needed it. He wrapped his arms around her, and she broke. She held onto his button down and let out the sobs she’d been pretending to not be holding back, the ones she muffled in her pillow at night so she didn’t wake her mom.

She would’ve continued if it hadn’t been for the breeze she felt. It was warm. Like the ones before it, but different. The heat was weighing the breeze down, not being carried by it. She slowly pulled away from Tyler. He tried to say something, but she held her hand out to quiet him. She slowly dismounted from the tailgate, landing on the ground with a thud. Tyler made significantly less noise when he stepped off. Harlow pulled her hair tie out, slipping the band onto her wrist before leaning down and snapping a few blades of grass from the ground.

“Harlow, what are you-” He shut up when she let go, the blades flying away. He understood what spooked her. He suddenly felt the heaviness in the air, the air blowing her hair in the same direction as the grass. Heat lightning flashed in the sky, illuminating a monster cloud. Tyler grabbed her upper arm, “Get in the truck. Now.”

She nodded, racing to the passenger side just as the wind began to pick up. Heading back to the motel was too risky and too far. The best bet was to find shelter in town. Tyler started down the main stretch of road, Harlow screaming out the window for people to find shelter; if it was just her in her rental, she knew that no one would take her seriously. She had no fame and was no household name, but the red truck she was in gave her all the credibility she needed. Pedestrians heeded her warning and turned, fleeing to the nearest buildings. Power began to flicker across the city, darkness rolling in waves as transformers blew. The tornado siren started its song. Tyler had to intervene by rolling the passenger side window up on his control panel once the hail started, Harlow getting pelted as she stuck her head out to yell warnings.

“The hail is enough extra warning for them, sweetheart. Look for a shelter we can go into.”

Her eyes scanned, but the lack of power made it hard to see anything, even with the flashes of lightning. But then she pointed to the right, “Look! A motel! They most likely have one!”

He pulled into the parking lot, not caring how shittily he parked. But to the two’s horror, there were still three people in the lobby and they were soon joined by a mother and daughter. The young woman was laughing at their nervous state.

“Chill, guys, 9 times out of 10 there’s not even a tornado.”

The other two men were arguing about a bad Yelp review. Tyler instructed her to find a shelter, stating he’d round up everyone in the lobby. Harlow never ran so fast in her life. She checked every room, but found no doors that led to a storm shelter. She felt her heart fall to her stomach as she returned to the lobby to tell them they’d have to try and stick it out there. But out the corner of her eyes she saw the empty pool. “Tyler! Over here!”

He guided them all to the door she was at. “We have to run for it.”

The mother, daughter, and shop owner nodded. The other two scoffed, refusing to admit that a tornado was making its way down main street. Tyler nodded to Harlow and she unlatched the door. It swung off its hinges and flew across the parking lot, then she patted the mother and daughter to go, then the clerk.

“This is your last chance! Come with us!”The two others shook their heads, finally starting to understand the severity, but too scared to venture out. Tyler could not wait any longer; he grabbed Harlow’s arm and pushed her out before going last. They caught up quickly, each helping the other three down the ladder.

Her voice was getting sucked away by the howling wind, “Get to the pipes! Hold on! Do not let go!”

She tried to help Tyler down, but he pulled his arm back. “Absolutely not! Harlow, get in and do not wait for me!”

There was no time to argue. She could hash this out with him when they made it out of this. He grabbed onto her torso and helped her descend. She immediately ducked down, making a run for the pipes. Tyler was right behind her, until he wasn’t: the clerk stood up to see the tornado behind them and got sucked to the middle of the pool. He held onto the ladder, but had to let go and duck when a vending machine flew towards him. Tyler fell to his belly, making his way around the machine, reaching his hand out for the man. But the man ignored Tyler’s warning. He got to his knees to reach Tyler’s hand faster. Harlow watched in horror as the man hit the side of the pool with a crunch before getting sucked away.

She was crying just as the mom and daughter were; the screws of the pipes shook with the strength of the tornado that was rapidly gaining on them. Tyler was slowly making his way back over to the group on his belly. She screamed his name, but it was covered by the sound of a train horn. She hooked her arm through the pipe and extended her body as far out as she could, trying to reach him.

He wanted to shout at her, to tell her to get back against the pipes, that he wasn’t letting her mom bury her, that he wasn’t going to bury her. But if she hadn’t done that, he’d be dead right now. Just as he made it back to her and wrapped her body in his, a truck flew into the pool and wedged itself above them. He could feel her heartbeat hammering; he tried to tighten his grip on her, his biceps protecting her head as he ducked his own. He whispered soothing, sweet nothings against her head.

The winds slowed, but her breathing was still hard. He broke first, trying to move to peek around the truck to ensure they were in the clear, but Harlow moved her hands to grip one of his arms. He squeezed one of her hands and placed it back on the pipe. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ll be right back.”

She returned to her death grip on the pipe. He was back seconds later to pry her off and bring her above. The mother and daughter thanked them with tears in their eyes. Harlow knew she should be embarrassed at how she was clinging to Tyler the same way the girl was clinging to her mother. But he didn’t seem to mind. He let her cling to him as they waited for the rest of his crew to arrive for relief efforts. Once they did, he sat her in the passenger seat of his truck. He tried to help set up tables with food and water, but Lily shooed him away with two bottles of water.

She nodded in the direction of his truck where Harlow was on the phone, her body shaking from the adrenaline crash. “She needs you more than we do. Get her back safe. We have it from here.”

He glanced between Lily and Harlow. He wanted to ask if she was sure, but he knew Lily wouldn’t let him leave if they truly needed his help, so he thanked her and went to start up the truck just as she was hanging up the phone.

“She okay?” He didn’t have to ask who it was. There was only one person who Harlow went to for comfort.

She wiped at her cheek, “Yeah, yeah. Not even a drop of rain. She’s with Ruth.”

That made Tyler let out a belly laugh. “Are we sure they didn’t cause this?”

Harlow laughed wetly, “I would not bet money against it.”

-

When they arrived at the motel, Tyler was adamant on walking her to her room and getting her settled. It was nearing 1AM. Harlow looked at her lap and scratched at the nape of her neck. “So, uh, about that . . .”

He cocked an eyebrow, motioning with his hand for her to continue.

“I was gonna sleep in my rental. There’s no vacancy.”

He looked at her incredulously, “You’re joking, right?”

She stayed quiet.

“So you were just planning on getting here and sleeping in your truck?”

She shook her head, “No, I just wasn’t expecting every storm chaser in America to be at this motel. That or I was going to go home. Kate said there was still vacancy when we talked on the phone. She even verified that there were a handful of rooms left.”

“Well you’re not sleeping in your truck, absolutely not.” He turned his truck off, grabbing her duffle bag he threw into the backseat earlier.

She looked at him questioningly, holding her hand out for her bag, “Then I’m going home.”

“No. You are not driving half an hour in the dark right after you just waited out a tornado in a pool, especially not to be home alone. And you’re not sleeping in the backseat of an untinted rental in a parking lot, especially not one where I have confirmation that there are people here who do not respect you. You’re staying in my room.”

“I can’t!”

“Relax, I’ll sleep in the chair.”

Harlow felt her face flush. “That’s - that’s not what I meant. You paid for the room. You need to sleep in a bed without having to worry about your ex-girlfriend who dry heaves as an anxiety response.”

He rounded the truck by the time she finished talking. He reached over and unbuckled her, grabbing her hand to help her down. He shut the door behind her. “I didn’t care before, don’t care now. Come on, we need showers.”

“I’m sleeping on the chair then.”

“Yeah, sure.” He replied sarcastically.

He all but forced her to go first; while she washed all the dirt and mud off herself, he prepared a makeshift bed on the chair with bedding he found in the closet. It smelled of mildew, but there was no way he was giving her those blankets and keeping the ones on the bed for himself.

When she came out in a towel, he nearly tripped over the footstool he was adding padding to. He slammed his eyes shut and turned around. “A heads up would’ve been nice.”

He could hear the embarrassment in her voice, “I said your name like 4 times but you didn’t respond. I thought you were asleep. I have shorts on, I was just coming to get my other shirt from my bag.”

He felt silly talking to the wall with his eyes closed. “Don’t tell me you mean Throw Up shirt.”

“Okay, I won’t tell you.”

He groaned in frustration, reaching blindly for the pile of clothes he set out for himself. He felt for his shirt and tossed it in her direction. The noise of it hitting the wall let him know he missed, but he heard her shuffling to pick it up.

“Thank you.”

-

Tyler was about to scold her again when he opened the bathroom door, steam wafting out into the room, but found her asleep in the chair. She was curled into herself, legs pulled to her chest and secured by the mildew blanket. He shook his head in disbelief and pulled at the blanket to try and wake her up. She groaned and pulled the blanket back against herself.

“Harlow. Wake up. Take the bed.”

She simply groaned in response, turning to tuck her head farther against the chair.

“Baby, I’m not playing this game. Take the bed.”

Her words were almost incoherent, but he managed to decipher them, “If I’m in th’ bed, then you will be too. M’not takin’ from you.”

“Suit yourself, then.” He said, placing one arm under her back and the other under her knees, lifting her and bringing her to the bed.

He let her get settled and couldn’t ignore her shivers. He reduced the fan speed on the AC before climbing into bed behind her, his back to the door. He kept distance between the two of them, but she was shaking so hard it nearly turned the mattress into a massage bed.

“C’mere.” He hooked his arm around her torso and pulled her into himself. He was still pulsing with warmth from the shower. “You wouldn’t be cold if you had used hot water for your shower.”

He wasn’t aware if she was conscious or if she was acting on instinct, but she curled up into him, fitting like the puzzle piece he’d been missing for a decade.

-

Two and a half weeks passed. And so did her mother. Kelly announced her.

Her first call was the coroner’s office. Her second was Tyler. It had been radio silence since that night in the motel. He walked her to her car and made her promise to text her when she got home safe; aside from that, Tyler was trying to mentally piece himself back together enough to go back to never seeing Harlow James again.

The phone hadn’t even finished its first ring before he picked up. She was sobbing and incoherent, but he knew. He promised her he’d be there as soon as he could; he beat the police. He held her as she sobbed for her mom on the lawn as they wheeled her out the house. She spent every moment since that night with her mom, even those nights at Ruth’s. She savored every moment with the woman who raised her, but it wasn’t enough. She had too many memories of New York, and not enough of her mother. Her visits were so infrequent that her mother's weight loss was stark instead of gradual. But she knew if she had the chance to do it all again, her mother would be the one telling her to do it, that in order to find herself, she had to start anew.

Tyler was one of the pallbearers. After he did his duty, he found his place right back next to her. He held her while she cried, while she laughed, and while she sat there blankly. Everyone in town talked about how good it was to see the two together again despite the circumstances. And Harlow found herself wondering if maybe her mother knew this was how it was going to end all along. That she could be happy in this town. That the storm he caused would only be tamed by him.

And maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t be pretending anymore.

[in-my-feels-probably]

Older Art spoiling his 20 something yo girlfriend that goes to Stanford. She looks up to him and listens to him and does whatever he says and basically lives for his praise.

I Feel So High School (Every Time I Look At You)

Request: Older Art spoiling his 20 something yo girlfriend that goes to Stanford. She looks up to him and listens to him and does whatever he says and basically lives for his praise.

and: art being 10ish years older than reader? that’s all i got. go crazy

Hi! Challengers has been on my mind literally since the day it came out, and I think I've read every single fic on here about it, so I figured I’d give it a shot writing one myself. First of all, I combined your requests, hope that’s ok. Second, this is my first time writing for Art, so please bear with me while I try and get the hang of writing his character. I haven’t written a fic in weeks, so my skills are definitely a little rusty. Please be kind! Anyways, I hope you like this. Let me know what you think, and thank you for the request :)

(Warnings: none? idk, maybe very vague mentions of sex, art is divorced, swearing, i guess the age gap taboo. let me know if i missed anything)

—

You should have known trying to explain your situation with Art to someone else would’ve been difficult, but finally telling your roommate everything was just as humiliating as you thought it would be. She always had a knack for nosing her way into your business, and not even you were immune to her federal level detective skills when it came to getting information out of someone. 

“And I’m seeing him today,” you finished your rant as you sucked in a breath, wincing as you waited for the bomb to drop.

But it didn’t. Your roommate just grinned, standing up and walking over to your closet. You watched with a confused look on your face until she turned to you, already elbow deep in your clothes.

“So…you have a sugar daddy?” your roommate asked, trying to stifle a laugh as she rifled through your closet to help you find an outfit. “No judgment, I’m honestly jealous.”

You picked a pillow up off your bed, launching it at her when she smirked as you flushed. “I don’t have a sugar daddy! I have a…well—ok, I don’t know what we are. But he’s not my sugar daddy.”

“No, he’s just an ex pro tennis player with a famous ex wife who was also a pro tennis player that he had a perfect little girl with, complete with a house in the Hamptons. Now, he’s…what, exactly? A coach? A commentator? Part of Stanford’s glorified alumni? No, I’ve got it! I know what he is — hot. In a beekeeping age, recently divorced, kind of way.”

You rolled your eyes, standing up to help her look through your closet. “He’s only in his thirties. You’re making him sound archaic and washed up.”

“Look at you, gushing over him,” she grinned as she finally landed on something for you to wear, quickly handing it to you. “At least he has good taste. You’re hot, too.”

Your roommate turned around while you quickly changed, sitting down at the foot of your bed. She talked over her shoulder as you got dressed, her voice full of curiosity.

“So, how did this all happen anyway?”

You sighed, shaking your head. “Remember alumni week with all the guest lectures and presentations a few months ago?”

“You met Art Donaldson during alumni week? What the fuck! Why didn’t you tell me? I wouldn’t have skipped all my classes that week if I thought I was gonna pick up a trophy husband instead of being forced to sit through a mind-numbingly boring presentation from some guy who used to go here that I’ve never heard of.”

“Sucks to suck, babe,” you grinned, finished getting dressed. “I’m good, you can turn around now.”

She quickly turned around, patting the spot on the bed next to her.

“How did this even happen? I’ve never seen you step foot on a tennis court in your life, and I know they wouldn’t have asked him to speak in a graduate lecture.”

You sat down next to her, nodding. “He did a seminar down at the courts for the kinesiology majors or something like that. They were learning about sports related injuries and how to treat them. He told them about how he hurt his shoulder a few years ago during a match, and he talked about all the physical therapy he had to do.”

“You’re telling me you sat through a kinesiology lecture? On a tennis court? When you don’t even study kinesiology?”

“Absolutely not,” you laughed, leaning back against the headboard. “He told me about it that first week while he was here.”

Your roommate giggled, grabbing your hand and squeezing it. “Oh my god! Okay, okay. Spill. Now. I want to know everything.”

You playfully rolled your eyes, but started ranting again anyway. 

—

In truth, you didn’t really know what your relationship with Art was. You’d met when returning alumni who’d gone on to excel in their fields came to campus for guest lectures and demonstrations.

In a total mortifying cliche, you ran into Art in a hallway while you were rushing to a lecture that had already started ten minutes earlier. You would have been on time, but your roommate accidentally locked herself out of your dorm, and the RA wasn’t answering their phone. She had an exam she needed to get to, which—in her own words—“trumps your boring book lecture.” You had no choice but to turn around and save her, making the trek back across campus to let her in. That’s how you ended up running face first into Art, your bag and all your things scattering across the floor. By some miracle, at least the halls were empty.

You quickly kneeled, scrambling to pick up all your things. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going. I’m late for class.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, kneeling to help you.

It was then when you looked up, and you felt your heart jump into your throat. Art Donaldson—famous alumni and world renowned tennis player—was crouched right in front of you, handing you half empty tubes of chapstick, a pair of headphones, and a stray pack of gum. Oh god, you thought to yourself. Why me? Why today? You quickly cleared your throat, standing up.

“God, sorry. Thanks…Mr. Donaldson.”

You cringed as you said it, the title of Mr. feeling off as it rolled off your tongue.

“Mr. Donaldson?” he raised a brow, shaking his head. “No, just call me Art. Uh, you know who I am? Am I actually still recognizable here? I figured no one off of the courts would have any idea who I was.”

You glanced down at his shirt, pointing. “You’re wearing a name tag.”

Art paled, raising a hand to awkwardly scratch at the back of his neck. Good one, he thought to himself. Very humble. He cringed to himself as his cheeks flushed, a small smile on his face.

“Right. I knew that.”

You smiled, pulling your bag back over your shoulder as you let out a little chuckle. “I know who you are. Stanford never lets us forget about their prized students.”

“Ah,” he nodded, grinning. “In my day, it was Reese Witherspoon and Jennifer Connelly. Although, Reese dropped out halfway through her degree, so they don’t talk about her much—”

“And Jennifer left Yale to come study here,” you finished. “That’s one they do still brag about.”

Art smiled, leaning back against the wall as he looked at you. You suddenly became very aware of your situation, tearing your eyes away from him to look down the hall where your class was. Art’s eyes followed, and he straightened up, clearing his throat.

“Am I keeping you?”

“No!” you said all too quickly, biting your tongue for a second before you forced yourself to calm down and continue. “Uh, my class already started. It’s not really important, he doesn’t count attendance anyway. And, to be honest, he’s pretty dull. He managed to make Jane Austen boring.”

“Not Bazin’s class, is it?” Art asked, making you raise a brow.

“Yeah, it is. How’d you know that?”

Art smiled, letting out a little laugh. “That’s why I came this way, I wanted to see if Professor Bazin still taught English here. He was a dinosaur even when I graduated. I’m surprised they still let him teach.”

“If they actually read the end of term course evaluations they make us fill out, they wouldn’t,” you mused, making Art grin wider.

“I guess I should let you go then,” Art shrugged, glancing down the hall. “Wouldn’t want you to miss out on something you could use in your scathing evaluation.”

You glanced back down the hallway at your classroom, but you couldn’t get your feet to move. You weren’t sure why, but you didn’t want to go just yet. 

All you did at Stanford was go to and from class and stay on top of your studies. It was monotonous and boring, and you were always up to your neck in papers and projects. Other than your roommate, you hardly had any people left you talked to or hung out with. They all graduated with their undergrad degrees, and you moved on to your graduate studies. Your education was important to you, but it got lonely. You almost never took risks anymore. But as you glanced back at him, that’s what you did.

You took the risk.

“Or…you could save me from my misery?” you stuttered out, an awkward smile on your face.

Art looked at you with an amused expression, tilting his head as he waited for you to continue. You swallowed, fiddling with the strap of your bag.

“My classes are almost all entirely in this building. I’m sure you’re sick of talking about tennis, but between here and my dorm, I don’t think I see enough sunlight in a day to keep me going. Maybe you could walk with me somewhere that actually sees the sun? Doesn’t have to be the courts or anything, although I can say with full confidence that I’ve never actually seen that part of campus and I’m in my graduate studies. Uh, maybe you’ve got somewhere in mind? Or you could let me buy you a cup of shitty cafeteria coffee? I promise I’ll refrain from asking you about your career. But, as I’m sure you can tell just by looking at me, I don’t really know enough about tennis to ask anyway.”

As you rambled on, horrified by your own rambling but determined to put yourself out there, Art smiled. 

He’d met a lot of girls over the years. Some girls who had a genuine interest in him but didn’t last, and some who saw his fame and fortune as a one way ticket to an easy life. 

None of them mattered. 

He had married Tashi, head over heels from the first moment he saw her. He had a kid with her, a career with her, a seemingly picture perfect life with her. It didn’t even occur to him to look at other girls until his marriage started to strain under the weight of his career, and he’d almost forgotten what it was like to look at a girl for the first time and feel that sickening but addictive feeling of butterflies fluttering around in his stomach. After the divorce, it felt so foreign to him that he didn’t even try. He had resigned himself to being a single father who co-parents and lives the rest of his life comfortably and quietly.

But here you were, rambling on with flushed cheeks and bright eyes trying your hardest to ask him out, and he couldn’t be more captivated.

There was just something about you. You were pretty, obviously. Anyone with eyes would’ve been able to see that. But there was something else, too. You were still young and not entirely pessimistic yet, with your whole career ahead of you. Probably no more than a few heartbreaks under your belt, able to muster up some sort of courage to fight for what you wanted. He used to have that, and he missed it — admired it, even. As you finally cut yourself off and looked up at him with mortification written across your face, Art saved you from further embarrassment with a smile. 

“Um…coffee sounds good,” he said with a shy smile. “Not from the cafeteria, though. If it’s as bad as it was when I went here, I’m not gonna let you waste your meal card money on it. There’s a cart outside of the athletics center, I stopped by it this morning. It’s still good.”

Trying your best to mask the shock you were feeling by his answer, you quickly nodded. “Oh, okay. Sounds good.”

You spent the entire afternoon with him. Coffee turned into lunch, and lunch turned into a long walk. Although you both had things to do, neither of you wanted to say goodbye and go on with your day. You skipped the rest of your classes for the day, letting Art show you around campus. He took you to all the places you had never been, and you kept quiet and let him show you anyway when you passed somewhere you had already been a hundred times. He was polite and asked you about your major and career goals, even managing a graceful smile when it was his turn to tell you about his career and how it unfolded after he graduated. He was careful to leave out the end, but he found himself comfortable enough to tell you about the first few years. You asked what you could, but you really didn’t know enough about the sport to ask much of anything.

“I’m boring you to death, aren’t I?” he asked when there was a lapse in silence after you passed a poster with his face on it for a Wimbledon campaign.

“No, not at all!” you replied, tilting your head up towards the poster. “I’m just wondering how you managed it.”

Art cocked a brow, turning towards you. “Managed what?”

“Not becoming a complete asshole,” you shrugged, making him burst out laughing. “I’m serious! You’re not the first celebrity to come here during alumni week. The difference between you and them is that you didn’t show up and immediately start bragging about how successful you had become. As far as I can tell, you’re the same as when you graduated. That seems pretty rare.”

“There’s not much to brag about,” he shrugged, too humble for his own good.

“A career Grand Slam isn’t worth bragging about?” you asked, turning away from him when he gave you a confused look. “Okay, fine, I may or may not have Googled you back in the restaurant while you were in the bathroom. I was running out of things to ask you, and I figured I should know something about tennis. Anyway, I was impressed.”

Art just chuckled. “I’m flattered.”

After walking a few more minutes, the street lamps turned on. It had gotten late enough in the evening that they were starting to light up around the darker parts of the campus. It was your cue to stop walking and look around, both of you realizing how long it had been since you started talking.

“I guess I should be headed back to my dorm,” you said, a hint of disappointment in your voice. “My roommate is probably freaking out by now. She knows I never really go anywhere after class without her—and yes, I heard how pathetic that sounded as it came out. She’s probably gonna call campus security if I don’t show up soon.”

Art nodded, knowing you were right. And yet, his feet didn’t move. Neither of you made any attempt to leave, still standing under the soft light of the street lamps. Art looked at you with soft eyes, absentmindedly reaching to fiddle with his wedding ring with his thumb before he remembered it wasn’t there anymore. Finally, he cleared his throat. 

“Well…I guess this is the part where I ask you for your number.”

“It was nice meeting you, too—” you started, doing a double take once his words registered. “Wait, what?”

Art let out a nervous laugh, shrugging. “You bought me a coffee, it’s only fair that I do the same. I’m here all week. Maybe you’d want to do this again sometime?”

“Uh, yeah! Yeah, that sounds good,” you replied, trying your best and failing to sound as nonchalant as you could.

Art smiled and pulled out his phone, opening his contacts. He handed it over to you, watching as you typed in your number before handing his phone back to him. You fought the heat pooling in your cheeks, fiddling with the strap of your bag. Art grinned, breaking the silence. 

“Go find your roommate. Tell her to call off the search party.”

You chuckled, nodding. “I’m on it. Well…bye, Art.”

“Bye, Y/N. I’ll text you,” he replied, enjoying watching you shuffle back and forth on your heels. 

He made you nervous. And for some reason, he liked that. He’d spent practically the last decade of his life perpetually nervous. It was nice to know someone else felt the same way. 

He watched you go as you turned around and headed back to your dorm, a distant but still familiar warmth in his chest. He’d only known you for a few hours, but he could already tell he liked you. By the time you made it back to your dorm and managed to come up with an excuse for your roommate who immediately interrogated you the second you stepped through the door, your phone was ringing. You excused yourself to the bathroom with a bashful grin on your face, answering the call.

—

You spent the better part of a week with Art when you both had time between your classes and his seminars. 

It felt surprisingly easy and normal talking to him. Your small talk about your careers and plans turned into more personal topics, and then you were talking about anything and everything. You were fully aware of the age gap between you two, but it didn’t bother you nearly as much as you thought it would. If anything, it was part of the draw to him. He was also kind and friendly, with a surprisingly self deprecating sense of humor that made you laugh. Not to mention the fact that he was drop dead gorgeous. You had to actively make sure he didn’t catch you staring at him when his head was turned. He made you want to actually giggle out loud, which is something you never thought you’d do over a guy.

By the end of the week when it was time for him to leave and go back to New York, you both were dreading saying goodbye. 

It was late in the evening, about an hour before he had to leave to catch his flight. He’d finally taken you to the courts, once again only lit by the street lamps overhead. It was the first time all week he’d stepped onto the court and actually wanted to be there, not surrounded by onlookers who knew every nook and cranny of his life and career. Instead it was you, the sweet pretty girl who made him genuinely laugh when you asked him why the points system would ever use the term love to describe a lacking score. 

He fiddled around for a while, teaching you a few serves and how to hold the racquet to hit the ball. Eventually he was on the other side of the net, watching you giggle and chase after the few balls he’d softly serve your way. He could hear you panting and the sound of your shoes skidding across the court, but your laughter was too sweet to make him stop. 

Finally, you stopped to take a break, sitting down on the bench. “Don’t look at me, I might cough up a lung.”

“Very impressive,” he smiled, passing you his water.

“Thank you,” you grinned, motioning between him in the court. “Go on, let’s see what you’ve got. I’m down for the count, but I’m sure the ball machine will be more than happy to fill in for me.”

Art smiled, watching you grin at him with flushed cheeks and glowy skin. If anyone else was asking, he wouldn’t have done it. He wasn’t interested in showing off his skills, or lack thereof to put it more accurately as of late — he’d stopped training as intensely after the divorce, no new tournaments waiting for him to come and win. But the look on your face when you asked was just one he couldn’t say no to. Plus, your knowledge of the sport wasn’t that vast. You probably wouldn’t notice if he slipped up anyway. And if you did, you’d be too kind to make him feel bad about it.

“If you insist,” he groaned, but he was still smiling to himself as he moved to the other side of the court.

You watched him play for a few more minutes. He really was something to see. Every movement he made was smooth and graceful, a far cry from the stumbling around and huffing and puffing you had been doing. Every ball hit its target, every serve lining up exactly where he wanted it to. As silly as it sounded, you actually had to prevent yourself from clapping once he finally slowed down and turned the machine off.

“Look at you go,” you smiled from the bench, handing him back his water as he walked back over.

His cheeks flushed pink, and he was silently praying you couldn’t see it from under the low lights. He was too busy getting all flustered to reply to you, and it made you smile. It was silent for a long moment as you stared at each other, before he finally stood up. You followed him, a sinking feeling in your gut as you realized that it was probably time to say goodbye.

It had been a week you had never even dreamed would’ve happened to you, and yet it did. The one risk you decided to take had led to the most fun you’d had in your entire time at Stanford. You didn’t want to see him go.

As you looked up at him with soft eyes and a melancholy look on your face, like you were looking to him for all the answers, Art felt a sharp tug in his chest. He found himself immediately wanting to fix it, wanting to make you smile again — smile because of him. He’d have done anything in that moment to get you to laugh again.

So, against his better judgment, he leaned in and kissed you. 

It was a spur of the moment decision, one he almost immediately regretted. But then he felt you sink into the kiss, your hands coming up to his waist to steady yourself. He cupped your cheeks and pulled you into him, unable to stop the smile spreading across his lips. 

And that was all it took — he was falling, and falling hard. 

—

That was months ago now, and yet, Art still found reasons to visit you. 

When there was lapses in tours, or it was Tashi’s week with Lily, he always somehow found himself ending up coming right back to you. He’d pick you up from your dorm, and you’d spend the entire day with him. On weekends, you ended up in whatever hotel he was staying at, telling your roommate you were going back home for a few days. When you weren’t together, you were constantly texting or calling. He even sent a postcard once when the ATP took him to Europe. It was cheesy, but you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face all day when you got it in the mail. 

You hadn’t exactly put a label on the relationship, but it was clear to the both of you that you meant more to each other than either of you cared to admit out loud. Quite a bit more, actually.

And Art wasn’t stupid — he knew what your relationship looked like. 

Recently divorced, a younger woman by his side. If they knew, the media would paint him as one of two options: an easily manipulated victim of a gold digger, or a washed up athlete who split with his wife that was now taking what he could get, the younger and prettier the better. 

But that wasn’t it at all for Art.

It wasn’t just sex, or a new pretty face. You were something different. A breath of fresh air. Someone who didn’t care about his career or money or fame. You had no interest in what he could offer you, or what you could get out of him. You never made him feel pressured to do anything or talk about anything he didn’t want to. He’d spent so many years craving a sense of normalcy and peace. Time and time again, he’d wanted to go to Tashi and beg for a break in his routine. But, always too afraid to disappoint her and everyone else watching him, he stayed quiet. He never got a break. As odd as it was to say, that’s what you were to him when he met you — a break. A minute to breathe, a moment to relax. He always felt that way around you.

Simply put, he was head over heels for you. He didn’t think he’d feel like that for another woman after Tashi until he met you, and it shocked him how easily the feeling came to him.

And it wasn’t just him that had fallen. 

You practically hung on every word he said, and soaked up every ounce of praise he gave you. You had never been with someone like him before. Someone so experienced and sure of himself, but just as gentle and patient as he was sure. He made you laugh and smile, and he made you feel safe. For whatever reason he had taken interest in you, you didn’t care, you just didn’t want it to stop. You clung to it, enjoying it while it lasted.

And if either of you had anything to say about it, it would last.

—

By the time you finished explaining your relationship with Art to your roommate, she was already pushing you out the door. 

“Go, go, go,” she squealed, tossing you your keys. “Wait!”

She wrapped her hand around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks as she glanced down at the outfit she chose. “Is that a new dress? Did he buy you a dress? Oh my god, please tell me he has a brother.”

“Not sure,” you grinned, smoothing your hand down your front. “Show up to alumni week next time and find out.”

You were already pressing a kiss to her cheek and rushing down the hall before she could get out another word, giggling as you made your way to the stairs.

On the drive over to the hotel, the nerves in your stomach were making you nervously tap your fingers on the steering wheel. You must’ve got caught by every stop light, making the trip even longer. You were practically vibrating once you finally pulled into the parking lot, grabbing your bag and hurrying inside before your nerves got the better of you and made you stand like an idiot in the lobby, trying to muster up the courage to get in the elevator. You coasted on autopilot as you forced your feet to lead you upstairs to his floor, all the way down to his door. You only came back into your body when you raised a hand to knock on the door, pausing to take a deep breath.

Just knock, you thought to yourself. You’re a big girl. Just knock.

You had barely even knocked twice on the door before the door swung open, and you came face to face with Art. Your breath hitched in your throat, and you took a second to take him in. Still as pretty as you remembered, and every bit as alluring. You could feel yourself melting. 

The feeling was mutual. 

Art let out a sigh of relief, like it was the first good breath he had taken in weeks. A genuine smile crept onto his face as he reached for you, practically making grabby hands like a child. 

“Come here, pretty girl.”

You tried and failed to stifle a giggle, immediately burying yourself in his chest. You let out a hmph as you pressed your cheek against him, your arms wrapping tightly around his waist. You could feel his thumb running along the bare skin of your arm, his lips pressing a kiss to the top of your head. He nudged the door closed with his foot, tugging your bag from your shoulder and setting it on the floor without even letting you go. He was warm to the touch, and steady against you. He hummed into your hair, squeezing you tighter.

“There she is,” he murmured, letting out a small laugh. “My girl.”

“Hi, baby,” you giggled, the sound making his heart soar in his chest. 

He slowly walked you backwards to the bed, supporting most of your weight as you laid down. He was quick to follow, burying his face into the crook of your shoulder. His arms hooked lazily around your waist, his weight pressing you into the mattress.

This is what you both had been waiting for. This feeling, this moment. Just this.

“You look very pretty today,” he whispered into your skin, pressing a kiss where his lips rested. “All this for me?”

The humor in his voice made you grin, your fingers running through his hair. “Couldn’t let you be that pretty all by yourself.”

Art smiled, pressing his face further into your neck as he let out a breath. You tightened your grip around him, holding him close. You let your eyes close, resting your cheek against the top of his head. 

A comfortable silence fell over the both of you, as easy as it ever was.

—

A/N - Hi! So sorry this took so long to get out, thank you for your patience. I keep rereading this and editing it over and over, I’m not totally happy with it. But something is better than nothing, and I’m tired of staring at, so here you go! Hope this is ok, let me know what you think :)

[hs-is-loml]

Defending. (x.t)

PART ONE OF TWO

Pairing: Xavier Thorpe x Girlfriend!Reader

Summary: wednesday tells you about her suspicions about xavier but you come to his defense and are determined to find proof to prove her wrong

Warnings: mentions of making a small cut, very little like a drop of blood, hydes? (those ugly mfs) NOT PROOFREAD

a/n: this is going to be in two parts, but part two will be posted late 12/1 or early 12/2 depending on when i finish writing it! it's basically a smut fic for part two which is why i decided to split it up in case people are not comfortable with it!

masterlist - part two

“Now, this is too far,” you said to Wednesday as she told you about her suspicions about Xavier being the monster.

“All the evidence points to him.”

 “Wednesday, it’s not him.”

“You’re only saying that because you’re in a relationship with him,” the girl argued back with her.

“No shit, Wednesday. I know him enough to know he’s not. You think I wouldn’t notice by now if he were going around town killing people?”

“You’re letting this blind your judgment,” Wednesday stated. 

“NEWS FLASH WEDNESDAY HE’S NOT THE HYDE! WOULD IT KILL YOU THINK FOR ANYONE BUT YOURSELF?!” you yelled at the girl who just raised her eyebrows back at you.

“What are you going to do when you find out he is?”

“Nothing,” you answered softly you could feel a headache coming from yelling, “There’s nothing to find out.” You walked back inside from the balcony and exited the room before you felt like destroying anything, and Enid would get mad at the mess later.

You wandered around the school before you came upon the statute of Edgar Allen Poe. You sat down near the statute wanting to clear your mind for a second before you looked up and realized the mark beneath the book he was holding. You tried to recall what your mom would always tell you as a kid about the Nightshade Society. 

“He was notorious for his riddles. For it was not one alone, but each line was individual. One to remember is, ‘The answer will give a sharp cracking sound,’ that will help you once you find it,” was something she always mentioned when she talked about Nevermore. 

“A sharp cracking sound,” you repeated as you stood from your spot and it clicked, or more so snapped into place. You raised your right arm and snapped two times. “Thank you, Nightshade Society.”

You walked down the staircase into the dimly lit library. The portraits that hung on the wall of old members caught your eye as you looked about the room. At the end of the portraits you find your parents, they tell you to make a name for yourself, but how could you live up to them? 

“You put that bag over my head, I will choke you with that very rope in your hands,” you warned the people who stood behind you as you looked for your mom’s diary knowing that would be the only thing you could find answers in. “You should know to not mess with a witch with heightened senses.”

“Oh, come on, Y/n, we were just trying to have fun,” Kent joked causing the other to mutter in agreement. 

“I WASN’T GOING TO DO ANYTHING I SWEAR,” Xavier yelped once he notice it was you and threw the bag in his hands to Ajax.

“Someone’s in the dog house tonight…” Yoko teased. Kent and a couple of the others gave a couple howls joining in the joke.

“You know Xavier you could’ve told me about this,” you said as you finally found your mother’s diary. 

“Babe, if I could, I would’ve-”

“He’s sworn to secrecy,” Bianca pointed out as she gave you a dirty look when you walked to a desk with the diary in your arms.

You pulled it out to see she sealed it with magic though not any kind of magic, blood magic. “My family was a part of the Nightshades long before you, although I thought it to be disbanded.”

“Yeah, the group kind of lost its charter 30 years ago after some normie kid died,” Xavier explained which answered your thoughts as he walked up to you noticing that you were looking for something. 

“But we have a lot of wealthy alumni, so Weems looks the other way as long as nobody makes any waves,” Yoko added on. 

“What are you looking for anyways?” Xavier questioned you.

“If you’re trying to open your mom’s diary, you can’t,” Bianca told you cockingly. 

“Maybe you can’t,” you retorted just when you noticed a letter opener sitting at the corner of the table. 

You reached over and grabbed it seeing that it had a sharp edge. You noticed from your peripheral vision that the group was crowding around you to see what you were doing. Xavier was right next to you with his attention on the knife you held in your hand. You lifted your right hand over the book and took the knife to your palm just before it touched your skin you heard shouts from around the room.

“Y/N!”

“Woah, girl, no need to prove a point.”

“No need for bloodshed-”

“What are you doing?!”

“No, no, no, no, absolutely not,” you heard Xavier say as he tried to grab for the knife, but it was too late. “Oh my god, only you. Literally, you’re the only one who would do this.”

You sliced the inside of your palm and allowed for the knife to drop down onto the table as you felt the sting in your palm. You closed your fist and put it directly above the lock on the book. You felt the blood sweep down near the bottom of your fist before it dropped down into the lock. 

“Blood magic?” Yoko asked in amazement when she saw the lock unlatch and you opened to the front page that held your mom’s portrait along with her signature. 

“Only the very best for mother dearest,” you remark sarcastically.

“That explains a lot!” Kent said from behind as Xavier looked around for a first aid kit. “Bianca was trying to open that months ago and nothing would work!” right as the words left his mouth, Bianca smacked him in the back of the head causing him to groan in pain, “Well, ow.”

When Xavier finally found a first aid kit that looked like it could be decades old, he went back to your side and held out his palm to you. Putting your sliced palm in his hand without him even having to ask you. 

“I couldn’t find any actual alcohol to disinfect it, so vodka will have to do,” he unscrewed the bottle with one hand and looked back into your eyes before you gave him a slight nod telling him it was okay for him to do it. “This might sting.”

“Oh shit, I can’t watch,” Ajax gagged as the vodka was poured onto your palm and the blood washed away with it. 

“Makes the both of us,” another member said.

“Stop being babies, people would think you’re the one with the cut palm,” you told them off as taking in the pain with no reaction. “At least I have a hot doctor patching me up,” you smirked.

“Only for you,” Xavier muttered as he focused on wrapping the bandage around your hand. At this point, almost all the members already left not wanting to see what you and Xavier get up to.

“Thanks, babe,” giving him a kiss on the cheek before returning your attention back to your mother’s diary. 

“What was so important that you have to look into your mom’s diary?” he asked you. “You’re looking for answers, but for what?”

“Any information about hydes.”

“That’s the monster, Wednesday was talking about right?”

“The same one she believes you to be, yes.” you look up from the diary to see his confused expression.

“Wait, me?” he wondered aloud.

“I told her it wasn’t you though, but that girl is the most stubborn person I have ever met,” you informed him taking one of his hands in your non-injured one to give it a tight squeeze in reassurance. “You have to be careful, I know you’re not the Hyde, but she is going to do everything she can to prove her point.”

“I love you.” he blurted out to you. “You could’ve easily believed her, but you didn’t.”

“I know you, Xavier. There’s no damn way in hell, I’m going to let you be falsely accused for something you so obviously are not,” you stated. “And, I love you, that’s why I’m trying to see if my mother knew anything about Hydes during her time here,” you smiled at him.

You turned to put the diary back onto the desk as you hurriedly flipped through the pages scanning for any kind of information on the damn monster. You were about to turn to another page just before you noticed a name you’ve heard of before. Francois Sylvanne. Xavier moved to stand behind you leaning over your shoulder to read the diary as well. He placed his hands on your hips to steady himself causing you to lean back into him.

“Seems like Wednesday’s little boy toy just got way more interesting,” you pointed to the name on the page for Xavier to read. 

“Who is she?”

“His mother. The same one he goes to therapy for, I heard she died a while back, and apparently the sheriff isn’t only bad at his job but bad at parenting too,” you explained as you read more of your mom’s writing.

There’s something about this girl. She keeps to herself. Quiet. Distance. Truly an Outcast. I have a feeling something is going on with her or at least something will. I’m going to keep a close eye on her, but she is graduating this year.

“Weird, your mom always has good intuition, I wonder if she’s right about this one too,” Xavier said after he read your mother’s entry. 

You flipped through more pages of the book and found nothing. You looked at every line on the pages, and your mother never mentioned her once again. It wasn’t until you got to the last page of the diary to see a quite messier version of your mother’s writing.

THAT GIRL IS A HYDE. FRANCOIS IS A HYDE. HIDDEN AWAY WITH A NORMIE IN THE TOWN. 

“No,” you gaped as you turned to see nothing more and reached the end of the book.

“Do you think Tyler’s the Hyde?” he whispered into your ear.

“It’s the only way. It makes sense too,” you claimed, “But the question is why?” 

[pomefioredove]

wait wait wait, your requests are open for noble bell for this weekend only? (if i got that right?!) sound perfect gimme 14 of em. anywhos if i did not getting the date wrong i have one! and if i i did please just let me shrivel up and die, thank you.

post college rollo and reader who live together as “roommates.” they’re 100% more than roommates and everyone can see it but them. rollo is probably some senator or something and insisted reader moves in with him cause he insists that since he’s making laws more just for magicless people there’s literally no where safer for them to be. just basically some domestic fluff with two people who act like they’re married and don’t even realize it. i personally think it would be way cuter to read from the perspective of a third party but if you’re willing to write this you can do it anyway anyhow and i’ll still be happy. thank you! <3

(if i got the weekend wrong i will absolutely die so please let me down gently, i am accoustic so i no no understand very basic things such as “this weekend” or “next saturday” if the day of the week is before a saturday)

oooh a bit of a future au... this is cute

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ and they were roommates

type of post: fic characters: rollo additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, kinda written from a 3rd perspective

Rollo Flamme's favoritism had never been a secret.

He might have been quiet, reserved, repressed beyond all reason, but there were some things even he couldn't hide behind his star-spotted handkerchief.

The very moment you arrived at Noble Bell College, you were his.

Rollo Flamme beheld you with a sort of reverence that could be called sacrilegious. That is to say, one had never seen idolatry until one had seen the way he looked at you, the way he touched you as if you were made out of porcelain, as if he could break you with an unclean hand and a breath.

His coldness and cordiality towards the others never changed.

For all your kindness, your smiles, your gentle touches upon his cheek that he would never have let anyone else give, you could not change him. And you did not try.

It was a tragedy in two parts.

Not that it mattered, of course. Not to you.

As far as you were concerned, the world began and end with each other. In a room full of people, mages and scholars and royalty, Rollo Flamme would still only look at you.

Nothing was confirmed. Your affection for one another was kept to lingering touches and burning glances across the long, morose hallways of Noble Bell.

If anyone had asked, and they certainly did, Rollo's handkerchief would come to sit over his mouth and he would remind them that gossip is unbecoming.

And to be decent, thank you.

Yet the rumors could never be smothered, and they lingered after Rollo's first graduation, and another, and to his seat on the Fleur City Council.

You lived with him.

You lived with him, in his family home.

And he would continue to deny anything romantic, giving the same excuse that he had since Noble Bell, that you simply had no one else to look after you, and it was his duty as a civil servant to see to your care.

Which was utter bullshit.

But, perhaps, bullshit that you both believed.

Outside of the council, it was rare to see him alone. When he went out, he went out with you. When he attended public events, you walked by his side. When he worked at home, you sat in his study, by the fireplace, as if you had always belonged there. With him.

Rollo would excuse himself from small talk and after-hour business like so:

"It's been lovely talking to you, Senator, but I'll be late for dinner,"

"Please, come by my office first thing tomorrow morning. I'm expected at home,"

"I'll have to be going, now. I have an excursion on the town tonight. With whom? Well, whom else?"

It became widely accepted, amongst his colleagues and the public, that Rollo Flamme was married. One might not have guessed, of course, from his cold demeanor, but rumors of the magicless alumni from Noble Bell that he so adored smoldered.

Rollo did not concern himself with the whispers or the knowing looks his colleagues gave each other, until a warm day in late March where a well-meaning secretary from another branch asked if he had any children.

"Children?" he had scoffed. "Why would you ask such a thing?"

The poor secretary looked like he had seen a ghost. "Well... you're married, aren't you?"

"Absolutely not. What gave you such an idea?"

And he seemed reluctant to answer.

Rollo had gone home that night with much on his mind. When you asked him if anything had happened at the council, he said "Nothing eventful".

To Rollo, who had lived in Fleur City, lonely yet not alone, for so many years without a kindling of friendship and not a thought on romance, he had never once questioned your relationship. You were his companion. His first, and last. That's all that matters.

Isn't it?

He could ask for nothing more than you. Your voice, your smile, your hands and warmth mingling with his. He was happy with you. Your friendship is enough for him.

Isn't it?

Despite what he tells himself, that night, when you sit close to him in front of the fire, reading a book he recommended simply because he recommended it, Rollo finds himself looking at you twice as much as usual.

He puts an arm around your shoulders and pulls you into his side, and you stay there, as if you had always belonged there. With him.

[nhlclover]

𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐌𝐄 𝐁𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐅𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 | 𝐆𝐀𝐁𝐄 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐋𝐓

— cozytober masterlist !

summary: homecoming takes an unexpected turn for gabe when he meets you and your infectious energy that takes his attention completely off the game.

warnings: brief mention of drinking, a lil kiss scene

word count: 1.65k

notes: fic number five of cozytober! based on 'had me by halftime' by morgan wallen. fall = homecoming = football games and school spirit (roll eagles)

Gabe adjusted his Boston College hat, the brim low to shield his eyes from the mid-afternoon sun as he stepped out of the Uber, scanning the sea of maroon and gold that sprawled before him. The crisp October air carried the unmistakable smell of charcoal grills and the distant hum of laughter and music. Fall was definitely here, but the warmth of the day still clung in the air, that perfect mix of cool breezes and lingering heat that made it hard to believe summer was really over.

Gabe weaved through groups of students and alumni, looking for Jacob. He had texted him earlier to meet up in the parking lot where the tailgate was going on, Gabe figuring he was already set up in the thick of it. Sure enough, he spotted Jacob, who was laughing alongside his girlfriend Olivia, and a small group of her friends.

“Hey man,” Jacob greeted Gabe, dapping him up when he approached.

Gabe returned the dap with a smile, already feeling the buzz of energy around him. "What’s up, bud?" he replied.

“You gonna get in on our pool? We’ve got a bet going about the over-under for total points.” Jacob explained.

“Don’t do it, Gabe, the buy-in is forty bucks,” Olivia warned, receiving an eye roll from Jacob that didn’t go unnoticed. “You blow money on stupid things and then lose them, Jacob, you need better spending habits.”

Gabe slightly tuned out the bickering couple, his eyes scanning the lively crowd around him when his wandering gaze fell on you. You stood just a few feet away, engaged in a heated game of cornhole with some guy, tossing playful trash talk his way. You wore a cropped Zay Flowers BC jersey slightly exposing your midriff and a sparkling stud on your bellybutton. Your hair fell in loose waves around your shoulders, and the bright smile that stretched across your face was infectious.

“You see something you like?” a voice teased from beside him. Gabe forced his eyes away from you as he realized Olivia had caught him staring. A knowing smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “That’s y/n. She’s one of my friends from bio, I’m sitting next to her in the game. I should introduce you.”

“What?” Gabe tried to play it off cool, but he could feel the heat rising to his cheeks. “Nah, I was just—”

“Staring, yeah, I know,” Emily teased, giving him a playful nudge. “She’s great, by the way. She’s super smart, a little intense but in the best way, and she’s got this whole Georgia thing going on. You’ll hear it when she talks, trust me. You should totally go say hi.”

“Ah, I don’t know…” Gabe said, looking back at you. He watched as you threw your head back with laughter, the joyous sound rising to the noise of the crowd.

“Come on man, don’t be wimp.” Jacob urged, giving him a soft shove.

Gabe rolled his eyes but couldn’t deny the spark of interest flaring inside him. “Alright, fine. I’ll go talk to her.”

He stepped forward, weaving through the crowd, trying to figure out how to approach without coming off like a total idiot. Just as you were lining up your next shot, he cleared his throat. “Pretty sure you’re making this guy’s life miserable.”

You let out a laugh, the sound melodic. “Hey, it’s not my fault he’s terrible at this,” you teased, taking your shot and sinking the bag perfectly into the hole, winning your game.

“Wow, I’m impressed,” Gabe said. “Mind if I challenge the winner?”

“You want in on this?” you asked, raising an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Alright, but just know I won’t go easy on you.”

Gabe chuckled, appreciating your boldness. “I wouldn’t want you to.”

The game started, and you made sure to keep the banter alive. As the two of you exchanged playful jabs, Gabe quickly learned a few things: you were from Georgia, which explained the slight twang in your voice and what Olivia said earlier, and you were majoring in biology. It was clear you had a contagious energy about you, something that made it easy for Gabe to be around you.

When the start time of the game neared, you shifted inside the stadium where you and Gabe ended up sitting next to each other, leaving Jacob and Olivia to their own little world. The stands were packed, the atmosphere electric as the Eagles took the field. Throughout the first quarter, Gabe tried to keep his focus on the field, but his mind kept drifting back to you—how animated you got with every play, the way you yelled at the refs, and how you’d nudge him whenever something exciting happened. Football was supposed to be the main event, but now? You were stealing the show.

Midway through the game, you pulled out a couple of airplane bottles from your purse, handing a tiny bottle of Fireball to Gabe. “Security didn’t catch these,” you whispered, winking. “Wanna share?”

He grinned, feeling a little rebellious as he took the bottle from you. “You come prepared.”

“Always,” you said, clinking your bottle against his.

And when the fight song started blaring through the speakers, you threw your arm around his shoulder, singing loudly and pulling him into it. “Come on, Gabe! You gotta show some school spirit!”

He laughed but joined in, letting you drag him into the moment, singing along with the rest of the crowd, even though he didn’t know the words as well as you did. There was something infectious about your energy, the way you were so unapologetically yourself, and Gabe found himself caught up in it.

By the time the fourth quarter rolled around, the Eagles were trailing by 3, but you were still holding onto hope, your eyes glued to the field. When they scored with just 15 seconds left, you let out a scream of pure joy and launched yourself into Gabe’s arms. His arm instinctively wrapped around your waist as he picked you up, the two of you caught up in the moment as the crowd roared around you.

“They did it!” you yelled, beaming as you hugged him tightly.

Gabe couldn’t help but smile back, caught up in your joy. There was something about the way you were looking at him in that moment, so full of life and excitement, that made him realize something. He wasn’t just into you because of the game, or because of how you looked in the jersey, or even the way you made him laugh. He was into you because of you.

As the crowd started to thin out, you hooked your arm through his, still talking about the game, about how this was exactly what the Eagles needed to turn their season around. He listened, though his mind was elsewhere — on you, on the feeling of your arm around his, on how easy it was to be around you. As the crowd spilled out into the streets, Gabe offered to walk you back to your dorm, which you accepted gratefully. The sunset bathed the campus in a golden light, casting a warm glow that made you look radiant in his eyes. You chatted the whole way back, the conversation flowing easily, like you’d known each other for longer than just a few hours.

When you reached your dorm, the orange and pink hues of the sky made you look almost ethereal. The lingering warmth of the day clung to the air, Gabe feeling a sudden rush of nerves. The conversation had slowed to a comfortable lull, and you were smiling at him, your eyes glowing in the soft light of the setting sun. Gabe rubbed the back of his neck, taking a step closer to you, feeling like now or never.

“You know,” he began, his voice a little lower than usual, “I’ve had a really great time today. Didn’t think I’d get this lucky at a football game.”

You tilted your head, grinning, “Lucky, huh? I feel like I’m the one who should be saying that. You were a great seat partner.”

Gabe chuckled, but his smile faded slightly as he searched your eyes. His heart pounded in his chest as he leaned in just a bit, testing the waters. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” you replied, your voice softening in the quiet of the evening.

For a moment, Gabe hesitated, his fingers brushing lightly against your arm. “Can I kiss you?”

The question hung in the air between you for what felt like an eternity, but when you nodded, your lips curved into a small, inviting smile. Gabe didn’t waste another second. He closed the gap between you, gently cupping your face with one hand as he pressed his lips to yours.

The kiss was soft and tentative at first, the faint taste of Fireball still lingering on both of your lips. But as you leaned into him, wrapping your arms around his neck, the kiss deepened. It was sweet and full of excitement as Gabe’s hands moved down to your waist. Gabe’s heart raced as the warmth of your body melted into his, and for a few moments, the world outside your little bubble ceased to exist.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, your faces inches apart. Gabe couldn’t help the goofy smile that spread across his face. “Wow,” he murmured.

You laughed softly, the sound sending a shiver down his spine. “Wow is right.”

You probably think that it was the kiss that did it for Gabe, that made him want to make you his. That maybe that was the moment when it all clicked for Gabe — the warmth of your lips, the way you smiled right after, or how the sunset framed you like something out of a movie.

But if you ask him, he’d tell you he knew by halftime.

[roosterforme]

How Could I Forget? | Rooster x Reader

Summary: When Bradley met you in a dive bar in Virginia, he just knew he wasn't going to be able to stop thinking about you. Even a year later, he still remembers your laugh and the way you kissed him.

Warnings: Fluff, drinking and swearing

Length: 2800 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

I wrote this for the 'Its not the prompt. It's the creator' challenge from @tgm-all4one. Check out my masterlist for more!

Bradley flipped through the options in the ancient jukebox while he sipped a cheap beer. This had to be the shittiest bar he'd ever been inside, and that was really saying something, since he was a University of Virginia alumni. 

"Let's see..." he muttered. "Danger Zone? No. Take My Breath Away? Nah. Slow Ride? Absolutely not."

He finally selected Great Balls of Fire and turned to check where his cousins had disappeared off to. But the bar was packed with locals waiting for the fireworks to start over the Chesapeake Bay, and he couldn't spot any of them. 

If they ditched him in this sticky little hellhole on the outskirts of Norfolk, Virginia, he was going to be so pissed. He scanned the bar once more as the song started playing, and his eyes settled on the cutest thing he had seen in a long time. 

You were holding your beer bottle like a microphone and aggressively lip syncing along with Jerry Lee Lewis as his voice blasted from the jukebox. 

Bradley smiled. You were right in the middle of the crowded bar, but nobody else had seemed to notice how you were shimmying along to the song, looking adorable in your own little world. Your eyes were squeezed shut as you mouthed Come on baby, you drive me crazy! Goodness, gracious, great balls of fire!

When Bradley laughed, you opened your eyes, and they met his immediately. You pressed your lips together, suddenly looking shy at being caught rocking out. You covered your mouth with your hand in embarrassment as your eyes went wider while Bradley tried to squeeze through the crowd to get to you. 

He was afraid you were going to try to sneak off, but you didn't. You were just nonchalantly drinking your beer when he reached you. 

"That was quite a performance," he said, and you looked up at him, clearly amused. 

"I don't know what you're talking about," you replied, but your smirk said otherwise. 

"That was my song," he said, nodding toward the jukebox.

"What do you mean?" you asked, pressing the bottle to your lips, and drawing Bradley's eyes down to watch the way you took a sip, the bottle lingering on your bottom lip for a beat.

"I selected it. On the jukebox," he grunted, and you laughed at him. 

"No, you didn't. I did."

Bradley scoffed as you squared your shoulders and jutted out your chin in playful defiance. "I chose it like three minutes ago," Bradley insisted. 

"I picked it like five minutes ago!" Your laugh was infectious, and Bradley just wanted to keep it going.

He shook his head solemnly. "It's still my song."

And you shook your head, imitating him. "If anything, it's Jerry Lee Lewis's song."

"Well, I can't argue with that. I did love your cover version though."

"Thanks." God, your smile was adorable. And your lips on that bottle had him thinking some scandalous things about your mouth. 

He cleared his throat. "Are you from Norfolk?"

You sighed deeply. "Unfortunately. You?"

"Virginia Beach."

You crinkled your nose and made a face that had him laughing again. "That might be even worse. You still live there?"

"For now," he replied. "I'm waiting on a new work assignment."

"Can I tell you a secret?" you asked, and when Bradley nodded, you coaxed him closer with your finger. Gorgeous. You were so pretty, Bradley was afraid he wouldn't be able to comprehend your words this close to your eyelashes and your mouth. "I escaped. I live in San Diego now."

"Bravo," he whispered, but he knew you could still hear him over the jukebox as it played Slow Ride. "What's it like to escape Virginia? I've only ever read about it in works of fiction. I've never met anyone who actually managed to do it."

You laughed again, and Bradley had to fight the urge to kiss you. He didn't even know your fucking name, but he was dying to feel your lips on his. 

"It wasn't easy," you promised. "Oh, no, my friend, it was not easy. My whole family still lives here, in Norfolk. My brother is in the damn Navy, if you can believe that. What a waste of a career, right?" you said with a massive eye roll. Bradley opened his mouth to respond, but you added, "Today is his birthday. Born on the Fourth of July, in the military, model citizen. I come home for his birthday every year and end up in this shitty bar every year." 

Bradley couldn't contain his smile. "I'm in the Navy."

Your eyes went wide. "Oh, shit. The Navy is the best!" you said brightly. "Oh boy, do I ever wish I had joined the Navy!"

Bradley tipped his head back and laughed harder. "I like you. You're brutally honest," he said, still laughing as you bit your lip, unable to stop smiling. 

"I'm so sorry," you said, trying not to laugh. "Come here. Let me buy you another beer to make up for the fact that you're in the Navy, you poor thing."

Bradley just shook his head, but then you took his hand in yours and gently led him to the bar. And you kept your hand linked with his while you ordered two drinks. But when you started to reach into your pocket to pay, Bradley took both of your hands in his larger one, and you looked up at him, surprised. 

"I've got it," he told you, pulling some cash out of his own pocket. "It's not every day you meet a celebrity."

"Celebrity?" you asked, and he pulled you closer by both hands. 

"You escaped Virginia! Buying you a drink would have to give me good karma! Who knows, maybe I'll even get stationed somewhere new." 

Bradley released your hands when the beers arrived, but you didn't move away from him. "Where do you want to get stationed?" you asked, and Bradley couldn't look away from the curve of your lips as you took the first sip from the bottle. 

"Somewhere warm," he told you. "But I guess I could learn how to brave some cold weather if I had to."

When the woman behind you bumped into you, Bradley could feel the warmth from your body through his clothes. You were that close. He wanted you closer. And then you were snug up against the front of him. "Well, I think you're brave," you told him with wide, teasing eyes.

"Because I'm in the Navy?" he asked, taking a sip of his beer as you shook your head. 

"No," you told him with a soft laugh. "Because you dare to sport a mustache. Almost nobody can pull that off." Now you were giggling as he ran his fingers along his facial hair. 

"I think you're having a lot of fun at my expense here tonight," he told you. "I think you like me."

You were quiet for a few seconds, and Bradley's heart beat a little faster when you said, "I think you like me, too."

"What's not to like?" he whispered, and your eyes fluttered closed as he ran his fingers along your cheek. "You stole my song. You hate my job. You made fun of my facial hair. And you managed to hijack my escape from this state, because surely the odds of two of us getting out are just too high."

And then you kissed him. Just a soft brush of your lips to his. But it was perfect. And then the fireworks started outside, but you stayed right there with him, your hand coming to rest on his chest. 

Everyone else rushed out to the deck or down along the water to watch the colorful display, even the bartender. But you didn't move an inch, and now Bradley was setting down his beer. This time he kissed you, and you nibbled on his lower lip as your other hand tangled in his hair. Bradley's hands went to your waist, as he tasted you. Beer and something kind of sweet. 

"What's your name?" Bradley asked between kisses, and when you told him, the sound of it echoed through his mind. He whispered it back to you, against your lips as you dragged your fingernails along his scalp. "I'm Bradley."

"Hi, Bradley," you said with a smile between kisses. "I'm sorry I stole your song. And I actually think your mustache is cute."

He was smiling so much against your neck as he kissed you there. "I'm really happy I came to this shitty bar tonight."

"Me too," you gasped as he sucked on you there before returning his lips to yours. These hurried, needy kisses turned more languid as they slowed down. You had pushed Bradley back onto an empty stool, your palms on his splayed thighs as he stroked your neck and face while you kissed. Every little moan and gasp had him coaxing you closer, and then the fireworks ended. The other patrons started trickling back into the bar as your lips nudged his in one final kiss. 

You pulled away from him, smiling and sliding your hands down to his knees. He leaned a little close to your face, ready to beg for one more kiss as he said, "Please, let me have your phone number."

You leaned in and kissed the corner or his lips before you backed away. Bradley was up out of the stool, chasing the warmth of your body, but you shook your head.

"That's not a good idea," you told him, gently pressing your palm to his chest, and it took you a few beats to meet his eyes. "And make you pine for me from afar?" you asked with a soft, teasing smile. "I couldn't live with that."

Bradley whispered your name about a dozen times in a row until your eyes closed. He kissed you softly and said, "I'm pretty sure I'll be doing that anyway. Pining for you."

You looked up at him, gaze darting between his lips and his eyes, almost like you were about to cave. But you shook your head and said, "You'll forget all about me by tomorrow."

Then someone called your name from the other side of the bar and stole your attention from him. And Bradley felt all the perfect flirtation and banter and kisses slipping through his grasp. 

"I need to go," you told him, and you looked so sad. "I hope you escape Virginia."

He nodded slightly, running his thumb across your soft cheek one more time. "I know this sounds weird, but I'm going to miss you."

And then you kissed him again, as if you understood exactly what he meant. And then you were gone. 

-------------------------------

Bradley thought about you a lot. Sometimes he let your name grace his tongue with the sweet feel of it. Sometimes he would daydream about your laugh. But the moment he opened his mail in late August and read the line detailing the location of his new station, a slew of obscenities flew out of his mouth. 

San Diego. He was going to be stationed in San Diego. 

And he had no idea how to reach you. He only knew your first name. But he spent his first few months there hopeful that he would run into you somewhere. So he visited different grocery stores. He took different running tails. He went to the mall across town once. And each time he did one of those things, he felt ridiculous. Stupid. Idiotic. Until he remembered your smile and the way you made him feel so good while also poking fun at him. 

As the months wore on, he went on dates and kissed other girls, but he still thought about you sometimes. When he listened to Jerry Lee Lewis, he pictured you singing into your beer bottle. When he drank a cheap beer, he could almost hear your laugh. 

You had told him that you go to that same shitty bar every year on your brother's birthday. But just as Bradley purchased tickets for a roundtrip flight from San Diego to Norfolk, he realized you probably didn't even remember him. What was he going to do? Walk into that bar and tell you he missed you? You'd look at him like he was insane. Or worse, like you had no fucking clue who he was. 

He thought about not going. Just letting the tickets go to waste. But at the very least, he would be able to visit his cousins for the night. At the very least, he might just be able to see you again, just for a minute. 

----------------------------

You sat at the bar, across the room from your brother. You didn't know why you still bothered to come home for the weekend every year, but here you were. In Norfolk. Again. 

As politely as you could, you turned down the red headed guy who tried to buy you a drink. And you did the same thing to the blond, too. Because now you associated this shithole bar with wavy, sandy brown hair and big, brown puppy eyes. And you weren't about to override your memories from one year ago with some random loser who wanted to buy you a can of Miller Lite. 

You hoped Bradley was currently stationed somewhere warm, near a beach. It always made you smile to picture him with his feet in the sand, drinking a beer.

Your head swiveled to the jukebox as soon as you heard the opening piano chords of Great Balls of Fire playing, but there was just an older woman standing there snapping her fingers. 

Your heart sank a bit as you settled back into your stool and sipped your beer. It would have been too good to be true, and you were ridiculous for even entertaining the thought. But then that raspy voice was behind you, saying your name and making goosebumps break out all across your skin.

When you turned and met his warm eyes, your mouth fell open. He was here. And he looked so handsome and nervous. And your heart was hammering too hard, making it difficult to talk. 

"I don't know if you remember me," he said softly, looking at your face like you were the most precious thing he had ever seen. "But-"

"Bradley! How could I forget?" you breathed, and you watched his smile grow. "I was hoping you'd escape Virginia."

He laughed, and you wanted to kiss his mustache again. "I did. And I've been looking for you for ten months."

You leaned in a little closer and grinned. "Well I've been in San Diego."

"Me too," he said, and you tilted your head in question, but he just smiled more. "That's where I've been stationed since September."

"Oh!" you gasped. "You escaped to my city!"

"Mmhmm. And you made me come all the way back to shitty Norfolk, Virginia to find you."

You laughed. "You came back here for me?"

He nodded and stroked his fingers across your cheek just the way you remembered. "Yes. All I could think about was the way you told me you come here every year on this day. So I've been waiting months for the chance to try to see you again."

"That's really romantic," you told him, letting your palm come to rest on his chest. 

He covered it with his as he said, "My full name is Bradley Bradshaw. I live in Coronado, California on Pomona Avenue. And if you're single, I'm not leaving here without your phone number."

You were clamoring off your stool before he even finished talking, and he welcomed you into his arms. And then you kissed him, just like you had a year ago, his body warm and perfect against yours. You told him your full name between kisses, running your fingers through his hair and melting into him. "And yes, you can have my phone number, Bradley Bradshaw." 

He sighed against your cheek. "Even though I've been pining for you from afar?"

You laughed, remembering what you'd told him last year. "Apparently you've been pining for me from nearby. And that just won't do. Because I've thought about you... about the guy with the cute mustache who acted like he owns Jerry Lee Lewis's music catalog. About the only guy I ever kissed in the middle of a dive bar before I even knew his name," you whispered.

And then Bradley was kissing you again before he ended up sitting on the bar stool with you perched on his leg. He gave you his phone so you could save your number for him, and you sat like that until last call, just talking and laughing and occasionally kissing with the promise of more to come. 

When you got back to your parents' house with your brother, your phone illuminated with a new text message. 

Bradley Bradshaw: Meet me in San Diego.

------------------------

They were both pining from afar! Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls for putting up with me.

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[whenmemorydies]

Lessons of a mentor: every second counts

The Bear brainrot continues unabated and a character that has been sitting at the back of my mind since I first watched 2x07 Forks has been Chef Terry. Her influence is felt in a multitude of ways throughout season 2, most notably via the impact she's had on her former chefs, Carmen and Luca. What fascinates me more about Chef Terry though are the parallels between her and Syd and the home truths that both these powerhouse women keep dropping (and which many a loudmouth dude on this show keep missing...*womp*).

Lots more under the cut. This is a long post but this show is so bloody juicy I couldn't help myself!

Who is Chef Terry?

So quick recap: Chef Terry is the Executive Chef at Ever, a 3-Michelin starred restaurant in Chicago, loosely based on and shot on location at the actual Ever. In the show, the restaurant opened in 2012 and was awarded "the best restaurant in the world" that same year.

In 2x07 Forks as Richie walks past portraits of Ever's alumni, we learn that both Carmen and Chef Luca (now based in Copenhagen, Denmark) both worked at the restaurant together, under Chef Terry. This is previously hinted at in 2x04 Honeydew when Luca talks to Marcus about working with a chef who worked "harder and faster than [Luca] ever could," and who inadvertently pushed Luca to get "better than [Luca] possibly could be, just from trying to keep up with him."

Chefs Carmen and Luca at Ever.

In 2x07 Forks, we get Chef Terry's origin story as she recounts it to Richie, who Carmy has sent to Ever to stage for a week. We learn that:

Chef Terry, like Richie and Syd, is an only child. She likely had a tense relationship with her father (who we learn was a Corporal in the military) before he passed, but is incredibly close with her mother, her only living parent.

Carm getting Richie a spot to stage at Ever was not a favour because Chef Terry doesn't do favours:

Chef Terry is quick to praise folks who try to learn. Note when she asks Richie if he'd like to peel mushrooms with her and she tells him that his first attempt is great (despite the fact that process-wise, he peels them in the exact opposite direction she does):

She had previously tried to open "a giant place" years ago when she was younger, and by her own description, "was on fire [and was] arrogant." Chef Terry then says she moved too fast and couldn't keep the place open.

She later opened Ever after coming across the building's "For Lease" sign while walking.

Its clear from her conversation with Richie about Ever's beginnings that Chef Terry is a firm believer in it never being too late to try again:

But for me, the most important thing we learn about Chef Terry in the 5 minutes she's on screen with us, is her belief in time being well spent. When Richie first sees Chef Terry, she's quietly peeling mushrooms by herself in the kitchen. When Richie asks her why she's doing this work, instead of a stage, we get this lovely bit of dialogue:

Chef Terry then goes on to tell Richie about her father and how he kept pocket notebooks in which he made hundreds of entries about different experiences while he was on military tour.

While Chef Terry never tells Richie how her father signed off on each of his pocket notebook entries, its implied by the end of the episode, that The Bear's mantra of "every second counts" originates from those very notebooks.

This was revelatory to me. Up until Chef Terry and Richie's conversation in 2x07 Forks, "every second counts" in this show was synonymous with Carmy's "sense of urgency", taped to the pass in 1x02 Hands and tattooed across his knuckles in the form of "S O U".

Prior to 2x07 Forks, "every second counts" was wrapped up in the frenetic pace of a restaurant's back of house, with Mikey dying well before his time and by his own hand, with the panicked need to fix the regret and broken-heartedness that accompanied years of estrangement, with Donna's litany of cooking timers going off every other minute in a kitchen covered in chaos and passata. It had to do with time slipping away and the persistent, but always losing battle to try and steal it back.

But in Chef Terry's conversation with Richie, it is made clear to the audience that the lesson in "every second counts" is not about speed or clawing anything back. Those notebook entries were not made for any other reason than to describe, remember, and step into a moment. Chef Terry peels mushrooms at first light in her restaurant because it attaches her to her work and connects her to those whose bellies she fills with her food. "Every second counts" is about savouring every second that we have, while we have it, and being present in each of those moments, as much as we can.

Its about realising that every second does count because every second has meaning.

Time spent informed by this knowledge, is time well spent.

Lessons and Parallels with Sydney

Like Chef Terry, Sydney also tried to run her own business, Sheridan Road, but it "got too big too fast", and she was unable to keep up with its demands. As she tells Carmy in 1x05 Sheridan,

My credit got destroyed. I mean, my whole shit got rocked.

The failures of both of their respective businesses pushed both women into the depths of existential crisis. Chef Terry tells Richie how she had been "unemployed, angry, depressed", and "blaming everybody else for all the time I'd lost."

While Sydney never makes an admission like this about the fallout of Sheridan Road, the depth of the impact of that failure on her is clearly apparent in the show, most notably in 2x09 Omelette. In this episode, Syd's father Emmanuel asks her why she is putting so much pressure on herself to be successful with The Bear. Syd responds, its because she doesn't know if she could start another business.

Later in the same episode, we hear Syd's even more vulnerable admission to Carm about her fear of failure, under that pretense for intimacy table.

Like Chef Terry, Sydney does not do favours. Recall when she fixed Tina's bouquet garni-infused cream in 1x04 Dogs after the latter kept ignoring Syd's advice on how to prep the mashed potatoes and ended up ruining her first batch of cream in the process:

Also, bonus Fak attack (lol) from the same episode:

But also like Chef Terry, Syd is generous with her praise when folks try - as opposed to only praising those who succeed. The praise is for the attempt in the moment to grow, not in the growth itself. Recall in 1x02 Hands as Syd calls out orders to Ebra, he falters and says back the wrong count. Syd gently corrects him and Ebra tries again, after which Syd says,

Gorgeous. Thank you, chef.

Its a small moment, but its one of the first times we hear the word "gorgeous" used inside The Beef. You can literally see Carmy's shock at the utterance, at the firm kindness of the exchange between Syd and Ebra. I personally like to think this might also be a moment of recognition for him, where he sees an echo of his mentor, Terry, in the woman he's about to hire as his sous chef.

And finally, of all the characters on this show, the one who seems to best understand that every second counts because every second has meaning, is Sydney. To me this is epitomised by her omnipresent notebooks in which she's always writing, clearly echoing Chef Terry's father and his will to remember the detail.

Sydney's question to her father in 2x09 Omelette is also indicative to me of a person who understands that each moment we have on this tiny blue dot is precious. When Emmanuel tells her that he doesn't think she needs to make everything "the thing" because she will always have his support, Sydney asks him,

Why can't we put everything that we have into everything that we can?

I've no doubt that Sydney's ethos, embodied by this question, is the result of the passing of her mother when she was a child. With that loss, Sydney would have learned from a young age that every second is important. She knows that you can't get more time, so you make the most of that which you have. Or in her words, you put everything you have, into everything that you can.

Its striking to me how differently Syd and Carm have interpreted the intention behind "every second counts" in the context of death and bereavement. Sydney moves through life with a drive borne out of knowing that our lives are finite and so every second contains the potential for possibility. Its why she had the guts to start her own business, had the optimism to apply to work at The Beef under a culinary hero, and had the hope to take a punt with The Bear.

In contrast to this, Carmy rails against time: at the time that he lost with Mikey, at the seconds that he might lose with each hiccup that delays a plate on the pass. For him, there's never enough time because it is constantly being snatched away.

He tells us in 2x03 Sundae that he struggles with being present in the moment and open to the world because he is always waiting for "the other shoe to drop",

I have to remind myself to breathe sometimes. I have to remind myself to be present, you know. Remind myself that the sky is not falling, that there is no other shoe. Which is incredibly difficult because there is always another shoe. I dunno, I think, you know maybe if I could provide more-more-more amusement or-or enjoyment for myself, it would be easier to provide for others, you know.

This isn't to say that Carmy isn't trying. Throughout the show, we've seen glimpses of him stopping to sit within a moment: his making time to talk to Richie about purpose in 2x01 Beef, his constant beckoning to Sydney to "say more" in both seasons 1 and 2, his return to art and drawing in season 2 - an act that physically forces you to slow down and observe detail, his repeated attempts to check in with Natalie about how she's doing despite his discomfort at the question, and most obviously, taking the time to softly, intentionally and unhurriedly comfort a worried Sydney with less than 25 minutes to open on the opening night of their restaurant.

To me, there are a number of reasons why its no surprise that Carmy is drawn to Sydney. I've mentioned a few here in this reply to @mod-doodles. Chief among them though are her consistency, her stability, and her integrity, all informed by Sydney's ethos of putting everything she has into everything she can; into making every second count, just like Carm would have seen his mentor Chef Terry do while he was at Ever.

I reckon Carmy's ultimate challenge in The Bear is going to be getting to the realisation that Chefs Terry, Sydney and even Luca (recall his chat about "openness" with Marcus in 2x04 Honeydew) have already reached: that because every second counts, happiness and peace - indeed amusement and enjoyment - are to be found in the doing, in the process, in the getting there, together. I'm sure by the end of our journey with these lovingly crafted characters, Carm will get there too.

Author's note:

Incidental to the above is this show's God-tier level casting. Storer and Calo have made it a point to cast famous and immensely talented actors in some of the smallest parts on this show...why? I'm thinking specifically of the casting of Jamie Lee Curtis as matriarch/walking emotional vortex Donna Berzatto and Olivia Colman as Capo/Chef Terry. Jamie Lee Curtis appears in The Bear throughout one full episode (2x06 Fishes) and in one scene (with everyone's favourite unproblematic king, Pete) in 2x10 The Bear. Olivia Colman appears in the show for just under 5 minutes, at the end of 2x07 Forks.

I reckon that, while the speaking parts for these characters are relatively small compared to other roles in The Bear, the casting choices here are reflective of the impact of these two characters on Carmen (in particular) and others on the show. The showrunners needed to cast folks whose reputations would precede them in order to instil in us, the audience, the same gravity of their presence as would be felt by the characters in the world of The Bear.

Donna Berzatto:

Donna's impact on the psyches of her children is huge. For evidence of this, watch the faces of Carmen, Natalie and Mikey whenever they're in proximity to their mother in 2x06 Fishes. They are constantly watching her, gauging her reactions and her levels. This is most clearly the case for Natalie who spends most of Fishes in a state of panicked fear, anticipating her mother's every move. Who better to cast as the anxiety-inducing-word-slurring-flirtatious-alcoholic Berzatto matriarch than scream queen, 80s/90s sex symbol and survivor of intergenerational substance abuse, Jamie Lee Curtis?

Chef Terry:

In contrast to Donna, Terry is a stable, consistent force of nature who has mentored successive waves of chefs that have walked through Ever's halls. She's overcome setbacks and had to relaunch herself, doing so with great success, while remaining grounded. While Olivia Colman's been plugging at acting on screen for over twenty years, she didn't reach the height of fame that she's currently enjoying until much later in her career and her life. By many public accounts, she's an incredibly talented, kind and down to earth A-lister. Also this interview with her is so Chef Terry coded I wouldn't be surprised if Calo and Storer read it and offered her the role the next day:

“There’s some amazing actors who don’t get asked back because they don’t behave very nicely,” she said. “Learn your lines, try and know everyone’s name, be on time … There’s a million people who would have your job in a second and more … who are better than you. Take your job seriously and not yourself.”

Without naming names, Colman said: “We all have actor stories of people who were unpleasant, unkind, ungenerous – and it goes around.”

Nor should actors ever become too grand to take on even a short film, she suggested: “Some people might think: ‘I don’t do that any more.’ I think that’s exciting to do. You’re going to meet new people or a new writer who might remember you later on … [Do] not get too up yourself, too grand. Work is work. If I now decided: ‘Oh, I will only do feature films,’ I might not work again.

“If you get accolades for something, enjoy it for a bit, but put it aside and pretend that hasn’t happened a week later. You still need to work and no one else will remember it either after a week. So crack on.”

Yes, Jamie Lee Curtis and Olivia Colman are fantastic actresses who could have acted the pants off their respective roles without their own personal backstories and filmographies doing any lifting...but given the limited time that they're on screen, having actresses who can bring all of that history and shorthand to the role is GOLD for quickly creating meaning and depth for the audience.

As soon as Donna first turned that corner in the kitchen in 2x06 Fishes chaotically balancing a tray of branzino in one hand and a cigarette in the other, yammering about spilling shit everywhere, I knew I was in for a ride. Likewise, as soon as Chef Terry gently suggested where Richie might find the polish he was looking for (instead of biting his head off because he was a mere stage and she was Capo), I knew I needed to be seated for the lesson that 2x07 Forks had been building up to all episode (and indeed that Richie's entire character arc had been building up to for almost two seasons). And phew...did these two brilliant women absolutely deliver.

K that's the end. If you made it this far, DM me because you are probably incredibly patient, kind and like to read and I need more of that energy in my life LOL. Thanks for spending some of your precious time with me <3.

[goonmilk]

Voice of Da City

Continuing to push the Culture forward, J’TA is one of the new faces of Gogo Music taking the nation’s capitol by storm. From the hit CCB single “Optimistic”, to rocking Noochie’s “Front Porch Freestyles” with TOB, to headlining the Women of Gogo performances at the Mayor’s Keep the Beat Week celebration at the Alumni Spot. The Voice of the city is bringing that soul of Gogo back into the spotlight and deserves all the praise she’s getting.

[gyorouis]

𐙚 HOPELESSLY YOURS - CYJ

— you don't want to be his girlfriend? well he theorizes you are just in denial.

genre: fluff, crack, strangers to lovers trope ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱

pairing: persistent suitor!yeonjun x afab!reader

warning: kiss (?), lots of swearing, kms jokes, if i forgot anything pls let me know !!

word count: 8.1k (lol)

now playing: eraserheads — ligaya ୨ৎ

the hall buzzed with chatter and laughter as the alumni homecoming party got into full swing. yeonjun walked in, greeted by the familiar sights and sounds of old friends and acquaintances. he quickly spotted his group in the corner, huddled around a table far from the dance floor and the bar, where most people were gathered.

“yeonjun! over here!” soobin waved, standing up to give his friend a quick hug.

beomgyu was already slouched in his chair, scrolling through his phone with a look of pure boredom. hueningkai and taehyun were quietly chatting, occasionally glancing around the room as if to make sure no one was watching them too closely.

“finally, you’re here,” taehyun said with a smirk. “thought you were gonna ditch us for some popular crowd.”

yeonjun grinned, pulling out a chair to join them. “as if i’d leave you guys to fend for yourselves.”

“parties, man. never really amuses me,” beomgyu muttered, not even bothering to look up from his phone.

taehyun chuckled, “funny coming from the guy who never missed a single one in college.”

the group laughed, the sound carrying memories of their younger days. there was a comfortable silence that followed as they all seemed to drift back to the past.

“remember how beomgyu used to pick fights with anyone who looked at him funny?” soobin said, a teasing smile on his face.

“or when yeonjun and taehyun nearly killed each other over the mvp title during high school?” hueningkai added, his eyes sparkling with the memory.

“don’t forget hueningkai’s epic rants about being stood up during highschool,” taehyun said, nudging kai with his elbow.

“hey, that was a dark time for me!” hueningkai pouted, making everyone laugh.

“and soobin... staying up late, obsessing over keeping his room spotless before we came over for sleepovers,” yeonjun added, grinning at the tall guy.

“hey, someone had to make sure you guys didn’t destroy the place,” soobin replied, chuckling.

they exchanged looks, the kind that only old friends could share, and smiled at each other, a genuine warmth settling over them. it was soobin who broke the silence.

“remember the time when yeonjun was courting y/n?” he asked, eyes twinkling with mischief.

yeonjun immediately groaned, covering his face with his hand. “why do you have to bring that up?”

hueningkai jumped in, “oh, and the way he cried when y/n rejected him the first time? classic.”

they all chuckled at the memory, and yeonjun couldn’t help but smile, even if it was at his own expense. how could he forget about it? afterall, you are the first girl who ever made him question himself.

“no, i don’t want to be your girlfriend.” your voice was steady, almost monotone, and it hit yeonjun like a lightning bolt. rejection? from you?

yeonjun wasn’t used to this. in high school, girls practically lined up to say yes to him, like their lives depended on it. but you… you were different. you didn’t even know who he was until college orientation, when you were both sophomores. the first time he saw you, assisting students with your hair in a messy ponytail, yeonjun was completely captivated.

since that day, he made it his mission to find out everything about you, even going so far as to befriend professors to make sure he took the same minors as you.

“dude, i think she likes me,” yeonjun announced one evening, smirking as the five of them sat in a pc cafe. beomgyu gave him a skeptical look.

“the fuck you talking about?” beomgyu muttered, not bothering to look away from his game.

“i mean, she looks at me,” yeonjun said, giggling as he recalled the time you watched him during an extemporaneous speech competition.

“she’s got eyes, dude,” soobin replied without missing a beat.

“wasn’t that when you were giving a speech?” taehyun added, earning a groan from yeonjun.

“and she clapped,” yeonjun argued, trying to ignore the fact that it was just polite to clap after a performance.

“everybody claps, dude,” hueningkai finished, making yeonjun tsk in frustration before turning his attention back to the game.

it had been like this for a good couple of months—yeonjun’s subtle attempts to catch your attention, his not-so-subtle theories about your feelings for him, and your complete obliviousness to it all. he was persistent, though, and eventually, he decided it was time to take the first real move.

one day, during a small thesis preparation session, you were flipping through pages of research, trying to figure out a topic that wouldn’t bore you to death. the professor had assigned everyone a two-person thesis project, and the thought of finding a partner had been weighing on your mind. you were about to ask one of your friends when yeonjun suddenly appeared beside you, his voice confident and almost commanding.

“hey, you’re my partner for the thesis,” he declared, not even bothering to ask if you agreed.

you blinked, staring at him in confusion. “uh… excuse me?”

“you heard me,” he said with a grin, and before you could protest or even process what was happening, he was already halfway out the door. “see you tomorrow for our first meeting!”

you sat there, dumbfounded. as far as you could remember, you’d never had any significant interaction with yeonjun during the entire semester. he’d only recently transferred into your schedule, and other than the occasional nod in the hallway or a brief hello in class, there was nothing between the two of you. yet here he was, claiming you as his thesis partner as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

the next day, you found yourself in the library, seated at a table piled high with books and notes. you were trying to focus on the thesis outline when yeonjun walked in, looking far too cheerful for someone about to dive into hours of research.

“ready to get started?” he asked, sliding into the seat across from you.

“i guess,” you replied, still a bit wary of him. “so, why did you pick me as your partner? there were plenty of other people you could’ve asked.”

yeonjun shrugged, giving you one of those infuriatingly charming smiles. “i figured you’d be the best match for me. plus, i heard you’re really smart.”

you raised an eyebrow, not entirely convinced. “you don’t even know me.”

“sure i do,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “you’re y/n. you’re always on top of things, you’re not afraid to speak your mind, and you have this cool way of looking at the world. who wouldn’t want you as a partner?”

his words left you momentarily speechless. was he seriously trying to flatter you? and more importantly, was he succeeding? you pushed the thought aside, focusing on the task at hand.

“well, if we’re going to work together, we need to set some ground rules,” you said, trying to sound firm. “no slacking off, no leaving everything to the last minute, and definitely no distractions.”

yeonjun held up his hands in mock surrender. “whatever you say, boss.”

despite your initial reservations, the study session went surprisingly well. yeonjun was focused and surprisingly knowledgeable about the topic you’d chosen. you found yourself actually enjoying the collaboration, even if he did have a habit of cracking jokes at the most inappropriate moments.

“so, after we finish this part, we should—” you started to say, but yeonjun interrupted.

“take a break and get some ice cream?”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. “finish the outline first, then we’ll talk about ice cream.”

“deal,” yeonjun agreed, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

after a few more study sessions, yeonjun’s persistence only grew. he started finding excuses to hang out with you more often, from asking you to help him with other assignments to randomly showing up wherever you were. it was clear he was trying to make a move, but you weren’t sure how to respond.

one day after class, yeonjun casually invited you to join him and his friends for lunch.

“you should come sit with us today,” yeonjun said, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

you hesitated, not sure if you were ready to dive into his social circle. “um… i don’t know…”

“come on, it’ll be fun,” he urged, flashing that smile of his, the one that made it really hard to say no. “my friends are cool, i promise.”

reluctantly, you agreed. before you knew it, you were walking with yeonjun toward the cafeteria, your nerves tightening with each step.

as you approached the crowded cafeteria, yeonjun spotted his friends before you did. “there they are!” he waved, his voice tinged with excitement. you followed his gaze and saw a group of people sitting at a table, chatting animatedly.

the first person who caught your eye was a guy with long hair and white streaks. he was looking at the two of you with a teasing glint in his eyes, and you immediately felt your brows knit in confusion. yeonjun just gave you a knowing smile before gesturing for you to walk with him to their table.

“hey, this is y/n!” yeonjun introduced you, his voice a little too enthusiastic. you glanced around the table, trying to take in everyone at once. there was a tall guy who seemed taller even when he’s sitting down, and beside him was a girl who looked like she could be his girlfriend. across from them, another guy with bleached hair sat next to a girl who had a bright, friendly smile.

“hi! i’m beomgyu!” the long-haired guy with the white streaks grinned at you, clearly the one who had been teasing yeonjun earlier. you smiled back, nodding in acknowledgment.

before you could say anything, another guy with silver hair, his aura not as bright as the others, piped up. “dude, there are no pepsi today, we got you coke and lemonade instead.”

you realized he was talking to yeonjun, who just nodded and gave a small “thanks” before turning back to you.

“what are you waiting for? christmas? sit!” beomgyu gestured for you to sit, and you chuckled before finding a seat between yeonjun and the girl next to the tall guy.

the lunch was surprisingly fun. the guys bantered nonstop, making you laugh more than you had in a while. you quickly found yourself warming up to soobin, the tall guy, and his girlfriend, she had introduced herself to you as well. they were sweet and easy to talk to, and you couldn’t help but feel grateful that yeonjun had asked you to join them.

“so, y/n,” beomgyu leaned in, that mischievous grin back on his face, “how long have you been putting up with yeonjun?”

you rolled your eyes playfully, trying to play along. “not long,” you replied. “we’re thesis partners, so i guess i’m stuck with him for a while.”

“poor thing,” taehyun, the silver haired one, said with mock sympathy, earning laughter from the rest of the group.

as the conversation flowed, you found yourself getting into a lighthearted debate with soobin about the best study spots on campus. what started as a simple disagreement somehow turned into a full-blown group discussion about everything from favorite coffee shops to weird professors.

just as you were starting to feel truly comfortable, beomgyu decided to stir the pot. “anyway, y/n, how long have you two been dating?” he asked casually, his tone too innocent to be genuine.

you nearly choked on your food. “w-we’re not dating!” you stammered, your face burning with embarrassment.

yeonjun, who had been in the middle of taking a bite of his sandwich, almost spit it out in surprise. “yeah, what she said!” he quickly added, his voice a little too loud, his eyes wide with panic.

“aw, come on, you two would be cute together,” beomgyu teased, waggling his eyebrows, clearly enjoying the chaos he was causing.

“seriously, beomgyu, knock it off,” taehyun said, though his smirk made it clear he was just as amused as beomgyu.

you shot yeonjun a look, silently pleading with him to say something, anything, to shut beomgyu up. but yeonjun just laughed it off, nudging you playfully. the moment you started stammering, denying it with all your might, yeonjun felt his own cheeks heat up. he had quickly jumped in to support your denial, but the damage had been done. he could see the embarrassment written all over your face, and it made his heart sink.

“relax, y/n,” he said, his tone light and teasing. “he’s just messing with you.”

you managed a weak smile, but inside, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this lunch had been a terrible idea. as much as you were starting to like yeonjun’s friends, the attention and teasing were making you feel overwhelmed. as much as he wanted to laugh it off, to make you feel at ease, he couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling in the back of his mind. maybe he had pushed too hard, too fast. maybe bringing you into his world like this had been a mistake.

but then he saw you smiling weakly, trying to laugh along with the rest of them, and he felt a pang of guilt. he had wanted to share his friends with you, to make you feel welcome, but now he wasn’t so sure if that was what you wanted.

as the lunch went on, yeonjun found himself glancing at you more often, trying to gauge how you were feeling. when you finally caught his eye, he offered you a small, apologetic smile, hoping it was enough to convey what he couldn’t put into words.

the night was the same as usual, the five of them scattered around soobin’s living room, snacks strewn everywhere. yeonjun was pacing back and forth, running his fingers through his hair for what felt like the millionth time, repeating the same thing he’d been saying all night.

“i’m telling you guys, she likes me!”

the collective groan that followed was almost in perfect harmony.

“yeonjun, this is like, the eighth time this week you’ve said that,” taehyun muttered, rubbing his temples. “and it’s only wednesday.”

“i think she does,” hueningkai chimed in, leaning back against the couch, his tone thoughtful. yeonjun’s eyes lit up, only to dim a second later when kai added, “...but she doesn’t want to be in a relationship with you.”

yeonjun’s smile dropped as fast as it had appeared, and he shot hueningkai a sharp look. “what do you mean by that?”

beomgyu snickered from his spot on the floor, popping a chip into his mouth. “who would want to be with you, though?” he said with a smirk.

without missing a beat, yeonjun pointed dramatically at beomgyu, echoing his words with exaggerated emphasis. “WHO WOULD WANT to be with you!”

beomgyu burst into laughter, clearly satisfied with the reaction he’d gotten, and soon everyone else was laughing too—except for yeonjun, of course.

“i’m serious, guys!” yeonjun insisted, crossing his arms over his chest. “she’s gonna be my girlfriend, and when that happens, i. will. kill. y’all.”

beomgyu shrugged nonchalantly, barely containing his grin. “well, i guess i’m going to live a long life then.”

the room erupted in laughter again, and yeonjun threw a pillow at beomgyu, who dodged it with ease.

before yeonjun could argue further, his mind drifted back to earlier that day—back to when you had looked him dead in the eye and shattered his confidence in one fell swoop.

“are you even listening?” your sharp voice snapped him back to reality.

he blinked, realizing he had been spacing out. “w-what were you saying again?”

“i said i don’t want to be your girlfriend,” you repeated, the words hitting him like a ton of bricks.

his eyes widened in shock. “huh? i mean, why?” he blurted out, completely dumbfounded.

you stared at him in disbelief. “what the fuck do you mean, why?”

“like, uh... why?” he repeated, sounding even more clueless.

you sighed, exasperated. “why? well, who asks someone to be their girlfriend like they’re asking about the weather?!” you hissed, lowering your voice to avoid drawing attention from the other students.

yeonjun scratched the back of his neck in defeat, letting out an awkward chuckle. “so… no?”

“didn’t i just say that?” you retorted, raising an eyebrow.

before yeonjun could attempt to salvage the situation, the bell rang, signaling the end of the lunch period. you grabbed your things and stood up. “i’m going to my next class. i’ll just see you around.”

yeonjun watched you walk away, his mind reeling. see you around? even after blatantly rejecting him, you still expected to see him around? he took a deep breath, trying to shake off the embarrassment, and then smiled to himself.

later that day, back in soobin’s living room, yeonjun was ready to reveal his latest revelation.

“dude, i have a new theory...” yeonjun began, his eyes sparkling with renewed determination.

another round of groans filled the room, this time louder and more exaggerated.

“have you lost your mind? you were just crying earlier, saying, ‘fuck, she doesn’t like me, dude, i think i’m gonna die,’ and now you’re yapping again about some new theory?” beomgyu said, rubbing his eyes.

“dude, you can practically publish a book about your theories at this point,” soobin added, not even trying to hide his exasperation.

“this is the last time, i promise!” yeonjun said, holding up his hands in a gesture of sincerity that none of them believed for a second.

the four of them released a collective sigh, clearly not convinced. “say it,” hueningkai said, gesturing for yeonjun to continue.

“well, uh... i think she likes me... BUT! but, she’s in denial,” yeonjun announced, looking immensely proud of himself.

there was a brief, heavy silence before soobin broke it with a sigh so deep it sounded like it came from his soul. “god... i feel sorry for you, dude. to be honest.”

“that’s not impossible,” beomgyu chimed in, and everyone turned to look at him, surprised that he was actually supporting yeonjun’s theory. but then, with a wicked grin, he added, “that is... if she hasn’t lost her mind yet.”

soobin didn’t hesitate to smack beomgyu upside the head. “we’re being honest here, dumbass.”

“i am telling the truth,” beomgyu protested, rubbing the back of his head.

before yeonjun could dive further into his theory, taehyun, who had been quiet up until now, spoke up. “give it time.”

“huh?” yeonjun blinked, caught off guard.

“i said give it time,” taehyun repeated, his voice calm and steady. “you don’t have any reason to rush things.”

“yeah, thought so,” soobin agreed, nodding. “besides, if you keep pushing, you might just push her away for good.”

yeonjun sighed, flopping down onto the couch between taehyun and hueningkai. “you guys might be right... but what if i’m right too?”

“well, then maybe—maybe—we’ll help you plan your wedding,” beomgyu teased, barely holding back a laugh.

“yeah, and i’ll be the best man,” hueningkai added, grinning.

“only if i get to be the one who objects during the ceremony,” soobin quipped.

“you’re all assholes,” yeonjun groaned, but he couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. as frustrating as it was, he knew they were right. he would just have to be patient and see how things played out.

but that didn’t mean he was giving up on you—not by a long shot.

you tried to distance yourself from yeonjun a bit. it wasn’t that you didn’t like him—on the contrary, you found him charming in a strange, infuriating way. but the attention, the teasing, and the constant questioning were too much for you. you weren’t used to this kind of pressure, and you weren’t sure how to deal with it.

but yeonjun was nothing if not persistent. he continued to show up at your study sessions, continued to find reasons to hang out with you, and continued to wear down your defenses with that disarming smile of his.

“you can’t avoid me forever, you know,” he said one day as you both sat in the library, working on your thesis. he had that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes, the one that told you he was up to something.

“i’m not avoiding you,” you replied, keeping your eyes on your notes. “i’m just… busy.”

“busy avoiding me,” he teased, leaning a little closer to you.

you rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. “you’re impossible.”

“and yet, you still agreed to be my partner,” he pointed out, his grin widening.

“only because you didn’t give me a choice,” you shot back, though there was no real heat in your words.

“true,” he admitted, leaning back in his chair. “but i think you’re starting to like me.”

you scoffed, trying to hide the way your heart skipped a beat at his words. “in your dreams, yeonjun.”

he just laughed, a warm, genuine sound that made your chest tighten in a way you weren’t ready to acknowledge. “maybe,” he said, shrugging as if it didn’t matter, though the playful gleam in his eyes told a different story. “but hey, dreams have a way of becoming reality.”

you tried to focus on your work, but yeonjun’s presence was impossible to ignore. the way he leaned back in his chair, casually confident, as if he knew exactly how much he was getting under your skin. it was infuriating, and yet there was something oddly comforting about his persistence.

“seriously, though,” he continued after a moment, his tone softening just a fraction. “i get that you’re not used to all this—hanging out with a new group, getting teased and stuff. but you don’t have to deal with it alone. i’m here, you know?”

his words caught you off guard, and you glanced up at him, surprised by the sincerity in his expression. “why do you care so much?” you asked, genuinely curious.

yeonjun’s smile faltered for just a second before he recovered, leaning forward slightly. “because… i like you, y/n. and not just as my thesis partner. i know i can be a lot to handle, but i want to get to know you better. and i want you to know me too.”

your heart skipped another beat, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. yeonjun had always been confident, maybe even a little cocky, but there was something vulnerable in the way he looked at you now, something that made you realize that his persistence wasn’t just a game to him.

“yeonjun…” you began, but he cut you off, shaking his head with a small, rueful smile.

“you don’t have to say anything now,” he said quickly. “i just wanted you to know where i stand. we can keep working on this thesis and see where things go, no pressure.”

you nodded, your thoughts a jumbled mess. yeonjun’s confession had thrown you off balance, and suddenly the lines between friendship, partnership, and something more seemed a lot blurrier than they had before.

“okay,” you finally said, your voice quieter than you intended. “but… let’s just take it slow, okay?”

yeonjun’s smile returned, softer this time, and he reached out to gently tap your hand with his fingers. “slow is good,” he agreed. “i’m not going anywhere.”

you found yourself smiling back, a warmth spreading through you that you couldn’t quite explain. maybe yeonjun was right—maybe you were starting to like him, just a little bit. and perhaps, that wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

one night, you woke up to the sound of low murmurs around you. disoriented, you looked around, trying to figure out where the noise was coming from. you were both working on your thesis and were at your house, but you could hear the faint clinking of pots and pans coming from the kitchen. you groggily got up, stretching your arms and shuffling towards the source of the sound.

in the kitchen, you found yeonjun and your mom busy cooking. the scene was oddly comforting: your mom, apron on, and yeonjun, looking surprisingly at ease in your home. the smell of sinigang filled the air, and yeonjun was animatedly talking about how much he loved your mom’s cooking, from her turon, empanadas to her banana cue and kamote cue. and even though it was scorching hot outside, he hadn’t let your mom’s ginataang bilo-bilo go to waste.

“hey,” you said, breaking their conversation. “what’s going on here?”

“oh, you’re just in time,” your mom said with a smile. “the rice is almost ready. yeonjun helped me with dinner tonight.”

yeonjun turned to you with a grin. “yeah, your mom is an amazing cook. i may have talked her ear off about how much i love her food.”

“i swear, it’s like your mom has magic in her hands,” he said dramatically. “i couldn’t let any of it go to waste, especially having a taste of that sinigang we just cooked? god, it was so good, i nearly cried.”

you raised an eyebrow, walking over to the stove and peering into the pot. “so, you’ve been raving about my mom’s cooking to her face, and now you’re here in our kitchen, making yourself at home?”

yeonjun, trying to look innocent, shrugged. “i figured, if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. and if you’re going to be in my life, you might as well get used to my mom’s cooking too.”

your mom was beaming with pride. “he’s been a delight to have around. and besides, it’s nice to have someone appreciate my cooking so much.”

you glanced at yeonjun, you laughed, shaking your head. “i see you’re getting along just fine.”

“getting along? we’re practically best friends now,” yeonjun said, pretending to clink imaginary glasses with your mom. “we’ve bonded over food and shared laughs. next thing you know, we’ll be singing karaoke together.”

your mom chuckled. “oh, don’t tempt him. he’s already asked me if he could join us for karaoke night.”

“see?” yeonjun said, giving you a thumbs-up. “i’m fitting in perfectly.”

the conversation shifted to the final touches of the meal. your mom had whipped up a feast that included sinigang, a side of crispy lumpia, and yeonjun’s personal favorite, turon. as you all sat down to eat, yeonjun began a somewhat clumsy yet endearing attempt at conversation.

“hey,” he started, his mouth full of lumpia, “what’s your favorite dish your mom makes?”

“that’s a tough one,” you said, laughing. “i’d have to say the empanadas. they’re a family favorite.”

“good choice,” yeonjun said, nodding vigorously. “i was about to say the same thing. but honestly, everything your mom makes is amazing.”

“flattery will get you everywhere,” your mom said with a wink.

yeonjun looked at you, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “so, now that i’ve been properly introduced to your mom’s cooking, are you finally going to admit that i’m not so bad after all?”

“admit?” you said, raising an eyebrow. “you’re lucky my mom likes you. that’s the only reason you’re not getting kicked out right now.”

yeonjun feigned a dramatic gasp. “kicked out? but i’ve just started my career as your unofficial sous-chef!”

your mom laughed heartily, adding, “don’t worry, yeonjun. i’m quite fond of you already. just don’t let it go to your head.” you laughed, shaking your head at the absurdity of it all. the evening had turned into a delightful mess of food, laughter, and unexpected bond your mom and yeonjun made.

after dinner, you decided to walk yeonjun to the nearest jeep terminal. the evening air was cooler, and the streetlights cast a soft glow over the two of you. as you walked, yeonjun suddenly brought up a topic that made you stop in your tracks.

“your mom approved,” he said, smirking.

“approved of what?” you asked, confused.

“of me courting you,” he said, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“what the f—” you began, but yeonjun quickly covered your mouth with his hand.

“can you please calm down? you’re unbelievable,” he said, chuckling.

“why the heck did you tell my mom you’re courting me?” you asked once he finally removed his hand.

“what’s wrong with that? i’m courting you, right?” he asked with a grin.

“huh? you’re not!” you said, punctuating your words with playful punches to his arm. yeonjun let out a low grunt but seemed amused by your reaction.

“i am!” he insisted.

“you’ve never even asked me!” you said, continuing your playful assault on his arm. yeonjun stopped and stood still, causing you to cease your punches.

“hmm, so i didn’t made it obvious?” he asked, suddenly holding your face in his hands.

“then let me say it,” he started, and you felt a surge of panic as he held your face. “i will court you,” he finished, pinching your cheek lightly.

“no! i never said yes in the first place,” you protested.

“did i ask? i just informed you that i’m courting you from now on, even though i’ve been courting you since the day you rejected me,” he said, his voice dropping as he mentioned the rejection.

you rolled your eyes, and yeonjun gave a thumbs-up as he smiled widely. you turned around to see your mom giving a thumbs-up too, jumping with excitement as if she had won the lottery.

“mom!” you exclaimed, realizing that this was probably what they were discussing in the kitchen earlier.

“don’t worry, y/n,” your mom called out from the porch, waving enthusiastically. “i’m rooting for you two!”

you groaned, feeling a mix of embarrassment and amusement. yeonjun just laughed, clearly enjoying the chaos he had created.

“welcome to my life,” you muttered, shaking your head.

yeonjun’s grin widened. “oh, i’m just getting started.”

the days following yeonjun’s bold declaration of courtship were nothing short of a whirlwind. it seemed he had taken it upon himself to transform every mundane moment into an adventure. it wasn’t just about grand gestures; it was the little, unexpected things that made you laugh and sometimes question your sanity.

one bright afternoon, yeonjun showed up at your doorstep, not with flowers or a typical date night setup, but with an enormous picnic basket. his outfit was equally extravagant—he wore a sun hat with a wide brim and aviator sunglasses that made him look like he was preparing for a high-fashion photoshoot rather than a simple outing.

“ready for the most extravagant picnic of your life?” he announced with a flourish, spreading out a checkered blanket on the grass with a dramatic sweep that looked like he was setting up a stage for a grand performance.

you couldn’t help but laugh as you glanced from the basket to yeonjun’s over-the-top attire. “yeonjun, you do realize we’re just having a picnic, not hosting a royal banquet, right?”

“every moment with you is royal,” he said, winking with such confidence you almost believed him. “now, let’s see what we have here.” he began to unpack the basket with exaggerated care, revealing a mountain of turon, banana cue, and a sizable container of ginataang bilo-bilo.

“are you trying to win me over with food?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as he proudly displayed his assortment.

“well, it worked on your mom,” he said, taking a bite of a banana cue and looking excessively pleased with himself. “and i’m pretty sure it’ll work on you too.”

the picnic was a scene of endless laughter, food, and minor disasters. yeonjun’s attempts to be suave occasionally faltered, like when he accidentally knocked over the entire drink cooler, drenching both of you in iced tea. the sight of yeonjun covered in sticky tea, flailing his arms while trying to salvage the situation, had you both in stitches.

“i guess this is what they call a splash hit,” you joked, trying to contain your laughter as yeonjun attempted to mop up the mess with a napkin.

“oh, very punny,” yeonjun said, shaking his head with a grin. “i suppose it’s just another chapter in our epic picnic saga.”

as the sun began to set, casting a golden glow over the park, yeonjun decided it was time for a “romantic stroll.” in reality, it was more of a clumsy run as he attempted to balance a massive bouquet of flowers—now slightly wilted from the iced tea incident—while dodging every stray dog and jogger that crossed your path.

“is it just me,” yeonjun panted between breaths, “or does the park look extra magical tonight?”

“that’s just the sun setting,” you replied, trying to hold back a grin. “but if you want to call it magic, go ahead.”

“magic it is,” he declared with a dramatic twirl, nearly colliding with a nearby lamp post. “now, let’s talk about our future. i’m thinking we’ll have a castle, a thousand turon makers, and a personal chef who specializes in banana cue.”

“sounds like a dream of you,” you said, laughing. “but let’s start with a dinner that doesn’t involve tripping over every piece of furniture.”

yeonjun’s face lit up with a mix of pride and amusement. “you know, i think we make a pretty good team. i bring the over-the-top gestures, and you keep me grounded. it’s a perfect balance.”

that night, as you both lay on the grass, gazing up at the stars while trying to impress you with his knowledge of constellations—although he kept mixing up orion with the big dipper. yeonjun continued his enthusiastic commentary on how great it was to finally be able to court you. he regaled you with exaggerated stories of his friends’ reactions to his new mission. apparently, his friends were both amazed and amused, with yeonjun’s tales of triumphs and mishaps becoming legendary in their group chats.

“so, i told beomgyu about the picnic,” yeonjun said, propping himself up on one elbow, “and he literally laughed so hard he fell off the bed.”

“sounds like quite the reaction,” you said, trying not to laugh.

“oh, it was,” yeonjun continued, “and then kai started teasing me about how i’m ‘the king of courtship disasters,’ which i thought was pretty unfair. if you ask me.” he looks at you. “i’m pretty sure that’s not how everyone measures their courtship skills,” you teased.

“well, i’m setting a new standard,” yeonjun said confidently. “besides, i’ve been studying the stars. did you know that orion’s belt is actually just three stars in a row?”

“i thought you were going to impress me with constellations,” you said with a smile.

“i’m working on it,” yeonjun said, squinting up at the sky. “but i think the real magic is in how we manage to turn every moment into an adventure.”

you lay there, enjoying the cool night air and the warmth of yeonjun’s presence beside you. his words were as comforting as they were amusing, and you couldn’t deny the charm of his quirky, earnest attempts to make every moment memorable.

“well,” you said, nudging him playfully, “as long as you keep being this ridiculously endearing, i think i’ll manage.”

yeonjun looked at you with a grin that could light up the night. “deal. and who knows? maybe next time, i’ll serenade you under the stars. though, i can’t guarantee i won’t mix up orion with the big dipper again.”

“oh, i’m counting on it,” you said, laughing. 

a few weeks into the courtship, yeonjun had a sleepover at soobin’s place with a few of his friends—soobin, beomgyu, taehyun, and hueningkai. they had gathered for a casual hangout, but yeonjun’s excitement about your dates led him to share every detail with his friends. unfortunately, they had already fallen asleep on the living room floor, exhausted from a long day of activities.

yeonjun was sprawled on the couch, practically bursting with energy as he talked animatedly to the empty room. “guys, you won’t believe how amazing the date was last night. we went to this new restaurant, and the food—oh my god, the food was incredible.”

soobin was sprawled on the floor, snoring softly, while beomgyu had drifted off with his head resting on a pile of pillows. taehyun was half-asleep, his head bobbing with each word yeonjun said. hueningkai had passed out with a bag of chips still clutched in his hand.

“so, we tried this new dessert,” yeonjun continued, oblivious to his friends’ slumber. “it was this amazing fusion of all our favorite flavors. and then we had this huge debate about whether pineapple belongs on pizza. i mean, can you believe it?”

yeonjun’s voice was a mixture of excitement and nostalgia as he recounted the smallest details. “and she laughed so hard when i tried to impress her with my ‘impressive’ dance moves. totally epic fail, but she loved it anyway.”

a few muffled groans and sighs from his friends indicated they were barely hanging on, but yeonjun was undeterred. “oh, and we ended the night stargazing one time. i tried so hard to be all poetic, but she kept pointing out how i mixed up orion’s belt with the big dipper. it was so funny.”

taehyun, now fully awake but still half-lying on the floor, mumbled, “yeonjun, we get it. your date was amazing. can we sleep now?”

“wait, there’s more!” yeonjun said, waving his arms excitedly. “we’re planning to make a scrapbook together, and i’m going to put glitter on everything. glitter explosion!”

“yeonjun,” soobin grumbled from the floor, “we’re tired. save the stories for later.”

“fine, fine,” yeonjun said with a dramatic sigh, finally noticing the exhaustion in his friends’ voices. “but you guys are going to love the next date. it’s going to be legendary.”

one evening, yeonjun decided that you both needed a “romantic” movie night. his idea of romance, however, involved setting up an elaborate indoor “cinema” with fairy lights, bean bags, and a selection of snacks that could rival a small buffet. he even made you wear matching pajamas—complete with cartoon characters.

“it’s all about the experience,” yeonjun said, adjusting the lights with an overly serious expression. “you can’t have a romantic movie night without proper ambiance.”

“you know,” you said, looking around at the whimsical setup, “this is actually kind of cute. but don’t think you can get away with making me wear these ridiculous pajamas all the time.”

“hey, don’t knock the pajamas until you’ve experienced the full cozy effect,” yeonjun said, tossing you a bag of popcorn. “plus, it’s for a good cause—our future movie nights together.” smiling sweetly at you.

the movie night itself was a comedy of errors. yeonjun spent more time trying to fix the projector than actually watching the movie, and you both ended up in fits of laughter over his failed attempts to mimic romantic movie lines. at one point, yeonjun dramatically declared, “you had me at hello,” before tripping over the bean bag and crashing into a pile of pillows.

“romance is clearly not your strong suit,” you teased, helping him up.

“hey, I’m working on it,” yeonjun said, brushing himself off with a grin. “next time, i promise a movie night with less physical comedy and more actual romance.”

the following weekend, yeonjun took you to a local farmer’s market. it was a simple date, but one that turned into a playful adventure as you navigated the stalls, sampling everything from artisanal cheeses to homemade jams. yeonjun insisted on buying you a “mystery fruit” he claimed was the “best thing ever.”

“i’m telling you, it’s going to be life-changing,” yeonjun said, holding up a spiky, oddly shaped fruit with a look of triumph.

“it looks like something from an alien planet,” you said, eyeing it warily. “but if you say so.”

the mystery fruit turned out to be surprisingly delicious, and the experience left you both in high spirits. you ended up buying a basket of fresh produce, and yeonjun’s enthusiasm for the “find” made the outing memorable.

“we should definitely do this again,” yeonjun said as you walked back to the car, his cheeks flushed from the sun and excitement.

“i’ll hold you to that,” you said, smiling.

as the weeks went by, yeonjun’s courtship efforts continued to be a mix of grand and simple gestures. he surprised you with handwritten letters, silly serenades, and spontaneous dance parties in the living room. his attempts at poetry were endearing, if not always successful, but you appreciated the effort behind each one.

the culmination of yeonjun’s courtship efforts came on a quiet evening when you both decided to work on a scrapbook together. yeonjun had been relentless about starting the project, claiming it was the perfect way to document your journey together. you reluctantly agreed, and soon found yourself surrounded by colorful papers, stickers, and glitter.

yeonjun was deeply focused on arranging photos and decorations, his brows furrowed in concentration as he pouted his lips in a way that made him look more like a kid than a confident courtier.

“hey,” you said, unable to resist the adorable sight, “you look really cute right now.”

yeonjun glanced up, caught off guard by your compliment. “cute? i’m working hard here, you know.”

“i know,” you said, leaning closer and feeling a sudden impulse. you reached out and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, your lips brushing against his skin.

“hey! you can’t kiss me, i’m not your boyfriend,” yeonjun said, his voice a mix of surprise and mock indignation as he covered his face with his hands.

“then be,” you said, smiling as you wiped a stray piece of glitter from his cheek.

“then be? then be?! what the hell?!” yeonjun shouted, his face turning a shade redder.

“can you please act normal for once?” you asked, trying to hide your amusement.

“are you?” yeonjun said, peeking out from behind his hands with a faux serious expression. “because right now, you’re acting like you just walked out of a rom-com.”

“i figure we are going there soon, so might as well make it official now,” you said, biting your lower lip as you hide your smile.

“so... you? and me?” yeonjun said, exaggeratingly pointing to you and him while making a heart shape with his hands.

“you know,” you said, tapping the scrapbook page with your finger for emphasis. “ask me to be your girlfriend. stop dancing around it and just say it.”

yeonjun’s face turned a deep shade of red, and he looked away, pretending to be very interested in a piece of glitter stuck to his hand. “are you sure you want that?” he asked, his voice slightly muffled as he avoided eye contact.

“yeonjun,” you said, reaching out to gently turn his face towards you. “it’s ridiculous to keep pretending like you don’t want to be with me. you’ve already shown me how much you care.”

“well,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “if you’re really sure about this, then...”

“yes,” you said, smiling warmly. “i’m sure.”

yeonjun’s expression shifted from nervousness to a wide, goofy grin. “okay then,” he said, leaning in with exaggerated seriousness. “will you be my girlfriend?”

you laughed, shaking your head at his over-the-top delivery. “yes, yeonjun,” you said, reaching out to tap him on the nose. “i will.”

“thank goodness,” he said with a sigh of relief, playfully collapsing onto the table as if he’d just won a great battle. “i was starting to think I’d have to spend the rest of my life trying to win you over. anyway, can you say it again?” he added putting his hand into a heart.

“you are so corny, i hate you,” you said, rolling your eyes. you leaned in and gave him a quick kiss on the lips before adding, “you heard me.”

yeonjun’s eyes widened, and he lowered his head, covering his mouth as if he’d just had his first kiss stolen. “i hate you so much!” he said, his irritation tinged with a hint of affection as he tried to maintain his pout.

as you both sat there, surrounded by scraps of paper and glitter, you realized that yeonjun’s courtship had turned into something truly special. it wasn’t about grand gestures or elaborate plans; it was the simple, everyday moments that made it all the more memorable. "yeonjun," you called softly, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between you.

"hmm?" he replied, not taking his gaze off the scrapbook page he was working on. his concentration was almost endearing, his brow furrowed as he meticulously placed another sticker.

"thank you," you said, your voice sincere and filled with warmth.

yeonjun finally looked up, his eyes meeting yours with a mix of surprise and curiosity. “for what?” he asked, setting down the glue stick and wiping his hands on a napkin.

“for everything,” you said, gesturing to the scattered scraps of paper and glitter that surrounded you both. “for all the effort you put into making this special, for being so... you.”

his cheeks flushed slightly, and he gave you a shy, almost sheepish smile. “well, i guess i can’t take all the credit,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “you make it easy to want to do these things.”

“that’s really sweet,” you said, leaning over to give him a gentle kiss on the cheek. “i’m glad you’re the one doing this with me.”

yeonjun’s eyes widened, and he looked away, pretending to be intensely interested in a stray piece of glitter on the table. “uh, it’s nothing,” he muttered, trying to hide his blush. “just... don’t expect me to start being all mushy every time.”

“don’t worry,” you said, chuckling softly. “i’ll make sure to keep you on your toes.” you said as you watch him trying his best to focus on what he’s working on as he fights the urge to scream at how happy he is at this moment.

yeonjun leaned back in his chair, a nostalgic grin spreading across his face as he reminisced with his friends. they were gathered in the homecoming hall, a place filled with echoes of their past, and the atmosphere was brimming with laughter and memories.

“honestly,” yeonjun began, looking at the five guys sitting around him, “it’s kind of hilarious to think back on that time i was crying over her rejection, when in the end i ended up having her.”

the others chuckled, their laughter mingling with the soft clinking of glasses and the hum of the crowd. “yeah, i remember,” beomgyu said, a smirk tugging at his lips. “you were a mess and all, with you endless love theories.”

taehyun raised an eyebrow, “and now you’re here, about to get married. who knew?”

yeonjun shook his head, still grinning. “i know, right? all those dramatic moments and tears, and here we are. i didn’t just win her over to be my girlfriend. no, we’re engaged now.”

he looked up as you walked into the room, calling out to him with a bright smile. “hon!”

the room fell silent, and yeonjun’s gaze softened as he saw you approach. you greeted him with a soft kiss on the cheek, and he could feel the warmth of your love. “hey,” he said, his voice full of affection. “have you talk to them already?” yeonjun asks before planting soft kiss on your cheeks.

“guys, gross. please stop,” beomgyu said, rolling his eyes.

“as if you weren’t the literally on everyone’s lips during college, dude,” taehyun remarked, a playful grin on his face.

beomgyu laughed, shaking his head. “can you please stop reminding me of my youth?”

“they’re still the same,” you whispered to yeonjun, a teasing smile on your lips. “so are we.”

yeonjun leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your bare shoulder. “i wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“get a room,” hueningkai interjected with a grin, shaking his head at the display of affection.

you laughed, your heart full of joy as you turned to soobin. “where is she?” you asked, your curiosity evident.

soobin’s smile grew, his eyes reflecting a fondness that spoke of countless shared memories. “she’s just finishing up in the restroom. she’ll be here soon.” his gaze softened as he remembered how this had always been your way of asking about his girlfriend during college. the smile on his face hinted at the significant moments they’d shared—the moments that had changed everything for him.

“soobinie~” a sweet voice called out. soobin turned, his face lighting up as he met the gaze that had once captured his heart during those college days.

gyo's note: finally! a full of fluff yeonjun one !! phew ˖⁺‧₊˚ ૮꒰ˊᗜˋ* ꒱ა i figured yeonjun def suits this kind of trope, i just see him as a dude who would be literally head over heels when he likes someone !! and i vv much loved writing this because it makes me feel like rewatching my favorite filipino romcoms from when i was a kid !! (づᴗ _ᴗ)づ♡ anyway, feel free to talk to me and request! i will have my first request posted on thursday, yayyyy ✧｡٩(ˊᗜˋ )و✧*｡

✮ 2024 gyorouis, all rights reserved.

[aceies-desiresxx]

one of my favorite things to imagine in disney twst is yuu (your character) deciding to create a school wide publication. a school digital newspaper for the students of NRC.

the dates of all the upcoming unbirthday parties + plus a nit-picky checklist and particular rules that might apply that week to help out the heartsabyul students who don’t wanna deal with “having their head off”

constant updates of the week’s spell drive tournaments and games , + scoreboard for the season, as well as additional info about scouts and recruiters coming to visit said games to encourage the student athletes to reach out and do their best in hopes of their sports career, even a leader board + and mvps so far

monstro lounge’s weekly specialties and deals as well as hiring info incase students want to earn some extra money on campus, and how to contact azul if you’re from another dorm

reminders of important dates on the lunar calendar for both werebeastmen and scarabia students + the newest imports from foreign lands in sam’s shop that might make their dorm feel more like home

news about the newest fashion trends and movies + plus a gossip column that has features on particular students. it’s worded in a riddle, and all names are anonymous so the student body spends awhile trying to figure out who it’s about

new game releases, paired with student options on difficulty and enjoyment. students handles will be tagged allowing for their streams to reach a larger audience + showcases of student art

history on NRC and spooky stories that will be fun to theorize about. legends of trapped souls on campus ground and interviews from alumni and what they think of it or if they were witness to the history

you can also find info about clubs and their recruitment and how to join, when the housewardens will have another meeting with eachother so you can voice your ideas to them in hopes it will be brought up, dates for large student study sessions and after school help, dates for “leaked” pop quizzes or even large tests that you might’ve forgotten were gonna be later that week. tickets and shows to student performances even dumb quizzes to pass the time. you can find all staff emails and how to even duel your house warden to take their spot. but for some reason that tab doesn’t have a lot of viewers.

this digital publication keeps the student body of NRC well informed and is popularly visited, only gaining more traction as the school year goes on. so ofc students have been trying to figure out who’s been behind it.

all the crisp photos of the spell drive players, the leaked dates of tests, the gossip, sam’s stock. how’s one person able to get the news before anyone else is? no way azul would sign a contract with them, plus even azul doesn’t have access to all this info. if only he had some sneaky eels who love to be as slippery as they are in the water, above ground. or a few ghost friends able to go through walls and overhear things they probably shouldn’t. maybe sam IS in on it, wanting to spread awareness about his goods so he makes profit. even a cat small enough to sneak around when bribed with enough tuna could help out. plus a killer camera from the headmaster. maybe crowley knows what’s going on but is letting things play out. so far it hasn’t gone too far. plus. who would suspect the prefect from another dimension? they have a hard enough time as is. no way they’d be able to keep up.

[bumblesimagines]

I thought about you every night.

I never got your name.

You looke different in daylight.

Cate Dunlap

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

TW/CW: Typical Gen V warnings, drinking, mentions of drugs and drug usage, brief sexual content and i am heavy on the brief

I will always support her rights and wrongs

"So, Andre," Luke drawled as he picked up a glass of champagne, his eyes sweeping over the packed room full of their fellow classmates, school staff, and parents. Another fancy event the university hosted where they pretended they weren't forcing an even more competitive energy onto their students by inviting rich sponsors and alumni with hefty connections. "Where is this friend of yours you keep talking about?"

"He-" Andre subtly wiped the white residue from his nostrils. "-should be right around... here!" He lifted his hand and wiggled his fingers, a big boyish smile stretching across his face.

Jordan rolled their eyes and swiped a cup of whiskey from a distracted guest, swallowing down the contents in two gulps. Cate giggled softly when they scrunched up their face, a soft 'ugh' sound leaving them as they set the cup back down. They wiped their mouth with the sleeve of their button-up, a quiet snort leaving them when they noticed the puzzled look on the guest's face. Cate giggled under her breath, gently bumping her hip against theirs.

"Finally, man! I thought you got lost." Andre gave a hearty laugh and reached past Cate to tug someone by her, eagerly pulling them into his side. Cate's attention jumped away from Jordan to look at the new face, only to realize she very much recognized the 'stranger' when she fully drank him in. Oh, shit. Her body tensed, eyes slowly widening as realization dawned on her. Andre patted his friend's chest happily, giving his shoulders a light shake. "Guys, meet our newest transfer. This asshole and I go way back. I mean, shit, we knew each other when we were in diapers, right?" 

"We sure did." His friend responded, gaze lingering on Cate and lips pulling into a lazy smirk that made her skin buzz alight with heat that spread through her body and left goosebumps behind in its wake. Her gut coiled violently, her gloved fingertips digging into the skin of her arms.

Cate watched with an amused smile as Andre and Luke clung to each other in a drunken mess of sloppy dancing and proclamations of love that ended with 'bro' and 'man'. Jordan cackled from their spot beside Cate, one hand clutching their stomach while the other held their recording phone in hand, no doubt with the idea of tormenting the two with the video whenever possible. 

"I'm going to get another drink," Cate called into their ear and stood up from her seat, giggling as she maneuvered her way around Andre and Luke before slipping in further into the crowd of clubgoers. She ducked and weaved through the sea of people until she finally reached the bar, resting her arms over it and slipping her hand free from her silk glove. 

The bartender squinted at her as she made a drink, likely planning on asking for her ID as expected. She reached over the bar and set the drink down in front of a young man, her eyes sliding away to smile at him. "Enjoy." Cate reached out, wrapping her fingers around her wrist and pulling the bartender's attention back onto her, her fingers beginning to tingle and a hazy look appearing over the bartender's eyes.

"You're going to get me a rum and coke because you don't care about my age, right?" 

"I don't care about your age." The bartender responded robotically and stepped away to begin making her drink, the hazy look disappearing. Cate leaned back and scooped her glove up, tucking her hand back into it and brushing some of her golden hair over her shoulder. 

"Neat party trick." A voice rumbled beside her and she looked at the young man in surprise, her lips parting to quickly fish out her usual line of 'I don't do it often' or 'I swear it's not a habit' but he simply shrugged at the slightly panicked look on her face. To her surprise, she watched him morph into her, copying her from head to toe and making it feel as if she were gazing into a mirror. "Cheers," The sound of her voice coming out of someone else's mouth unnerved her but she stared at him in pure awe.

"You're a... a supe?" She blinked and he morphed back into himself, giving another light shrug in response. "I haven't met anyone who can shapeshift like that before."

He grinned at her. "Well, now you have."

"Hey, man." Luke smiled warmly, completely unaware of the whirlwind going on his girlfriend's head. He stuck out his hand toward him and gave him a good, firm handshake. Cate's throat felt abnormally dry and she finally tore her eyes away from Andre's friend to snatch a cup of champagne from the table beside them, swallowing it down in a large gulp that had Jordan's brows furrowing. "I'm Luke Riordan. This asshole is Jordan and this is my girlfriend, Cate."

"Hi," Cate whirled around to face him, quickly licking away a droplet of champagne from the corner of her lip and offering a polite smile as if she hadn't been thinking of the night they met. "We never got your name, did we?" She cocked her head to the side, lips pressing tightly together when Jordan continued to stare into the side of her head.

"(Y/N)." 

(Y/N). She finally had a name to the face that followed her for weeks, consuming her thoughts and dreams nearly every day. She loved Luke but with each passing day, she found that love morphing into a mixture of guilt and resentment. She was the leash Shetty used to control Luke, to ensure he'd remain the submissive and agreeable boy they needed him to be. Cate never desired to hurt him, not when he'd been so loving and caring over the years, but she yearned for the day she'd finally be able to step out of the relationship and choose someone Shetty wouldn't dream of using. 

"It's a pleasure to meet you, (Y/N)." She liked how it sounded rolling off her tongue, a newfound giddiness rolling over her. "Andre's told us so much about you." 

"Man, I can't wait to see you in the halls between classes." Andre's shoulders did a small excited shimmy, the coke he'd snorted blatantly beginning to take effect on him. He scooped a glass of champagne in his hand and drank from it, his head turning over his shoulder when his father called him and Luke over. "Mm, we'll be right back." He clapped (Y/N) on the back, stepping away with Luke to approach the group of parents and staff.

"I'm not third-wheeling." Jordan abruptly spoke, meeting Cate's stunned stare with a deadpan look and eyebrow raise before they walked away, disappearing through the crowd of mingling guests. Cate stared after them, contemplating forcing them to forget what assumptions they'd made. The last thing she needed was breaking Luke's heart and Shetty learning about it.

"Charming, that one." (Y/N) chuckled and moved closer to her, his hands sliding into the pockets of his dress pants and eyes slowly gazing over her. Cate found all her thoughts about Luke and Shetty vanishing when she looked at him, a soft chuckle escaping her. "You look different in daylight." 

"And you don't have a mysterious aura anymore." 

(Y/N) tilted his head, his smirk morphing into a teasing grin. "So, does that mean you hook up with anyone who looks mysterious at nightclubs?" He questioned, and her cheeks lit aflame. 

The bass of the song playing throughout the club made the walls vibrate against Cate's back, and the coolness of the bathroom door long forgotten with her mind and body preoccupied. Her chest heaved with pants, the air pumping into the bathroom keeping her exposed tits and skin cold from the sweat. The soreness in her legs began to melt away, allowing her to tighten them around the shapeshifter's waist again without his hands to support her up. She kept them wrapped around him, preventing him from moving away. 

Breathlessly chuckling against her throat, he leaned back, his hands still tightly gripping her thighs. She flushed more under his gaze, the arms around his neck tugging him closer to connect their lips again. It was sluggish and messy but Cate hardly minded as she pressed harder against his lips, a soft muffled sigh escaping her.

"You said you came here with friends, sweetheart. They're probably wondering where you ran off to." He reminded her softly, and another sigh escaped her. Her blue eyes fluttered open to gaze into his. She could feel her energy and strength returning to her rapidly; one of the many benefits of being a supe with stamina better than that of a normal human. Cate kissed him again, her back pushing off the wall and chest pressing into him, a whine leaving her when the movement straightened her back and made him slightly slide out of her. 

"Come to GodU," She practically pleaded. "Brink would accept you the second he lays eyes on you and you'd rise to the Top Ten with no problem. Everyone would want to be you or be with you."

"Everyone already thinks that way about me."

"Does this mean you do whatever anyone you hook up with asks of you?" Cate raised a brow, her arms folding over her chest and her chin lifting challengingly. He laughed quietly and picked up one of the last few cups of champagne, bringing it to his lips and crinkling his nose in disappointment at the taste. 

"Big ego you've got there, sweetheart. Andre convinced my parents to encourage me to apply so we could be at the same school, actually, so you've got Andre to thank for this." He explained with a small grin, finishing the champagne and setting the empty cup aside before tilting his body to observe those around them. "And now... this stupidity is my life."

"Oh, come on, it's not all so bad. You've got me rooting for you." Cate said, her hand cupping his elbow and her smile feeling genuine. "You know, I thought about you every night. A guy with amazing powers who should've been at this school a long time ago. You might beat Jordan and Andre out of their spots in the coming weeks."

"Yeah," (Y/N) swiped his tongue over his lips, his eyes gliding slowly across the room. "My gut tells me that's a death wish."

[pastlivesandpurplepuppets]

Nixon met Winters at the station. The first thing he noticed was that his friend was in full uniform. “Thought you were eager to be a civilian?” he asked. “I’m working on it,” Winters replied. “Just give me time.” Nixon flagged a cab that took them to the posh, twenty-story Yale Club at Vanderbilt Avenue and Forty-Fourth Street, and began showing his former commander off to his alumni friends. The next stop was the hospital where Nixon’s mother was a patient. “She was very, very nice and pleasant,” he recalled. “I can remember her very definitely trying to say nice things, the right things, like ‘I’ve heard a lot of good stories about you’ and so forth.” When the sun went down the two wartime comrades went out on the town, or rather, Nixon took Winters out on the town. Not surprisingly, Nixon dragged his friend to nightclubs and bars, where the young man from Lancaster would sit, fidgeting in his chair, while Nixon downed drink after drink. “I was not used to that kind of thing at all, it was all new to me and I was very uncomfortable,” Winters recalled. “But there I sat all prim and proper.” Ironically, although it was Nixon who was getting drunk, it was Winters who nearly got into a barroom brawl. While the two were sitting at a table at one of Nixon’s nightspots, a man who had had almost as much to drink as Nixon staggered up to the pair. He spotted Winters’ uniform, the brass buttons and golden oak leaves gleaming in the light. “Well, well,” he said in an alcohol-laced voice. “Lookee here. We got a soldier. And an officer to boot. What are you doin’ here, General?” Winters ignored him. “Hey, General, are you deaf?” he prodded. “Blow,” Nixon told the man. “I ain’t talking to you, fella, I’m talkin’ to this nice, neat-looking soldier boy.” Winters saw anger flash in Nixon’s eyes, and his own slow fuse was starting to burn. “Look at that fruit salad,” the man said, noting Winters’ array of ribbons. “You must be a hero, General. Are you a hero?” Winters did not respond. “Are you too good to talk to me? You’re not a hero. You’re a sucker.” Winters had just about enough of this drunken fool when a waiter, knowing trouble when he saw it, hustled over and snatched the man by his upper arm. “Why don’t you find a nice corner somewhere else to drink?” he said and shouldered the man to another part of the room. “I could barely hold myself in,” Winters said later. “I was getting ready to kill that son of a bitch.”

~ Larry Alexander