#did i answer the first question correctly?
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theorphicangel · 2 days ago
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maybe I’m thinking about the moment sukuna sits yuji down and finally tells him the truth about him and reader
( full fic before this is here but not needed to read this drabble!!)
sukuna finally sits yuji down, it’s only the two of them in the living room with sukuna’s twin brother, Jin, away at work.
yuji was busy playing with his fire truck in front of the couch until he hears his uncle to come sit next to him.
'hey yuj' come here for a sec'
the little one comes by, his toy fire truck that sukuna had gotten him for christmas still in hand. his eyes are wide and curious, giving his uncle his full attention. just at this sight, sukuna feels his stomach drop.
how the fuck was he supposed to break it to a six year old that you won't be around anymore? yuji practically worshipped you, from the first time that he introduced the two of you, yuji got obsessed. he followed you around and bombarded you with questions, asking every little thing about you. he gave you his shitty drawings and you kept them, putting them on your fridge. you'd make time to sit and play with him, diving into yuji's imaginative world a whole lot better than sukuna ever did.
you were patient and caring around him which sukuna appreciated a lot, it made yuji look up to you and treasure you greatly.
but now...well it's not the same. you haven't come by in weeks and yuji's began to question your disappearance.
'well...' sukuna hesitated, his tongue suddenly caught in his throat. what were the right words? how should he phrase this correctly so that his nephew doesn't end up in complete tears?
'yuji, you know-'
yuji cuts him off, stating your name.
sukuna lets out a dry cough, 'yes...about her' he can't bring himself to say your name. '...well we broke up. a couple weeks ago.'
sukuna lets his words digest. yuji looks down at his lap, fiddling with his truck, trying to comprehend. 'broke up?'
'yeah,' sukuna sighs, 'we're not seeing each other anymore.'
silence forms in the living room excluding the clock on the wall suddenly loud in its tick-tick-tick-tick.
'so...she won't come over anymore?'
'no, she won't'
'oh, okay.' there's clear sadness in the six year old's voice, immediately disappointed and now sukuna understands what his brother meant when he said that it would hurt yuji more than it would hurt him.
sukuna throws a hand at reassurance. 'it's okay bud because you still have me... and-and we'll do fun things together alright?'
yuji nods before speaking again, reflecting a little.
'but aren't you sad?'
sukuna wasn't prepared for that question. he struggles to come up with a quick answer, hesitating. 'yeah...i am.'
'i don't want you to be sad 'kuna' yuji mumbles, kicking his feet.
'it's okay yuji, i'm-'
sukuna's words are cut off by yuji coming in for a hug. his toy is discarded with yuji now focused on the task of wrapping his tiny arms around sukuna's large frame. sukuna shifts yuji onto his lap and returns the hug.
sukuna barely hugs his nephew, only in circumstances where he knows he won't see yuji for a long time.
'i hope you feel better soon.' yuji mumbles, his voice muffled. sukuna says nothing more as suddenly his throat is caught and words fail to escape from his lips. if it didn't hit him before then it sure does hit him now.
he hopes yuji doesn't notice his eyes getting blurry.
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dreamwavesexploringreality · 19 hours ago
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Unfinished business (pt 2):
Chishiya x Reader
Read the first part to understand
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Sweat ran cold down her forehead as she struggled to focus on the task in front of her. Problems and options, numbers and equations... the more levels she cleared, the harder it became to maintain her concentration. Especially with that man staring at her from across the room. "Doesn’t he have his own issues to solve?"
Y/N hastily scribbled down the answer she had just calculated, and while the response was being processed, she dared to look up. Sure enough, he was watching her. Kai. She locked eyes with him, trying to appear intimidating, indifferent, and self-assured. A familiar smirk spread across his face—a crooked smile she had seen before, one that promised nothing but trouble. She felt her screen vibrate in front of her.
"49. Focus."
She turned her head slightly. Chishiya was still working, focused and seemingly absorbed in solving his problems. But she knew him too well, and the faint furrow between his brows was a clear sign that something was bothering him. Y/N typed the number into her console without even bothering to read the problem. "Correct."
Just as a new question popped up, the voice in her earpiece announced there were ten minutes left in the game. A surge of adrenaline coursed through her veins, and as she became engrossed in solving the problem, she didn’t notice the way the man’s expression darkened.
A soft melody flooded the room, accompanied by the creak of a door. Someone had finished. Y/N watched as the door to a player’s cubicle opened, granting them freedom. The game was over for them. He bolted out of his glass enclosure and approached the central console in the room. He stared at it for a few seconds, deep in thought. Whatever had crossed his mind was dismissed quickly, and with one last glance at the group, he walked to the exit, opened the door with ease, and disappeared.
Y/N glanced at Chishiya. He seemed to be calculating something internally—or so it appeared. It was inconceivable to her that someone could finish this test before he did. Chishiya looked at her from within his transparent cubicle, arms crossed over his chest. "What are you doing?" she tried to convey through her gaze. He just stared at her. His expression was fixed, inscrutable, as though he could see right through her. She sighed and refocused on her console.
"Seven points. I just need three more," she muttered to herself.
"Five minutes left in the game," the robotic voice blared in her ears, louder than before, reverberating through the glass and making it tremble.
A sharp, harsh sound was followed by a scream. A woman was trying to force open her door, her cries filled with desperation. Y/N covered her ears, trying to block out the panicked wails. That woman wouldn’t achieve anything by forcing the lock, and even if she succeeded, she’d be met with a deadly laser aimed straight at her forehead.
With trembling hands, Y/N solved two more problems. "Three minutes," her screen displayed. "One more problem."
Beside her, she didn’t notice Chishiya reclining in his cubicle, adopting an apparently relaxed posture. His white hoodie now covered his head, partially hiding his face and concealing his worry. He would never admit it, but yes, he was worried. He knew Y/N was more than capable of solving all the problems, but he also knew she wasn’t entirely focused. That man hadn’t stopped staring at her, and his mere presence at the start of the game had set off every alarm in Chishiya’s mind. A bad feeling settled in his gut as he deciphered, through body language, that the man already had his final answer but had chosen not to submit it, deciding instead to stay in the game—just like Chishiya.
Of course, he had finished the game before anyone else; he’d solved all the problems in just twenty minutes, leaving him time to study his surroundings. It was clear that not everyone would leave that room. There were players too panicked to answer correctly, their faces twisting in agony every time their consoles spat out a bitter "Incorrect." And then there was that man. He had finished about ten minutes after Chishiya. It was obvious from the way his posture had relaxed, and his eyes had locked onto Y/N. Chishiya had expected to hear the man’s door open and watch him leave, like any sane person fleeing imminent death would. But he hadn’t. Instead, the man leaned against the glass, glaring at Y/N as if he wanted to burn her with his gaze.
"Well, Y/N. You have a type," Chishiya muttered to himself, immediately regretting the thought. No, he was nothing like that man. He glanced at his console, where his final answer had been paused for the last twenty minutes. The "Submit" button glowed green, tempting him like candy to a child. He looked up. The man was still staring, trying to intimidate her. From the corner of his eye, he saw Y/N shift uncomfortably, struggling to focus.
"One minute."
Chishiya sighed under his hood, fixing his gaze on Y/N. She was definitely grappling with the last problem. He pulled his hands out of his pockets and typed into his console. One last hint… He could already hear her complaining on their way back to The Beach, hanging onto his arm, telling him she could have done it on her own and didn’t need his help. He would smile and agree, with that signature smug look of his.
"Send hint."
Then everything happened very fast. A flashing red light illuminated Y/N’s cubicle, accompanied by a loud alarm that reverberated through the glass. Chishiya flinched at the sight of her curled up in the corner, hands over her ears, eyes shut tight.
"The hint cannot be sent," his screen announced. Chishiya looked up. There, in the middle of the room, Kai stood tall and proud, his hand firmly pressed against a red button with bold letters: "Sabotage."
Chishiya didn’t hesitate. As if driven by an unseen force, he submitted his final answer and didn’t wait for his cubicle door to fully open before sprinting toward the central console. His hood fell back, revealing his face, and by the time he reached the console, Kai was already retreating, slowly, waving mockingly at Y/N, who was still curled up in her cubicle, teary-eyed, hands over her ears.
The burning rage in Chishiya’s chest demanded he go after the man, but his fear of losing her clouded his mind, forcing him to focus on the console before him. The word "Sabotage" glowed on the button, surrounded by neon red lights flashing in sync with the ones in Y/N’s cubicle. Below the button, a screen displayed: "Console 4 locked. To unlock, answer correctly..."
Chishiya took a deep breath, his eyes glued to the console. Thirty seconds. The problem was simple—at least for him. He typed quickly, entered the answer, and waited. One second, two seconds...
"Correct answer. Console 4 unlocked."
Chishiya’s head snapped up so fast he felt a sharp pain in his neck. He’d worry about that later.
"Y/N! Answer the final question!" he shouted, his voice raw and tearing at his throat.
Terror gripped him when she didn’t move, still huddled in the corner, her head buried between her knees, hands covering her ears, despite the alarm having ceased.
"Fifteen seconds."
Chishiya pounded on the glass of her cubicle.
"Y/N! Listen to me. Just listen. Enter the answer—‘white.’ It’s ‘white.’"
His voice was desperate, unrecognizable even to himself. But at that moment, all he could think about was a life without her. For the first time in his existence, he was truly afraid—terrified. He felt as though he was losing control, the reins of his life slipping from his grasp, leaving a painful scar he knew he would never recover from.
"Y/N," he whispered. Her name escaped him like a final breath, a last shred of hope. And then he collapsed, falling to his knees.
He felt a hand on his arm, pulling at him urgently. Chishiya’s body refused to respond. No, it refused to move. If that cubicle was going to explode, he would stay there. His survival instinct had been relegated to second place by something much stronger—something he dared not name. Giving his life for someone, staying by their side regardless of the cost... Ideas that had once seemed stupid, absurd, and incoherent had suddenly taken shape, transforming into the only thing that made sense.
Another tug.
"Move!"
That robotic voice.
"Five seconds.”
And then he saw her.
Her tear-streaked face, pulling at his lifeless body.
“Four, three..."
"Chishiya, move!"
Automatically, he stood, gripping her arm tightly. His calculations were quick—they wouldn’t make it to the door. Instead, Chishiya ran, dragging her toward the farthest corner of the room, away from the cubicles. He used the momentum to press her body against the wall, caging her in with his arms. Her face buried in his chest, he rested his head atop hers. He shut his eyes tightly and tensed every muscle in his body.
The explosion shattered the cubicles, sending shards of glass flying across the room. The ground shook violently, and the air grew unbearably hot for a few seconds, making it hard to breathe.
When he lifted his head, the air still buzzed with energy. His ears rang from the blast, but the silence that followed was equally overwhelming. He looked down, and his heart clenched in his chest.
"Y/N," he murmured, running his fingers through her hair, ignoring the shards embedded in the back of his hand.
She lifted her head.
"Chishiya," she croaked, her voice broken from crying. Her cold hands cupped his face, sending a shiver down his spine—not from the icy touch against his warm skin, but from the fact that she was there. Intact, as far as he could see.
A cloud of dust rose around them. The pair remained in that position for several minutes, just staring at each other, silently acknowledging the fatal consequences the game could have had.
"I... I knew the answer. I knew the last answer..." she said.
Chishiya felt himself tremble, slowly returning to his senses. She didn’t need to justify herself or prove her worth to him. He didn’t care whether she knew the answer or not because he was there, ready to help her. It had all been that other player’s fault.
He felt no need to ask her about the man. What he had seen and witnessed was enough to know that he had tried to kill her. Shaking his head, he rested his chin on her head one last time before rising carefully and offering her his hand. Ignoring the sting in his arms from the numerous cuts, he intertwined his fingers with hers without a word, leading her out of the room filled with debris.
He dismissed Y/N’s worried voice when she noticed the blood running down his arms, shaking his head in indifference.
Deadly silence and at a slow and steady pace, he led them to The Beach. He needed to treat his wounds and ensure she was alright, that there were no aftereffects from the explosion—though there were bound to be from the experience. He would take care of her. He would heal the physical and emotional scars that had undoubtedly torn at her soul. He would wash her hair that night and tuck her into bed, lying beside her to make sure no ghosts haunted her sleep. And he would kill that man.
Borderland changed people. He had seen it, and now he had lived it. After that incident, he knew he would never find peace while that person continued to breathe the same air as his girlfriend. No. Chishiya wouldn’t allow it. They would leave that place together, and he would ensure that no one—absolutely no one—stood in their way.
© 2025 [@dreamwavesexploringreality]
----
Hey everyone!
The long-awaited Part 2 of The Unfinished Business is finally here!
I really hope you enjoy it and that the wait was worth it. Let me know what you think—I’d love to hear your feedback!
Your support means the world to me. ✨
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rainwingmarvel7 · 16 days ago
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For any OC you‘d like:
🐁 Capybaras are friend-shaped. What shape does your OC have?
🌧️ What is the favorite thing for you OC to do on a rainy day?
Thanks so much for these! Decided to go with Therese for this one😌
🐁 Capybaras are friend-shaped. What shape does your OC have?
Wife-shaped. It’s Therese, guys. She’s got like three or four men wrapped around her finger the entire time lol. They’re wondering why she’s wife-shaped if she’s not wife every day.
🌧️ What is the favorite thing for you OC to do on a rainy day?
Go out riding on her dragon, Nightwing. To her, it’s more exhilarating in the rain, especially if there’s a storm. And when she’s ready to go home, she knows there’s a nice warm bath and Jace’s warm company awaiting her. So it’s a win-win.
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k-hotchoisan · 7 months ago
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hiiiii <333 I have lovedddd lovvvveeeddd alll of your works I actually spent my day reading each and everyone of them I love it so muchhh!! 😭❤️
I have a request teehee, could you write one where Sannie is like a professor in your college and there’s little teasing here and there and where he ends up having her alas!! DOM - SAN ‼️💋
his favourite
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<prof!san x fem!reader>
Prof Choi likes playing favourites.
You’re his favourite.
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Genres/Warnings: smut, dom professor Choi San, pwp, face fucking, unprotected sex, oral (m receive) ,mutual pining, age gap, size kink, cream pies, mild jealousy plot, sir kink, light bondage (just tying up reader) teasing, sexual tension, teaching assistantxteacher obv forbidden but we still eat it up anyway!
Word count: 12.3K
a/n: happy birthday to the man of my dreams </3 enjoy this little choi san birthday treat. i put my love into this so please love this as much as i did! and thank you @bro-atz for the tidbits of help as always 🩷
apply for taglist here!
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You stare at the laptop screen, scanning through your details on the application form, double, and triple checking that everything was filled in correctly. 
“Which professors are you trying as a teaching assistant for?” Your roommate asks, her neck craning over to see you attaching the file to six different emails, to six different professors within the department, pretty much answering her question the moment she reads off each professor’s email. 
“Why not try for the department chair?”
You scrunch your eyebrows as if it’s the first time you’re hearing that. 
“Who?”
“Professor Choi?”
Your eyes widen, your neck almost getting whiplash from how fast you turned to your roommate at the sound of his name. 
“Why the fuck would I try him?” 
Your roommate shrugs in an attempt to hide her amused reaction from your reaction at his name. 
“Who knows? I’m confident he remembers you even though you spent only one semester with him”, she hums turning away to pour herself another ice drink from the pitcher. “On a serious note, you may as well just get all the help you can get. Besides, what are the chances that Prof Choi sees your email? He’s the department chair. I’m sure his mailbox is just flooded anyway.” 
True, you think to yourself, turning your head back to your laptop, and adding the professor’s email address in. But you still hesitate, staring at the application form, your cursor hovering over the send button. Your roommate looks over at you, and she decides that your wishy-washy behaviour is just being the biggest nuisance on earth, so her hand flies over yours and helps you to press send, and she watches you freak out at her while she giggles and escapes after committing her crime, chasing your roommate around the kitchen island for a good seven minutes.
Settling back down in defeat, you sigh in your hands, giving yourself pep talks. 
Right. 
The chances are close to zero that Prof Choi will see my application anyway. 
The chances of him remembering me are close to zero anyway. 
You shut your laptop, and the applications are completely erased from your mind. 
“Yo, check your emails, babe. The application results are out for me”, your roommate says, her eyes glued to her laptop screen. 
You settle yourself down across her, a chilled drink in your hand, pulling up your email inbox. As you expected, you see the subject headline ‘Teaching Assistant Application Results’, and you expand the email.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me”, you mutter, loud enough for your roommate to hear. Her head pops out from behind her screen. 
“Who did you get?”
“Choi San.”
Professor Choi San. His classes weren’t the bane of your existence—but he, himself was. 
And the fact that it only took one semester to solidify that claim. Almost everyone wanted to get into his class, so fucking many of them just squealing over how he looked almost god-like. You wonder how much of a swoon he would be, how much of the rumours that travelled down the stream were factual, though with thousands of students constantly fighting for a spot in his class, you sure were coloured surprised when you landed a spot in Professor Choi’s class. 
The moment he walked in, the whispers within the confines of the lecture hall erupted into gasps and squeals. Unfortunately, the rumours were right—the moment ProfessorChoi walked in, it was as if your eyes naturally followed his movement—confident strides in his steps dictated by his outfit—a simple dress shirt under a dark gray vest that accentuated his wide shoulders and skinny waist.  
He was so fucking handsome—his hair neatly slicked back, frameless glasses sat on his nose bridge, his sharp and small eyes hiding behind the lens. Undoubtedly, seeds of infatuation began lodging themselves in you. Well, it’s not like you had a chance with him anyway, especially when the gold band reflected from his ring finger being a huge indicator. Maybe keeping him as an eye candy would work out just fine. 
Prof Choi’s classes were interesting, and he as a professor, other than being a distraction during the majority of his classes, held his credentials. However, at times, some sarcastic comments would bubble to the surface, and even though he did tend to commend top-scoring students for tests, he still maintained professionalism for the most part—the content taught wasn’t rocket science anyway. You saw yourself being able to breeze through the syllabus for the most part until you received your grade for one of your essays. You stared at his comments, marked in red lines, circles, and words—tone cold and direct—not that you weren’t used to it, but this time? You felt his comments alongside him marking you down were completely unjustified. 
It was then that you pushed past the group of girls who would stay back after class to shamelessly flirt with him, under the guise of wanting to discuss more about the content taught that day, and you stood before the group, asking to speak to Prof Choi personally. Prof Choi did have people staying back after class to consult with him about grades, although they would stay shortly with him staying stern to his marking rubrics, but when he realised you weren’t backing down on top of the way you approached him so directly, it intrigued him.
His office was spacious, considering that he was the department chair—and without introductions, he had you dive in immediately in consultation. 
You wasted no time, flipping through the spent pages of your essay, pointing out areas where you felt his comments were unjustified. Prof Choi listened, and he refuted your points, some of which you decided to accept but not for one particular part;
“This part had no proper scientific support of your argument for this point-“
“Bullshit”, you cut him off. Prof Choi blinked, shocked at the blunt cut from you. His eyebrows were scrunched in confusion next, wondering if he heard right that a student not only just cut him off, but cussed at him.
“Excuse me?”
“It’s here. A small significance value is still something isn’t it?” You replied, pointing at the paragraph after. He glanced at the paper once more, forcing himself to focus while you fought back that your argument was supported. 
So you made Prof Choi sit before you and listen to your elaborations, and needless to say, he was rather impressed, although he had to hold his expression neutral. 
You came out of the consultation victorious—the day Prof Choi called you over after his class again, handing you your script, and you saw your total marks shooting up to a gorgeous score. Your head was so into the clouds that you returned a smirk along with a shrug—showing off your victory and satisfaction as your thanks—an I told you so, leaving the professor to stare after you in awe while you practically skipped to your seat. 
That sealed your fate. 
From then on, Prof Choi would have his attention on you—recognising which seat you picked to sit in in class, wondering why you hadn’t dared sit nearer. And when it came to picking people to answer questions, his gaze would fly to you immediately—either waiting to call you out once you raised your hand or simply calling you when he felt like it. For some sick reason, he finds the way your face scrunches up in stress when he calls your name in his honey-soaked voice amusing, and even adorable at times, though he would never admit it. But oh, did he love the comments and answers you would give him. 
Despite that assignment being the only one where you decided to consult Prof Choi, following every grade release of an assignment, he would single you out, especially after class, to fucking ask if you had questions regarding said assignment, which honestly started to freak you out—mostly because he never gave you the attention before, and you weren’t used to it. The whispering gossip in the class about you being the teacher’s pet slowly reached your ears too, and even Prof Choi heard it—and he only exacerbated that rumours by constantly giving you his attention. 
Every time you reached your dorm, the words that left your mouth which your roommate could recite verbatim, “I swear to god, Prof Choi has it out for me!”
Not to mention you were fucking relieved when the last day of his class rolled around, but unfortunately, his parting words to you were, “I’m sure I’ll see you around, y/n”. You did everything in your power to avoid getting into his class and even bumping into him, which seemed to work swell. 
Until now that is. 
Now here you are again, standing before the familiar heavy wooden door, staring up at the wooden plate, embossed with gold lettering “Department Chair Choi San” staring right at you. You had to physically drag yourself off your bed to prepare for the first day partnered with Prof Choi. And when your roommate’s words of “oh come on, he can’t be that bad. He’s hot!”, echoed through your ears, it all the more made you want to just ditch your first day by clawing your eyeballs out. 
You had to collect yourself before Prof Choi collected you. 
With a raised knuckle, you rap against the door, taking deep inhales in the process. His voice, which sounded deceivingly like honey, remained the same as you remembered. 
“Come in.”
You pause for a moment, embracing yourself before holding onto to doorknob and pushing his door open. 
There he was, Professor Choi, his eyes focused on the scripts on his desk, which had piled up. His space remained the same as you remembered, for the most part—shelves littered with awards and files, the same desktop taking up one-quarter of his huge ass desk, and the couch with the coffee table left to the side of the room. Prof Choi wore a stern look of concentration on his face, still preoccupied with finishing up marking his scripts. 
When his pen pauses and his gaze shifts towards the door, a small smile spreads across his face. He lifts his head and drops his pen, interlocking his fingers on his desk with growing amusement when his eyes meet yours. 
Fuck, he’s still so handsome.
“Professor Choi”, you greet, holding your expression neutral as you bow, forcing yourself not to fidget with your tote bag. 
“Y/n!” Prof Choi greets almost too enthusiastically. “I would assume you would be more than delighted when I picked you to be my teaching assistant.”
“Honoured, almost”, you reply. It’s taking all of your energy not to break his gaze. He’s staring at you with unreadable eyes, and you’re wondering if the fluttering in your chest is from the anxiety or the way Prof Choi is staring at you.
Prof Choi laughs, and it tickles your ears a little too good. 
“Sit. We have a lot to go through today”, he gestures to the seat before him, and you take it.
He switches on his monitor to his course syllabus and turns the monitor slightly towards you. 
“Oh, before we begin, it’s a pleasure meeting you again, y/n.”
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Oh boy, was being Prof Choi’s teaching assistant a fucking handful. You knew it was gonna be rough, but to be assisting Professor Choi San? He was on another level—his schedule would be filled to the brim with meetings with the faculty on top of conducting classes weekly. You struggled in your first month, learning the ropes, especially from a busy and challenging professor like him. He wasn’t mean or cold at all, on the contrary, more direct and meticulous. Well, he had to be, considering his position. Nonetheless, it felt like he was always too busy to attend to your questions sometimes, and that would leave you to your own devices. 
You stand in the aisle, looking down at the assortment of foods lined up in the chiller. Has Prof eaten yet? Does he even eat? What does he even eat? By instinct, you pull out your phone and open his chat. 
[you]: Hi Prof. Have you eaten? I’m at the convenience store near the campus. I could grab something quick for you. 
A couple of minutes go by, but your phone doesn’t receive a ping, and you had to reach the office soon. So you pick up another tuna rice ball for the professor alongside yours before making a beeline for the cashier. 
Prof Choi hears the knock on his door and as usual, he utters his usual “come in”. His gaze lands on you, and he glances at the clock. 
“You’re on time today”, he points out. 
You furrow your eyebrows, confused. “I’m always on time, Professor.”
“You’re usually in a little earlier.”
“Right, because I got you this”, you reply, rustling through the plastic bag in your hands, fishing out the rice ball.
He looks up at you, confusion hinted in his expression. He doesn’t take the food yet. 
“What’s this?” 
“Tuna rice ball. Surely only having coffee in the morning is not filling your stomach.” 
You put the food in front of him. “Besides, I messaged you but you didn’t reply. So I just chose something safe. Unless you’re telling me you’re allergic to tuna or something.”
Prof Choi blinks. His hands reach out to take the snack from the desk, unwrapping the plastic packaging as he watches you leave his office to grab a mug of coffee. He glances over at his phone, and sure enough, your name is there with your message.
Since then, his reply would pop up in mere minutes whenever you asked him if he wanted anything to eat. 
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Of course, the more you spent time with him, the more you grew comfortable, and all the thoughts you ever stressed about slowly faded off. Prof Choi grew more relaxed around you, internally grateful that you’re able to tank a significant fraction of his workload for him. Undoubtedly, you also come to realise that Prof Choi is human after all—he obviously would make mistakes, even as someone of his caliber, and deep inside, you found it rather cute, well, until you had to stop yourself from developing deranged thoughts. 
Not to mention, another problem seemed to pop up—his flirty banter. He likely picked up that it made you flustered sometimes, and since then, he wouldn’t let it go, relishing at the way pink creeps up your cheeks when he would say something that wasn’t like his ‘professor-self’, and at worst, feeding into your crooked thoughts. 
You stare at him as he types away, particularly, the metal band around his ring finger. You wonder who was the lucky lady who had the chance to be with him. You blink. 
What the hell were you thinking?
“It’s rude to stare, you know”, Prof Choi’s voice snapping you out of your daydreams. 
“I’m just wondering about your ring, that’s all”, you reply, forcing your attention back to your half-marked assignments.
“I’m not actually married”, he suddenly confesses, and for some reason, it makes your heart beat slightly faster. 
“Huh?” Is all you manage to reply. 
Prof Choi chuckles. He pauses his work on the desktop, turning his attention to you. Even though you have worked so closely with him for a while already, you can never seem to find your composure around him. 
Even though you see his face every week, you can’t seem to wrap your head around how insanely good-looking he is, how sometimes you struggle to maintain eye contact with him, because it doesn’t take long before you feel yourself slowly flushing. 
“I wear it on my ring finger so the students stop asking about my marital status”, Prof Choi clarifies. You watch him pull the ring from his ring finger and fit it over his index. 
“So you’re single”, you echo.
He nods, “I’m single.” 
What is this strange feeling of relief?
“What about you?” He suddenly asks. You’re not looking directly at him, and you don’t realise the way he’s looking at you attentively. And if you do, you just might combust.
“I’m…single too”, you answer, trying to meet his gaze, fidgeting with the red pen in between your fingers. 
“And why’s that? Too busy fighting with your professors for grades?”
You glare at him. 
“I think it was my professor picking fights with me”, you reply quickly, jabbing right back at him. 
You watch Prof Choi lower his gaze, a smile spreading across his cheeks—an actual smile—his dimples showing up. Oh fuck. Just when you thought you could depend on your ribcage to contain your heart properly, you found out Prof Choi could actually smile. 
When he looks up at you again, you break the eye contact, your gaze flying back to the papers before you. 
“You know, I’ve met many students, but you were the first to cuss out at me.”
You did? “I did?”
Your professor nods, cocking his eyebrow at the way you had seemed to have simply forgotten something as eventful as that. 
This time, Professor Choi bursts into a chuckle, completely amused by your reaction. 
“Is that why you kept-“
“Giving you chances to answer in class for credit? You should really thank me for that. Your grade for my class was one of the highest you know.”
You feel your cheeks flush. But before you can retaliate, Prof Choi cuts you off.
“Jokes aside, no. I think the discussion we had that afternoon had an impression on me. The cherry on top was you cussing at me. I liked that. Refreshing and endearing”, Prof Choi continues, his attention seeping back to the pile of scripts before him. 
“I think this side of Professor is pretty refreshing and endearing too”, you let it slip.
His pen pauses in mid-air. You don’t catch his gaze completely softening on you. 
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As the semester continues on, you began easing into the class schedules. You watch prof get swarmed by a group of students, a usual ritual that happens right when the class ends. At this point, you had grown used to it. Sometimes the students would come and approach you instead, which honestly surprised you, but your heart would feel warm, knowing that these students trusted you.
It was then you became acquainted with another teaching assistant under Prof Choi, who joined shortly after you did—Choi Jongho. Initially, he came off as a rather shy individual, but the both of you warmed up quickly with each other, sharing the workload and bonding over gossip with each other. Gosh, was he fucking amazing with gossip, especially when it came to Professor Choi. Soon enough, the both of you were texting almost on a regular basis, the conversations weighing more towards academic topics sprinkled with a little gossip. 
“You’re going off with Choi Jongho?”
“Yeah”, you reply, bunching the papers in your hands. “I’ve got some things to discuss with him about.” Partially true. 
For some reason, even though your professor has been completely swamped with papers to grade and meetings to attend, you would always find him loitering around your desk from time to time. He seems to especially enjoy doing that when you’re around. 
“You’ve been spending an awfully lot amount of time with him”, Prof Choi points out, looking over your shoulder as he watches you scribble on another student’s paper. 
“Yeah, we get along well actually. Isn’t that a good thing, Prof? Both your teaching assistants are besties.”
For some reason, that makes Prof Choi frown, but you’re too absorbed in your work to notice it.
A couple of minutes go by, and you still feel his presence, not that you mind, but you’re starting to find it peculiar that he’s been hanging around your desk a lot recently.
“Do you have something to discuss with me, prof?” You ask, eyes still glued to the paper.
“Yes”, he replies, taking another sip from his mug. “What do you think of Choi Jongho?”
Such a random question to ask, you think. Maybe he’s just making sure you and Jongho get along well?
You pause, giving yourself to think, tapping the back of the red pen against your bottom lip, taken aback by Prof Choi’s sudden question, but the conversations you and Jongho had resurfacing into your brain, and a giggle escapes you, which makes Professor Choi subconsciously narrow his eyes and furrow his brows. 
“He’s fun to be around, and despite how he looks, he’s actually got a wicked sense of humor. Oh god, wait. Let me tell you what you he did that day while we were having lunch together-“
You turn your head to continue to run your mouth, only to slowly trail off when realise his face is just inches from yours, and you swear your heart is on a treadmill from the lack of distance between you and Prof Choi. It’s as if time paused, the both of you sinking right into each other’s gazes. You can’t help but notice how intense his gaze is, and you can’t seem to decipher his thoughts, but from the way this situation played out, you swore he’d just lean in and kiss you. 
Your heartbeat accelerates at the thought—why would he do that?
And when his fingers are on your chin, your rational thoughts are getting flushed out. 
“That’s an awful lot of cute things about Choi Jongho. I’ve never heard you talk about another Choi like that.”
You swallow hard, your body still frozen in spot. 
“What do you think about him then?” 
“Jongho? I was just-“
“No. Choi San.”
Oh god. You could only stare back at him. Prof Choi tilts his head, his eyebrows raised, waiting for his answer. His cologne floats and almost shuts down your senses—has he always smelled this good? 
The corner of his lips curl slightly at the way you’re staring at him like a deer in the headlights. 
“I t-think Prof-“
“San. Choi San”, he corrects you. 
Another hard swallow the more you try to focus your gaze on him. 
“I think Choi San’s a great professor. He’s really competent, a lot softer than he presents himself as-“
Fuck you can’t think. Not when he’s staring down your eyes to your lips like that. 
“Mmhm.”
“And he’s really so-“
Then a loud knock echoes across the room, breaking the tension. Prof Choi’s body doesn’t shift, but he looks up at the door, shouting “door’s unlocked”, before he stands back upright, adjusting his glasses and walking back to his desk. 
Jongho’s head peeks in, then he bows at Prof Choi before he walks to your desk. You stare up at him with a forced smile. 
“Ready to go? I was waiting for your message”, Jongho says, his eyes glancing over the professor, then you, a strange feeling that he probably interrupted something. 
You nod, while shoving your belongings into your bag, then slinging it on your shoulder. 
Barely being able to look at Professor Choi, you still force yourself to, bowing goodbye to him. 
“Thank you Prof Choi. See you tomorrow.”
He looks up from his desk, right into your eyes. 
“See you too, y/n.” 
You can’t help but wonder how far things would have gone if Jongho didn’t knock the door.
Jongho isn’t an idiot. Initially, he assumes that you and the professor were on much friendlier terms considering that you came in before he did. Granted, the workload he would give the both of you was the same, he would take the initiative to have lunch with the both of you both individually and together whenever he had pockets of free time, but what roused his awareness was the lingering glances Professor Choi would cast at you from time to time, the way he seemed to relish the reactions you would give him whenever he teased you. 
He notices the way your ears would grow red even when you roll your eyes at the professor and jab him with another playful snarky remark. 
Though he wonders how dangerous things could get, Jongho thinks this could get interesting. 
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The semester continues smoothly, the only change being that Jongho being absent from the office more often due to his other commitment to soccer. You remember him telling you he had quite a big match coming up, the sparkle in his eyes bright and twinkling whenever he talks about said sport. 
If he wasn’t in classes, he’d be off for training, hopping into the office from time to time to pass Professor Choi marked scripts and reports. Prof Choi pretty much didn’t mind—he stated as long as Jongho did his job, he could be free to do what he wanted outside of being a teaching assistant.
Needless to say, the office was mostly Prof Choi and you, now even more time spent with him with Jongho mostly being absent. By then, the both of you had grown so accustomed to being in each other’s presence that banters amongst each other became the norm—the both of you competing with each other with unserious remarks, laced with almost flirtatiousness, just to see who would back down first. 
Then came the proximity—since Prof Choi would wander over your desk as if he had all the free time in the world, he would somehow strike up another conversation with you, leaning over to hear you better, his arm bumping into yours to look over at the papers you were grading to check if you were doing them correctly. But what he absolutely adores the most is when you’d roll over to his desk to pester him with your questions—sometimes even testing him on his own content. 
He likes the way he gets to be closer to you. He likes the way your shoulders touch his when you lean in to push the paper towards him so he can see the script better. 
He likes the way you would finally look up and meet his eyes when you’re done formulating your question, waiting to hear his opinion.
Today is no different—Professor Choi being so used to the notion that he would only be seeing you in the office, the corner of his lips pull upwards at the thought of the types of banter you would have with him, the kinds of shenanigans you would bring into the office.
He hears your knock at the time you would always arrive, watching the way the door opens, and your head popping from the door, as you greet, “Hi Prof!” 
“Good morning, y/n”, he would greet back, sipping on his morning coffee. 
You walk over to his desk, dropping his tuna rice ball. “Here you go. Enjoy your breakfast, Prof!”
“You can stop calling me Prof”, Prof Choi suddenly says, twirling the pen in his hand. For a second, you wonder what triggered the sudden change. You’ve been calling him Prof since day one, pretty much used to it already, the only time you didn’t was when he—never mind. The thought of it is making your face flush again. 
“Is there something else you want me to call you?” You ask, trying to calm your heartbeat down when that memory suddenly resurfaces. 
“You can call me San. I’m fine with that. I know you’re still my teaching assistant but we’ve been working closely. I think it’s fine to drop the Prof honorific.”
You try out. 
“Sure thing San”, you reply. “Though it’s gonna take a while for me to get used to this.”
“If you’re able to cuss in front of me, calling me by my name should be the least of your worries, y/n”, San teases.
You raise your hand, feigning a stance ready to smack him before you lower your arm, listening to the way San laughs before rolling your eyes and sinking into your desk. 
The day marches on as normal—attending a class or two with Jongho before he’s whisked away to his soccer practice, leaving just the two of you for the rest of the day. 
San is leaning at your desk again, looking at you typing out your report. He squints slightly before he leans down to your shoulder, his finger pointed at one of the paragraphs, asking you about the content. You answer him, and when you turn your head once you’re done, you find yourself looking at San’s side profile mere inches away—his sun-kissed skin, his pretty lashes, his thick, well-trimmed eyebrows, and the way his lips protrude out a little—he always looked like he’s pouting in the most adorable way. 
That’s when you realise a problem seemed to be bubbling up to the surface, try as you might to ignore it, repress it—that you’re falling for your professor. Fast. 
You snap back to reality, finally aware of how loud your heart is beating against your rib cage, and your hand flies up in instinct as a divider between you and San. San blinks at the sudden movement, confused. 
“Y/n, what are you doing?” He’s not moving. 
“I think I’ve got something on my face.”
San cocks an eyebrow. “You do? Let me check-“ 
His palm covers yours, bringing it down to the table, and you’re kicking yourself for sprouting such a self-sabotaging lie.
Why? Because now San has his hand on yours on top of his face in full view of yours, his eyes meeting yours before his gaze flutters around your face, checking for whatever hell you said was on your face. 
His gaze meets yours and for a split second, something else glints in his eyes. 
The door swings open, and San straightens himself up, slightly irritated at the interruption, leaving you to spin your chair away from San, your hands cupping your cheeks, the heat warming you up against the cold air conditioner. The heat from his hand on yours lingers for a little longer. 
Jongho walks in, his duffel slinging on his shoulder with his shoe bag clipped. 
“Hey, Prof. Hey cutie.” 
San blinks. What did he just call you?
“Hey jjongie. Aren’t you supposed to be at practice?” You ask, forcing yourself to focus on your colleague instead. 
“Supposedly, yeah, but there was a sudden downpour midway so training got cancelled. Might as well get some work done here”, he shrugs, dropping his bag onto the floor. 
San is wrapping his head around the fact that you and Jongho seem to have pet names for each other. 
“Didn’t miss me too much right?” Jongho teases. “‘Cause I did!”
“That’s a first coming from you jjongie”, you reply, surprising a smile. 
“Of course! It’s been a while, how could I not? We should go eat dinner together sometime.”
San only stares on in silence, pretending to sink back into his grading.
Jongho walks over to your desk, taking his turn to look at your report. San watches the way Jongho’s arm is comfortable over your seat, as he asks you about your report, talking to you as if San wasn’t just behind you seconds before. 
The fact you’re entertaining him—hitting his arm playfully and laughing at his remarks—all the more rouses some kind of irritation in San. It’s like a boiling pot. 
He pretends he doesn’t see the way Jongho leans in to whisper something into your ear although it’s bugging him so fucking much. For once, he wishes Jongho’s training didn’t cancel. 
“Oh right before I forget”, Jongho mutters, rushing back to his desk, digging through his bag. He walks back over with a paper in hand and places it before you. You glance down and your face brightens up—it’s a ticket to his game. 
“For real?” You exclaim, your eyes bright, taking the ticket in your hands. “I’ll definitely make time for you.”
“I’ll score goals for you, kay?” Jongho teases, his eyes glancing at San, who is progressively looking more irritated. 
“Ah, Is San not going?” 
“San? Since when were you on first name basis with him?” Jongho wonders aloud, the suspicion only brewing even more. 
“Jongho, don’t you have reports to hand in?” San asks curtly. 
You feel like you are caught in between crossfire for some reason. 
Jongho smiles, then has your head under his arm, which elicits another irritated reaction from your professor. 
You have never had Jongho done this before. In fact, you recall him offhandedly mentioning that he’s never a physical touch person, and that anything with physical touch makes him shudder. 
“Relax, Prof. You’d rather your subordinates get along than not right?”
Just when San is about to reply, Jongho suddenly exclaims. 
“AH, coach is calling me back to the field. Prof, I’ll send you the report by tomorrow okay? See you guys!”, Jongho hums as he runs back to his desktop to turn it off. 
“Has he always been like that?” San wonders aloud, his eyebrows furrowed. 
“I guess. It’s actually what makes him cute.”
“Cute? You think Jongho is…cute?” 
“Is he not? Doesn’t he remind you of a bear? Big and cuddly.”
San clears his throat, and you watch him walk over to your desk, his hand resting on the tabletop. He leans in. 
“So… you find it cute when he gives you pet names?”
“Well, I mean-“
“You find it cute when he plays with your hair?” San curls your locks around his fingers. 
You can’t seem to get words to leave your throat. 
“You find it cute when he has his hands all over you like that?” He’s leaning in even closer this time, arms trapping you at either side.
“Prof-“
“No. It’s sir.”
Your mind is in a whirlwind at the way he’s towering over you, his scent the only thing filling your olfactory senses, the way he’s staring right into you, gaze sharp as a blade. 
“You find it cute when his touches run up your body like this?” His fingers are trailing up your arms, every touch he burns into your skin, and when his thumb pauses at your chin, you realise you’re royally fucked.
Once more, his face is mere inches away from yours. You wonder if you’ll be teased like two previous times before. 
“Of course you don’t. You’d rather I do that to you, right?”
Fuck, fuck, fuck. 
“Yes, sir.”
His voice is barely a whisper, his eyes downcast, staring at your lips like it’s his reward to claim. 
“Good girl.”
Of course, he claims it.
His kisses are so greedy—his lips prying yours open, and you feel yourself completely give in to him, surrendering whatever resistance, rationale, repression to Choi San. 
You want more—you want seconds. Every swipe his tongue passes your lip, it makes your head float. How does someone taste this fucking good?
He pauses mid-way—barely a couple of seconds, to pull off his glasses and strew them across the desk—then goes back to devouring your lips. 
San would smile in between kisses when he hears your whimpers. He thinks you’re so fucking adorable when you tremble slightly at his touch. It all goes straight to his cock. 
He thinks you’ll be even more adorable when he ruins you. 
When San pulls back, he swipes his thumb across your bottom lip, watching your glazed-out expression with amusement. 
"I'd love to continue messing you up, but I have a meeting to attend. I’ll deal with you later, sweetheart. See you next week.”
His touch lingers on your chin for a couple of seconds longer before he pulls away and shifts to walk back to his desk, leaving your heartbeat wild and erratic, and your thighs squeezed tighter.
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Since then, that was all you ever thought about—the slight smile before his lips collided with yours, the way his words rang in your ears. You could barely meet his eyes. 
In more instances than one and with any chance given to him, he’d close up any physical distance he had with you. Worried that your emotions would bubble and overflow when he does that, you developed a habit of avoiding his eye contact. 
Even after classes, you swore he was casting you glances even with lines of students waiting to talk to him. 
“Did you piss Prof off or something?” Jongho asks as he shuts his laptop. 
“Why are you asking?”
He shrugs. “It’s just that he’s been eyeing you down like a hawk recently. Did something happen between the both of you?”
You freeze when the flashbacks of the taste of his lips return to your memory when you remember how hungry he looked just wanting to devour you. 
“Y/n?”
You blink, then force yourself to meet Jongho’s eyes. 
“No. Nothing happened. At least I hope I didn’t make any mistakes.”
“You’re fine. There’s a reason why the department chair chose his teaching assistants.”
You laugh softly at his words.
But when you hear San’s voice from behind you, you almost jump. 
“Y/n, Jongho, the both of you can wrap up here and head back to the office”, he instructs. You feel his warmth radiating from behind, and it only makes your heart jump at the proximity. 
You watch Jongho slowly pack up, small conversations sparking between the both of you about his soccer practice. 
You glance at the door. San isn’t back yet. 
“I think it’ll take him awhile to be back. The students there seem to really like him.” 
No doubt, the female students for this class seemed a lot more assertive, almost always demanding all of San’s time. Well, not that it should matter. It’s not as if he should mean anything-
“Y/n? Are you okay? You seem pretty off recently. Even Prof’s pretty worried”, Jongho’s voice grounding you back to the cold office. 
You force a smile and shake your head. 
“I’m fine. I guess it’s just so much workload to deal with.” 
Jongho places his hand on your shoulder in comfort, “You’re doing fine. You know you can approach either of us if you’re struggling right?”
You feel comforted, even though your messy thoughts weren’t even about the workload, so you return an assured smile before waving Jongho off for his soccer practice. 
You’re wondering what you’re feeling nervous about, because when the door of San’s room opens, you jolt slightly. 
“You’re still here?” You hear San ask. 
“Yeah. Need to reply to some emails and double-check some of their assignments.” Not a total lie. It’s the swirling feelings he’s been giving you whenever that day surfaces in your mind, the small bouts of attention he pays you and the touches he lets linger a little too long that’s all a dopamine rush in you. You can’t help but want more. But in the same breath, meeting his gaze will allude doom for you. 
San nods as he sits back at his desk, going right back to his computer. The silence continues for awhile and you’re surprised that you’re even able to concentrate. 
“Y/n”, you hear San call you. 
Your gaze doesn’t break from your screen. “Hmm?”
“Come here. Help me look at this.”
You walk over, ignoring the way your heart is just pounding so damn loudly. It’s painfully obvious that San is staring right at your face, and it’s also painfully obvious that you’re avoiding looking at him. 
And it definitely seems to be ticking him off. 
Your eyes stay locked to his screen reading off whatever is on the screen, and nothing is processing in your brain. 
“It looks good”, you curtly reply, trying to ignore the fact that you’re being stared down by a certain professor. You turn away, your eyes still not acknowledging San, only for your professor to stop you in your tracks. 
“Now where do you think you’re going?”
He’s making you face him now. 
You’re still not giving him eye contact. 
“Back to my desk?” You say, looking off into the distance. But San seems to have other plans. 
“You know ‘looks good’ isn’t the feedback I’m looking for, right?”
Shit. You know that clear as day. 
Now San has both his arms trapping you on his desk. 
You somehow still manage to avoid his sharp gaze even when you’re backing up against him, easily letting him corner you.
His belongings are strewn all over the desk when he pins you down. By some miracle, only papers flutter down his desk. 
And you’re finally looking right at him. 
“You’re finally looking at me, y/n”, he states the obvious. “Now tell me, did I do something wrong?” 
“No, you didn’t, sir”, you reply curtly. 
He leans in closer. 
“Then why are you avoiding my eye contact?”
You shut your eyes and squeeze them. There’s no pure way out of this—your dirty thoughts are seeping into the smallest crevices of your brain, and the more San is prodding you, the more it makes you throb.
“It’s because that evening when we…” you feel your cheeks burn with every word leaving your lips. 
San is waiting for you to continue. 
“When we kissed…couldn’t stop thinking about it.”
“And?”
“It made me want…more.”
There’s a moment of silence.
“Has anyone told you how adorable you are when you’re honest?” He chuckles. “I’m gonna finish what we started sweetheart, like I promised.”
It makes your heart flutter. 
“Am I getting your consent for this?”, San’s voice rings in your ears. You’re finding it hard to focus, especially when his thumb is pushing past the corner of your lips, and you’re just growing wet as fuck. 
This is not right. This is so dangerous. 
“Yes sir”, you reply back, trying to ignore the way your cunt is just tingling from the feeling of San’s thick erection pressing against you.
“That’s my good girl”, he praises before he dives in for a hungry kiss, his fingers roaming around your body, squeezing your tits before he unbuttons your shirt at an agonising pace. He smiles on your lips when he hears your soft gasp, and he presses his lips down to your jaw and then to your neck, sucking and biting the soft skin against your neck, his erection growing tighter against his trousers when he hears you moan and squirm. 
When he’s satisfied with the light marks he decorated down your neck, his lips are pressed against your ear, and his hands are moving dangerously close to your cunt, and inevitably, your bottoms are off in seconds, leaving you in your pretty panties. 
“I would prefer fucking you on my bed instead for the first time, but taking you on my desk? Maybe not too bad.”
Your cunt squeezes at the sound of San cussing. You never thought he’d sound this fucking hot. 
He groans when his fingers press against the soaked patch of fabric hiding your pussy. All that wetness for him. He bunches up the fabric and rubs it against your clit, the friction drawing frustrated whimpers from you, much to his satisfaction. It feels so good but it’s not enough, and it’s driving you crazy.
San’s fingers finally hook against the waistband of your panties, sliding them off your legs, and pocketing them, much to your shock. 
And he doesn’t give you much time to focus on that because when he pulls his cock out from his unzipped pants, it makes your head spin from how thick Choi San is. 
“Sir, I’m not sure-“
“It’ll fit, sweetheart, like it’s made for me”, is all the warning San gives before he lines up to your hole and pushes his cock in. 
You can’t tell what’s fucking you up more—the way his cock is stretching you open or the San groaning in relief when he finally gets to stuff you full. 
You bat away your tears, his cock so fucking full inside of you, pressing against your walls, being squeezed so perfectly by you. 
God, Choi San thinks he’s in heaven. 
His fingers brush across your cheeks, collecting your teardrops. His eyes lack any ounce of empathy. 
“Aw, are you crying because it feels good? You look so fucking pretty crying when I’m stretching you open.”
You barely find the words to reply to him, all stuck in your throat, your mind only flooded by the way San’s cock is buried in your cunt, your thighs trembling from the pleasure. It’s almost sickening. You know you shouldn’t be doing this—not with your professor, not on his fucking desk, but when he has you wrapped you around his finger and cock fucking the daylights out of you, it’s a temptation you can never resist. 
A soft hiccup escapes past your lips when San pulls out almost all the way, his cock covered in a sheen of slick and precum before he pushes himself in once more, groaning when you clench around him for the nth time. 
“You feel so fucking good, sweetheart. God, I could just fuck you all day. You’d like that right?”
You’re barely keeping track, eyes rolled to the back of your head while your thighs twitch from the pleasure, but you manage to hold the eye contact, and through blurry tears, you mutter a weak, “Yes sir”. 
“Of course you do”, San hums before he pulls out once more and starts fucking you dumb on his desk. 
No matter how much you try to cover your mouth, bite your tongue or your lip, your moans only come out louder in defiance, the dopamine shooting up your pussy over and over again whenever San’s cock hits your pretty spots. 
Your mind is addicted to the way San’s shirt is buttoned down his chest, his cleavage almost fully out for you to gawk at, the way strands of his hair cling to his forehead because of the sweat, the way his eyes roll back when he feels you squeeze him with every loud fuck, and the way he looks down to you from time to time before he eats up your pathetic moans with hungry kisses. 
He fucked you up so good, you didn’t even realise it until now. 
“S-San”, you manage out a whimper, “please…”
“Please what, sweetheart?”
You don’t even know what you’re begging for. 
“Please… you feel so fucking good. I’m gonna cum. It’s so fucking good”, you babble, trying to force your eyes open. 
San can’t help but smirk when his ego is being stroked so nicely like that, especially by you. He’s a good person, of course, he’ll give what his good girl wants. 
His thumb slides south on your body until you feel the ticklish sensation of him on your clit. Cream and precum pooling at the base of his cock makes it even worse for you—with every graze, his finger pressed onto your clit, the knot tightened in your stomach. 
Your nonsensical strings of words only push San to tease you more as he endearingly watches you break slowly when your orgasm builds up. 
Your body twitches, your back arches, your eyes roll back, white splashes beneath your eyelids. Your orgasm burning through you while you cry out San’s name and you twitch pathetically on his cock, letting your cream leak all over his wet cock. 
“Fuck. You’re such a good fucking girl for me, aren’t you?”, you hear San curse. He fucks you through your orgasm, the overstimulation building up. The sensitivity feels so fucking good. 
His hand catches your jaw, and he forces you to meet his eyes. 
“Wanna pump you full of my cum, keep you so fuckin’ full for days on end,” he huffs, “but not now, sweetheart.”
Not that you minded, but there’s a strange tinge of disappointment ringing at the back of your head. 
San thrusts into you a couple more times before he pulls out, his thick and wet cock resting on your pelvis, twitching as his hand takes over. 
Nothing can beat Choi San’s fucking face when he cums. He looks like he’s in fucking heaven, and he’s tearing up the sky because of you. His fingers leave light marks on your thighs, you hear him groan at such a low tone that your cunt flutters uselessly against the air. Translucent spurts land on your skin, but it barely registers in you—you’re too busy swooning over the way your Professor just cummed over your body. 
San’s high dies down, and he catches his breath, casting you a glance, red dusting his cheeks, before he reaches out for the tissue box to clean you up. 
A quick kiss on the lips before he goes on to collect all the papers all over the floor.
That night he drives you home, filling the space with light conversations as if he didn’t just railed you on his desk. 
It’s only when you reach home that you realise one important thing—San still has your panties. 
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You know you shouldn’t be telling secrets to your colleague, especially when it’s about your fucking boss. But here you are, facing Jongho, who has his arms crossed in front of you. 
“What’s up with you and Prof?” You predict the words that leave his lips. 
You hesitate to tell him, unsure how you should even say it, where to even start. 
The worst part you knew clear as day was that nothing changed since that day. You chalked it off as San being swamped with assignments to deal with, that’s why the topic was never brought up again, but something still irked you. The only comfort you had was that the semester was ending, and so was your term as San’s teaching assistant. 
Maybe it was how it was meant to be. Just nothing more than that.
But when you realise the dreaded feeling prickling at the back of your eyes, you knew you were fucked. 
“I don’t know how to even start jjong”, you sigh. Jongho scrunches his eyebrows. 
You watch his expression switch from one to the other. You expected him to freak out at you, yell at you for unprofessionalism or something, but he doesn’t. 
“It’s so fucked up. But I just can’t help but wonder if he feels anything”, you mutter. The thought of you not being the only one he’s doing this with makes your stomach churn. But somehow, in the most twisted ways, confiding Jongho made you feel slightly better. 
“Well, looks like we’ll have to play that card I guess”, Jongho shrugs. “But you should mentally prepare yourself for the results, that’s all I gotta warn you. I just need your consent to play along.”
It’s a risky bet you’re playing, but drastic times called for drastic measures, right?
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As the semester closes to its end, so does the workload. San feels a lot lighter on his shoulders, and while he’s grateful for his teaching assistants for lifting a significant amount of workload off him, the end of a semester meant the end of the working relationship between him and his teaching assistants. He usually doesn’t feel that much, considering he has had many teaching assistants in the past, but for some reason, he feels a sense of discomfort lodged in his stomach when he thinks about having to let them go.
Especially one of them. 
He sighs, removing his glasses from his nose and shutting his eyes while reviewing the exams. San feels like a fucking idiot when his eyes land on your empty desk, his frustration bubbling when you cross his mind again. 
Even though he pretends to keep himself busy by flooding his mind with work, somehow, you would bubble to the surface once more, pushing him into the pits of frustration when he’s reminded of the way you get a kick arguing and refuting him just to get a reaction out of him, the way you taste like sweetest thing on earth he’s ever tried and the way you completely unravel when San fucks every single thought out of you—
He bites his cheek. 
No. He has to keep it professional. At least, until the term is over. 
He just doesn’t know how to tell you. 
He knows he’s entered deep waters when he crossed the line that evening, the sight of you undone right before him snapping all his rationale. More than anything, he’s suffering the withdrawals, maybe that’s the punishment he has to bear. 
He glances at the colourful ticket at the corner of his desk. It’s Jongho’s big game. Even though he usually doesn’t let himself intertwine with his subordinate’s personal interests, it’s hard not to. 
In addition, you’ll be there. Maybe he’d snag you after the game and talk to you properly. 
The meeting ran overtime, San glances down at his silver watch, realising he’d missed almost thirty minutes of Jongho’s game. Despite the exhaustion, he pushes it aside and heads to the stadium. 
He watches the brightly lit scoreboard as he takes a seat on the bench, Jongho’s team is in the lead by one point. 
Somehow he gets wrapped up in the game, cheering when Jongho’s team takes championship as the benches all burst into loud cheers too. 
He gets up to leave, already thinking of drafting a text to congratulate Jongho in his head, maybe get him a small congratulatory gift on the side. 
Then he spots you, just rows below. Now, he’s walking down as if on instinct, to get to where you are.
San pushes past the crowd to approach you. He’ll offer to drive you back—he knows it’s all an excuse but anything to get you into his space once more. 
His arm outstretched, reaching out to tap your shoulder, then suddenly stopping when he sees Jongho appear right in front of you. That’s fine. San could just congratulate him at the same time—
Which all of those thoughts immediately disintegrate when he watches Jongho cup your cheeks with his hand, his eyes widening in complete silent horror as Jongho leans into you for a kiss. 
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You seriously doubt that Jongho’s plan would work. Didn’t San decide not to come anyway? You heard it with your own ears too. 
Nonetheless, you pushed it to the back of your mind, focusing on cheering for your friend, watching the leading scorer jump from one team to the next. You couldn’t help but erupt into cheers when Jongho’s team won, screams echoing through the open stadium. 
You watch Jongho walk up to the benches where you are, and his arms wrap around you, his smile big and bright, competing with the stadium lights. 
“Congratulations, baby bear”, you tease, pushing against his shoulders lightly. Jongho inches close to you. 
“He’s behind you by the way”, Jongho mutters, loud enough for you to hear, but not long enough for you to process, because his hands are cupping your jaw, his thumb pressed against your lips. 
He hears you muffle some kind of question but your lips stay sealed. 
“You owe me one for this,” is the last thing you hear before he leans in. Your eyes widen in shock, and you freeze in your spot, even though his lips don’t meet yours, evidently separated by Jongho’s thumb, his action had caught you off guard.
You barely have the capacity to process what had just happened, and you feel someone’s warmth tightening against your wrist. 
Jongho lets go of you immediately, but you’re staring right at your professor, who is staring right at Jongho with an unreadable expression, with his fingers curled tightly against your wrist. It feels like an eternity since you saw him. He’s not wearing glasses today and his hair is down instead of his usual slicked-back look, donned with a simple dress shirt and tie which framed his wide shoulders so perfectly.
“Congratulations on your win, Choi Jongho. I believe you should be with your team to celebrate right?”
Jongho only smirks back. “Right. See you babe. Thank you, Prof. See you next week.”
Jongho casts you a glance, the mischief twinkling in his eyes before he turns his heel down the stairs and back to the field. 
What the fuck just happened?
And you find yourself staring up at the male before you, his gaze piercing into yours. 
“Prof—San?” You blink. “I thought you weren’t-“
���Wouldn’t miss it for the world, sweetheart. Why would I not want to see the cute relationship my teaching assistants have right?” His voice is laced with venom. 
San doesn’t really elaborate further, leading you to his car, sealing your fate once more when the passenger doors close shut. 
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He’s all over you. His body is burning up, maybe just as fast as yours is, and it’s making you feel dizzy. His moves are aggressive, impatient and you swear you feel something else too—desperation. 
“S-San—“ you gasp, in an attempt to take control of something.
“It’s sir to you, sweetheart”, his voice low and gentle, but commanding. Goosebumps scatter across your skin, making you shiver in response when his palms slide up your waist. 
You never saw it coming—from the second his hand grabbed yours, pulling you away from Jongho, his eyes locked into yours for a moment before he turns to Jongho, then to the car ride back, where you noticed the way his knuckles turned pale from gripping the steering wheel. On the walk to his car, you asked him where you were going, and all he did was turn to you and reply, “We’ve got things to talk about, don’t we, sweetheart?”
Now you’re becoming undone once more under San’s touches, trapped beneath him like the first time, now at his place, on his fucking couch instead. 
“It was just foolish of me to just let it be, wasn’t it?” He asks. “Fucking you dumb on my desk wasn’t a good enough indicator, was it?”
“S-sir…!”
“And you think it’s cute getting all cuddly with Jongho? Letting him kiss you all over, touch you all over?” San mutters, his fingers wrapped around your throat, his grip tightening slightly and you’re sure he’s about to leave light imprints. 
But oh, was it so fucking exhilarating—the thought of Choi San riled up like that, a sight you’ve never seen before, and you’re not sure if fear or excitement running through your veins right now, but what you do know, is that if he finds out that your panties are completely soaked through, you’re fucking done for. 
His lips collide with yours again, branding himself as some kind of oxygen thief when he’s turning your mind into complete mush. 
“I’m not sure if it’s a little game to you sweetheart, but if it is, I think you need a reminder.”
You breathlessly look up at him, and he looks ethereal even when he’s panting and looking pissed as hell. 
“What reminder, sir?” You dare ask back. 
The side of San’s lips tugs upwards. His hand leaves your throat and trails down your blouse, effortlessly unbuttoning the apparel until he tugs it off you, panting at the sight of your tits hugged by your lace bra. Your bottoms are off again on the floor of his bedroom, alongside any ounce of rationale. Your soaked panties are agonisingly pulled off your legs, and before you know it, his hands spread them open too. It takes all of San’s self-control to not stuff you full. At least, not yet.
“It’s my cock you’re gonna cum all over. Even when you have another guy’s lips on yours, it’s my name you’re gonna fucking scream.”
Oh. Oh god. 
The pieces of what Jongho was trying to do suddenly come together, unfortunately, the realisation doesn’t last long because San has his lips greedily on yours again on top of the way his full-blown erection is pressing onto your pussy. 
“Sir”, you manage out a weak mutter when he finally pulls away, trying to press and grind against his clothed dick for some friction or anything to rid the burn that’s going through your body. But San remains still. 
“Use your words since you love using your mouth so much.” Like kissing Choi Jongho. 
Your mind is a complete puddle. 
“I really…fuck. I really need you to fuck me right now, sir”, you beg, red flushing your cheeks, but it’s not from the shame. There’s a feral glint in San’s eyes that you don’t miss. 
“No”, is all he answers, and you feel your heart drop to your stomach. 
“Not until I’ve fucked your mouth full, sweetheart.” 
All you can do is watch him speechlessly as he hooks his index finger on the knot of his tie and loosens it, unraveling it back to its original form. 
“Hands together”, he commands you, and you do so immediately, basking in the scent of his cologne while he leans into you, his hands tying knots around your wrists with his tie. “Don’t let it loosen, got it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good girl. Now on your knees.” 
You’ve never dropped to your knees so fast.
San forces you to watch him unbutton and lower the fly of his trousers, and you’re just doing your best not to get drool on his expensive carpet. 
When his cock springs out, you’re also forced to watch him fuck his palm at a slow pace, drinking in his groans, slick staining your inner thighs, and the fucking floor next if you don’t do anything. 
His cock is heavy against your cheek when he taps it there, and your tongue slips out of your mouth by instinct, given experimental kitten licks on his slit, before his fingers catch your chin, and he forces you to look up at him. 
“Look at me”, he instructs. 
You do. You do your best not to break the eye contact, trying not to be sidetracked by his big fucking cock, but your eyes can’t help but dart to his appendage. 
“No, keep your eyes on me”, he redirects once more, his fingers fixing your head in place. 
Then he slides his cock into your mouth and pulls out a choked moan from you. 
“That’s it. Good girl”, he grunts when you start bobbing your head, fucking his cock with your mouth. 
His fingers trail to the back of your head, but he’s using all of his strength not to force your head down. 
But as you pick up the momentum, it’s an automatic reaction to push your head down so his cock hits the back of your throat. Your eyes are watering but fuck you feel like you’re in fucking heaven. Your head spins whenever his wet cock is forced down your tight throat, and you break eye contact a few times, which San has to tap your jaw to make you keep eye contact while he fucks your face. 
“I’m cumming, sweetheart. Fuck. Keep that pretty little mouth open for me yeah?” He groans, bucking his hips, letting streaks of warm white paint your throat and mouth, watching the way you’re looking up at him with doe eyes, taking his cum in your mouth like a good girl. His good girl. 
He smudges his thumb against the corner of your lips before his arms carry you up, only to dump you on the couch.
Your back is on the couch again, hands still tied behind your back and legs up with San pressing his body weight on you.
He props your leg on his shoulder, and he stretches you open inch by inch. You gasp when he fills you up, your walls immediately clenching around him. 
“So fuckin tight for me, sweetheart. You take me so well.”
His thrusts are growing more aggressive mixed in with the possession that’s bleeding in and it’s setting your whole body on fire. Your words are caught in your throat when he’s buried into you to the hilt. He groans at the way your pussy is fluttering pathetically against him. 
It feels so fucking good that nothing but stars engulf your vision when his cock stuffs you full to the hilt again. His name leaves your lips like a mantra on top of broken moans and whimpers, and it only makes San fill up the space in your pussy all the more better. 
His shoulders are so wide that he’s towering over you, his fingers forcing you to face him whenever you’re drifting because of the pleasure, his eyes feral when you look so fucked out for him. And when he combines his heavy thrusts with a squeeze around your throat, it makes your mind shut off and your cunt cream all over his dick.
“Good girl, looking all so fucked out for me.”
 His cock is hitting all the perfect spots, and it’s driving you insane with the knot tightening in your stomach at such a fast pace. You think you’re sliding off the couch but San isn’t letting you—especially not when his thrusts are keeping you on the couch. His name continues to leave your lips in broken moans every time he fucks you. 
San snakes his fingers to your scalp and he tugs sharply, enough to force you to look up at him. You’re tearing up again, and it feels so fucking good with the way he’s keeping your hair tugged while he fucks the ever-loving shit out of you.
“My name does sound much better when you’re crying it doesn’t it, sweetheart?”
You choke back a moan when he hits your g-spot once more.
“Y-yes sir.” 
“How are you feeling?”
“Full. So full sir. Want more. Please. Need you to ruin me”, you beg once more, your mind floating in an endless euphoria.
“Oh, I definitely will”, San hums, watching in sheer pleasure as your eyes roll back when his cockhead presses perfectly against your g-spot over and over.
Before you realise it, your orgasm hits you like fucking train, spreading through your body like a fucking wildfire, engulfing every crevice of your body. 
He’s gonna break you, and you’re fucking loving it. 
“San-“, you cry out, not registering the way he’s wiping the tears off your eyes. “So good. You feel so good. Cumming so much-“ 
“I know, sweetheart. It feels so fucking good doesn’t it?” He asks with a smile, satisfied when you nod frantically while he rubs your thighs.
Your thighs are shaking from how good this all feels, cream staining your inner thighs and his cock when he pulls out. 
“I’m not done with you yet, sweetheart”, San reminds you. 
He turns you over, keeping one hand on your tied hands, while the other pressing your head against the back of the couch. He lines his cock back to your cunt, pushing into your hole once more. You choke on your moans again, tears gathering at the corner of your eyes until he’s fully seated in you once more. 
The sounds are even wetter now, especially when you’re overstimulated, pussy just being so perfectly abused by Choi San. You fucking love the way his hands are around your neck, forcing you against the cushions when he fucks you dumb from the back. 
Your stomach is in knots once more, the feeling building up faster than the previous time, and all you can mutter is that it feels so good. San thinks you’re so fucking adorable when you’re not having banters with him and being this cock drunk for him. 
Then he pulls you off the couch, letting you catch a breath before he sits you on his lap, his cock still buried in your cunt, and starts bouncing you off his cock from below.
He alternates between melting your brain with his pornographic moans right at your ear and planting more love bites down your jaw. 
“Gonna cum again. You feel so fucking good in me. Oh god”, you hiccup through your tears, the sensitivity pushing your limit. 
“Cum as hard as you want, sweetheart. I’ll let you milk me dry, fill you up so fucking good that you’ll be leaking with my cum for the next two days.” 
That was enough to set you off. Your pussy convulses when your second orgasm hits, fireworks bursting in your eyelids, long drawn-out cries while San fills your tight cunt with his warm and thick cum, while his groans fill up in your ears. You feel his fingers massaging your thighs, coaxing you from your high. 
You’re dizzy, and light-headed as your head slumps against his shoulders, too spent to acknowledge the male behind you leaving more marks down your neck. 
“Let’s get you cleaned up, sweetheart,” San breaks the momentary silence, well aware that his softening cock is still in you. 
Your hand flies up to his chest to stop him, even though you’re still recovering from seeing stars. 
“We need to talk-“
“After we clean up”, he cuts you off, lifting you off his cock and carrying you bridal style to his bathroom. 
But you’re stubborn. 
“N-no. It wasn’t what you thought it was”, you say, feeling your tears well up in your eyes on top of the weight. 
The prickles are starting to form at the bottom of San’s heart, but he’s more focused on trying to hose you down with warm water. But he’s listening you run your mouth, not that he minded. 
“We didn’t kiss”, you reiterate. 
Now he’s just confused. He stares at you. 
“We just had sex, y/n”, San reminds you, trying not to let the red reach his cheeks. 
“No—I mean Jongho and I. We didn’t kiss”, you clarify.
San doesn’t really know if he should believe your words or his eyes, but now he’s focused on lathering your hair and body. 
“That wasn’t what I saw”, he replies, avoiding eye contact. 
“That’s cause we did this-“ you huff, turning his head to face you, imitating the way Jongho had slid his thumb between your lips and his, demonstrating San the fake kiss. 
San only stares at you wordlessly when you pull back, only more questions than answers. 
“But why would he do that for?”
“He was trying to rile you up.”
“For what?”
“To see if you felt anything for me?”
“By kissing you?”
Oh god. It felt like the more you explained, the more San was getting the wrong ideas. You let your head sit in your hands, unsure if it’s from the embarrassment or the fact that you don’t even know where to start. 
“It wasn’t a kiss, Choi San”, you groaned, your hands leaving your face, suddenly self-conscious that San is staring intently at you. “After we, um, fucked the first time, you acted like nothing happened, and I felt like shit about it, and I told Jongho and then…” you trail off, feeling your cheeks heat up again. It’s probably the hot water, at least that’s what you try to convince yourself with.
“I don’t kiss people I’m not in love with, San”, you sigh in defeat. Your eyes are downcast, but you feel his fingers cup your cheeks, and his lips press onto yours. You swear you could go another round again. 
The silence hangs in the air for a while, only the sounds of the shower filling the emptiness when he pulls back. 
“I didn’t do anything since after that evening because I wanted to properly tell you after the term ended.”
“Tell me what?”
“That I’m in love with you, too.”
You blink. Somehow that shocked you more than the both times he fucked your brains out. 
You don’t answer him because your head is just swarming with so many thoughts, and San lets you do so, satisfied that he’s finally have you quieten down so he can finish washing you up. 
Even when he’s dressed you in his oversized hoodie, San peppers you with kisses, basking in the way you sometimes cover his face with your hands to stop him, which only rouses him to continue to attack you with his lips.
San’s arms are tight around you when the both of you are finally on his bed. You smell like his favourite body soap and he can’t seem to get enough of it—nuzzling against the crook of your neck, muttering sweet nothings. You think this is probably your favourite version of Professor Choi. 
Your fingers twirl around his splayed-out locks, and you speak. 
“Prof Choi”, you tease, and San looks up, and it’s the first time you actually see him pout—it almost makes you combust. 
“I told you to stop calling me that”, he frowns, burying his face, feigning trying to cut off physical contact from you, which only makes you laugh in response. 
“I just wanted to disturb you”, you respond, trying to yank him back into your arms. “I do have a question though.”
His head pops up from his pillows and he stares at you, waiting for you to speak. 
“When did you realise you had feelings for me?”
He pauses, giving himself a couple of minutes to think. 
“The moment I received your teaching assistant application.”
📚 Bonus Epilogue 📚
“Prof Choi!” One of his teaching assistants calls out to him. 
He turns his head and attention to her, pushing up his glasses. 
“Yes?” 
“I need help with this part of the assignment. Could you help me check that I’ve marked it correctly?”
San nods, taking the papers from her. 
As he scans through her work, the teaching assistant’s eyes glance down at the band hugging his ring finger. 
“Prof, you’re married?”
San pauses his writing to glance at the glistening gold on his finger, and a small smile spreads across his cheeks. 
“You know, I used to wear a ring on my ring finger so students would stop asking me if I was married or not.”
She raises her eyebrows, her curiosity piqued. “So you’re not?”
“I am.”
Her eyes brighten, invested in her handsome professor’s love story. 
“Tell me more then”, she asks. 
San scoffs playfully, turning his gaze to her. 
“All I can tell you is that she’s always been my favourite.”
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network: @atzhouse @cultofdionysusnet @cromernet
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call-memissbrightside · 8 months ago
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All I can think about is Katsuki dating someone with a baby—
His friends think it’s a bit odd since he’s in his early thirties and could still mess around before settling down but he’s not having it
You’re a bit nervous to tell him that you had a kid after a few dates, and you think he’s never going to hit you up again when he doesn’t really respond when you tell him, he just drops you off at your place with a emotionless look on his face.
You cry to yourself that night as you put your little girl to bed, and the two year old knows something’s wrong because she’s fussy through the whole night routine. You really liked Bakugou, he made you laugh and respect you but if he can’t accept your daughter than it's not going to work out.
Then the next morning he texts you that he got tickets for three to the local aquarium for the day. You call him, confused.
“That way we can take your daughter?” He’s confused by your question. “Why? Is she too little for the aquarium?”
You’re nervous as hell for him meeting Mai for the first time, but Katsuki is taken back at how your daughter looks just like you. She's adorable, and his stomach flipped taking in how you looked so beautiful in your jeans and simple shirt.
"Hi Mai, I'm Katsuki," He kneels down to the four year old's height but he's so big and the little girl immedietly burst into tears and hides behind your legs.
"Oh honey, it's okay," You coo at her, picking her up. Mai isn't convinced and hides away from Katsuki.
"I'm sorry, she'll warm up," You explain, but you weren't too sure. Mai had a shy personality, and was very attatched to you. You just hoped that Bakugou would be patient with her.
Mai started shedding her shy personality once you arrived at the aquarium.
"Mom, fish!" She yelled in excitement, tugging on your hand to get you to walk faster. Katsuki stands back and just watches you interact with your daughter. He knew he liked you, but seeing you be a mom did something to him and he imagined this being his life forever.
"What are you thinking about?" You asked when you noticed Katsuki seemed distracted.
He opens his mouth to answer but Mai interupts him when she squeals, "Mommy penguins!"
Katsuki was closer to her, and the little girl grabs his hand and drags him through to the penguin exhibit. Bakugou is taken aback, but quickly pushes back his fear of scaring her and kneels down to look at the penguins swimming as Mai squeals in excitement. She can’t pronounce his name correctly, so Mai just addresses him as ‘Suki which warms his heart.
It’s like a switch got flipped and Mai wouldn’t let go of Katsuki’s hand for the remainder of the tour through the aquarium. You stand back, smiling and snapping pictures, just watching as Bakugou showed a much softer side to him.
The day ended with Katsuki buying Mai the biggest stuffed penguin the aquarium store had, and the little girl could barely hold onto it as she fell asleep in her stroller.
“You didn’t have to get her that,” You said, feeling overwhelmed by his gesture.
Bakugou feels a string of anxiety pull in his stomach, wondering now if his actions were seemed as inappropriate.
“I-,” He tries to be truthful, “I’m sorry, I should’ve asked. Mai just seemed so happy and I wanted to get her something to remember me by.”
That melts your heart, and you kiss him on the cheek. “Thank you for being so sweet to my baby.”
Katsuki is blushing so hard, his ears are ringing as he helps you by packing down the stroller and putting it in the trunk while you tuck Mai into her car seat. The little girl was out, but still hugging her penguin.
Katsuki keeps the radio low as to not wake Mai as he drives you two home, holding your hand and already planning the next outing.
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fluffyartbl0g · 4 months ago
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FUCKED UP BEETLE
PROBLEM
So you're having a totally fine day by all accounts and then it instantly goes to shit just because you pass by a fucked up beetle hidden in the grass. You've seen bugs dead all the time, so what. So what if its torn up wings and cracked shell definitely mean that some random kids fucked it up before it died. So what if your dad was drunk and high all the time and screamed at you and you fucked C over and you fuck everything up. SO WHAT. No amount of therapy or 'healthy coping mechanisms' or 'unpacking of trauma' will ever erase the ultimate truth underneath. You are intrinsically, hopelessly fucked.
-3 Volition: Fucked in the head
SOLUTION
You're going to wake up the next morning totally fine again. In fact, Harry's probably going to put some extra effort into making breakfast nice to cheer you up--which will actually kind of annoy you, but in a way that makes you feel all fuzzy and warm. Sure, you still get stuck in your head sometimes about sad shit, but you're dealing with it better and better, and the days where you actually feel like someone are beginning to far outnumber the days you don't. For now, you hug him a little bit tighter. You're safe now.
-1 Composure: Permanently a little bit fucked
+2 Volition: You're going to be okay
_
transcript under read more
VARIOUS CANDY WRAPPERS SPLAYED OUT ON THE TABLE: The label reads 'BLUE DREAM'. Unlike what its colour may suggest, it is not flavoured a blueberry or bubblegum, but vanilla.
[A red orb appears above Harry's head]
SHIVERS [Impossible: Success] - The air has been shifted ever so slightly. He's trying to breathe correctly, but blurs of thought keep flickering through his mind. This continued for the entire thirteen minute trek home.
PERCEPTION [Medium: Success] - A loud thunk rattles across the room as Cuno closes the door, he looks out of breath
EMPATHY [Easy: Success] - He's barely holding it together
CUNO - He looks up at you with a yelp, "Fuckin hell! Wasn't the pig supposed to be out investigating some shit?"
SUGGESTION [Medium: Success] - He didn't want you seeing him like this, answer his question, he'll leave if you ask him about it first.
1. "Did something happen?"
2. "You look like you ran a damn marathon kid, what's up?"
3. "I had to quickly come back to snag some important evidence for the case" (point to various candy wrappers)
CUNO - He scrunches his brow "That mean you're getting your ass outta Cuno's face soon?"
DRAMA [Easy: Fail] - Wow. He didn't even ask about the wrappers!
EMPATHY [Difficult: Success] - He doesn't want to be alone
1. "Did something happen?"
PERCEPTION [Difficult: Fail] - Cuno's hands tremble as he mumbles out a whisper of words you can't make out
1. Cuno?
[Harry reaches out to comfort him, but Cuno sees this and snaps at him]
CUNO - "NOTHING FUCKING HAPPENED ALRIGHT? THINGS HAVE BEEN FUUUCKIN PEACHY TODAY"
"CUNO GOT A FUCKIN A ON HIS ESSAY, ABSOLUTELY WENT DOWN ON A DELICIOUS FUCKIN KEBAB YA HEAR?
CUNO - He pauses. "Nothin fuckin happened today. It's all me. Cuno's the one thats all fucked up"
He starts choking up by the end of that,
(a yellow orb is seen above Harry's head as he looks at cuno breaking down [it's reaction speed])
Harry hugs him
CUNO - "Fuck"
KUUNO - He hugs back tightly
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sourcherryandsprinkles · 1 year ago
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boob obsessed ethan!!
I have very few smut requests for Scream characters and I'm in that mood to write that... Please send more for Ethan and Billy (I can do Billy x reader x Stu too)
Warnings: 18+, boobs touching/sucking, Ethan being obsessed
my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time
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It all started clicking one night you and Ethan were studying for finals. He was having difficulty concentrating, easily distracted by flipping his pen or even whistling, so you decided to give him a little bit of motivation.
‘’If you get five answers right, I’ll show you my boobs.’’ 
Automatically, Ethan’s eyes lowered to your boobs — still covered by your shirt — and bit the inside of his mouth to not moan. 
‘’And if you get ten right,’’ you added, ‘’I’ll let you touch them.’’ 
His jaw almost dropped. There was no way you were being serious. No one ever made deals like that and honored their part of the deal — except in his late night fantasies.
‘’Y-you’re playing,’’ Ethan said, shifting on the bed, feeling himself harden just at the thought of your breasts.
You chuckled, shaking your head. ‘’I’m not. You helped me when I was struggling last semester, now it’s my turn to help you. Do we have a deal?’’ 
Seventeen minutes later, you put the pile of flashcards down and Ethan held his breath, knowing what was coming. He got five answers right. It was an understatement to say he was nervous, however he was also so excited — very excited. 
You grabbed the bottom of your shirt and pulled it off, then unclasped your bra, nipples hardening from the cool air of the dorm. 
Watched intently, Ethan let out a strangled moan, his eyes wide with wonder and staring directly at your chest. ‘’Holy fuck, those tits are so nice. Way better than what I imagined through your shirt,’’ he said, his blunt honesty making you laugh. ‘’Shit. Did I say that out loud?’’ His face flushed, embarrassed at himself. He really wanted to crawl into a hole and die right here.
‘’You did,’’ you confirmed. You gave Ethan a soft smile, pulling him out of his trance by placing your hand on his kneecap. ‘’Let’s not get distracted. If you want to touch, you gotta give me five more good answers. Remember?’’ 
Ethan nodded, shifting again to cover the slight tent in his pants. Controlling that part of his body was impossible. He took a deep breath and you hit him with the next question. 
It was harder to concentrate this time, his eyes dropping back to your chest every three seconds, but he did it, successfully correctly answering five more flashcards.  
‘’Can I touch them, now?’’ he asked shyly, his fingers tingling with excitement. 
‘’Go for it.’’ 
That's exactly what he did. Ethan placed both of his hands over your boobs, covering them with his palms and splayed fingers like a kid discovering something for the first time. He squished them both, his fingers sinking into the softness of your breasts. 
Ethan could feel his cock twitch slightly in his pants as he continued to feel you. ‘’Oh my god. Oh wow,’’ he said, breathing heavily. His finger tweaked your nipple, experimentally pinching at it and rolling it between his fingers, drawing out a soft gasp from you when he used more pressure than you were expecting. ‘’I could cum just from touching them—’’
‘’Ethan!’’ you gasped, shocked by his words. 
His eyes snapped up and he mumbled apologies, but you just laughed.
Scream taglist: @misfityanii @beautybyfire @iluvscream191 @mariposa555 @bella7866 @o638 @lulubelle14 @luvvtxinityy @frasersgf  @Eddiefrickenmunson @jasperr-the-friendly-ghost @ghostf4cee @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom @wandaswigglywoos @xjennyx2 @jennasslut @thatonesblog  @mikaelsonsstuff @icarly23 @tcddszn  @bt.oliana  @skyesthebomb @a1mzcruml3y @red1culous @iluurmom @popeheywardssecretgf @michaelangdonsslut @byhrxb @kamthecoolest @kattybug @ravenstrueluv @landryslxys @die4niyahhh  @sl4sh3rfuck3r @radiant-whore  @Meadzy21 @luci1fer @nomorespahgetti  @bloodyhw  @depthsofdespairr  @bellysbeach @wilmalovegood @loupiotesworld  @wenvierismycomfort @t-candy  @s-al-em  @darylscvmdumpster  @tommysaxes  @adaydreamaway08 @johannelis2302nely  @aqshua @lynbubble  @luiise  @planetkt  @vampyrgoff
All and more taglist: @spiokybirdstarfish @kenqki @liidiaaag @hawkegfs  @gillybear17  @areaderinlove @acornacreacure @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @rosie-cameron @Caxddce @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade  @hi-bored-as-fcuk-rn  @lovelyy-moonlight @mellabella101 @vxnity713  @marzipaanz  @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart  @xyzstar  @graceberman3  @Heartsforneteyamsully  @aerangi  @hallecarey1  @bxbyyyjocelyn @mikeyspinkcup
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gloomwitchwrites · 6 months ago
Note
I loved the recent "calling your husband boyfriend on purpose" imagine....what about...
Calling your boyfriend husband on ACCIDENT? 😍🤭
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By the time that I'm actually getting around to this, "calling your husband boyfriend on purpose" is now no longer recent. Oops! Sorry! (If you want to read that imagine you can find it here.) But is it really an accident? I feel like it could honestly be both, but the accident factor would make the whole thing so much cuter!
Presented in four double drabbles.
For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE
Task Force 141 x Reader
Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): fluff, brief alcohol, suggestive themes, established relationship
Word Count: 800
ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist
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John Price
“Can you help me, John?”
“Yeah, love. Give me a minute.”
The counter top is covered in groceries. It’s the first big day in the new apartment with John. The two of you have been dating for a few years now, but this is the first time you’ve properly lived together.
John comes around the corner in nothing but a pair of shorts. He’s a bit sweaty from building furniture.
“There’s ice cream. Don’t want it to melt.”
“Course.” He gives you a quick kiss before digging through the bags, removing items as he goes.
The two of you work seamlessly, putting away all the groceries quickly.
“Give me a kiss.”
John grins, and goes in for a tooth-achingly sweet one.
“Thanks, hubby.”
The word is out without thought. You don’t even realize you’ve said it until John blinks, a bit startled.
“Hubby?”
You don’t know what to say. You’re staring at him, a bit flustered.
But John smiles. He leans in, stealing another kiss. “You want to marry me?”
“Do you want to marry me?” you counter.
“You proposing?” teases John.
“Stop answering my question with a question.”
John chuckles and pulls you close. “Wifey sounds good on you.”
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick
“The husband will love this!”
Husband slips out naturally, as if you and Kyle have always been together. The two of you have been dating for years, but there is no marriage. There isn’t even an engagement. But Kyle isn’t around to hear the slip up—at least, you don’t think so.
The store assistant smiles. “Happy to help,” she says brightly before walking away.
You exhale slowly, and turn around, nearly smacking into Kyle.
“Holy shit,” you say, placing your hand on your chest. “You startled me.”
Kyle has a smirk on his face with arms crossed over his chest. “Did I hear you correctly?”
“That I swore?” you ask, perplexed.
“No,” he laughs. “You called me your husband.”
Oh shit.
“You heard that?”
Kyle leans in as if he’s about to tell you a secret. “I did.”
“And?” you prompt, trying to brush this off as nothing.
Kyle shrugs. “Think I like it.”
You blink. “You like it.”
Kyle glances around but there isn’t anyone nearby. He takes a step into your space, lowering his head as if to kiss you. “Say it again.”
You lick your lips. “Husband.”
“Again.”
“Husband.”
Kyle closes the distance, stealing a kiss.
Simon "Ghost" Riley
Across the pub, your boyfriend is ordering drinks at the bar.
The two of you are enjoying a free weekend. They are few since Simon is always working—always off on some mission.
What isn’t all that nice is the woman talking to Simon at the bar. He’s politely ignoring her, but she clearly cannot take a hint. She’s smiling at Simon like she wants to climb him. Plus, you’re feeling bold. You have a few drinks in you at this point. The liquor is hot. It is poison.
And you’re ready to strike. Show some fangs.
You stride toward the bar, shoving yourself between the woman and Simon. Wrapping your arms around Simon’s waist, you snuggle up to him.
“Hello, husband,” you croon.
Simon’s mouth quirks with amusement as the woman behind you snorts and makes a flippant remark.
Going up on your toes, you reach for a kiss, and Simon obliges. It is slow. Wet. Way too intimate for such a public setting. You kiss him like you’re starved.
When the two of you part, the woman is gone.
Simon’s hand dives, grabbing your ass in a possessive hold. “Husband?”
“It slipped.”
“Sure it did, love,” laughs Simon.
John "Soap" MacTavish
“This is John. My husband.”
Husband.
The word slips out and you’re not able to draw it back. You can’t correct yourself. Not in front of your peers. You’ve fumbled this completely.
Johnny’s eyebrows rise toward his hairline, his gaze pointed as he glances at you. But he doesn’t correct you either, and you decide to roll with it.
“That’s lovely,” replies your boss. “How long have you two been married?”
This is a new job. It’s the first company party you’re attending, and bringing a plus one is encouraged.
But you’re not able to answer. Johnny steps up and takes the lead.
“Newly,” he says, grinning like it’s true.
Your boss laughs. “That accent! My goodness. Scottish?”
“Aye. Born and bred.”
“How lovely.”
Johnny inclines his head. His hand delicately grabs your arm, pulling you in. “Pleasure meeting you.”
The two of you move on, but Johnny takes a turn, drawing you to the side, his head lowered.
“Husband?” he asks with a cheeky grin.
“It slipped out,” you mutter.
“Your coworkers are gonna think you’re a married woman.”
“I know.”
“Should make it official,” shrugs Johnny.
“What?”
He lightly bumps your shoulder with his own. “You heard me.”
taglist:
@km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath
@sapphichotmess @saoirse06 @ferns-fics @unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett
@ravenpoe67 @tulipsun-flower @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat @ninman82
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@haven-1307 @voids-universe @itsberrydreemurstuff @spicyspicyliving @keiva1000
@littlemisscriesherselftosleep @statixx-x @umno-yeah @blackhawkfanatic @talooolaaloolla
@sadlonelybagel @kadeeesworld @iloveslasher @sammysinger04 @dakotakazansky
@suhmie @jaggersinclair @jackrabbitem @lxblm @beebeechaos
@no-oneelsebutnsu @kidd3ath @certainlygay @thewulf @lovely-ateez
@pearljamislife @ash-tarte @eternallyvenus @gingergirl06 @arrozyfrijoles23
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nezuscribe · 1 year ago
Text
𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮
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pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader
summary: you have everything you could have asked for in life. a beautiful home in greenwhich, just far away from london so that you don't have to mingle with city life, but close enough to be surrounded by the ton. a library with all the books you could ask for and a friend you care for dearly. all except for the man of your dreams, who just so happens to be your best friends brother. worst of all, he only sees you as such. his sisters best friend. (bridgerton!au)
warnings: 18+ mdni, gojo doesn't know how to communicate his feelings, slight angst (with comfort), smut, eating out (fem! receiving), fingering, (happy ending)
word count: 17.3k+ (i have no idea how)
note: yes, this is inspired by penelope and colin. yes, i know that colin isn't a viscount. their story is coming out later than expected so i took matters into my own hands. tysm @jadeisthirsting for beta reading! (if you saw this the first time no you didn't, i hope tumblr doesn't glitch out again)
jjk masterlist
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You had a great life, as far as it went. 
You were born into a wealthy family, far more wealthy than they deserved to be. You had maids at your beck and call and did not need to worry about the future as long as you acted correctly. You had book upon books, as many as you could dream of, so long as you didn’t bore your mother too much with them. You had any sort of food you could dream of and you had the most caring friend in the world who loved you very much. 
Honestly, what more could a woman ask for?
“I say we move the whole ordeal to Friday, seeing how Satoru is only arriving on Wednesday. But my mother insisted that we keep in on Thursday because the rest of London just couldn’t wait to see my dashing brother…” Lily continued her furious rant as she paced back and forth the vast expanse of your family’s drawing room, shaking her head in clear frustration. 
“And you want it to be a day later…because…?” You sipped quietly on your tea, trying to keep your smile at a minimum. It was hard not to get giggly when Lily’s face got red and her eyes bugged out of her sockets. For such a pretty girl it tended to shift her features whenever she got angry or annoyed. 
“Well, he’s going to be tired!” She stopped her pacing as she stared at you with her mouth a bit open as if it were the most obvious answer, “And whenever Satoru is tired he’s so difficult to deal with. He’s going to want to talk about his travels for at least three days before he’s ready to mingle with the rest of the works!” 
You nodded heavily, showing her that you were completely on her side. 
“Has he written to you?” She asked and then quickly shook her head, despite the fact you were going to answer with a quiet yes to her question. He had written you a few letters, all of them stashed in your vanity as you read over them, each going over his travels, sometimes sending you little knick-knacks he saw. 
“Not the point. What I’m trying to say is that my mother always goes over the limit with how much she welcomes her children. And Satoru for that matter! Christ, he’s twenty-five and unmarried!” 
You wanted to sink into your seat in embarrassment. You were only so much younger and had never had even an interaction with a suitor before. 
Life was great, for the most part. 
As much as you couldn’t complain, there was a small matter at hand that was growing increasingly more alarming the more the years went on. 
For as long as you could remember, you and Lily were set on never getting married. Ever since she read that one Jane Austen book she was hellbent on independence and no men. You tagged along, seeing how that was a better excuse than admitting no man had even asked you to join him to be his partner to dance before.
Lily didn’t seem to care much for this. While she was set on her celibacy pact, she had been approached before. It doesn’t change much, but it did at least show her that somebody wants her. You were either such as a spinster or married to some ancient man your mother had to dig out from some corner of the market. 
“And Satoru…” Lily rambled on, but all it did was remind you of an even worse fact. 
You were terribly in love with her brother. 
You have known the Gojo family for ten years, five months, twelve days, and two hours, and you have been in love with Gojo Satoru for ten years, five months, twelve days, and thirty minutes. 
Their family had immigrated from Japan months before the oldest child was born, but they had only moved to Greenwich ten years, five months, and ten days ago. You met them only two days later when you accidentally wandered into their gardens, unknowing that a family had just moved in. 
The first time you met that particular Gojo, you were thirteen and facing serious issues with yourself and your own family. You wanted to move to America in hopes that the boys over there would fancy you more and your mother forbade it. Satoru laughed when he saw your horrified face popping up from their blackberry bush, definitely not expecting to see anybody there. 
“Hello there,” the stranger called out. You thought he was a grandfather with the way his hair was artic white, but he only seemed to be a bit older than you the closer he got. 
“I’m not stealing from you I swear!” You cried out as you let the blackberries tumble out of your stained hands. You cannot be taken to prison, you simply wouldn’t survive. 
“I can see that.” He crossed his arms as he tried not to laugh at the way your dress was stained a dark blue color. 
He introduced himself, and Lily, and soon, you and the girl were attached at the hip. 
It didn’t help that as kind and as charming as he was, he only saw you as his sister's closest friend. It also didn’t help that every other woman in high society seemed to be in love with the man and it certainly made it so much more horrific that he seemed to have his eyes on everybody else but you. 
He, much like his sister, was averse to the idea of marriage, but for a completely different reason. 
He seemed to despise the idea of being committed, which is most likely why he had been traveling the entirety of Europe and Asia for the past year or so. Despite his mother’s frantic worrying about setting him up with a respectable lady, he pushed them all aside and fled (in some sense) and will be making his grand appearance a couple of days from now. Everybody is chattering with excitement. You’re trying not to fill with total impending dread. 
It had already taken everything you had to pretend that he didn’t exist and that he had simply disappeared, and you knew your wretched mind would fall for him just as quickly as it did the first time around when you were set to see him next week. 
“...and, are you even listening?” Lily asked, her voice garbling back to life as you snapped your eyes back to hers, covering your mouth with your teacup as you insistently nodded, trying to keep your smile from faltering as she squinted her eyes to look you over and see what was wrong.
“I’m totally in tune with you Lils,” you insisted, nibbling on a cookie to help you with nausea which only seemed to make it worse. 
“Hm,” she grunted, not seeming to believe you but not truly caring as she continued, “And thank the heavens you’ll be there beside me, for who knows what would become of me in such an unruly crowd of men and women just waiting for my brother to make his entrance. I’d lose my sanity.” 
Yes, you thought, how lucky. If only love worked that way, of ignoring it until it faded. If only.
“I’ll be there.” You promised. 
For better or for worse, you’d be there. 
---
The ball was just as you had imagined it. 
Extravagant, elegant, large, and incredibly crowded. 
One of the perks of being an outsider in these sorts of scenes is you didn’t have to dance anymore (no matter how much it stung the first time around getting used to this fact). 
Lily was off somewhere, being forced to socialize. Your other sisters were also lost in the crowd, either dancing or being swooned by a potential match. 
You were yet to see the man of the hour, but then again, so was everybody else. He was either hiding away or being swallowed whole by the hoards of people eager to get a glimpse of him. 
Not that you wanted to see him, of course. Just curious. 
The food was, as always, a bonus. Nobody was going to judge you for scarfing anything down when you had begrudgingly sworn off marriage, and perhaps one of the good things about Lily's pact was that you didn’t care much about the public eye anymore. 
“Please, at least act like we’re not starving you.” Your mother pleaded, unfortunately, stuck to your side for the night as she eyes you and your plate. 
“I’m trying my best,” you reasoned, making sure you didn’t drop anything on your dress. 
“The Viscount is coming tonight,” she tried to think and you snorted, earning some distasteful looks from the widows around you. 
“And he’s just dying to see me, I suppose?” You rolled your eyes at the idea, to help the sting from your own words. It was better to be rationable than to be delusional. 
“Well it doesn’t hurt to-”
“Try?” You cut her off with another laugh as you chew on an eclair, “Might as well. Right after the Princess introduces herself I’ll go up.” The two of you eye the girl in the diamond-encrusted gown with an equally bright tiara on her head. Your mother gave up the argument. 
For the last couple of days, you have been at a mental war with yourself. On the one hand, it surely must mean something if he wrote you letters. On the other one, he wrote it to his entire family and he probably views you as such. No matter how much you want to pretend that the Gojo cares for you, it won’t be in the same way that measures how much you care for him. 
“I’m going to get some more of these macaroons, I’ll be right back.” You excuse yourself as your mother pressed her lips into a thin line, wanting to push you to dance but knowing no amount of persuading was going to change your mind when it was already set on something. 
Wading through the dense crowd was certainly a feat, but you did it nonetheless. From the dessert table, you could barely make out the pop of chartreuse that was Lily's gown, and you wondered how much longer until she’d be free to giggle and gossip with you. 
Your eyes scanned over the little sweets carefully as you mentally weighed which one would taste good and which one would be a surprise in the kindest sense of the word. The colorful ones were often pretty but they tested either too bland or too bitter and the ones with caramel side sugar tended to be too sweet. All the good macaroons with the pistachio filling were gone, which was odd because you could only count on your fingers how many people aside from you tended to favor that one. 
“Looking for something?”
A green macaron was held in front of your face, slowly forcing you to turn your head in its direction as it began to pull away from you
Him. 
“Oh!” 
Oh? If only you could hit yourself in the head that would be great. 
“Oh?” Gojo chuckled, his brows pinching together in slight confusion at your reaction as his lips threatened to pull into a teasing smile, “I haven’t seen you in a year and that's what you’ve got to say?”
You try not to let your heart flutter at his cheeky manner as you roll your eyes, your smile growing as you take him in. 
He’s gotten taller if that was even possible. His hair is still as white as it was, and it seems that no amount of sun was going to change that. He’s gotten a little bit tanner, no longer that frigid pale hue to his skin that made you worry he’d drop dead at any moment. He’s unfortunately more muscular, which just means you have to cast away the scrawny image you’ve made in your mind in hopes that he’d come back anemic. 
His eyes are just as captivating as ever, blue and inviting. His jaw is sharper and yet he has no facial hair on his face. Which you prefer on most men but you’re glad he’s never given into that trend. 
Most importantly, he still looks like that boy you fell in love with so many years ago, and no time away would ever change you at your core. 
You try to not let your neck prickle with heat as he seems to assess you the same way you're doing to him, try not to feel self-conscious as his eyes roam over your features. Sure, a person can change in a year, but you wouldn’t bet you’ve changed that much that would warrant this amount of staring.
“So…?” 
“‘Toru, hi!” You snap out of your state, watching as his face picks up and breaks into a grin as you set your plate down somewhere, seemingly now realizing that Satoru is here and in front of you, “My, you’ve grown so much!”
“Really?” He looks at his torso and his arms as if he can’t believe it. 
“Well, a bit,” you curse at your awkwardness as he cocks a brow, “I’m sorry, I’m a bit out of my element tonight. I apologize for my earlier reaction.” You duck your head down for a second as he waves it off, hopefully not offended. 
You’re glad this little table is tucked away in an alcove away from most of the public eye, and the only people around the two of you are older people and the people standing outside in the gardens. Either they don’t see the man or they’re being somewhat human and granting the two of you some privacy. 
“Apology accepted, but not needed,” he teases, patting your shoulder affectionately as you try not to act as if that single touch made you reconsider the idea of marriage. 
“How are you?” He asks after a beat, not affected by your out-of-character attitude as he tilts his head to the side. 
“As good I could be,” you offer him a wink that came off as an elongated blink, “Whatever Lily filled you in on has most likely happened to me too.” He chuckles, his laughter the sound of melted honey. 
Fuck, you’re never going to get over him. 
“And you? How were your trips?” You egged him on, eyes tracing him, watching as some pink dusted over his cheeks. 
“Boring. Couldn’t wait to come back.” He says, but you can hear the sarcasm in his voice. Mixed with the way he couldn’t contain his bits of laughter, you laughed alongside him. 
“I’d believe it if not for your tan and newfound outlook on life, or so it seems from how Lily describes it.”
“She exaggerates everything,” he waves it off, and you wonder what that double-edged sword implies. 
“I-”
“He’s here!” You hear a loud voice cut you off as the two of you look over your shoulder to see his mother leading the awaiting princess and her train to where the two of you are standing, “He seems to be getting warmed up with this fine lady!” She says your name as heat rushes to your cheeks in embarrassment. 
It was only seconds before you were surrounded by men and women you had never seen before, all hanging off of Satoru’s words as he scrambled to answer all of their questions. 
And so it begins, you say to yourself as you push away from them, going to find Lily as you wonder why you even try. 
You miss the way he calls out for you, quiet enough so that nobody else hears it, but loud enough that his chest tightens in confusion at the sheer desperation of it. 
---
“I despise men!”
You’re at the Gojo estate for once, and Lily has started a new tirade that has lasted for the last hour. 
“What brought this on?” You press, exchanging worried glances with Satoru and her younger sister as she groans, jamming her palms into her eyes as she vehemently shakes her head. 
“Does this,” she shoves her hand, more importantly, her ring finger without a ring, in front of your face, “Look like I’m keen on getting married to you?”
“No….?” You mutter, scared of what she would say next. 
“Does it look like an invitation to barge into my home?”
“Not exactly,” You say, earning a sympathetic look for Satoru as she glares at him. 
“Does it look like I want to get frisky in the broom cupboards?”
“Christ! Lily, your sisters here!” You shout, jumping to cover the young girl's ears. Lily waves it off and Satoru just chuckles, a twinkle in his eyes as you usher the girl out of the tea room as you slam the door shut. 
“This certainly beats the beaches in Venice,” Satoru says as you near the table again, winking at you as you laugh quietly. 
“I’m so glad I’m not getting married. You should be too,” she points her finger at you as you look up at her, “Men are nothing but evil, money hungry, sex driven-”
“Charming, majestic-” Satoru talks over her as she talks even louder. 
“Dirty animals!” She finishes with a cry. 
You and Satoru share a glance as you try to laugh. She’s not wrong, far from it. The majority of men in this place needed to be sent back to their creator, but Lily had a vein in his forehead that was protruding at an odd angle. 
“You laugh now, but you’ll be thanking me fifty years from now.” She warns as you nod, acting totally compliant with her. 
“You’re still with her on her no-marriage pact?” Satoru asks as he stands up, walking past Lily as he looks out from the window, seemingly admiring the gardens outside. He glances over at you as you sink into the satin cushions beneath you. 
“Yes,” but your answer came out shaky and unsure. 
“Of course she is,” Lily answered for you with a definite nod, “And besides, she’s the luckier one. It’s not like any man has even asked her to marry anyway.” She says jokingly, shoving a biscuit in her mouth as she plops herself down beside you, nudging your shoulder with hers as if it were the funniest thing in the world. 
You wish the sofa could swallow you whole. 
“Hey,” Satoru turns around, brows furrowed as he looks at his sister, but the door opens before he can finish his sentence. 
“Miss Gojo,” their butler, Fred, who you’ve known since you’ve known Lily announces for her as he stands at the foot of the door, “Your mother has requested your presence in her quarters.”
Lily stands up with a groan, wiping the crumbs off of her dress as she makes sure there’s nothing around the corners of her mouth. 
“I’m needed elsewhere,” she pats your arm caring for it despite having her words wanting to make you plummet yourself off of a cliff, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
You give her a weak goodbye, watching as she leaves with the door shutting behind her as you sit up a bit straighter, getting ready to leave yourself. 
You stand up, careful not to make any eye contact with Satoru out of sheer embarrassment as you smooth out the wrinkles in your dress, hoping the silence would suffocate you faster than it would him. 
“Lily talks too much sometimes,” he finally says, stepping away from the window as he takes a two closer to your direction, before passing, “I’d apologize on her behalf but I’m pretty sure she’s already forgotten what she’s said.” He tries to lighten the mood and bless his soul, but you can already feel your spirits for the day sour. 
“It’s alright,” you promise, though he seems to disagree but you continue anyway, “I know her, she doesn’t mean it.” Still doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt, a part of you chides. 
“Are you leaving?” He asked, taking another tentative step forward. 
“I was planning on it,” you say with a little chuckle, hoping that your eyes watering up wasn’t too noticeable, “Is that alright with you?”
He looked at you with his bright eyes and just blinked, taking a while to reach his senses. 
“Y-yes! Yes, quite alright. Let me just get my coat…” He muttered, brushing past you as you quickly tried to reject his incoming offer. 
“There’s no need!” You run a bit to catch up to him and his fast pace, “My house is barely two skips away,” you lamely joke, hoping he’d give it up. You wanted to wallow in your self-pity on your walk home, not have to converse with the one man who’d inadvertently give you more to pity over. 
“Not a chance,” he argued, draping the coat in question over his arm, “What sort of person would I be if I let you walk out alone?”
Any other person, you wanted to say but stopped yourself. 
“I don’t mean to bother you…” You wrong your hands in a nervous state, eyes darting everywhere but his. 
You were trying to work on your silly crush this past week, which had unfortunately ramped up ever since he came back. In response, you worked out that the best solution to getting over it was to act like he didn’t exist and ignore him whenever possible. Clearly, it was working out completely in your favor. 
“Not a bother at all.” He insisted, linking his other arms with yours as you jumped a bit in surprise. He was forward, if anything. 
“Fred,” he calls out, getting the butler's attention as you try to hide yourself away, “Tell my mother I’ll be back in a bit.” The man just nods, opening up the front doors as Satoru leads the two of you out. 
The sun was out and working away, which didn’t help with the heat already prickling away through your skin. The Gojo estate was large, but hidden away, and for that you were glad. You could only imagine the gossip that would arise if certain ladies in society were to see you (helplessly) draped over the bachelor's arm. 
“Are you enjoying being back here?” You asked, trying to exert your confidence when you were feeling anything but. 
It’s not like you were unsure of yourself at most times, it’s just that when you’re around the one man you’ve been in love with since childhood and he feels nothing of the sort, you can’t help but be more conscious over everything. 
Satoru looked at you, shrugging as he pursed his lips, thinking of an answer. 
“I missed it,” he says, “But I mainly came back for my family and my friends and well…” He trailed off, chewing on his lip as he waved off his thoughts as if it didn’t matter, “Nonetheless, now that I’ve been around them, I remember why I wanted to leave.” 
And sometimes, despite him not wanting to, made you feel as if you were the most important person he’s had the pleasure of talking to, when in reality that’s just in his nature. 
“Is Lily pestering you too much?” You tease, a little smile on your face that wrinkles the edges of your eyes. He simply stared at you again, his eyes bright. 
“That,” he playfully tugged on your arm, “And the fact that my mother has bombarded me with the idea of marriage. And Luke is having troubles with his fiancé  and Annie doesn’t want to learn to read…it’s all just very chaotic.” He finished with a tired laugh, as if that’s all he could muster up. 
“Seems like a normal day in your house, if I’m being honest.” You lament, kicking a pebble with the point of your shoe. 
“I guess so,” he heaves a sigh that comes out dramatically, “Honestly, I don’t know how you’ve put up with it all these years.”
You scoff, digging your elbow into his side a bit to show that you were offended by his statement. 
“Your family is perhaps the closest thing I have to a second family!”
“And who says family can’t get on your last nerve?” He argued, and that shut you up. He was, indubitably, correct. 
“Yes, well,” you stumble to find some reasoning and he laughs seeing you falter, knowing that he got you cornered, “‘Toru, you are simply a horrible influence to be around.” Is all you can come up with, and despite the severity of your words it only seems to spur him on even more. 
“And yet you can’t seem to get enough of me, can you?” 
You almost stopped in your tracks, your heart seizing in your chest as you try not to fumble up your well-made facade of indifference. 
All you could remember upon his statement were the words he spoke so long ago, not knowing you’d heard them. 
“Charles, you don’t get it, I don’t want a wife!” Satoru exclaimed as he snapped at his friend. It was a gala held at the queen's palace and you had strayed too far away from Lily and found yourself hiding behind a wall as you eavesdropped on the conversation. 
“Not even the Princess?” Another man pushed as you heard Satoru let out a heavy sigh. You peeled around to see him pinching the bridge of his nose. 
“I don’t want to be tied down. You saw what happened to my parents.” He argued. A part of you sympathized with him. 
“Well,” you could make out this voice as his younger brother, two years older than you he went to thinking, “What about that friend of Lily’s? She seems nice enough.”
The hair on your arm pricked upwards. Surely they couldn’t be talking about you. 
“Who?” Satoru asks and his brother says your name in a hushed whisper, as if you held more weight in your title than the Princess did. 
“Her? No, absolutely not,” he said with such disgust that his friends thought he was joking, “You’re out of your mind if you’d think I’d want to court her.”
Your heart, full of love and hope and dreams cracked, crumbled in your chest. And you left, running away because that’s all you knew how to do and sobbed your eyes out to Lily, stating that you heard somebody talking bad about you, refusing to admit that it was her own brother that was causing you to break in front of her. 
A part of you felt pathetic for still caring for him after that night, but there’s not much fight in you when it comes to the people you loved. You pulled away, sure, and stopped your lame excuses of flirting, but you never stopped. He never found out that you heard, so he continued as your friend and you continued as the shameless woman. 
“Right,” you swallow thickly, glad that your estate is now growing closer and closer, knowing that you feel sick and can’t handle it anymore, “Thank you so much for your help, but I’m sure I can make the treacherous journey on my own now.” 
You wring your hand away from his arm, you smile wobbling as you tip your head in his direction, watching him try to make sense of your quick change in nature. 
“Let me take you up to your door,” he started but you raised your hand to silence him, shaking your head. 
“That would be too much to ask for. I will leave you here…um, Satoru,” you say politely, not noting the way his jaw clenched at your sudden formality when addressing him, “I’ll see you tomorrow, hopefully.”
And you left quickly before he could say anything else. You must stay focused on the reality of your situation;
Your best friend's brother just simply wasn’t in love with you. 
---
“Miss,” 
You perked up from your chair in your quaint little library, setting your book down as you watched one of the maids, Ella, politely calls from the door. 
“There’s a gentleman outside calling for you.”
Your brows furrowed as you found a marker so that you don’t lose your place and purse your lips together in questioning. 
“Do you know who…?” Your head cocked to the side as you stood up, walking near her as you wondered if it were that delivery boy who said he’d come with the new copies of the Brontë books you’d been eyeing for the past month. 
“It’s the Viscount Gojo, miss.” She said simply. 
Your face dropped, and you watched as confusion spread across hers. 
“Him? Here? Did he say what was wrong?” You began to rustle around, trying to find something to throw on top of your slip. 
Did something happen to Lily? Did she run away? Was their mother in trouble? You could recall her telling you that her head was aching, could something serious have happened because of that? Christ, you should have told somebody about it rather than comfort her and make her tea. Was he leaving again? Perhaps-
“He said he wanted to see you miss, that’s all he told me.” She seemed apprehensive, judging your face to see if you were maybe feeling ill due to your reaction. 
“Um, alright, just,” you hurried around, trying your fastest to get to your room, “Tell him I’ll be down in a few minutes! Don’t tell him I’m preparing myself, just say that I was discussing matters with somebody!” You call out as you sprint across the halls, not hearing any confirmation as you lock yourself in your room, ransacking your closet to find something not too flashy but not too boring. 
It took a good four minutes just to find a suitable dress and another five to make your face and hair look presentable enough as you scampered down the stairs only to find said Viscount waiting in the foyer. 
His face turned to yours as he heard your heels clicking on the marble, growing into a bright smile as he dipped his head down to greet you. 
“Hello,” he said your name with that smooth voice of his as he took his jacket off and kept it on his arm, “I’m sorry for turning up on such short notice.”
“It’s no problem,” you try to catch your breath for the first time in the last ten minutes as your chest heaves slightly up and down, “No problem at all. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
He takes a second to respond, eyes scanning your features, your clothing, your chest as it tries to catch a solid breath, and you feel yourself look down to make sure there aren't any noticeable wrinkles in the fabric. 
“I, I just wanted to drop in. See how you were doing.”
You tried not to look even more startled, but your brows creased once again as you gnawed on the inside of your cheek. 
“I’m quite alright…thank you…?” You couldn’t look that out of the ordinary, right?
“Good, that’s good,” he watched as you finished your descent down the stairs, slowly coming towards him as you waited for him to finish, “I’m sorry if I interrupted your conversation with…?” Ella did give him a name you wanted to guess. 
“Lord Cornwallis.” You finished for him, not knowing why that was the first name that came to your mind. It was true that he had been here yesterday, but you didn’t talk much to him in his brief visit. 
“Lord Cornwallis?” Satoru repeated back in shock, his brows shooting upwards as he did nothing to hide his outburst. His face quickly turned into one of disgust, which accurately represented the emotions you felt yesterday when you eavesdropped on the conversation he had with your mother behind closed doors. 
“Yes, you just missed him. He went out through the back door,” why were you making this web of lies even bigger? You have no self-control, do you?
“What was Cornwallis doing here?” 
You but your tongue, having to come up with a lie or tell the truth as to why he had visited yesterday. Either way, both options turned out with horrible results. 
“He asked for my hand.” The truth it was, then. 
His brows seemed to disappear into his hairline as his jaw slacked, mouth wide open. Damn your mind, you should have just lied. 
Lily was wrong in one thing, perhaps. You have gotten a few marriage offers in the last three years, but by all men who were older than your grandfather. You hadn’t even told Lily about them and now you were telling her brother. 
“I…” Satoru couldn’t even find the right words to say. You wanted to bury yourself in a hole. 
“…Cornwallis? Isn’t he-”
“Pushing ninety-nine? Yes.” Nobody was sure of his age, and ninety-nine was perhaps even being too generous. Everybody knew that Cornwallis was simply ancient. 
“Did I save you from the conversation at least? I must say, if there was any man I would wish ill upon, it’s certainly him. He’s a lying old cheat.” He tried to joke again but you swallowed thickly. Perhaps if he came at the same time yesterday he might have. But he didn’t and you had to sit through an hour of him pleading with your mother as the two of you just stared in abject horror and surprise. 
“Yes well, thank you…for doing that.” You lied, cleaning your teeth together as you tried to smile, not wanting to hurt his feelings as you came up closer to him, desperately hoping to change the topic of the conversation. 
“Is everything alright with Lily?” You asked his eyes that were focused on the floor jumping to yours as your lips parted, worry still clear on your face. 
“Yes, of course, I just wanted to ask a favor of you. But, judging from your encounter with men today I would understand if this is pushing it,” he cut right to the crux of the matter. He seemed nervous, which was an odd emotion to see on a man otherwise very confident and sure in himself. It unsettled you. 
You tilted your head, waiting for him to find his words and continue. You could make out the slight blush on his face, the pink hue that spread across his cheeks, and the tip of his nose. He was, by all means, the cutest person you’ve ever seen. 
“My mother's holding another ball, two weeks from now, you see,” his lip caught between his teeth, “And she’s been bugging me about having a date for the night. She wants to appease the rest of the gentry, I suppose. Would you, by any chance, like to be that?” 
You stopped computing his words. 
“...It’s honestly just to get her off my back. And you wouldn’t have to stay with me the entire evening, you could do whatever you’d like after we get some of the necessities over with. Lily was the first who suggested the idea, she said you wouldn’t be doing much other than gossip with her. Of course, if you don’t want to I certainly won’t force the idea, but it’s merely a suggestion.” His blue eyes, ever so convincing and round and caring bore into yours, and despite your better judgment you find yourself nodding. 
“I wouldn’t mind it,” you say a bit breathlessly, completely forgetting about Cornwallis and the way you were debating it and the fact that this means nothing at all, and would most likely cause you more harm than good. 
His nervousness washed away into a big smile, and you cursed yourself at the little flicker of hope you felt deep in your soul as he scrambled to find the right words to say to thank you. The flood of gratitude and appreciation stabbed deeply into your heart as he kept repeating friend, but you were too hopeful for love. 
Your mother always said that loving would always be your greatest weakness. 
---
You should have said no. 
The amount of eyes that were focused on you was enough to make you nauseous, and you couldn’t get sick for you hadn’t had anything to eat today with how hurried everything was. 
Your arm was draped around Satoru’s, and he held tightly onto your hand. He was the image of luxury and charisma right now, and if you were in the crowd looking as he made his way through the crowd you almost would have wanted to bow. 
Time came by a lot faster when you were totally freaking out over it, and before you knew it, you were put in a dress you hadn’t even picked and corseted to the heavens. Your hair was done with extra detail, and they even went as far as putting some Swarovski’s into it so that when the candlelight hit it, you’d sparkle twice as much. 
Satoru, ever the gentleman, had picked you up from your estate as he walked you to their home amidst all the chaos of getting ready for another ball. In all honesty, you have no idea how their mother manages to keep her sanity through all of this.
You were still a bit giddy from your earlier interaction with Satoru, although it didn’t do much to calm your nerves now. 
“I’m sorry for taking so long!” You had said as you rushed down your stairs, careful not to trip over your train as you put your earrings in. Ella said that he was waiting for you downstairs, you just underestimated how early he’d be. 
“Don’t apologize…” He had turned around from admiring a painting, his eyes widening a bit when he saw you. He quickly shut his mouth, but you had already gauged his reaction. You tried not to let it get the best of you, but you could have sworn he blushed more often than usual when you interlinked your arm with his.
“You’re cutting off my blood circulation.” He whispers in your ear as you try to smile, your eyes nervous as they dart around the room. How could it be even bigger than that last ball? Did they suddenly meet thirty new people? 
“Maybe you could cut mine off.” You snap back through your teeth, your hand gripping his wrist as tightly as you could. 
“How are we supposed to dance if one of us is dead?” He grumbles back, putting on a little grin as he makes eye contact with his mother, and then goes back to whispering, “It’s just one song and you’re done. You’ve done this before.”
You wanted to shove him to the ground. 
“No, I haven’t!” You say loud enough that he hears but try to mask it so that nobody else does, “I told you yesterday this is my first time dancing with somebody!” As embarrassing as it was to admit, right now you couldn’t be bothered to care as he led you to the middle of the room, standing in first position as you two waited for the orchestra to begin. 
“Are you saying I’m your first?” He teased, his tongue poking out from between his lips as he watched you grow mortified, rubbing the back of your hand in a comforting way as his means to apologize. 
You wanted to go ahead and argue but the cello and violins started and you were whisked away by his calculated movements, and the only thing you could do was follow in his lead. 
The two of you practiced a bit in the days leading up to this, but it was a lot different when your only crowd was Lily and her constant whining about how boring it was. 
Now, with everybody staring at you and him, it was far more daunting. 
“Don’t look at the ground, look at me,” he whispered in your ear, smiling when your eyes traveled to him. He tried not to crack when he saw the pure loathing and hatred in them, but at least you were looking up and not at his shoes. 
“‘Toru I’m never doing a favor for you again, you owe me.” You groan, letting him twirl you around in a circle as some of the ladies give a polite clap. 
“Name your price.” He egged you on, bringing you back flush against his chest as his hand found purchase on your waist. 
“Not money,” you grumble, eyes twitching as your heart beats rapidly in your chest, you’ve always wanted to dance with him, sure, but not under these circumstances. 
“Books?” You consider it but shake your head. You deserve something bigger for what you’re putting yourself through. Shocking enough, after being a wallflower for so many years, you weren’t handling being in the spotlight too well. 
“I’ll think about it. But it has to be big.” You warn and he lifts up his pinky on your waist to show you his unbridled loyalty to keeping true to your words.
“Where are you going after this is done?” He spins the two of you around, and you watch as more couples rush around the two of you. It’s less stressful when others are dancing, but you still feel tense. 
“I’m probably going to stay with Lily outside.” He seems to deflate a little, though he still stands tall, his suit never crinkling through his movements. 
“No more dancing?” He teased but you vehemently disagree with the idea. 
“Never again.” It’s not as though you hate it, in fact, a younger you would have been jumping with glee to be able to dance with Satoru. But after years of growing accustomed to watching rather than participating, you can’t grow out of that habit. 
You felt a tap on your shoulder and turned around to see the Princess herself as she looked at you with pleading eyes. 
“Would you mind if…?” She motioned to Satoru and then to you. You barely noticed the number coming to an end, and the rupture of applause was the last thing you heard before you scrambled away from him. 
You didn’t even notice how he had held onto your hand tighter, not wanting to let you go.
“O-of course, your majesty.” You winced at your select choice of words and how you said her title almost as if you questioned it. 
“Thank you.” She mumbled and for somebody of such high regard, you wouldn’t think of her to need to plead with somebody, especially you, to be able to have a dance with Satoru. 
Your job for the night was done, successfully might be too loose of a term, but finished nonetheless. You chose not to look back at Satoru, knowing that the wide grin he’d save for the girls he was interested in would only twist that knife deeper into your heart. 
You were a sadist in the most pathetic way possible.
You waved goodbye to Satoru as another number started again, and tried your best to get away from all the twirling bodies as you headed out to find Lily. 
It didn’t take long until you found her trying to weasel out some information from her brother, tapping him repeatedly on the shoulder as he tried to fight her off. 
“…what did you hear, what do you know?” She pressed as he groaned, obviously trying to have a private conversation with the lady next to him. 
“Nothing Lily!” He locked eyes with you as he almost begged silently for you to take her. 
“Lily, I’m here. We can go now.” You looped elbows with her as you dragged her away, giving her brother a quick smile that said you accepted his gratefulness. 
As you walked through the stone path in the garden, she muttered dejectedly about how she was just about to get some good information out of him. 
“How was dancing with Satoru?” She finally asked after a while. The two of you weren’t alone, but far less crowded than it would if you had been inside. 
“Stressful, but the song was short so I wasn’t needed for too long.” You tell her honestly. If there’s one thing you can’t do with Lily it’s lie, for she’ll sniff out of you the moment you come up with it. 
“You look flustered.” She noted, looking over your face and the sweat that dotted over your cheekbones. 
“You dance in a sweltering room like that with the entire ton looking at you and try not to get flustered.” You reasoned and she seemed to buy it. It wasn’t a total lie, but a stretch of the truth. 
“You know,” Lily had terrible balance and often collided with you as she walked, “I was talking to my mother and despite her insistent warnings, I think we should make it official.”
“Make what official?” The lights from the candles above you illuminated her face and she had that look of mischief that either excited or frightened you. 
“That we plan to be unwed.” She grinned cheek to cheek and all you could feel was that same wave of nausea that had been prickling at you since the start of the night. This was the last thing you needed to hear about right now. 
“They’re going to think we’re either lunatics or lovers.” You say with a sullen and heavy sigh, looking up at the sky in some sort of desperate manner as you wait for some sort of angel to save you from this conversation. 
“And what’s the issue with that? Let them think. You have always said you’ve wanted this, so let’s let the world know.” 
Something you wish Lily was was to be more aware. As loving, thoughtful and caring as she was, she never seemed to pick up on the little things. For one, you doubted she noticed just how quiet you got whenever she brought up this conversation. You’d give her the benefit of the doubt and say that you rarely talked much when it came to marriage, but that was just so that you could save yourself from the ongoing embarrassment of never having experienced love or some sort of feeling that somebody would feel towards you to genuinely want to be your husband. 
Not only that, but far from Lily's point of help, is the fact that ever since Satoru has been back, your childish feelings have come flooding right in with him. No matter how many tea sessions you have with Lily and have him sitting in the background, either reading the morning's paper or jotting things down in his journal, it always spins to him sitting right beside you as you talk about anything under the sun. 
And while you know your hopes of marrying him are just too far-fetched, you’ve always been a hopeless romantic. Something Lily just hasn’t ever been able to pick up on when around you. Which is shocking, seeing how the only novels you’ve read for the majority of your life was centered around such a topic. 
“Listen, Lily, I’ve been thinking,” you pause for a second in your place, staring at the pebbles arranged in the formation of a star as you swallow your bile, “That maybe…” 
You were nervously wringing your hands together, a sign that Lily knew all too well. She could read you like any of her books, and she let out a gasp, covering her mouth with a shaky hand as she pointed an accusatory finger at you. 
“No,” she dug the finger into your chest, “You’re thinking of breaking up the pact?” It comes out breathless. Her soft curls of white that had been done up beautifully were slowly falling down as she shook her head in pure shock, not giving you a chance to talk. 
“I mean this is just brilliant. Brilliant! What am I supposed to do now, go out into the world alone as a spinster?” 
You stuttered, your fingers interlaced with one another as you tried to calm her down from causing a scene. Trying to shush her came to no avail as you wring your hands away from her, acting as if your touch was burning. 
If the Gojo’s were anything, it’s overly dramatic in places where dramatics were certainly not needed. 
“Please be rational,” she urged you as she clutched onto your wrists, suddenly pleading to you with her wide eyes, “The season is almost over and you haven’t had any offers. Sooner than later we’re going to be thirty, then forty, then fifty, and husbandless. We should say it now so that it doesn’t come off as a pathetic cry to hold onto what little decency we have in the future!” 
Christ, you hated that she was being somewhat logical. But her rationality stung, the way melted wax does when it burns the skin. She didn’t know just how much she was hurting you, and you doubted she ever would. 
“Look, I know I’m probably not going to be offered a chance at marriage, but it wouldn’t hurt to at least try.” You try to reason with her as she sniffs, her eyes squinted as she looks at you in anger. 
“This was our pact and you’re going against it! What’s next?”
You were going to argue that this pact was only made on the basis of her having too much champagne to drink and you being sullen over her brother, but you were cut off from getting the chance to do so. 
“What’s your issue?” 
You turned around at the familiar voice as you saw Satoru nearing you, Lily continuing her rant as she seemed to completely miss that her brother was coming towards the two of you. 
“What?” You felt overwhelmed with having two Gojo’s corner you, both rather angry from the looks of it. 
“I know that this isn’t your scene but you said you’d be my date. You don’t have to dance with me, but at least be there.” He looks like he’s seething, and you’ve never seen this look on him before. It’s jarring, to say the least. 
You feel like your head is about to explode. 
“I just-”
“....and my mother was only more confident in the idea if you were doing it!” Lily exclaimed, causing you to look back at her as she urged you to think about it. 
“...my mother has given me at least twenty women to mull over in the last twenty minutes. It would have been none if you just acted as my date for the night!” Satoru’s voice rose, and you felt like your heart was going to actually stop. Your head was spinning, your vision was blurry, and you couldn’t hear anything besides a loud ringing in your ears. 
“I’m sorry but-” The two of them talked over you, so stuck in their own worlds that they didn’t notice the tears pricking at your eyes or the way you seemed to be short of breath. It would probably be one of their greatest flaws, never noticing something until it was far too late. 
“Stop!” You cried out, earning some looks from the people around you as you rubbed at your forehead, already feeling it ache under your touch, “Please! Listen, just for a bloody second!” 
You took a deep breath and began. 
“I’m a fucking romantic Lily, and nothing’s ever going to change that! I always have been! And I want to get married, I just agreed to your pact because I know I’m probably never going to get that chance! And god, how can your only takeaway from reading Persuasion be to abstain from marriage?” Your nose crinkles in anger as you turn around to point your finger at her brother's chest, watching as he takes your reaction in obvious surprise. 
“You!” You cry out and he almost backs away, “I was trying to give you some courtesy by leaving! God forbid you gave anybody the idea that you were courting me!” You quickly wipe at your eyes but it does fuck all of hiding how you truly felt as your lips wobbled.  
“Why would…?” He's breathless, no longer angry, just utterly confused and a wee bit frightened. 
“We both know you’re too good for that. How’d you phrase it, you’d be out of your mind if you did such a thing?” You throw his own words back at him, and you watch in some sort of mixture of triumph and heartbreak as realization washes over his features. 
He finally remembers. 
“I…” he swallowed thickly, running a hand through his hair as it fell out of his face, rubbing at his jaw as you looked at you from beneath his lashes, “I didn’t…” but he can’t finish his sentences and instead stops, sharing an unreadable look with his sister as they then look at you. 
“I’m going home.” You say after a beat of silence, breathing deeply through your nose as you look away from the two of them. 
“Let me-” Satoru started but you raised a hand to stop him. 
“I think I’d be better off alone.” You snap, nostrils flaring as you shake your head, pinching the bridge of your nose as you try to stop the already impending migraine that is about to come. 
For once in your life, you didn’t care about the eyes boring into your back or the way that whispers flew around you and twisted around your throat like a vine. You were glad that nobody else other than the servants was home as you ran up into your room, locking everybody else out as you sobbed into your pillows. 
---
The days following your (well-deserved) outburst were more than rough. 
To your knowledge, Lily has visited a total of ten times in the past five days, sometimes twice in the same one, while her brother has visited a grand total of zero. You didn’t expect much from him, but this really cemented your quickly growing disdain. 
Your mother informed you constantly that she was trying to put out the fires from that night but you couldn’t bring it to feel too bad, after all, you were glad that you didn’t say anything more drastic. 
“This is just so unlike you!” She cried, shaking in disappointment as you munched on some sweets you nicked from the kitchen. 
“I know,” you chuckled, “I’m so proud of myself.”
She just throws her hands in the air as a sign of utterly giving up and storms out of the room, most likely to meet with somebody else to “clean up the mess.”
She was right for some part, you can’t remember the last time you actually told somebody how you were feeling. It’s not healthy on your end, but growing up with three older sisters who always got it their way meant that you had some lack of backbone. 
Lily and Satoru, as much as you cared about them, didn’t live like that. Their mother loved them all equally and she made sure that all of their voices were heard. She was always making sure that their priorities were met and she never made them feel inferior. 
Which somehow, didn’t pass on to you. 
Loving the way you do got tiring when you got nothing back, and giving everybody your all when nobody seemed to notice it felt as though you were alone in a world full of people who cared for each other. You’ve read the books and heard the stories, but you eventually realized that it simply just wasn’t in your cards to be dealt the same thing. 
They cared, you know they did. But sometimes, it felt like they expected your care in order for them to show it to you. 
“Miss?” you heard a faint voice and a knock at your door. You sat up from your slump as Ella slowly came inside, shutting the door soundly behind her. 
“Did my mother ask you to make sure I haven’t flung myself off the balcony?” You dust away any crumbs from your pull over as you stare out the window. 
“I’m making sure you didn’t.” 
Your head snapped over at the familiar voice only to see Lily standing at the foot of your bed, looking out of place with her bright purple dress. She looked like she was teetering back and forth between staying out and sprinting away, and you admired her courage after how many times you’ve turned down her offer. 
You glared at Ella but she was no longer there, leaving you and Lily alone. 
“You’re just in time then.” You say blandly, standing up from your bed as you make the covers and are careful not to come too close to her. She seemed to notice. 
“We can’t go about this forever,” she stated, rounding the corner of your bed as she took three steps forward while you took one back, not wanting to be cornered again the way you were that night, “This silent treatment is killing me.”
“Then die,” you don’t mean it and she knows it, but her face wobbles for a second and you watch in horror as tears spring to Lily's eyes. 
The last time Lily cried the two of you were fifteen and her brothers had effectively ruined the singular dress she had actually been looking forward to wearing by staining it with ink. You spent at least an hour calling her down and trying to rationalize with her until you finally gave up and offered to cut holes in all of their suits. 
You’re not sure you could do that now. 
“I’m sorry!” She sprung herself forward at you with full throttle as she hugged you tightly, “You’re right! There’s nothing wrong with being a romantic!” You don’t know what to do as you stand there in shock so you awkwardly pat her back, her long white hair never loose so you’ve never really seen it to its full extent. 
“My brother and I have been at war with each other trying to put the blame on somebody else but I’m sorry! You of all people deserve to find love,” she looks up and her eyes just look like oceans and it’s unfair how pretty she looks when she cries because you just look like a mess, “Please, please forgive me.”
You look as she refuses to pull away from you, clutching desperately onto the thin fabric of your nightgown that your mother reprimanded you for not getting out of, and slowly feel your hands circle around her back as you pull her into a hug. 
“Honestly,” you shake your head as she looks up at you, cheeks rosy with streaks of tears and her lip wobbles violently, “I’m probably going to be on that pact ten years from now. But I just-”
“Want to try!” She finished your sentence for you, something the two of you always prided in being able to do, “and that’s respectable too!”
You try not to smile but the corners of your lips tug upwards as you nod, Lily waiting with bated breath as she scanned your reaction. 
“Don’t ever treat me like that again, you hear me?” 
She vehemently nods, pulling away as she wipes at her eyes, holding out her oinks finger as she waits for you to latch on. Sure, it was a childish way of making a promise, but Lily was never the serious sort of person. If anything, this is the most you’ve ever seen her apologize about something. 
“I promise with the depths of my soul. If I do, brand me with an iron.” Your eyes widen as you go to disagree but she won’t take it. 
“I swear.” She repeats gravely. 
You look at her pinky for another second before you bring yours up, not believing that this is still how the two of you go about making amends. 
“Alright then,” you heave a sigh, “I forgive you.”
Her face breaks into a wide and toothy smile as she pulls you in for a tighter hug, nearly knocking the air out of your lungs as she pulls back away. 
“You’ll never regret this, I swear,” she looked radiant, but quickly stopped as she looked down at the ground, trying to gather her thoughts on how to break the news to you, “Now, be prepared for another one.” 
You blink slowly, brows furrowed in confusion as you lean on your bedpost, arms crossing as your lips purse. 
“What?” 
She almost looks ashamed again, looking at the clock on your wall. 
“My mother’s invited you over for dinner. Get ready to see the other Gojo.”
---
Your mother, as difficult as she was to deal with at most times, somehow understood the concept of showing off through a good wardrobe. 
You wouldn’t put any bets on the fact that if your outfits were significantly better you might have had at least one man approach you in all these years, but it certainly could have been a possibility. 
The cut was lower than all your normal dress, and with the help of your corset, pushed the sisters up a considerable amount. 
The color was the most flattering you’ve ever seen, and through the utilization of crystals and diamonds encrusted in the fabric itself, it shined perfectly when the light hit it. 
For the first time, you were glad your mother picked out your outfit. 
Unfortunately, the outfit gave you only so much confidence. When you walked into the Gojo estate, thankfully with Lily on your side, all the memories from that night came flooding back and your stomach flipped upside down. 
You were glad that Lily was seated next to you at the dinner table as well, but it didn’t help that Satoru was seated in front of you, glaring daggers into your face as you tried to avoid looking at him. 
“Now, you didn’t tell me about your plans for the next year, with the season already coming to an end.” Their mother, bless her heart, asked as she loaded some peas into her fork, looking at you with her kind eyes as you struggled to think of a good enough answer. 
“I’m planning on taking a marriage offer up, actually,” you say, trying not to look at Lily for you knew she was already giggling.
In the past five hours, you filled her in on everything, and she decided the best way to get Satoru to say something was if you went with the idea. 
“Oh?” You watched as she perked up in interest, as did the rest of the Gojo family. An offer? 
“Yes,” you nodded, “Lord Cornwallis, actually, if you’ve heard of him?” 
Lily was gleaming as she saw her brother clench his jaw as he stared at the side of your face that was still looking at their mother. 
“L-lord Cornwallis?” You felt bad for lying to her, but you could just come back later and say you’ve changed your mind, “He must be at least-”
“Ninety-nine?” You answered for her as her cheek warmed, “Some say he’s just in his prime, yes.” 
She drank some of her wine. 
“Isn’t that desperate?” Satoru finally said and you heard a loud clatter from the end of the table as their mother angrily sat her cup down, glaring at her son. 
“Satoru!” She exclaimed, the rest of the girls and boys watching in tense silence as they waited for your reply. 
“It’s alright,” you shrugged, fiddling with the bracelet on your wrist, “And yes, it could come off as desperate. However, I would rather go to a man who finds no problem in courting me rather than somebody who’d tell the whole world just how much it would disgust him to be seen with me.”
You could swear you heard a tooth crack. 
“I’m sorry, am I missing something-” One of the brothers piped up but Satoru acted as if he hadn’t heard him. 
“Well if that man were drunk out of his wits-”
“Then he let his sober thoughts reign free.” You finish for him, nostrils flaring as Satoru twisted the ring on his forefinger back and forth. 
“Again, Miss Gojo, I’m simply thinking over his offer.” You finish, seeing how she could barely take her eyes off of her son as she blinked towards you, giving a shaky smile as she nodded. 
“Of course, there’s no…no problem in that.” She swallowed uncomfortably, as did everybody else. You peeked over at Lily to find her just as you suspected, beaming with silent joy. 
“If you wouldn’t mind, I think my dress has come a bit undone. I’m going to call for somebody to fix it.” You say, excusing yourself as you try to go ahead with the plan you had set in the first place. 
“Make him mad, really mad. Say something about Cornwallis, he despises him,” Lily muttered, sitting cross-legged on your bed as she urged you to listen to her directions, “Then excuse yourself. Say you’ve got to use the privy or something, doesn’t matter.”
You nodded, listening intently as she laid it on thick for what she had been picking up on for the past couple of days. 
“Go upstairs and find his room, you know where it is. Be quick with it too, but there’s this box on his desk that’s full of letters. I swear on my Austen collection that there is a letter with your name on it.”
You felt your heart tumble. 
“Are you sure?” You asked, glancing at the clock to make sure you wouldn’t be late to dinner. 
“Positive. And I’d get it if I could, but he’s so secretive with his room that this is probably the one time it’s going to be unlocked. He’d never suspect anybody going snooping at this hour.”
You grinned, knowing that if you finally got that little something to use against him, he’d have no choice but to grovel at your feet for the rest of his life. 
You quickly scampered up the stairs, telling one of their mates that you’d be able to fix your dress on your own and that you’d be stashed away in Lily's room for the time being, and mentally times yourself as you quickly paced through the halls, looking for the familiar dark oak that would be Satoru’s room. 
Just when you were about to get lost in their maze of a house, you stopped triumphantly behind the last door at the end of the hall, staring deeply at it as you weighed your options. 
You quickly caved, slowly reaching out to the doorknob to see if it was locked. 
It swung open, and you let out a sigh of relief and looked around a final time to make sure that nobody had followed you before you fully let yourself inside. 
It was dark, and you left the door slightly open so that the light from the halls could sleep in a bit, and you went to work on locating the box on his desk that Lily had described to you. 
You squint your eyes, wincing as you bumped into furniture as you made your way to the corner of the large room, blindly reaching and grabbing for anything on the mahogany desk that would resemble a box. 
You let out a sound of triumph as you found a square-shaped glass-feeling thing filled to the brim with papers, holding it upwards to the sliver of light as you quickly ran through the letters with your fingers and you tried to find one with your name on it. 
They seemed like they were all unsent, with many of them labeled to his mother or siblings, and a few to his friends, but you didn’t find any of them labeled to you, and you quickly felt your heart and hopes sink. This was taking far too long.
Just as you were about to give up, you passed a smaller shaped letter with cursive that looked familiar, in the sense that you had seen it addressed before, and pulled it out only to see your name staring back at you. 
A part of you almost wanted to sink into the chair behind the desk, your heart beating rapidly in the small vastness of your ribcage as you held it back up to the light, seeing a note tucked neatly away through the transparency of the envelope. 
Your nimble fingers went to rip the seal of wax off, but stopped as the door swung open. 
“What the hell are you doing?” Satoru stood at the doorway, blocking the rest of the light as his shadow cast over you. 
You dropped the letter, quickly hiding it behind your back as he stepped in, getting closer to you as you abruptly stood up, trying to come up with a feasible lie as you rounded away from his desk, trying to get away from him and his massive build. 
“Oh?” You looked around as if suddenly realizing this wasn’t the place you were supposed to be, “Is this not Lily’s room? Silly me, I couldn’t make it out in the dark. I’ll be leaving now if you’ll excuse me…” You turned around, brushing past him but stopping when you felt his long fingers circle your wrist, turning you around as his eyes squinted. 
“Bullshit,” you flinched, never having heard him curse before as his hands felt around yours, finding the letter you were doing a terrible job of hiding, “You know this house better than your own. Why the hell are you in my room?” 
You didn’t say anything as he brought your hand out from behind your back, opening up your closed fist with much ease to reveal the crumpled-up envelope. Your chest heaved up and down, waiting with bated breath as he stared silently at the letter. You balled your fists back up again, stepping away from him as he followed you quickly in your footsteps. 
“Give that to me y/n,” his voice was low and commanding, unlike anything you’ve ever heard before, and if you weren't in your rebellious mood (and somewhat in your independent, not totally in-love-with-him mood) you would have caved, but you shook your head, looking behind you as to make sure you didn’t back into his bed frame. 
“It’s got my name on it.” You argued, knowing it was a terrible excuse, and you watched him chuckle darkly, knowing that you had no good reason for being in his room and sifting through his letters. 
“And yet it was in my room, in my letterbox, on my desk.” He snapped, eyes a deep blue and different from the usual lightness they carried. He wasn’t joking and he wasn’t lying, he needed that letter back. 
Which just made you want it even more. 
You didn’t know what to do, so the only logical thing in your sporadic mind was to shove it down your dress, hiding it in your chest as Satoru watched your movements like a hawk, not saying anything as you defiantly showed him your now empty hands. 
“Get it now Satoru,” you challenged him, not realizing you had backed up into the wall until your head lightly bounced off from it, wincing at the sting as you looked back behind you. 
He didn’t say anything, and it seemed like his mind was running as quickly as it could as he tried to deal with whatever it was you were doing. Instead, he just three more languid steps forward, nearly face to face with you as he stared down at you, eyes darting from yours to your lips and chest. 
Under any other circumstances, you would have felt like shedding your clothes off from how heated you felt under his gaze. Here, your only resort was to keep them on, to see what was so important about that letter. 
“I came to find you to apologize,” his voice is low and calm, his cool breath hitting your cheek as you struggle to keep your composure, “To be civil. To tell you that I didn’t mean anything I said that night.” 
Despite your mixed emotions, you felt your brows furrow at his select choice of words. 
“Are you here to tell me now that you actually meant every word?” You couldn’t stop the words as they tumbled out of your mouth, knowing that the answer would probably send you into a state you could never get out of as the person you’ve loved for the majority of your life confirms your biggest fears.
But shockingly, he just shakes his head, his lips pink and plush and you’ve never found yourself focusing on them more than you are now. 
If only you knew that he felt the same as he looked at you. 
“No,” he stepped closer, if possible, but still had room to shove him away. But you didn’t, not now, you couldn’t, didn’t want to as his nose nudged yours a bit, your lashes fluttering against your cheek as your lips parted, waiting for him to do something, 
“I’ll show you that I didn’t mean them.”
You couldn’t breathe, your lungs contracting as his face fell towards yours, your lips meeting ever so slowly as they finally landed on yours, soft and somehow delicate as they pushed against yours, finalizing the kiss as he began to move them. 
You’ve never kissed anybody before, often dreaming about it as you lay in bed hopelessly in love, but never thought you’d be here from the man you’ve imagined on the other side doing it with him. 
He moved slowly as if he knew that this was your first time, and you didn’t know how to handle your emotions as he angled his chin to get closer to you, his lips capturing you in such a heated and feverish pace that you knew you weren’t going to be able to sleep tonight as you thought back on it. 
His hands slowly came up to your waist, tugging you flush against his body as your hands somehow found their way behind his neck, finger curling into his long strands of arctic white as he groaned against you when you tugged a bit, the sound coming from deep within his chest. 
You were impatient, always have been, and it probably took him a little bit by surprise as you quickened the pace, hungry after so many years of starving for this as you pushed against him for more fervor, feeling him smile slightly against your lips as he met you in the middle, fingers digging into the fabric of your dress as you whined slightly as the feeling. 
He nipped at your lips, his tongue poking out from in between yours, and you absentmindedly opened your mouth a little bit to make room for him, heart and mind working in tandem as he brought up a hand to cradle the back of your head, making sure it didn’t hit the wall as he pushed against you. 
It was messy and hurried, and for once, it felt as if he felt the same you were feeling. As if he too wanted this, needed this more than air itself, and that thought alone made your mind stop functioning. 
Your hands moved from his neck to his chest, fingers clutching onto the satin fabric of his suit, wrinkling the fabric as your noses bumped against each other, sheer desperation showing from the two of you. 
“Viscount Gojo?” 
The two of you almost jumped at the knock that sounded from the door. 
“Your mother is asking where you are. She’s worried about the lady as well,” Fred didn’t peek his head in, and for that you were grateful. You were sure you looked like a total mess at the moment, but Satoru spoke, glancing at the door as he took a deep breath, almost as if it was his first time breathing in a couple of minutes. 
“Tell her that we’re working things out. It’ll take a bit more time.” His voice sounded steady enough, but from where you were standing you could see how swollen his lips were, the fact that they were red and glistening with sweat. His hand on your waist tightened as if he didn’t want to let you go, and your hand lay flat against his chest.
“Of course,” Fred answered, “Take your time.” He shut the door completely, and the two of you waited until you heard his footsteps becoming softer and softer until you could no longer hear them. 
You waited, looking in the direction for another second before you looked up at him only to see his eyes gauging yours for a reaction, somehow a storm going on behind them as he battled twenty different emotions. 
“I’m still hurt Satoru,” you whisper, his eyes never changing but his shoulders tense a bit as you drop your hands away from him, as if you were suddenly coming to your senses and realizing what you had just done, “I can't forgive you this easily.”
You don’t know how to handle your feelings sometimes, and sometimes they catch up to you later than they should. You could still hear his words from that night ringing around your mind and nothing was stopping it no matter how hard you tried. 
“Come get the letter when you’re ready to apologize with more than just your lips.” 
You look back up at him one more time before you push away, feeling him lightly move away from you to give you space as you smooth out the front of your dress, touching your face to make sure that none of the makeup and powder that was swiped against your face wasn’t wrecked as you left. 
You don’t look back as you left him silently in his room, shutting the door behind you as you stopped, taking a deep breath to calm your nerves as you went back down to dinner. 
---
A week passed since your night with Satoru, and you’ve come to terms with the fact that he regrets it. 
It hurts, it hurts even more when you convince yourself that he probably was trying to take pity on you and test how true his old words were, but you couldn’t spiral, knowing that it would cause even more turmoil. 
Lily came by regardless, under the impression that you and her brother made up and are on better terms, and you're in no rush to tell her the truth of what happened. 
She asked about the note, but you insisted that you couldn’t find it. She grumbled that he probably threw it away after she pestered him constantly about it. 
“What about Lord Balfour?” She was sprawled out on your bed, her legs crossed resting it up against the wall with her head at the opposite end, looking on a piece of parchment in which she had gone around asking for men looking for marriage (and a true romantic connection, she stressed). 
“Hm, too bald,” you said, sitting in your vanity, washing off the rest of the powder on your face as you dipped the soft cotton cloth back into the pitcher of water as you looked at her through the mirror, “Isn’t he a year younger than us?”
She pouted as she thought, looking back to her list as she crossed off that name. 
“Count Alexei?” She seemed to like this one and you set your towel down, trying to place a face to the name. 
“Isn’t he from Russia? Wouldn’t it be difficult for him to come back and forth?”  You asked and she nodded, although she seemed more sad that you didn’t want him. 
“Have you just gone around the ton asking if anybody’s looking for marriage?” You teased and she turned around, sitting up as she wiped the hair out of her face. 
“I take your journey to find true love very serious,” she argued and you snorted, knowing that it was a kid if that and the fact that she liked judging the men of the higher class, “Are you complaining?”
“No, of course not.” You turn around from your chair as you face her, urging her to continue. 
“Duke Cambell?” She looked up from the list with a raised brow, only to find you looking the same, taking more time to consider the name. 
“He explicitly stated he’d consider marriage? With me?” You tilt your head to the side. Surely it would be too good to be true. He wasn’t too pretty, nobody was like Satoru, but he wasn’t that bad to look at either. 
“He seemed quite eager about it, actually.” She said, and you smiled a bit, feeling like a silly schoolgirl with the way you ducked your head. 
“He’s a bit shy, isn’t he?” You said with a little giggle and she snorted, nodding as she circled his name and put a question mark next to it. 
“Just means he’s more apt to moan louder,” she said blandly and your mouth dropped, burrowing your face in your hands at her very open nature. Even after ten years it sometimes caught you off guard. 
“Lily!” You shouted, trying to hold in your laugh, and she just looked at you as if you should have expected this as she rose from your bed, stretching her arms above her head as she let out a frantic yawn. 
The sun had already set and she knew her mother would be expecting her to arrive soon, and you went to stand but stopped you. 
“No need to stand, I’ll bid farewell from here.” 
You rolled your eyes at her dramatics, picking up the cloth again as you dabbed at your cheeks. 
“I assume you’ll be here tomorrow?” Crossing your legs as she shrugged as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. 
“Yes. In fact, I’ll leave this prized list with you so that you can mull it over,” she walked over a bit and set it down on the top of your vanity, looking at you as she put a solemn hand on your shoulder, “Do think over Count Alexis. He is rather dreamy.” 
You chuckled, waving goodbye to her as she left the door with a litter thud, blowing kisses as you snorted at her exaggerated act, turning back around to your mirror as you wiped away the remaining bits of your makeup. 
You were already in your dressing gown, the material soft and light on your skin as you set the cloth back down, drying your face off with another one as you got ready to sleep. 
With meticulous care you took your earrings off and began to work on your necklace but struggled with the finicky clasp, your thumb slipping just as you were about to get it. You let out a quick groan of frustration, shutting your eyes as you tried not to lose your temper over a necklace.
“Do you need help with that?” 
You were getting better at controlling your reactions, but your eyes snapped over to the top of your mirror as he stood there, shutting the door behind him. Your hands fell to your lap as you silently seethed. 
Ella was never going to hear the end of it. 
You said nothing and he quietly walked over to where you sat with your back to him, opting to look at him through your mirror as his slender fingers slowly came up to your neck. 
“I’m getting rid of my maid.” You mutter eyes dropped to your lap as you try to control your breath as his fingertips touch your delicate skin, gingerly getting to work of undoing the clasp. He didn’t say anything and the only sound that filled the room was your slow little puffs of air, trying to get your pulse to stop from doing the strange rhythmic beating it always did when you were around him, as if he somehow became the conductor of your heart. 
You heard a small click and the necklace became undone, and he gathered it in his palm as he set it down next to your little trinkets, dropping his hands from your shoulder as his cerulean eyes found yours once again, and you looked away, his deep stare burning through yours. 
“Don’t,” his voice came out rough as if he hadn’t made much use of it for a while, “She’s always turned me away when I came asking for you. I weasled my way through her right now, almost blew my cover when Lily was leaving.” 
Oh.
“I’m over it.” No, you weren’t, but you wouldn’t admit that out loud.
You opened up the drawer to the left of you, moving some little cases of jewelry around as you found the letter you had hidden away as you brought it out, setting it on the desk as you stood from your chair, pushing it back in as you faced him, “Take it. I didn’t read it.” Despite how much you wanted to, you just couldn’t bring yourself to stoop that low and read through something he didn’t want you to see. 
He glanced over at the letter and then at you, taking the letter with careful movements as he found the letter opener scattered on your desk, ripping through the wax as he opened it up, passing the envelope back to you. 
“Read it.” 
You certainly weren’t expecting that. 
“What?” You couldn’t blink, looking at his outstretched hand that held the very thing that had been bothering you as if it was nothing, “I don’t-” 
“Go on,” he urged quietly, his voice caught in the back of his throat, “Read it out loud. Please.” 
You looked at him once more to make sure he wasn’t going crazy before you gently took it from his hands, your fingers brushing past each other as you opened it up, taking out the letter as you unfolded it, taking a deep breath as you prepared yourself for the worst. 
“I’m terrible at writing letters, you should know,” you start, squinting as you move closer to your candle so that you can read it better, “And you should know that I’ve written this twenty other times. I have-
“Twenty balled-up pieces of paper next to me,” Satoru finished the sentence, not looking at the letter once as he read it from memory, “If only you could see the mess,” he paused, his hands shaking a bit as he continued, “I apologize for not sending as many letters to you as I should, but aside from my travels which have proven to do nothing other than make me regret leaving, I only have one other thing left to tell you. 
“I love you. I’m in love with you. I thought that it would do me some good to leave and get some time to think about how bad it would be if I said out loud that I was in love with the girl who’s my sister's best friend, but I’ve simply gone mad over needing to see you again. I’m in Paris, which is coincidentally the city of love but I’ve grown bitter and resentful over the fact that the woman I love is an ocean away from me. I can’t do it anymore. No, scratch that, no, I can’t do this other letter…” 
“...It’s too pathetic. You’re worth more than this.” You concluded, reading along because you couldn’t be yourself to look up at him, knowing that you simply would break apart and couldn’t take it as you heard the three words you’ve wanted to hear from the man that you never thought would say them. 
You looked at the paper, eyes scanning each word again as you let out a heavy sigh, feeling like you were living in a dream that was wrapping its arms slowly around you and whisking you away. 
“That night, I projected. I don’t know why I said what I said, I just know that thinking it over told me everything I needed to know and I acted like a coward and a fool and I hurt you when really, I love you. I love you, I’ve never stopped. I burn for you, and I always will.” He whispered, his eyes wet with unshed tears as he cleared his throat, wiping at his nose as he sniffled. 
You’ve never seen him like this, exposed and raw. But you knew that you mirrored his emotions, knew that you were in the same state that he was for he carefully brought his hand up to your cheek, wiping a tear away as he cupped your face in his hands. 
“I know that it would be too much to ask for your forgiveness, but please, I don’t know how much longer I can go without at least seeing your face, hearing your voice, your laugh, you’re kind, kind heart.” His hands trailed down your face, down your arms, and your waist, settling on your hips as he ducked his head downward, tears sliding down the curve of his nose as he did something unexpected. 
The Viscount Gojo Satoru began to kneel. 
You froze, looking down in shock as he bowed his head in shame and apology. 
“‘Toru, please, I,” your voice broke and you quickly wiped your tears away, taking his hands that were sprawled out across your waist as you held them, not knowing how to handle this display of vulnerability as you gently made him look up at you, “Just tell me one thing.” 
His thumb caressed the back of your hand, giving a soft nod as he whispered; “anything,” and his hand moved up your waist, holding your back as your hands unknowingly went to his hair, moving it away from his face as your fingers twirled and played with his white strands, basking in the sense of having him at his knees for you. 
“Why did you wait so long to come back?” Your voice is barely audible as it cracks, a year of missing him and ten years of longing for him coming out as he shakes his head, almost as if he was more remorseful about it than you could ever imagine, and he shifted so that he wasn’t resting on his ankles anymore, digging deep into his pocket as he brought out a little box. 
“I went back to Japan. I was trying to find this little ring my father gave my mother back when he started to pine after her,” he opened up the box, a delicately cut blue diamond rind resting on a thin gold band stared back at you, shining in the candlelight, “I wanted to give it to you as a promise…” and he trailed off, a blush spreading across his cheeks as he suddenly became a bit embarrassed, pocketing the box again as he looked back up at you. 
“What was the promise?” You can barely hear your words over the thumping of your heart. 
He swallows, slowly coming to standing back up, never losing his hold on you, clutching onto your thin nightgown as if it was the only thing grounding him to reality. 
“That I’d marry you one day.” He whispered back, his voice hushed as if he didn’t want them to escape the vicinity of your room, this shared space between the two of you in which you stripped each other bare to the soul, only the find that they longed to be in each other's place even when they were miles apart. 
Just as he did so many nights ago, he leaned closer to you, giving you time and space to push him away, to yell, to scream, but you didn’t, nudging his nose with yours as your lips found each other, this time quick and rough and not wanting to be patient because there was no room for such a thing. 
He let out a small groan as you tugged on the hairs at the back of his nape, pushing you further down until your back hit one of your windows, feeling the cool night air from the glass as it traveled through the thin cotton of your slip
It seemed like something in him was finally let go, and you as well, and everything came tumbling down in the best way possible. 
It was so messy and rushed and desperate that you felt like you were going to faint, the air from your lungs being stolen by his hungry and greedy lips as he pushed back roughly against you, needing to taste you, feel you, or else he simply wouldn’t make it. 
Satoru tapped the back of your thighs, urging you to wrap your legs around his torso as you pulled away slightly, questioning him as he scoffed at your doubt. 
“I spent a year getting bigger and stronger for you,” he murmurs against your lips, “and the first thing you said when you saw me was oh. Come on,” he nipped at your lips, his boyish and charming smile growing when you whimpered, “Test me out.” 
You gave in, standing on your toes as you did what he asked, and you let out a little laugh of surprise at how he wasted no time wrapping his arms tightly around your waist as he smirked, going away from the ball as he led you to your bed, basking in the sound of your twinkling laughter as you admired him in all his glory. 
“I shouldn’t have doubted you,” you tease and he snorts, fixing your gown as he hovers above you. He was huge, so much bigger than you anticipated in your imagination, but it was so much better than you ever could have thought. 
“I’d never lie to you,” he promised, pressing another chaste kiss to your lips that left you breathless as he continued downwards, pressing kisses down your jaw, and your neck, spending time as he sucked at one of your vital points, enjoying the way you sounded like you had run a marathon. 
He looks stunning here; his lips look bruised and swollen, pink and wet with spit. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of your body, and if you weren’t crazy about how he looked at you, you would’ve shielded yourself away in embarrassment. 
But he didn’t give you any time to think it over, pushing past your loose nightgown as he pressed delicate pecks to your shoulders and upper chest region, looking up at you to make sure it was okay to continue. 
You quickly nodded, eager to see what he was going to do. 
“Mind if I take this off?” He asks, tugging at the ends of it as you look at him from beneath your lashes, trying to feel indifferent as you shrug, but the way you smile giddily gives away just how badly you want him to. 
“I wouldn’t mind.” You help him move it upwards, your arms coming out from the sleeves as the chilly air hits your naked skin, and you suddenly realize just how out in the open you are compared to him. 
Out of second nature, you go to cover your chest but he tsks, gently pushing your hands away as he eyes your breasts, looking like he had just come back from staring at the sistine chapel with the way he looks at you. 
Your nipples harden from how cold it was, and he slowly dips his head down to one of your tits, kissing the soft and supple skin as he inches closer to your bud, finally latching his mouth onto it as you throw your head back, arching your back into his lips as he sucks like his life depends on it. 
“S-shit, ‘Toru, so good,” you mewl, wrapping your hands around his neck as he flattens his tongue against your nipple, his teeth grazing the sensitive area as you whine even louder, not seeming to care if anybody outside your door could hear. 
His other hand lathes onto your other one, not wanting to leave her unattended as he pinches your nipple between his two fingers, twisting it just enough to make you shut your eyes at how good the attention feels. 
“Let me hear you,” he groans into your skin, looking up at you as you try to cover up your mouth with your hand, “I’ll stop if you cover up that pretty mouth of yours.” 
You simply nod, leaving your shaky hand to grip your bed sheets as he switches his mouth and hand with each other, giving you different sensations to wrap your hands around as you feel a deep part of your pulse, needing more of him. 
“‘Toru, please,” your voice comes out shaky as he releases your tit with a pop, his hands going down to hold onto your hips as you bring his chin up for another kiss of swapping spit with him, growing to appreciate the lewdness of it all as you lay feather light kisses on his jawline, feeling him shudder beneath you, “Wan’ more.” 
At any other time, he would have drawn this out, would have teased and prodded at you to use your words, to tell him where you needed him most, but he couldn’t wait with you, wanting to have a taste of you himself. 
So his wolfish grin comes back, his hand traveling down your stomach, stopping just above your mound as he cocks a brow at the way you seem to grow impatient, reaching the place you seemed to have in mind. 
“Here?” He asked quietly, his pointer finger moving to find your clit as you let out a quiet gasp, his expert fingers having nothing on your inexperienced ones. Sure you’ve touched yourself deep into the night when you made sure everybody was asleep, but it never felt like this. 
You couldn’t speak, so you nodded again, and that seemed to be good enough for Satoru as his finger moved down to your lips, a deep groan coming from within his chest as he felt how wet you were, and prodded his finger at your tight walls, slowly pushing past them as he seemed to be in a trance. 
You sucked him in so delightfully, pulsing against his as your slick stained his finger, making it easier for him to fuck you with a little bit more pace, careful not to hurt you, as he brought it back up to circle at your clit, trying to find what places you liked to be teased most. 
“O-oh my god,” your eyes rolled back in your head as his long find pushed back against your gummy walls, his other thumb finding your nub as you whined even louder, not used to feeling this good, spreading your legs out even further as you tried to make room for him. 
“There you go, s’perfect,” he said against your skin, dipping down as he moved a hand to keep your thighs further apart, “Mind if I have a taste?” And you were in another dimension, just cradling his neck as you pushed him to go further. 
He chuckled darkly, nearly going insane as he neared your glistening pussy, eyes growing dark as he moved his fingers away so that his tongue could have its turn, and you swore you almost came right there. 
He licked gingerly, savoring you first as he groaned, his thumb never giving up on circling and massaging your clit, but he began to eat you out as his life depended on it, licking and sucking like you were his last meal. 
“‘Toru, ‘Toru, fuck!” You screamed, biting your lip harshly as you kept your finger tight around his hair, “Don’t stop, please!” 
“F-fuck,” he murmured, coming up for a quick breath as he looked at you from his long white lashes, “Fucking kill me if I ever stop, okay?” 
He goes back in with the same amount of fervor, your chest moving up and down as you arch into his mouth, your jaw going slack as you quickly feel that rope in your stomach tightening, embarrassed at coming so early but knowing that there was no way you could stop yourself with the way he fingered you out at the same time he ate you out. 
“I’m yours,” he said against your skin, “I’ll always be yours.” It was out of place, but it seemed like he was branding it into your skin so that everybody else knew, knew that he belonged solely to you.
It was too much, and you felt like you were slowly losing your ability to think, talk, or do anything, and the only thing you could feel was him, and you felt it all coming to a crescendo as his mouth latched onto your clit, letting it all go as you came into his mouth. 
“‘M c-coming, mmmm fuck!” You couldn’t even believe the sounds you were making as you clenched around his finger, your essence coating his chin and hand as your legs were trembling, glad that he held a stable hand on your waist. 
You saw white for a couple of seconds, taking even longer to catch your breath, your tits rising and falling with each heave, and you suddenly felt like you came back down to earth, peeking out from an eye to see Satoru smiling down at you, his face soft and you whined in shock at what just happened, hiding your face into one of your pillows as he laughed lowly, the sound dripping down your ears like warm honey. 
“You just came around me, no need to be modest now.” He gently moved your face away from the sanctuary of your pillow so that you could look at him again, and he leaned down, pressing one final kiss to your lips, letting you taste yourself on him as you let out a muffled moan. 
“How do you feel?” He asked as he pulled away, sitting on his haunches, letting you drape the blanket around your sweaty chest as you tried to sit up, shaking a bit as you tried to recover from your mind-breaking orgasm. 
“Good,” you say groggily, wiping at your eyes as you give him a lazy, languid smile, “Really good.” 
“Yeah?” He asks, chuckling as you nod, finding his hands as you play with his long fingers, and he lets you watch as you let them entangle with each other, somehow feeling more connected through this than the previous activity as you slowly pull him back down towards you, wanting nothing more than to curl into his chest. 
“Give me a second love,” he wanted the same thing, but he pulled away, “Let me clean you up.” 
You didn’t fight it and let him go, watching as he found the pitcher of water on your desk as he found a clean rag and wet it, coming back to your bed until his eyes caught something under the sheets. 
He picked it up, reading it as he sat down next to you, running the cold towel across your thighs as you let out a little whimper at the temperature. He pressed an apologetic kiss to your forehead as he turned the paper around in silent questioning. 
Your eyes widened, trying to take it away but he held it above your head. If you had more fight in you, you might have wrestled for it, but you gave up, letting him clean you up as he tried not to laugh at how measly it was. 
“I doubt Cambell would know how to make you come.” He finally says, throwing the rag away somewhere as you groan, pushing his face slowly away as you try to fight the giddy laugh that was going to bubble its way from your chest. 
“Stop! Lily was just trying to help!” You argue and he waves his hands, loosening the buttons of his tunic as he crawls in next to you, pulling you flush against him as he kisses the tip of your nose. 
“It’s fine love,” he nestles his nose in your hairline, smiling when you hitch a leg over his, “You’re mine now.” 
You look up at him, tracing over his features with the light touch of your fingertips as he leans into your warmth. 
“Do you promise?” 
He gives a single nod, sliding the delicate ring over your finger, and closes his hand around yours. 
“Promise.” 
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felassan · 2 months ago
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EuroGamer: 'BioWare knew the deepest secrets of Dragon Age lore 20 years ago, and locked it away in an uber-plot doc'
Original creator David Gaider on how "some of the big mysteries are being solved".
Rest of post under a cut due to length and possible spoilers.
"As I write about the secrets hidden in Dragon Age's mysterious Fade, and as I uncover some of them playing Dragon Age: The Veilguard, one question keeps rising up in my mind. How much did BioWare know about future events when first developing the series more than 20 years ago? That's a long time, and back then BioWare didn't know there would be a second game, which is why Dragon Age: Origins has an elaborate and far-reaching epilogue. Why lay so much lore-track ahead of yourself if you don't think you'll ever get there? But look more closely at Origins and there are big clues suggesting BioWare did know about future Dragon Age events. There are obvious signs in the original game, such as establishing recurring themes like Old Gods and the Blight and Archdemons. But there's also Flemeth, Morrigan's witchy mother, who's intimately linked to events in the series now - more specifically: intimately linked to Solas. Does her existence mean Solas was known about back then too? There's only one person I can think of to answer this and it's David Gaider, the original creator of Dragon Age's world and lore. We've talked before, once in a podcast and once for a piece on the magic of fantasy maps, where we discussed the creation of Dragon Age's world. And much to my surprise, when I ask him what he and the BioWare team knew back then, he says they knew it all. "By the time we released Dragon Age: Origins, we were basically sure that it was one and done, but there was, back when we made the world, an overarching plan," he says. "The way I created the world was to seed plots in various parts of the world that could be part of a game, a single game, and then there was the overall uber-plot, which I didn't know for certain that we would ever get to but I had an understanding of how it all worked together. "A lot of that was in my head until we were starting Inquisition and the writers got a little bit impatient with my memory or lack thereof, so they pinned me down and dragged the uber-plot out of me. I'd talked about it, I'd hinted at it, but never really spelled out how it all connected, so they dragged it out of me, we put it into a master lore doc, the secret lore, which we had to hide from most of the team.""
"This uber-plot document was only viewable on a need-to-know basis, he says, and only around 20 people on the team had access to it - other senior writers mostly. And even though Gaider left the Dragon Age team after Inquisition, and then eight years ago BioWare altogether, meaning he didn't work on The Veilguard at all, he believes - by looking at the events in the new game - his uber-plot lore "has more or less held up". That's impressive. What's even more impressive, or exciting, is that back then he also envisaged a potential end state for the entire Dragon Age series - a point at which it would make no sense for the series to carry on. "I always had this dream of where it would all end, the very last plot," he says, "which I won't say because who knows, we could still end up there. But the idea that this uber-plot was this sort of biggest, finite... That the final thing you could do in this world that would break it was there as a 'maybe we would get to do that one day'... There was just the idea of certain big, world-shaking things that were seeded in that arc, some of which have already come to pass, like the return of Fen'Harel." You've read that correctly: the idea to have Fen'Harel, also known as the Dread Wolf, reappear, was seeded all the way back then, way before Inquisition - the game in which he does actually reappear. But the concept for Solas, as a character who was Fen'Harel in disguise, was a newer idea. "That spawned from a conversation I had with Patrick [Weekes] and a number of other writers," Gaider says, "as an idea of 'what if you had a villain that spent an entire game where he's actually in the party and you get to know him?' Now, the god version and his larger role in the plot, yes that was known, but not that he would be presented as a character named Solas." Fen'Harel being known about means the other elven gods were known about, which means all of that stuff Solas reveals about his godly siblings - that they're not gods at all but evil elven mages he locked away behind the Veil - was known about back then too. "Oh yeah," Gaider says. "Everything that Solas tells you [at the end of Inquisition DLC, Trespasser]: it's all part of that original uber-lore - that was all in our mind." But why have so much lore if you're not certain you'll get to ever realise it? Well, to create a believable illusion. By creating an "excess" of lore, as Gaider describes it, Origins made Thedas feel like an old and believable place. A place with history, rather than a Western set that was all facade and no substance."
"BioWare also did something canny with the lore it did relay then, too: it shared it through the voices of characters living in the world, making it inherently fallible. In doing this, Dragon Age veiled its truths behind biases. The church-like organisation of the Chantry proclaims one truth, while the elves and dwarves proclaim another. Sidenote: you can experience this yourself through different racial origin stories in Dragon Age: Origins. This way, there's no one, objective, irrefutable, truth. "To get the truth, you kind of have to pick between the lines," Gaider says. So even though elven legends are coming true through the existence of Solas and The Veilguard's antagonist gods, it doesn't mean that's the one and only truth. There's truth in what the Chantry teaches and what the dwarves say, he tells me, which ignites my curiosity intensely. BioWare has also been tricksy in how it's rubbed out the lore the further back in time you go. "In general, the further the history goes back, we always would purposefully obfuscate it more and more," Gaider says - "make it more biased and more untrue no matter who was talking, just so that the absolute truth was rarely knowable. I like that idea from a world standpoint, that the player always has to wonder and bring their own beliefs to it." It leads into a founding principle of Dragon Age, which is doubt - because without it, you can't have faith, a particularly important concept in the series. It's where the whole idea of the Chantry's Maker comes from and with it, the legend about the fabled Golden City - now the Black City - at the heart of the Fade. This is the very centre of the lore web, and, I imagine, it's close to the series endpoint Gaider imagined long ago. All secrets end there. Did Gaider know what was in the Black City when he laid down Origins' lore? That's the question - and it startles me how casually he answers this. "Oh, yeah," he says. "What was in the Black City: that's the uber-plot. I knew exactly. "Was it as detailed in the first draft of the world?" he goes on. "No. I had an idea of the early history because that's where I started making the world. So the things that were true early-early: I knew exactly what the Black City was and the idea of what the elves believed, and what humans believed vis-a-vis the Chantry - that was all settled on really early. Then I expanded the world and the uber-plot bubbled out of that.""
"Gaider shows me the original cosmology design document for Dragon Age: Origins as if to prove this - or rather for the game that would become DAO. The world was known as Peldea back then. I can't share this with you because I see it via a shared screen on a video call, and because Gaider doesn't want me to, mostly because the ideas are so old they're almost unrecognisable from what's in the series now. But I can tell you it's a document that's just over a page in length, and that there's a circular diagram at the top showing the world in the middle and the spirit realm ringed around it. And on that document is reference to the Chantry's beliefs about a God located in a citadel that can be found there. Gaider says BioWare knew about Fen'Harel (the Dread Wolf) 20 years ago when it was developing Dragon Age: Origins, and that he'd one day reappear. The Fade wasn't known as the Fade back then, either, but as the Dreaming, because it's the place people go when they dream - an idea that lives on still. And if that sounds familiar to any fans of The Sandman among you, it should. "I'd say The Sandman series was probably fairly prominently in my head," says Gaider. "I liked that amorphous geography that was born from the psyche of collective humanity. I'd say yes, if I was to point at something specifically, that's probably where the very first inspiration of it took root." It's a lot to take in, but it reinforces the admiration I have for Dragon Age. Just as I have when hearing about the creation of my other favourite fantasy worlds, such as A Song of Ice and Fire, I begin to understand the magnitude - and the deliberateness - of the plotting that went on. I wonder if one day the Dragon Age series will end in the way Gaider first imagined, albeit slightly altered by the many other pairs of hands shepherding it along now. What a curious feeling it must be to know, so many years in advance, where things might go. Where that end is, I don't know, but I do know we'll take a significant step towards it in The Veilguard. After all, we're coming into contact with gods who were there at the recorded beginning of it all. "Yeah - we have access to people who can tell us the truth from first-hand experience," Gaider says, "although again, it depends on what the writers did with it. But if they continued the tradition of Dragon Age, you never know for sure if Solas is telling you everything, or what you're learning is the entire truth. "But yes, some of the big mysteries are being solved. I mean, will they one day definitively tell you about the Maker? Will we crack the big mysteries of the world and just make them answered finally? And does that ruin one of the central precepts that Dragon Age is founded upon? Maybe," he says. "Ultimately, that lore, when you make it big and you hint at it and hint at it and hint at it, it becomes a Chekhov's Gun of sorts. Eventually you got to pony up.""
[source]
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suhkusa · 7 months ago
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TO THE TOP.
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PAIRING. Sakusa Kiyoomi x f!Reader
SUMMARY. Sakusa Kiyoomi was ranked #1 in his class. Was, at least until you came along. After this revelation, he makes it a (personal) challenge to overtake you. Sakusa Kiyoomi is a genius at everything he does, but for once he finds it a challenge when it comes to you.
CW. hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, rivals to lovers except kiyoomi is the only one competing, idiots in love (but theyre actually geniuses), high school setting, ~3k words
A/N. Got inspired from a tiktok and came up with this word vom hope u enjoy
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Everything came easy for Kiyoomi. Academically, at least.
While all his classmates found themselves struggling to take tests or study, it was as natural as breathing for Kiyoomi. There were some cons to being as incredibly intelligent as him, but he found himself drowning in the gratification of being #1. 
At least until the 2nd semester of his third year. At least until you.
———
Class Rank: 2
Sakusa finds himself staring at the transcript in his hand, as if his ogling would have an effect in changing the number presented before him.
His eyes scan through his class history, looking for any clues as to how he might’ve dropped in ranking. But there was nothing. All A’s, and as many extra classes stuffed into each year as possible. 
Kiyoomi’s home room was rowdy as students caught up with one another, as winter break had just ended. While in his own little world, his ears catch onto a couple of words his classmates threw around.
“I heard Sakusa isn’t the top in our class anymore, is that true?”
“Woah, hasn’t he been the top of our class since the 1st year? I wonder who was able to catch up,”
His eye twitched a bit at that one.
“It was that new girl, Y/N,”
The paper crumbled slightly under his grasp. Y/N?
The ring of the bell, signifying the start of class, caused him to slightly jump in his seat. Kiyoomi crumbles his transcript before tossing it in his bag, it’s going to change soon anyways.
He would just have to step up his game.
———
It was ironic really. The world really loved to test Sakusa Kiyoomi, and not only at his school subjects. Of course, you were his desk partner in his math class. Only he had the amazing luck of being seated next to his new self-declared rival.
Kiyoomi knows it’s rude to stare, but he can’t himself because you’re the number one student? You?!
Honestly, you don’t seem like the academic type. You seem too pretty to be caring about stuff like that. At first, he considers the fact that you could be using your looks to get people to do the dirty work for you. But he witnesses first-hand as you write down every math equation, answer every question correctly, and even check your work not once, but twice.
His hyperfixation on you is bad. So bad, he missed the whole introduction lesson and is trying to rapidly copy down what’s on the whiteboard as the teacher is erasing it. Fuck-
“Would you like to see my notes?”
Kiyoomi’s pencil comes to a halt as he looks back at you, your papers are being pushed towards him on the desk. He watches as your eyes widen, as if you suddenly became self conscious. 
“I-Is there something on my face? You were staring at me so I wasn’t sure…”
Shit. 
“No,” he tries to make up something, but what comes out of his mouth is stupid, “I was just looking past you,” it appears it’s sufficient though, as you nod in response.
“I see, well, did you want to see them?” you gestured to the notes between the two of you.
Kiyoomi tells himself that if you hadn’t offered, he wouldn’t have asked. But since you oh so kindly offered them up, who was he to say no? He doesn’t need them. He could always ask his cousin, though his handwriting resembles chicken scratch more than human writing.
“Sure,” he takes the papers and positions them in a way where he could just look between them and his own.
In his head, Kiyoomi is scolding himself over and over again for not paying attention. This cannot be a regular thing. If he was going to take back his rank, he needed to be on his A-Game. 
His pencil slaps against his desk as he finishes, quickly sliding your papers back towards you.
“Thanks,” Kiyoomi offers.
He watches from his peripheral vision as you smile and give back an “Anytime,” before gathering your things and getting up to go to your next class.
Kiyoomi doesn’t know what it was about you, but he could tell he was going to need to up his game. This was war.
———
By the second week of sitting by you, he decides you’re annoying. More annoying than the people who talk while the teacher is talking. Which, in his book, is hard to beat.
Maybe you weren’t as smart as he pinned you to be, since you kept helping Kiyoomi with his work when he did not need it. 
Though, you were only able to backseat his work because you somehow finished before him. He’s used to being the only one who sits back and relaxes as the rest of his class struggles to complete the practice problems. 
It’s weird though. Because as much as Sakusa hates your yapping, he doesn’t find himself putting an end to it. Instead your voice plays in the background as he completes his work.
He hates it, or at least that’s what he tells himself, the way you praise him like a little kid when he finally completes the work sheet. 
“Nice job!” you smile at him, “but, how come you don’t check your work to make sure you’re right?”
“Because I’m always right,” he replies with a slight roll of his eyes.
You laugh at that, I’m not joking, he thinks.
“You’re funny, you know that?” you tell him. 
Kiyoomi gives you a shrug, “Whatever,”
———
A month in, he begins to indulge in your shenanigans. But only because he had felt bad.
During the third week of sitting by each other, you had taken his short and dry responses personally. You halted your chatter and no longer offered to help like you usually did. The way the classroom felt quiet without your talking was eerie, so Sakusa reluctantly decided that he’d rather hear your voice instead of nothing at all. 
So a month in is when your friendship, or whatever you called it, began with him.
“Why do you use erasable pens? Just use a pencil,” he questions you, eyes peering down at your pen.
You look taken aback as you respond, “I don’t know, is there something wrong with it?” you examine your pen, “I just found it on the floor and stuck with it,”
First of all, gross, remind him not to touch you or your belongings ever. “It’s just a hassle, sometimes it doesn’t erase,”
“Well, it hasn’t given me any problems, so!” you exclaim as you get back to write on your practice quiz. “This is kind of challenging, huh?”
“Nah,” he lies, “You’re just stupid,”
You laugh in his face, “Rude,” Kiyoomi watches as you glimpse at his paper before going back to yours, “That’s why you got the first problem wrong and I didn’t say anything,” 
Sakusa can feel his eyebrows scrunch up, he’s quick as he glances at it and then yours. Fuck. He’s mumbling something under his breath and he begrudgingly erases the circle around his answer. 
“Told ya,” you smile before moving onto the last problem, “you know, we should hangout or something,”
“No,” he’s quick to cut you off, catching you by surprise.
“Whaaat, it doesn’t have to be like that, weirdo,” it seems like you’re going back on what you meant, “Like to study,”
“Still, no,”
“C’mon, don’t knock it till you try it,” you nudge at him, and to be honest, if you were anyone else he might’ve punched you, “please, just once,”
You’re annoying and pushy. But he supposes that if saying yes to you would get you to leave him alone, he’d say, “Fine, whatever, it has to be my house, though. Your house is probably messy,”
Kiyoomi watches as your face slowly brightens before silently celebrating to yourself as you get your way with him once again.
———
“Wow,” you’re amazed as you walk through Sakusa’s house, “your house is so nice, do you have a maid to keep it clean or something?”
“No, just me,” he says before leading you into his room, “please don’t make a mess,”
“I won’t, I won’t,” you say before settling down on his rug, playing with the soft threads, “Okay, I was hoping to review the practice quiz, I know the teacher said I got it right but I feel like there were some parts that had me second guessing myself,”
You’re quick to open up your textbook and blab about whatever problem you were having trouble with. You actually came over to study. Kiyoomi was under the impression that once you got over to his house you’d make him do whatever silly shit you usually have in mind. But no, you actually respected his wishes. Which in turn, earned you some respect from him as well.
“So you’re number one, huh?” He asks, looking up from his textbook to meet your eyes.
“Yeah, but it’s surprising that all my credits from my old school carried over,” you mindlessly say as you continue to write on your sheet of paper.
The sound of the pencils scribbling on paper fills the room before you interrupt it, “You were rank one before I came, right?”
His pencil stills, “Mhm,” It was a touchy subject, though he never thought he’d hear it from you.
“I’m sorry,” you surprised him, “When I found out I took your ranking spot, I was nervous because people are serious about that stuff. And then, when I got seated by you and you stared me down, I thought you hated my guts,”
Well, you had it down to the T, but he wouldn’t tell you that. 
“You don’t have to apologize, it’s out of your control,” you smile at his words.
“Thank you,”
It’s then, in his room, when he realizes he’s losing sight of his goal. To overtake your position. As he watched you look back down at your textbook, he found himself locking in as well. 
He needed to get serious, now.
———
These hangouts, or study dates, or study hangouts, whatever, became basically practice. Always at his house, though. Since he couldn’t fathom the idea of how dirty your room might be. 
“I don’t know how you balance volleyball and school, Omi,” you say from your position lying on his floor.
“Don’t call me that,”
You laugh before continuing, “All I do is school and I’m always exhausted. I had to quit my shifts at the cafe down the road because I would fall asleep before making it to my room,”
“Dangerous, Y/N,” he says, frantically writing down practice problem after practice problem. 
Picking yourself off the ground, “Wow, you’re serious about this final, huh, Omi,”
He glares at you, causing you to laugh again, “Sorry, sorry,” your eyes meet his for a brief second before he looks back at his paper, “but you know it’s okay to take a break, right, that’s all you’ve been doing. We haven’t even gotten to try to compete for today’s Wordle yet,”
“Mhm,” is all he offers you.
You sigh in response to that, “Boring, so boring,” you say as you lay back down
“You can go home if you’re bored,”
“Ugh, rude,” you roll around to make yourself comfortable, “I would but sadly I like being in your presence,”
“Whatever you say,”
“Do you like being in mine?” you question, causing Sakusa to hesitate on the problem he was on.
“You’re tolerable,”
You find yourself cheesing, “That’s a yes in my book,”
———
Finals are coming up. There’s so much on your mind, that you finally decide to let one of the thoughts that have been driving you crazy go. The fact that you like Sakusa Kiyoomi. 
It’s nerve wracking. Not only because you’re basically confessing your feelings, but also because he’s your only friend you’ve made since being here. A lot of people think he’s rude and condescending, but to you he’s different. 
He lets you talk your head off about whatever your brain decides fits best. And while he gives you short responses, they show you that he’s listening and observant. He’s on your level regarding academics and can keep up to your train of thought. He just cares.
And while you hope he might feel the same despite only knowing you for the past couple of months, you chalk it up to fate as to whether or not your intuition is correct.
As you approach the gymnasium, you slow and quiet your steps as you hear familiar voices by the entrance.
“You’ve been hanging out with Y/N quite a bit, huh, cous’? Your mom told mines,” you assume is Komori based on his words.
“Yes. It’s not like that, though,” you recognize as Sakusa. 
You assume he might be fronting since it is his cousin, and feelings are embarrassing at times.
“C’mon, you can’t tell me you don’t like her, she’s like one of the prettiest girls in class and she’s smart. So like, your type,” Komori pushes. And while part of you likes that he said that, you soon take it back after Kiyoomi’s words.
“I don’t like her. I only put up with her because she’s so pushy and always hovers over me while I try to do my work. Plus, she took my ranking spot,”
The world feels silent for a second, the only sound audible to you is the sound of your heart slowly breaking.
“She’s just a nuance, honestly,”
Your feet are moving before you realize. Slowly backing away before running the opposite direction.
He doesn’t like you? You were right that he hates you because you’re number one? He let you into his house but only because you pushed him? Your thoughts are running faster than your own legs, you don’t even realize the drips of water slowly running down your cheeks. 
If number one was what he wanted, then you were going to give it to him.
———
Kiyoomi finds it weird. Finds you weird. Well, he’s always found you weird, but particularly as of recent. But only because you’re quiet. And have been for the past couple of days. 
At first, he assumes it’s because the finals had finally arrived and you wanted to focus on your work. Which, respect, because it also allowed him to focus on his own. 
But even after the finals had passed, you were still quiet. You opted for doodling in your notebook instead of talking to him about a new video game you’ve hyper fixated on or this new show you started to watch. 
It’s even weirder when the teacher is going around passing out the graded math finals, that he stops by your desk, letting out a whispered, “I’m disappointed in you, Y/N,” 
Kiyoomi hears, and it calls his attention towards your paper before even his own. His eyes widened.
A big, fat, red 0 marked at the top of your quiz.
“Y/N-”
“Are you happy now, Number 1?” you ask, still looking down at your paper.
He’s about to ask you what the hell you’re talking about before the bells conveniently cut him off, allowing you to take off without a second glance back at him.
His mind is caught up on your words, Number 1. Kiyoomi has never brought up his disdain regarding the rankings to you, ever. Yes, it bothered him at first. But eventually he didn’t mind it, since the only person he’d ever allow to be above him is you. 
Kiyoomi thinks back on any time he’s ever mentioned it before he remembers the one time he had ever verbally brought it up to anyone. But there was no way… unless.
Fuck, Sakusa thinks as the bright red 100 on his paper stares back at him. It mocked him, poking at his head uncomfortably. Without a second thought, he crumbles the paper before stuffing it into his bag. Kiyoomi had finally gotten back what he’s been working for this whole time, so why does he feel empty?
Kiyoomi realizes then that while you may have lost your Rank 1 position, he was the true loser. Because he didn’t have you.
———
He finds himself at your door before he even knows it. He’s giving an excuse of “she left her notebook,” to your parents as they direct him to where your room is. 
When he finally walks in, he’s shocked. Your room is clean. 
Even as you lay in your bed so peacefully, the space around you is clean, and he feels like it’s safe to walk in. 
“Y/N,” is his first attempt at waking you up, before he’s walking closer to your bed, crouching down a bit to pat your back, “Y/N,” again.
It’s by the fourth or fifth time that he calls your name that you finally look up at him, and you look heavenly.
He’s always known you were pretty, but even more so now you were gorgeous, hair messy, eyes droopy with sleepiness. You were perfect.
Your eyes blink a couple times before you look like you’ve processed who is standing before you. Quickly sitting up, hands moving every which way to fix your appearance, “Omi- I mean Sakusa what are- what do you want?”
Ouch.
“You need to leave, I-I don’t want to see you,” your voice is beginning to tremble and it hurts him, “You finally got what you wanted, I don’t know what more you want,”
“You, I want you,”
Your face drops in disbelief, “No, you don’t. I heard you, what you said,”
“Y/N-”
“No, you hurt me, Kiyoomi. I like you,” you cry, “You can’t just say all of that and then show up out of nowhere claiming otherwise,”
“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he’s kneeling now, allowing him to be the same height as you as you sit in your bed, weeping, “I-I’m sorry,”
His rough thumb smoothes away your tears as they fall, “I didn’t mean it, I was frustrated- and that’s no excuse for what I said, I fucked up really bad,” with every word another sob breaks loose from you, “And I’m sorry,”
“At first, all I ever wanted was to be rank #1, but then you came along and changed everything… Then I realized that it wasn’t being #1 I wanted, it was you,” he continues, “and that’s scary, because my ranking was all I’ve known all these years,”
“But even so, you made it okay. I was okay with being #2, I was so caught up in you that I forgot I ever wanted to be #1 in the first place,” your eyes finally meet behind the thick tears in your lashes, “I like you, Y/N,”
He can tell you’re at a loss for words. And for once he can finally say he has out-talked you. 
Until finally, you decide words aren’t sufficient in this situation. Before he knows it, you’re leaning forward, and your lips are on his. The kiss is short, but definitely more than a peck. But it felt infinite to Kiyoomi. He never wanted the moment to end, and found himself sad as you finally pulled away.
You stared him down for a brief second before tackling him down to the ground in a big hug, “I hate you, Omi,” you laugh angrily.
“Sure,” he smugly replies, watching as you smile into his shirt.
“My number one,” you sarcastically mutter as you fake pout at him.
He cringes, “Ugh, don’t. I feel guilty, why would you even do that? You’re crazy,”
“Because I don’t care about the ranking. I never did. Plus it somehow only dropped me to #2 since the rest of our class failed and I’ve taken too many extra classes,” you say, “I only cared about you,” 
Kiyoomi smiles at you before crushing you in his hug. 
Everything came easy for Kiyoomi. Especially now, his feelings for you.
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© all writings belongs to suhkusa 2024. do not repost or change.
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enderlovez · 1 month ago
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Trivia Night
Spencer Reid x BAU Reader WORD COUNT: 791
Summary: Garcia should've known it was a bad idea to put you and Spencer on opposing teams at trivia night, and now she's stuck with two very competitive people who will stop at nothing to win.
────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────
Garcia should have known better. Really, she should have.
The idea of a BAU trivia night seemed innocent enough—a fun team-bonding activity after a particularly grueling case. Drinks and snacks and a little friendly competition, what could possibly go wrong?
Apparently everything, when she made the critical error of placing you and Spencer on opposing teams.
"Alright, everybody!" Garcia chirps, standing at the front of the room with her clipboard. "Trivia night rules are simple: answer correctly, earn points; answer incorrectly, face public humiliation—kidding, sort of. Now, let's keep it light and friendly, okay?"
Spencer casts you a sly look from across the room, his lips twitching into a smirk. "Light and friendly," he echoes. "Got it."
You meet his gaze with an arched brow. "Sure, as long as you don't cry when you lose, Doctor Reid."
A ripple of laughter goes through the team, but Garcia sighs, already regretting her decision. "Why did I think this was a good idea?" she mutters to herself, scribbling a quick note to never pair you two against each other again.
The first few rounds go smoothly enough. Questions about geography and pop culture and history fly by, each team racking up points. You nd Spencer trade victories, but the air between you grows increasingly charged with every answer.
"You didn't even buzz in for that one!" you accuse after Spencer correctly answers a particularly obscure literature question.
"Because the answer was obvious," he replies smugly, leaning back in his chair.
"Oh, it's on," you mutter, cracking your knuckles dramatically, much to the amusement of the rest of them.
By the time the final round rolls around, the room is split between two factions: Team Spencer and Team You. Everyone else has resigned themselves to the sidelines, content to watch the show. Even Garcia has given up trying to referee, instead leaning against the bar with a drink in hand.
"This question," she announces, "is for the win."
You sit up straighter, your focus narrowing. Across the table, Spencer mirrors your intensity. His sleeves are rolled up, his tie loosened—classic signs of a man in deep competition mode.
"What is the capital of Bhutan?" Garcia asks, her eyes flicking between the two of you.
Your hand slams down on the buzzer half a second before Spencer's. "Thimphu!" you shout triumphantly.
Garcia checks her clipboard, nodding slowly. "Correct."
You throw your hands up in victory, earning cheers from your teammates. Spencer, however, is already leaning forward, his expression incredulous.
"That was a reflex," he argues. "She didn't even think about it."
You smirk, holding your hand up for a high-five from Morgan. "Or maybe I'm just faster and smarter than you, genius."
Spencer narrows his eyes. "Faster, maybe. Smarter? That's debatable."
The room erupts into laughter as you two go back and forth, your playful banter quickly escalating into a full-blown debate over split-second reaction times and the nuances of trivia strategy.
"Alright, alright!" Garcia finally intervenes, clapping her hands to get your attention. "We're calling it there before this turns into a break up. Trivia night is supposed to be fun, remember?"
You glance at Spencer, who's still staring at you like you've personally insulted his entire academic career. Despite his faux-annoyance, there's a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.
"Truce?" you offer, extending your hand towards him.
He considers it for a moment before shaking it. "Truce. But don't think this means I'm letting you win next time."
"Next time, you'll have to try harder," you reply with a wink.
As the room starts to clear now, you linger by the bar, waiting for Spencer to join you. When he does, he's holding two drinks—one for each of you.
"Good game," he says, handing you the glass.
"You're not mad I beat you?" you tease, taking a sip.
"Mad? No," he replies, leaning against the counter. "Impressed? Maybe. I didn't think you'd know the capital of Bhutan."
You grin, nudging him playfully. "I'm full of surprises."
Spencer chuckles, his gaze softening as he looks at you. "You know, Garcia's probably ever going to let us be on opposing teams again."
"Probably not," you agree. "But it was fun while it lasted."
The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, the earlier competitiveness melting away. Despite the antics, it's moments like these—when you're teasing each other, laughing, and completely at ease—that make everything worth it.
"By the way," Spencer says after a moment, his tone casual but laced with mischief, "you buzzed in half a second early. Technically, you cheated."
You roll your eyes, but your smile doesn't fade. "Technically, I still won."
"Technically," he echoes, his lips quirking into a small smile.
And just like that, the competition starts all over again.
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st4rpiece · 3 months ago
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dealing with a rude server
SWF
characters: luffy, zoro, law, crocodile x f! reader summary: how the guys would handle a server being rude/disrespectful towards you in front of them CW: not proofread, killing (law and crocodile), toxic behavior from servers, but mainly fluff [different kinds of reader traits are mentioned in different scenarios: allergies (not specified), height + weight (kind of specified), speech impediment (more specifically stuttering)]
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Monkey D. Luffy
luffy doesn't bother reading the menu at any restaurant you guys go to, and that's because he gets the same thing every time; one of everything. you, however, love taking your sweet time examining the menu and familiarizing yourself with the items, especially if you guys are on a new island. 
another reason was because of your allergies, you wanted to make sure the food you were eating didn’t contain anything that could trigger a reaction. unfortunately, a lot of the food served at this particular restaurant contained that exact ingredient, so your options when it came to food were limited. usually, you'd pick a dish you’d like with a couple of new dishes to try, but as a precaution, you stuck to just one. 
while deciding, you noticed how overly friendly the server had been with luffy, answering all his weird questions and agreeing to his even weirder requests. had you been treated the same, you (like luffy) would’ve brushed it off as just over-the-top service, but you weren’t. it was clear that they had a thing for luffy, so clear that they didn’t even bother to hide their feelings towards you. 
while ordering, they would cut you off to properly pronounce a word you had mispronounced, or answer your questions in a condescending tone, a stark contrast to the way they had treated luffy. and although you didn't ask, they began recommending meals they knew you couldn’t have because you had already told them about your allergies. 
the treatment was unfair but not worth fighting over so despite all that, neither of you commented on their actions (although it was clear that luffy was bothered by it). he didn’t like that they would recommend a dish you couldn’t eat as if mocking you. still, he kept quiet, thinking that was all you guys had to deal with.
when your food arrived, and instead of getting what you ordered, you got the exact dish the server had recommended earlier. everything about it was exactly as they had advertised it to be, and while it did look and smelt nice, it wasn't what you ordered. luffy could turn a blind eye to any harm done to him, but he wasn’t as lenient when it came to you. seeing the server stand there with a smirk on their face as if they didn't just hand you something that could kill you pissed him off greatly. 
“is this some fucking joke?” luffy asked, his voice a mixture of disbelief and anger as his eyes bore into the server, demanding an answer. 
“you know she didn’t order this,” he said, pointing at the offending plate in front of you. the server's eyes darted from luffy’s intense gaze to the food and back again, their cheeks flushing a deep red as they realized their mistake.
“i-i’m so sorry, i’ll get your order fixed right away,” they stammered, their hands trembling as they hastily retreated to the kitchen.
after the stunt they just pulled, their words do nothing to ease luffy’s anger or anxiety. so despite not being allowed in the kitchen, he still went. demanding he keep an eye on the cooks, making sure your dish was prepared quickly and correctly.
once it was done he would personally bring it out to you, intensely assessing you for any weird reactions as you took your first bite. after giving him the nod of approval and your usually happy smile, his eyes would light up with relief before joining indulging in his own meal.
Roronoa Zoro
zoro never orders his food cause he doesn’t care what he eats as long as there’s some good alcohol. so, by default, you've always been the one in charge of ordering. something you enjoyed doing because of the praise you'd get whenever he liked the dish you picked out. the server, unfamiliar with your relationship dynamic, placed all the attention on zoro, waiting for his order with little to no acknowledgment towards you.
“what are you looking at me for? she’s the one ordering,��� he’d say, nodding his head in your direction. his brows furrowed in annoyance, eyeing the server intensely, watching them apologize frantically before they finally turned to you, giving you their undivided attention.
seeing this you began ordering a mountain of food; ones you liked, ones you knew he’d like, and a couple of new things for you both to try. you were ordering a lot, especially for just two people, but with zoro’s appetite and your love for trying new dishes, you knew it wouldn't go to waste. the server, watching you order all this food, couldn’t keep their negative thoughts to themselves. 
“no wonder she’s so big,” they mumbled under their breath as they wrote down the rest of your order. unprepared for the sudden blade aimed directly at their neck, scaring them in the process.
“come again?” zoro asked, his brows still furrowed, but this time in anger as his blade hovered mere inches from their neck.
the restaurant was silent, the usual chatter of customers and clanging of kitchenware had ceased abruptly. the server’s eyes were wide with terror. they truly didn’t think anyone could hear them.
“i-i just meant she’s tall and muscular like she must work out a lot!” they stuttered, their voice trembling.
zoro’s grip tightened around the blade, the insult was clear. you both knew what she meant; still, he decided to withdraw his blade, sliding it back into its sheath.
“watch your fucking mouth,” he warned his voice a dangerously low rumble that sent a shiver down their spine. they nodded fervently, their eyes never leaving the spot where the blade had just been. after apologizing some more, they quickly left to go get your food, not wanting to anger him even more. 
her words didn’t bother you, and if they did you could’ve easily handled it, but the sight of your usually level-headed boyfriend threatening someone’s life for your sake was pretty hot. you couldn’t help but tease him about it, loving the way his ears redden in response.
Trafalgar Law
law doesn’t eat out much, nothing against it he just hates rowdy places, the extroverted personality of his crew was enough for him to deal with. however, after getting together with you, he found himself at a lot of different restaurants watching you gush over a new dish, excited to recreate them back on the submarine. he usually kept quiet while you ordered, trusting your judgment on whatever you picked for him. 
food was one of the few outlets that allowed you to express yourself without words. due to your speech impediment, you tended to avoid talking to anyone you weren’t close with, as it was something you were insecure about. but, when it came to food, you could ramble all day regardless of how many times you stuttered. and it helps that all of the restaurants you've been to had servers who were patient and kind, giving you the time to order without judgment. 
when visiting a new place law would always ask if you wanted him to order instead, usually after assessing the environment of the restaurant or, in this case, the server's attitude. one he picked up on as they gave their introduction still, you insisted on being the one to order. things were going fine with you ordering as you normally would, before becoming aware of the growing look of disinterest and impatience on the server's face. this made you feel like you were taking too much of their time, causing you to speed up, rushing through your words. something you instantly regretted after coming across a word you weren’t familiar with, butchering it along with your stutter.
noticing the sudden shift in your mood, law takes your hand, drawing small circles on your palm as a way to calm you down. but the warmness from his hands was overshadowed by the muffed chuckle from your server. you weren't sure if they were laughing at your pronunciation or at your stutter either way, you were too embarrassed to say anything else. 
“what's so funny?” he asked, a noticeable edge in his voice. the server, however, failed to detect it.
“my apologies,” they said insincerely, mockery evident in their eyes. “what was it that you wanted again?”
you didn't bother answering instead, turning to your boyfriend, hoping he’d take over. unprepared for the sight of the server’s heart clutched in his hands. 
coming face to face with their heart made them realize the gravity of the situation that they were in, but before they could plead for their life, law squeezed tightly around their heart, silencing them with the pain. 
“get us a different server,” he demanded, watching them frantically search for the nearest coworker with a gaping hole in their chest drawing the attention of the nearby patrons. after arriving with their replacement, they began apologizing for their actions, hoping that law would spare them. 
as if he'd spared them after disrespecting you like that. so in front of the new server and all of the patrons watching law, pierced his sword right through their heart, killing them on the spot. the atmosphere in the restaurant completely chilled as everyone was shocked at the lifeless body on the ground while you and law remained unfazed.
“go on baby tell her what you wanted” and that's exactly what you did telling the new waitress who patiently waited for your next words about what you and law would be having that evening.
Sir. Crocodile
despite him being the leader of a wanted criminal group with a bounty of over one billion berries on his head, crocodile always finds the time to spoil you even when he isn't home. you'd wake up to mountains of gifts or a surprise solo trip to one of the summer islands. while being with him, you never had to ask or even lift a finger crocodile's always a step ahead, catering to your every need. 
as someone so used to being independent, dating someone like crocodile made you feel so fragile and princess-like. despite your initial barriers, you loved depending on him for simple things you could easily do on your own. like holding doors, planning dates, tying your shoes/putting on your heels, and choosing your meals. it’s been two years, and you’ve stopped reaching for doors and picking what to eat, always letting him do it. 
but what you loved the most was being able to spend quality time with him, something you couldn't do often due to his hectic "job." sometimes you'd go months without seeing him, so whenever you guys had that downtime, you cherished it.
he had just returned home after being away for a month, establishing a base in the south blue, and while he doesn't think it's something worth celebrating he knows you do. so, he made dinner reservations at one of the fanciest restaurants on the winter island. it was a pretty restaurant with an even prettier view, but despite the warm atmosphere you couldn't help but be bothered by the server's attitude.
while crocodile ordered you noticed the server's lust-filled gaze as they looked at him, but what bothered you wasn't her looking at him (you knew your man was fine) it was how she purposefully ignored your presence while doing so. for the sake of keeping peace, you don't call her out, planning to vent about it to him later.
after the server left crocodile got a call from mihawk and you figured it was urgent since mihawk never calls unless it was.
“i’ll be right back baby, just need to take this,” he said placing a small kiss on your forehead before leaving to take his call.
not long after, the server returns with your drinks with the same flirty smile that immediately drops the moment they noticed he was gone. 
“the sex must be real good if he’s willing to take someone like you here,” they mumbled disgust evident in their voice as they sized you up.
“and what? you think he’d bring someone like you here instead?” you asked. your tone and expression filled with mockery as you returned their heated gaze. it was clear they had expected their words to have a greater effect on your confidence not expecting you to have a sharp tongue.
“don’t get so cocky, i’m sure you're not the only one he’s seeing,” they said with a sneer, their voice rising slightly above the murmur of the restaurant unaware of the looming figure behind them.
while making his way back to your table crocodile had managed to catch the last bit of their words. he didn’t know what they were talking about or who started the argument and honestly he didn’t care. they had disrespected you and to him that good enough reason to kill them. without bothering to make his presence known, he snaps their neck earning a chorus of gasps from the horrified patrons as they watched the servers body drop dead on the floor. his expression unchanged, as he wordlessly looks around looking for the nearest worker, requesting a different table with a new server.
the manager rushes over, sweat beading on his forehead as he frantically apologize for the disturbance the dead server had caused. crocodile calmly hands him a wad of cash, enough to cover the meals of the entire restaurant for the night. "make it right," he instructed, his voice as smooth as the whiskey in his glass.
the man nodded fervently, snapping at his staff to clean up and move them to a different section. the murmurs grew louder as people whispered about what they had just witnessed. but crocodile's eyes remained on you, his hand reaching out to take yours. "you okay?" he asked his grip firm and reassuring.
“oh please,” you said rolling your eyes at his unnecessary worry. “as if her words could bother me. i know you’re all mine,” you said taking a sip from your wine and watching as his eyes narrowed slightly in amusement.
“damn right, i am,” his voice was a low growl sending a shiver down your spine, not one of fear but of excitement.
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One Piece Masterlist
having an idea is so much more fun then actually writing down that idea T~T plus i had no time to write these past couple of days due to school. (neuroscience has been kicking my ass).
also i hope i did the reader traits justice or at least done them properly (if not let me know so I can tweak it!)
anyways i hope you guys enjoyed this !! (wrote mini version for the usual people but i ran out of ideas so theres no part 2 :p)
and for those that sent requests i see you and i promise will get to them when i have time 😭😭
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osarina · 1 month ago
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ᡣ𐭩 WERE WE BETTER UNKNOWN?
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FEATURING: dazai osamu
SUMMARY: your story with dazai comes to a close... but is it really the end?
AUTHOR'S NOTES: guys. oh my god i have so much to say, i will put it all at the end. but i am so annoyed because the heart in the title looks wonky as hell—for some reason it looks fine on desktop but on mobile it’s fucked ip :’) comments & reblogs appreciated!
GENERAL WARNINGS: fem!reader, port mafia executive!reader, civilian!dazai, dazai's struggles w suicide & sh, reader partakes in mafia business, dazai isn't dazai without a bit of obsessiveness and possessiveness (the possessiveness doesn't come til later but the obsessiveness starts from day 0).
CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNINGS: hardly edited. mentions of past suicide attempts (dazai). non-sexual nudity/intimacy. reader has 1 scar that dazai points out.
SEE: WASTELAND, BABY! SERIES MASTERLIST
Dazai dreams of a vast frozen lake.
Is he dreaming? He’s not sure. It’s cold, he shouldn’t be cold in dreams, right? 
He lets out a shaky breath, and he can see the cool air fan around him. He shivers, hands running up and down his arms to try to warm himself up, but it’s futile—the snow that flutters from the sky is sharp against his skin and the air is bitterly cold, but the wind is oddly still. Eerily still. His shoes crunch against the snowy bank as he draws a bit closer to the edge of the lake, trying to figure out where he is.
“... are we going to…”
Dazai startles at the vaguely familiar whispery voice, eyes wide and searching as he looks around trying to pinpoint who had spoken, but there’s no one in sight. He can hardly see
Hell, he thinks dizzily, is he in hell?
Dazai’s fascination with literature began with his fascination with death. It started as a child—morbid and odd as it might’ve been, he was bored with life. He supposes that it’s part of the reason why his siblings didn’t like him, besides his ability, of course. He always had questions that people couldn’t answer—what happens after someone dies? They go to heaven, honey, his mother would reply. How do you know that? We just do. But how? What if we don’t? What if we just die? Stop asking so many creepy questions, Osamu, his sister would snap at him, curling into his mother’s side. But what-
He would keep asking until his sister got visibly upset and his mother had to take her out of the room. He never really understood why—they were legitimate questions—but his mother’s evasion of the topic and his siblings’ aversion did not deter his curiosity. In fact, when the first of his cousins died at the hands of one of his others, it spiked his curiosity. He almost found himself jealous that they would have the answers to the questions that have been plaguing him for years.
His questions of self-worth and his place here on earth didn’t come until he was a bit older, but he supposes at some point they probably merged together. His own doubts about himself and his lack of normalcy compared to other people led to his general fascination with death slowly turning into fascination about his own death. He found it quite ironic, and maybe a bit disheartening—he can’t even die correctly—that of all of the many members of his family, the one obsessed with death was the one that survived the longest, in spite of actively striving for eternal rest.
His fascination with death was put to an abrupt halt by Odasaku’s arrival in his life. Or well, that’s not exactly right. His fascination with his own death was put to a halt—Odasaku humored all of his questions, even if some of his answers were absurd and nonsensical, but when Dazai tried to spin the conversation back to himself, Odasaku would put his foot down. 
Dazai only tried to kill himself once while he was living with him—it was around when Odasaku first took him in, and Dazai didn’t think the man would care all too much if he was gone. Ango was the one who found him in the bathroom, funny enough it was his first time meeting the other man, but when he woke up in the hospital, Dazai decided he never wanted to see that haunted expression on Odasaku’s face ever again. 
It was around then when Odasaku started telling him about his book, and he helped redirect Dazai’s unhealthy fascination with death to a different outlet: literature. The Divine Comedy, the Aeneid, the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice—it was Odasaku who introduced him to them all. He enjoyed reading other peoples’ interpretation of the afterlife; he and Odasaku would have full blown debates over which interpretation was nearest to truth. 
Dazai isn’t particularly convinced there is an afterlife at all, but he always thought that if there was one, it might look most like Dante Alighieri’s vision. 
Like this. 
“... can’t just stop, he’ll never let it be…”
This voice isn’t unfamiliar. Dazai’s head snaps up, eyes wide and searching as he tries to seek you out. Your voice sounds like it’s coming from all around him—the wind carries it, he can’t tell where you are and the icy air makes it hard for him to keep his eyes open to try to track you down. The wind is strange though; it stops blowing all around him, and instead begins billowing inward toward the center of the lake.
A foreboding feeling suddenly settles over Dazai.
Lake Cocytus—if this is what Dazai thinks it is, then it’s meant to represent the Ninth Circle. Treachery. A little ironic, maybe, considering loyalty is what got Dazai killed—your loyalty to the Port Mafia. 
Is he dead? He realizes suddenly that he very well might be, not quite as pleased with the idea as he might’ve been in the months before he met you. He feels… unfulfilled almost. He never finished Odasaku’s book. He didn’t even manage to get his degree. He felt what it was like to be loved for a few months, but it wasn’t enough. He’d wanted more. He wanted a life with you. 
He still wants a life with you, he thinks miserably. Even after everything that happened, he still wants it.
He must not be dead, he thinks absently, kicking at the snow on the banks of the lake before slowly treading out toward the center of it. If he was dead and really in the Ninth Circle of Hell, then he’d be stuck in the lake with the rest of the betrayers. Although, Dazai thinks if he really was going to hell, it wouldn’t be this circle—he doesn’t think he’s ever really betrayed anyone to this degree.
Or maybe he did, his thoughts take another dejected turn. Would his ‘betrayal’ to you count? It’s not like he actively tried to deceive you, so he thinks he should be given some leeway. But maybe it wouldn’t be too bad, if he’s here because he deceived you, then you would certainly be here for betraying him—he wouldn’t mind being stuck in hell if you were there with him. You both could be buried in the ice together, eternally frozen and suffering for betraying each other. 
It’s kind of romantic, if you really think about it.
Something bubbles in his chest—maybe a laugh, or maybe a sob, he can’t tell, he thinks maybe he’s a bit hysterical. 
It must just be a dream, he thinks again for some minimal solace. Or maybe a warning, maybe he’s somewhere caught in-between and God is striking down his hammer, warning him this is where he’s going to end up if he doesn’t change his ways like the message of the Divine Comedy itself.
The thought makes him laugh.
He sobers up quickly though as he starts his trek across the lake, thinking that maybe if he got to the other side, or the center, he’d wake up. He thinks you would find this funny—one of your first conversations with him had been about The Divine Comedy, and he spent many nights at dinner roping you into conversation about it, and convincing you to read some of the other books and poems that Odasaku had introduced him to. You-
“... one life or hundreds, that’s what he said…”
Dazai nearly slips on the ice when he hears your voice again, looking around as if you would just magically appear around him. You don’t, but it does leave Dazai a little disheartened hearing you repeat the words that Mori had said to convince you to kill him. He sighs as he keeps his gaze trained ahead, careful to not look down at the ice lest he find himself looking at something he would rather not.
The outskirts of the water were the traitors to kin—Dazai remembers that well. The first time he read the poem, he realized that this is where the majority of his cousins and older brothers would be. They spent almost two years killing each other for their grandfather’s inheritance; Dazai went from having seven siblings and almost two dozen cousins to three siblings and a handful of cousins by the time of the coup.
Traitors to country in the next section—Dazai thinks a bit gleefully that Mori would end up there. The Port Mafia isn’t exactly a city or country, but it’s still an entity, and Mori certainly betrayed it when he killed Dazai’s grandfather in his own bed, no matter what the reason for it might be.
Traitors to guests in the next section—this gives Dazai a bit of pause, he doesn’t know if he knows anyone that would fit in that section. Ui, maybe? Inviting him to work with his journalism house only to give him up to the Guild. Maybe Mori again, Dazai thinks, highly amused, because Dazai was a guest to you, and therefore, the Port Mafia, when everything happened. 
And the last section—traitors to benefactors. He can’t avoid looking at them; they’re the only ones above the surface of the lake, grotesque sculptures of ice that decorate the surface of the center of the lake. His steps slow as he walks through them all, a heavy feeling settling over him as his gaze focuses on the oddly familiar sculpture in the very center of the lake.
Is that-
“There’s only one way this ends.”
Dazai’s breath catches sharply. He slips on the ice as he rushes forward, eyes widening and hands flying forward to catch himself, but his stomach lurches painfully and before his hands can hit the ground-
Dazai sits up with a ragged gasp, eyes wild and nails digging into the fabric of the soft couch he’s laying on. His head is aching and he feels sluggish; he’s still reeling from what he’d just woken up from, but his heart rate is starting to calm down.
Just a dream, he confirms, but now he’s more preoccupied with trying to figure out where the hell he is and why he isn’t dead, because the last thing he remembers is you lifting a gun to his head and pulling the trigger. The room he’s in is small—there’s no windows, there’s a tiny kitchen on the left side of the room, and on the other side-
“Everyone out.”
Dazai’s gaze settles on you. You’re standing near the far wall—you haven’t changed from what you were wearing at the conference room with the other Port Mafia executives, and Dazai can see Ace’s blood still crusted around your finger nails and splattered on your shirt. Your gaze is focused on him, an unreadable expression on your face, and Dazai is so tunnel visioned on you that he hardly notices that there are a handful of other people in the room: your three subordinates, Nakahara Chuuya, Albatross and one other who had been at the fight against the Guild.
They don’t argue with you, most of them file out of the room without a word, only Albatross and Chuuya linger. The ginger gives you a long look before saying, “We’ll buy some more time. Just… figure out if this is really what you want to do, okay?”
You finally look away from him at Chuuya’s words, cringing and averting your gaze to the ground. You say quietly, “It doesn’t matter what I want. It has to be done.”
Chuuya sighs but nods, motioning for Albatross to leave with him—and then the two of you are left alone. You don’t approach him. Ironically, you look like the one akin to a cornered animal as if you hadn’t been the one to shoot him. If anyone should feel like a cornered animal right now, it should be him.
Instinctively, he lifts his hand to his forehead, frowning at the bandages wrapped around the top of his head. He looks back up at you curiously, but you grimaced and looked away as soon as he touched his forehead, so he can’t catch your eye.
He has a million questions he wants to ask. What happened? Why didn’t the bullet kill me? Why didn’t you kill me? Did you believe me? Do you believe me? Are we okay?
Dazai doesn’t know if he wants to know the answer to the last question, so he settles with: “Where are we?” 
Though you’d stiffened as soon as his lips parted to speak, you relax when you hear the question he asked.
“A safe house in Sakae,” you say quietly. Dazai starts to sit up but his vision swims so he has to stop and rest back down against the arm of the couch, blinking furiously. “You should take it easy… You’re probably going to feel a bit off for a couple of hours.”
Dazai is about to ask you what exactly happened, but the words die on his lips when you finally draw closer to him. You sit down on the couch next to where he’s laying, your body brushes his and Dazai feels warm. The remnants of the frigid cold of his dream vanishes as soon as the warmth of your body grazes his—he knows that there are many things that need to be addressed, but he would be content to avoid those topics and bask in your comfort for as long as he can. 
His eyes slide shut as you reach up to cup his cheek. He doesn’t even bother reopening them when he feels you lift your other hand to remove the bandages from around the top of his head—he thinks maybe he could almost doze back off. It’s only when you let out a soft sigh and fasten them back on does he finally bother to open his eyes again. 
“I don’t have enough bandages on me already?” he asks, his voice is light and the smile on his lips is teasing as he tries to lighten the mood a little, but it doesn’t work.
You don’t respond to his comment. You look down, and the small smile on your lips doesn’t meet your eyes, so his falls off his face as he stares up at you carefully and finally asks the much dreaded question that would lead to even more dreaded questions:
“Will you tell me what happened?”
--
“We need to go,” Chuuya says, hand wrapped around your wrist tightly. You don’t budge from where you’re standing, staring at where Dazai had fallen back over the edge. It was a short drop with mud softening the fall, he would be okay—if everything went according to plan, that is. Otherwise, the bullet you just shot at him killed him anyway, so the fall is inconsequential. “Come on. We can’t stay here. We have to go.”
“How do-”
“Not here,” Chuuya hisses. “Come on.”
“Chuuya-” you breathe out, voice wavering over his name. You can’t bring yourself to move even as Chuuya tries to drag you away. “Chuuya, I need to kn-”
Need to know if this worked. Need to know if he was able to stop the bullet. Need to know if you actually just killed the boy you’re in love with.
“Not here,” Chuuya replies, voice harsh, cutting you off before you can say anything more incriminating. 
This time, he doesn’t wait for you to follow him—he yanks you along with him, not even bothering to steady you when you stumble. You know you should snap yourself out of this, you know Mori has people trailing you to ensure you follow through with Dazai’s execution, but you’re haunted by the expression on his face when you pulled the trigger.
He accepted it.
You had the gun to his head. You asked him to forgive you. He said he did, and he accepted that he was about to die at your hands. A part of you is eager to convince yourself that maybe he saw through your plan, that he realized you weren’t going to kill him, but that look in his eyes…
He didn’t know, and he accepted it anyway.
Your stomach churns. The ragged breath you take in cuts off abruptly as you gag over it—you saw the blood, you don’t know if Chuuya was able to stop it. You don’t know if Dazai’s nullification ability prevented Chuuya from using his own ability to slow the bullet before it killed him. You don’t know if he fell backward because he was shot or because the high dosage sedative that you swiped from Mori’s office set in as quickly as it was supposed to. You don’t even know if Chuuya had been able to inject it in him with his ability. You don’t know anything.
“Don’t you dare throw up on me,” Chuuya mutters as he opens the car door and ushers you inside. 
Instead of sitting in the front with Albatross, he sits in the back with you, sharing a sharp look with Albatross before the other man finally pulls away from the ports. He still doesn’t say anything else—he knows better. This is one of the Port Mafia’s cars, tapped and actively being transmitted to one of Kouyou’s subordinates who will report to her and Mori anything that seems off, and you need to buy as much time as you possibly can before Mori realizes Dazai isn’t dead.
Because Dazai isn’t dead. He can’t be dead.
It worked. It all worked.
It had to have. 
Just as you expect, your phone rings as soon as the car starts moving. Mori has eyes on you—he was waiting for you to finish with the execution before calling. You’re certain that he’s going to send someone to check the body now; he doesn’t trust you to finish the job, not when something as fickle and unpredictable as love is involved. 
Klaus will have to be quick—you don’t even know if he was able to find a lookalike to kill so he could swap out the body. You only were able to give him a twenty, maybe thirty, minute heads up. Dazai is plain looking, yes, and the mud he dropped in should do some work at concealing his identity, but if Mori’s shadow sends him a picture to confirm the kill, the slim amount of time you hope to have bought with your fake out will be halved.
You stare down at the phone and let it ring once, twice, and finally on the third ring, you lift the phone to your ear and accept the call, waiting for Mori to speak.
“Has it been done?”
“Yes,” you reply, voice steady even if your fingers are trembling around the phone. “Do you need me back at headquarters?”
“No, I’m sure that wasn’t easy for you. You should get some rest. I have a meeting with Tolstoy in a bit anyway. I’ll meet with you tomorrow after I have tea with Elise-chan so you can debrief me on the meetings with the Guild,” Mori says easily, his tone is light and airy, and it makes you angry, because how dare he sound so flippant after what he just expected you to do. “... I’m sorry things had to end this way, dear. I’m proud of you. You did well.”
“I know,” you say tightly in response before hanging up and putting the phone back down in your lap. 
Chuuya watches you carefully, but he doesn’t say anything, and you stare ahead at the back of the driver’s seat. It’s a twenty-five minute drive from the ports in Naka to Sakae—for better or for worse, it’s going to be a quiet one. For better because you think you might start crying if you have to speak, and for worse because now all you’re plagued with is your own thoughts and the image of Dazai’s face before you shot him.
You didn’t shoot him. Not really.
But you did, you don’t know if Chuuya was able to stop it. You don’t even know if Chuuya knows if he was able to stop it. There was a splatter of blood. You saw that, and there shouldn’t have been blood if this worked, so the worst case scenario looms over you heavily. But you won’t know until you get to the safe house—until you hear from Klaus. Your breath hitches over a sob you’re forced to swallow; your chest burns and tightens uncomfortable.
You had to do it, this was the only option. Anything else and there was no shot he wouldn’t have been killed. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but he would be killed. You wouldn’t be able to protect him from Mori otherwise—he would’ve put a hit out on him, and Dazai would have all of the most dangerous assassins in the underworld out for him trying to get the bounty. You can’t protect him from that. You needed to buy time. You needed to buy time so you could-
You don’t finish the thought. 
You don’t think you’ve come to terms with what has to be done if you want to protect Dazai. A part of you doesn’t even know if you’ll be able to follow through with it, but you’ve already set yourself down the path of no return and you’ve dragged Chuuya down it along with you. Either you follow through, or the three of you are going to be on the run for the rest of your lives.
Shit.
Your gaze tracks back down to your phone. Still nothing from Klaus—nothing from Akutagawa either. The silence is too loud, each second that passes has you aching with a pain that feels like knives dragging against your bones. You just need to know, you need to know that he’s okay, that you didn’t-
You rest your forehead against the window when nausea builds back up in your stomach. It’s cool, and a welcome reprieve from the heaviness weighing down on you, but the moment your eyes slide shut, you’re faced with Dazai again and no amount of deep breathing and grounding techniques can stop the way your heart rate sky-rockets, breath becoming quick and shallow.
You see him. You see him, and he’s looking up at you, dark eyes wide and adoring as he looks at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters to him, and his lips part to say something but before he can, you see something thick and red trickling down his face over his lips, and suddenly something is weighing cold and heavy in your hand but you can’t bring yourself to look down at it, but you can’t drag your eyes from his face. Can’t hide yourself from the way his warm eyes are suddenly wide and glassy, void of all of the emotions that you’d just-
Your arm hurts—sharp and painful and so sudden that you’re dragged from the images haunting you. Your gaze cuts over to Chuuya, who’s giving you a concerned look. You realize he must’ve shifted over a bit, brushed his arm against yours to use his ability to jolt you out of your spiraling thoughts. When he realizes that you’re back in the present, he gives you a pointed look and then directs his gaze outside.
You’re almost there. How much time had passed?
Why hasn’t Klaus or Akutagawa reached out to you?
What is going on?
Albatross doesn’t stop in front of the safe house—there are too many cameras in the street and all of the Port Mafia’s cars are tracked. Instead, he takes a left on the next street because it’s one of the few without a red light camera and a blind spot on the corner. His gaze flickers up to the rearview mirror and he pointedly raises the volume of his shitty music a few decibels louder to cover the noise of the car doors opening and closing as you and Chuuya slip out when he stops at the red light.
You leave your phone in the car and you’re careful to avoid the camera near the bakery on the corner as you follow Chuuya around to the alley that leads to the back entrance of the safe house. It’s not a Port Mafia safe house—it was Itou’s. This was where he stayed in the few months during the Dragon’s Head Conflict where he was on his own, after he left Strain but before you recruited him to the Port Mafia. It was well hidden and well protected, you hadn’t been able to track him down here until he brought you here—he made sure that it was a blind spot in the Port Mafia’s ever-watchful eye over Yokohama, and you made sure to keep it that way once he was gone. 
It’s only once the steel door is shut behind you that you can finally speak, gaze focusing on Chuuya desperately as you wait for him to tell you if he was able to do it or if Dazai’s ability…
“Did you hear from Klaus or Akutagawa?” he asks quietly, and that’s enough of an answer.
He doesn’t know. 
You feel sick—your stomach lurches and you don’t know if you start to stumble toward the bathroom or the couch or straight to the floor, but it doesn’t matter because Chuuya is darting forward to grab you and guide you over to the couch.
“Chuuya, if I-” you start to say, your words are raspy and you can’t even bring yourself to finish them. “If I-”
“Don’t,” he says, wrapping an arm around you. “Don’t bother going there yet. Wait for Klaus and Akutagawa.”
“But-”
“Stop,” he insists. “All you’re going to do is torture yourself.”
Isn’t that what you deserve? You want to say to him, nails digging into the palm of your hand so deep that it draws blood. Chuuya catches what you’re doing and immediately moves to unfurl your hands. Everything you’ve done. You killed Dazai’s family. His siblings. His cousins. You ruined his life, and then after everything, it wasn’t enough. You ruined his life and then you took-
“Hey, stop,” Chuuya interrupts your thoughts, clearly realizing what path they’re going down. You don’t realize your breath is ragged again until he grabs your chin and twists your head to force you to look at him. “I know what you’re thinking, but we can’t do this right now, we need to plan. We don’t have time, and when Klaus and Akutagawa get here with him, we need to know what we’re doing. You need to snap out of it.”
You don’t respond to him—your lashes flutter and you see Dazai again, you see blood, you see empty eyes, you see the gun in your hand, and you feel something warm and wet trickling over your cheeks. Chuuya spits out curses to himself and wipes away the tears streaming down your face. He’s gentle now, the rough grip on your chin disappears and is replaced with his hand cradling the back of your head as he pulls you closer to him. He presses your ear to his chest, hoping that the steady thrum of his heart is enough to ground you.
“Where the fuck are they?” he spits out more to himself than to you. His breath hitches and you can hear the stammering of his heart, and you know that he’s nervous, but he’s trying to hide it for your sake. “I need you here. What we just did-fuck-”
You try to snap out of it—you do, but every time you blink you see him. You see what you did. You knew this would happen from the very beginning, you knew it, and everyone warned you, but you’re selfish. You’ve always been so selfish.
You don’t know how much time passes. Ten minutes. Twenty. Thirty. It all blurs, it all feels like eternity, but eventually, the door to the safe house slams open, and only a handful of people know about it.
Your gaze snaps up, and you don’t realize you’re holding your breath until Klaus steps into the room with a familiar figure slung over his shoulder like a sack of flour. Both of them are covered in various substances that you think you would rather not know what they are, but you can see the steady rise and fall of Dazai’s back. You rise to your feet abruptly and Chuuya lets out a relieved breath, shoulders slumping.
Klaus immediately points an accusing finger at you. “I had to hunt down a civilian, kill him, crawl through shit and trash with a dead body to swap it out for your boy, I had to carry him across half of the city, and I couldn’t even channel Mephisto because he nullifies him. You better not complain about any messes I make for the next six months,” Klaus demands, and then points wildly back toward a very clean Akutagawa, who casts an unimpressed look his way. “And he didn’t even help me. He stood there and watched.”
“I was ensuring that no one saw what we were doing,” Akutagawa replies primly. “Even more important than your job, considering if someone saw it would all be for naught. You should be thanking me.”
Klaus’s face goes red with anger as he whips around to face him and roars, “More important? Thank you?!”
You laugh. It’s so startling that all of the anger washes away from Klaus’s face and the goading expression on Akutagawa’s disappears. Or you think you laugh—you think you might be crying again too. Both boys look aghast by the sight of it, looking at each other as if waiting for the other to do something to make you stop.
Eventually, Klaus steps forward and unsurely tries to pass Dazai’s unconscious body over to you as if to try to make you feel better by shoving him in your arms. Chuuya slaps him hard over the back of the head causing him to yelp.
“Put him on the couch, what the fuck is wrong with you? Why are you passing him over to her like he’s a fucking stuffed animal?” Chuuya snaps, giving him a plainly judgemental look before resting his hand on your shoulder. 
Klaus looks disgruntled, but he does as Chuuya asks, laying Dazai down on the couch where you and Chuuya had just been sitting. You drop to your knees next to him, and the room is oddly silent as you look down at him. You don’t feel their gazes on you, so you assume they’re giving you privacy as best they can.
He looks… peaceful. You could almost imagine that you were coming home to him napping on your couch after he spent the whole night playing some stupid video game in your living room. You try to imagine that’s what this is, but the bloody indent in his forehead prevents you.
It almost broke through his skull.
He almost died.
You almost killed him.
You feel a bit sick as your fingers trace up to the wound on his forehead. It’s still bleeding, but his forehead is clean compared to the grime that covers the rest of his body. Klaus and Akutagawa must’ve had the brain to stop and clean the wound before it could get infected—that’s probably what took them so long.
You feel someone come to your side, glancing up to see Akutagawa hovering next to you with bandages in hand. He passes them over to you silently before quickly walking away. You let out a soft breath as you unwind the bandages, gently lifting his head so you can wrap them around his forehead. Immediately, they’re staining red—you grimace and look away.
The silence hanging over the room only lasts so long.
“What’s next?” Klaus asks quietly. “This won’t work for long. What’s the plan?”
Your gaze lowers as you rest your hand against Dazai’s cheek, memorizing his face as best as you can. The heaviness in your chest returns, and along with it, the damning reminder of your reality.
“I have to kill Mori.”
--
Dazai suddenly understands his dream.
“It’s the only option,” you say quietly when Dazai’s expression immediately twists at your words. Your eyes look so heavy and your expression is so crestfallen that it makes Dazai ache. His fingers twitch to reach out for you but you shift away, shaking your head. “It’s the only option, Osamu. It has to be done.”
“But-”
“He tried to have me kill you,” you snap, and he almost rolls his eyes because he doesn’t need reminding of that. He’s abundantly aware of the fact that he almost died at your hands because of Mori. He refrains if only barely. “Why do you care about what happens to him?”
“He’s your father,” Dazai says, watching as you go stiff. He knows he might’ve just made a mistake saying that, but he doesn’t even know if you fully understand the gravity of all of this or if you’re just running off heightened emotions right now. “I don’t care about him, he can go fuck off and die for all I care. I care about you-“
“He’s not my father,” you spit out, voice tight, “and maybe you shouldn’t care about me.”
Oh, here it comes, Dazai thinks dreadfully. That was the opening you needed to bring up the subject Dazai desperately wanted to avoid. He has made a fatal mistake. He should’ve just nodded along and agreed to your plan.
“You’re right he’s not your father,” Dazai immediately agrees to appease you and try to avoid the imminent conversation. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Hey, do you have food here? I’m so hungry all of a sudden, wow, do you hear my stomach-” 
You sigh, looking away. Your eyes are suddenly very tired and Dazai’s words falter on his tongue as his gaze settles on you. His fingers twitch to reach out for your hand but you draw them back into your lap. Dazai’s gaze drops at the blatant rejection, but as soon as you notice, you reach back out to intertwine your fingers with his. He feels placated, but only a little, because he still has a tight feeling in his chest that he can’t push away. A looming fear that something is going to go terribly wrong.
“Can we please talk about this?” you finally ask quietly, and even though Dazai does want to say no, he simply cannot bring himself to. 
So, instead, he nods, and braces himself for what he knows is bound to be a terrible conversation. He waits for you to say something—you look like you want to, but he thinks that maybe you’re struggling just as much as him at opening the conversation. 
This isn’t going to go well, he realizes again, swallowing thickly. 
“Come on,” you finally say, rising to your feet. You hold out your hand to him and Dazai stares at it for a moment, confused. “Let’s get you cleaned up, you smell disgusting.”
“I wonder why,” Dazai mutters, and he means for it to come out as a joke, but when the small smile on your lips falters, he realizes it probably came out much too bitter so he quickly grabs your hand instead, letting you help him to his feet. He tries to get you to smile again by giving you a soft one of his own, but now the expression on your face is heavy and conflicted. “Are you gonna take a bath with me?”
“You should probably rinse off before we get into the bath,” you say dryly, thumb running along the back of his hand before you let go of it. “Otherwise we’ll just be sitting in shit water.”
Dazai almost gags. “Don’t remind me what I’m covered in right now,” he pleads. “Where is the shower?”
The light returns to your eyes, a smile flickers to your lips, and Dazai considers it a win even if he is covered in shit and god knows what else. He glances back down to where he’d been laying and winces when he sees the stains. His eyes flicker back up to you and he cringes when he sees the displeased expression on your face.
“I’ll make Atsushi and Akutagawa clean it,” you say more to yourself than to him, shaking your head and motioning for him to follow. “Bonding exercise.”
Dazai raises his eyebrows, unsure if the couch is even salvageable, and almost lets a comment slip about it considering you were so quick to throw out his couch to replace it, but he refrains when a sad expression crosses your face when you think he’s not looking. He frowns, looking around a bit more scrutinizing now.
This place looks nothing like your apartment.
Your apartment is… plain. Minimalistic. The most you have decorating it is a handful of paintings on the wall and a couple of antiques displayed on dressers. Other than that, you have your furniture, your television, and that’s just about it. Dazai had joked once about it feeling like a hotel room, and promptly stole your credit card to buy things to decorate with—gaudy Christmas lights even though it’s not Christmas, a couple of fake pumpkins to line against your wall and a plastic skeleton to pin up near the window. He even bought an inflatable snowman to put in the middle of the room, but it hasn’t come yet. You rolled your eyes every time you came back from work to see some new, seasonally inappropriate decoration in your apartment, but he could tell the more things he added to your apartment, the happier you seemed to be. 
This place was actually decorated. Pictures and trinkets set up on the dressers, all of the furniture matched and the walls were a warm burgundy instead of the off-putting, psych ward white of your apartment. You said this was a safe house, but it seems more like a home than your actual one. 
“What is this place?” he asks again, because it’s something more than a safe-house, he just doesn’t know what.
“I told you,” you frown. “A safe house.”
Dazai’s lips curl down in response but he doesn’t press, gaze flickering over to one of the side tables against the wall, trying to figure out who exactly is in the pictures on it, but as he strains his eyes to focus on it, pain ricochets through his head and he has to abandon the mission. Disappointed, he follows you into the back bedroom and realizes he’ll just have to figure it out later.
He almost stops in his tracks in the doorway when he sees that the bedroom is just as homely as the rest of the safe house. It’s weird—the same burgundy walls, dark mahogany furniture, there’s what looks to be a handmade quilt draped over the foot of the bed. It’s just so unlike you that it almost has Dazai reeling.
You give him an odd look when you see the twisted expression on his face, but motion toward another door. “The bathroom is in there—go rinse off and run the bath, I’ll be in there in a minute, I’m going to grab a change of clothes for you.”
“Mkay,” Dazai agrees, a jump in his step as he rushes over to the bathroom. 
He only pauses for a second to take in his surroundings when he gets in there—he’s not as surprised now by the style. Less modern, more rustic, just like the rest of the house; it’s more like something he’d expect to see in one of those American holiday movies. He leans over the tub to run the hot water before pulling off his clothes. He squints as he starts to unwind his bandages, looking into the shower and realizing that the only soap in there is an unopened bar soap, and a men’s shampoo and conditioner set. 
A bit suspicious now, he glances at the door leading to the bedroom before kneeling down in front of the cabinets beneath the sink. With one hand, he unwinds the bandages around his legs, and with the other, he reaches out to open the cabinet so he can snoop. Just as he expected: men’s deodorant, a spare baking soda and peroxide toothpaste that he knows you hate, and a handful of different colognes. There’s one bag off to the side and Dazai reaches for it, peeking in and finding your typical bath soaps and hair care.
Whose place is this? He wonders, pausing for half a second before taking out your soaps and bringing them into the shower with him. It’s not Chuuya’s—Dazai knows that because he hasn’t seen a single tacky hat yet, but then whose?
He’s quick to clean himself off, eager to be with you and still a bit anxious that you might disappear when he’s not looking. The water runs brown as it rinses over him, but it feels nice—Dazai realizes that this is his first shower since he got kidnapped by the Guild, and a part of him wants to bask in it. He wants to wash off all of the unfamiliar touches and the dirt and the blood, but more than that, he wants to surround himself with you instead. Which means he has to hurry out of here and drag you into the tub with him. 
He thinks maybe he should be biding his time. He has a lot to think about before he actually talks to you—he’s hardly even had a chance to process everything that happened—but still, he finds himself rushing to scrub himself. It couldn’t have been more than ten, fifteen minutes before he’s stumbling out of the shower and grabbing a towel to wrap around his waist. He almost expects you to be waiting in the bathroom for him, but you’re not, so he frowns and creaks the door back open to look for you.
Your name is on his lips as he steps back into the bedroom, but he falters when he sees you standing in the same place he left you: right outside a closet, except now the door is open and there’s a sweatshirt in your hands. The expression on your face is destroyed, and Dazai isn’t exactly sure what to say, luckily, he doesn’t need to because you hear the door open and turn toward him.
Whatever you’re about to say dies on your lips as your eyes trail over his body.
Another fatal mistake.
Dazai instantly realizes that he has never taken off his bandages in front of you before—that night at the beach house, he thought you were going to ask him to take them off, but you didn’t. He was glad for it, because he wasn’t sure if he was ready, and after that… Well, everything went downhill after that.
Dazai suddenly wants to flee. He becomes acutely aware of all of the scars on his body plainly in view. The warm, dim lighting becomes spotlights shining down on him, highlighting all of the flaws that he’s feared your reaction to. He waits for your face to twist—or, he knows you, you probably wouldn’t have such a visible reaction, so he focuses on your eyes instead.
But they only curve up along with your lips, a fondness in them that he doesn’t expect. You place the clothes down on the bed and approach him, his breath catches when your hands rest on his hips right above the towel. The skin-on-skin makes his chest ache—he’s missed you so much, he hadn’t even realized how hard it had been to breathe without you until he was back with you again.
“I’ve missed you so much,” he breathes out loud, lashes fluttering when your thumbs circle over his hip bones, right over a jagged scar that cuts across his lower abdomen—the product of an unfortunate encounter in Suribachi. 
“I missed you too,” you say softly. Your eyes trace over his face like you’re trying to memorize each little detail—usually he feels uncomfortable when under a scrutinizing gaze, he never wants someone to look too closely at him in fear of what they might find, but he feels warm beneath yours. “I’m sorry.”
He’s not sure exactly what you’re apologizing for; it could be anything from almost killing him to letting him into your life at all. He’s not yet ready for this conversation to start, he hasn’t even gathered his thoughts yet, so instead he glances pointedly back toward the bathroom. You let out a soft breath—he can’t tell if it’s irritation or you’re just tired, it might be both, but you do motion for him to go in and he can hear you following him.
The water is still steaming as he lets the towel drop to the ground and sinks into it. His muscles instantly relax, eyes sliding shut as he rests against the back of the tub, letting out a soft sigh. For a moment, he can almost forget everything that’s happened, his head falls to the side to focus on you as you undress, folding your clothes and placing them on the side table. He blinks when you pull off your dress shirt, gaze zeroing in on a scar marring your upper back. It’s small, circular—a bullet wound, maybe? It doesn’t go through to your chest though, he would’ve noticed that. 
“How did you get that?” he asks curiously, belatedly realizing he probably has no right to ask about scars considering his body is riddled with them and he’d probably evade most attempts at your prying if you asked. 
“Hm?” you ask quietly, looking over your shoulder at him as you finish undressing.
The words falter on Dazai’s lips as his gaze roves over your body. You’re beautiful, he thinks again, a bit more dreamily this time. You’re beautiful, and he’s missed you so much, and he just wants all of this to be over so he can go back to lounging in your apartment and spending your money all day. It’s only when you raise your eyebrows that he clears his throat and nods his chin to your back.
“The scar on your back,” he explains. “How did you get it?”
“Oh,” you realize, making your way over to the tub and tapping his shoulder, motioning for him to shift forward. You slip into the water behind him, circling your arms around his waist and Dazai’s chest feels warm and full as he rests back against you, eyes sliding shut. “An assassination attempt when I was eighteen. I was… reckless, saw it coming and… Well, luckily, the Flags had been in the area. Iceman figured out what was happening and they got there quick enough to stabilize me and get me to Mori.”
Dazai’s throat swells at the implication of what you’d said, trying to distract himself with the feeling of your fingers tracing across his abdomen. He notes softly, “You’re never reckless.”
Your fingers pause in the absent patterns you’re tracing on him, and Dazai wonders if it’s a sore topic, about to retract his words. Before he can, you let out a soft breath and drop your forehead down on his shoulder, arms tightening around him.
“This was Itou’s house. All of the stuff in here, it’s his family’s—stuff he was able to salvage after they were killed. He tried to keep the house like how his mother used to keep it as a way to memorialize her,” you say quietly. Dazai’s eyes widen as he recognizes the name of your old partner. “We were enemies when we first met, y’know? It was during the big conflict six years ago. He was part of one of the foreign organizations. I ended up recruiting him, but he spent a few months on his own here. He was careful to keep it a blind spot to the Port Mafia even after he joined up, I always thought he was paranoid about it, but he was quite insistent that there was no need for people to know about it.”
“Makes sense,” Dazai says dryly. “I wouldn’t want Mori knowing where I’m living either.”
It’s an off-handed quip, but you still stiffen and again, Dazai fumbles to say something else because he clearly upset you. He starts to add, “I-”
“I killed him,” you finally say, voice weak and airy. Your arms loosen around him, but his hands drop to cover yours, holding them in place. “I killed him, Osamu.”
“I thought you said he died on a mission,” Dazai murmurs, hand tightening around yours when he feels the way your fingers are trembling. 
“I… Itou was born into this life. Was born into a Yakuza-family based in Tokyo, trained since he was old enough to walk how to use his ability… how to kill. The Yakuza syndicate his family was the head of was wiped out by the Sun and Steel when he was eight… nine, maybe. His mother was able to get him and bring him back to Australia—that’s where she was from. It’s how he ended up with Strain,” you explain, and the water suddenly feels a bit cold—what happened to Itou’s family sounds a lot like what happened to Dazai’s. From the way you pause, you wonder if you realize the same thing. You quickly change the subject, “He tried getting me out of the Mafia.”
“What?” Dazai asks, surprised. He shifts to physically look at you, catching the wistful expression on your face. “You wanted to leave the Mafia.”
The wistful expression shifts into something much more conflicted. 
“I didn’t-” you start to say before cutting yourself off. “I don’t know. I think maybe a part of me might’ve wanted to. I was… curious. He was sneaky—he was always such a sneaky bastard. He tried to ease me into it, show me what a different life was like. Called them training exercises, wanted me to blend in with kids my age.”
He remembers you telling him this at the beach house, but he listens anyway because now you do sound wistful. His eyes slide shut as you hold him tightly, pressing your lips to his shoulder blade before resting your chin on top of it. 
“His gift to me for my eighteenth birthday was an acceptance letter to university. He pulled some strings. It was for YNU, actually, funny enough,” you say softly. Dazai’s eyes widen as he turns to look at you again; there’s a small, sad smile on your lips and when he turns, you take the chance to steal a kiss from him. “Imagine, we could’ve been first years together.”
Dazai doesn’t dare to respond. His hand tightens around yours—if it’s painful, you don’t let it show. Odasaku dragged him to orientation, and he imagines meeting you there. You’re good at socializing—charming—Dazai can be too when he wants, but he definitely did not want to during orientation. He mostly sulked away and waited for it to be over so he could go back home. He imagines that you’d be in the same group with him, and although he’d probably ignore you the first few times you tried to talk to him, he’d eventually give in. Dazai is weak to pretty women, especially when that pretty woman is you.
Or maybe, you’d meet during a shared class. You would probably be a poli-sci major, but he’s taken classes in the field for requirements. He hated them, thought they were boring, but he probably would’ve enjoyed it much more if he had you to admire all two hours of the class. And maybe-
“I was curious,” you repeat, voice tighter. There’s more of an edge to it now, and Dazai realizes that this story is about to take a turn. “I… I wanted to try it. I told Mori.”
Dazai’s eyes widen and he sits up straight. The water sloshes around him as he physically turns around to face you. He asks, but can’t finish, “Did he…”
“He said it was a great idea,” you say tightly. “He encouraged it. I accepted the spot, and a week before orientation, Itou died on a mission that we got bad intel for. My whole team, they died to make sure I got out alive. Mori denied having any involvement, said he wouldn’t risk an ability user as powerful as Itou, but I know. I know he had a hand in it. I’ve always known it. The government had been after Itou for years—they said he was a national security threat. A couple of weeks later, we suddenly have the skilled business permit that Mori’s been trying to get for months. It was a trade-off. I know it. Two birds, one stone. The skilled business permit and my full focus back on the Mafia for Itou’s life.”
Dazai’s lips part to say something—anything—but he can’t. Your eyes are misty, and the foreboding feeling that’s been haunting him since he woke up intensifies. You shake your head, blinking back tears. 
“I never should’ve brought you into this world, Osamu.”
Dazai needs to think now. He needs to figure out how exactly he’s going to go about this, whether he should be soft and demure, appealing to your heart, or if he should be more forceful, triggering your guilt. 
He goes with the latter.
“Well it’s too late for that,” Dazai says, keeping his voice steady until he knows how you’re going to react to it. When you instantly shake your head again, his voice hardens. “It’s too late, I’m already in it. You can’t just get rid of me. Take accountability.”
“You don’t think I have?” you question dryly, looking away from him. But he needs you to look at him for this to be effective, so he reaches out to grab your hand, dragging your attention back toward him. “I killed your family, Osamu.”
“She was a girl my age—the previous boss’s granddaughter—she was asleep, had a bear tucked in her arms and a nightlight on the right side of her bed. I slit her throat, then both of her older brothers. They were kids.”
Her name was Akane. Bunji and Touma were her brothers. 
They were Dazai’s brothers. Dazai’s sister. The stuffed bear was called Coco, and Akane would clutch it and cry whenever Dazai started talking about things like death. She was scared of dying; more than that, scared of the people she loved dying. She cried for weeks when their grandmother passed, and got angry at Dazai when he didn’t even cry at the funeral. Dazai used to share a bedroom with her and Touma, but he hated her nightlight—it was purple and it was always right in Dazai’s eyes when he laid down. He convinced his mother to force Bunji to swap rooms with him, so Dazai had his own room on the second floor of his grandfather’s estate.
“You were a kid too,” Dazai rasps out the same thing he said at the beach house, but it comes out a bit weaker this time knowing exactly who the people you killed were. “You were fourteen. You-”
“I played a role in tracking your mother down,” you continue. Dazai’s breath catches as his fingers loosen around yours. “It was my punishment for not making sure all of the grandchildren were… eliminated. I was the one that was tracking her down, and I was the one that was going to interrogate her for your whereabouts when I found her.”
“Stop,” Dazai says quietly, voice wavering.
“No,” you reply firmly. “No. You need to understand this-”
“I do,” Dazai insists, voice cracking. “I do understand-”
“You don’t, Dazai,” you raise your voice and Dazai cringes back. You sigh and soften your voice, but the damage has been done, Dazai’s fight or flight instincts have been triggered. This conversation is not going to end in his favor, so he needs to run before he gets hurt, but he can’t because you have him stuck in the bath with you. You reach out again to take his hands in yours, fingers absently running along the scars on his wrists. “You don’t, otherwise you wouldn’t have been so quick to join me in here. You haven’t even had time to process it.”
“Yes, I have,” Dazai whispers weakly. “I have.”
“I ruined your life, Osamu,” you say quietly. “Everything bad that’s ever happened to you started with me.”
“That’s not true,” Dazai argues, nails biting into your skin as he clings to you. “My life sucked before everything really went to shit. The first time I tried to kill myself, I was eleven. You saved my life. I was going to kill myself that night we met at the bar. You saved me.”
“Osamu-”
“You’re not listening to me,” Dazai interrupts, voice taking a more manic edge as he shakes his head. He can talk himself out of any situation—why is he failing now when it matters most? “You’re not listening. You saved me. I love you.”
“I love you too,” you breathe out, but the words don’t settle his nerves because they’re heavy and full of sorrow, and the tears that had been pooling in your eyes finally start to spill over.
“Then why does this still feel like a goodbye?” he begs, breath shallow as he searches your face for an answer.
You don’t respond, but you don’t need to. He finds his answer in your eyes. He always does. You look at him again with that desperate, longing expression, like you’re trying to memorize the details of his face even though you know it’s futile. 
This is a goodbye.
--
Dazai hasn’t spoken to you once since your conversation in the bath.
Chuuya, your subordinates, and the Flags are back now, and Dazai is sulking in the bedroom watching one of his dumb reality shows. You can hardly focus on the conversation at hand because of it, and you know the others are starting to get irritated by your distraction considering the stakes at play right now. If one thing goes wrong, all of your lives would be forfeit. They’re risking everything by helping you right now, and you can't even bother to give them your full attention.
“Out,” Piano Man suddenly says. Your gaze snaps toward him, as does all of the others’ in the room. When nobody immediately moves, he raises his eyebrows and continues dryly, “Are you all hard of hearing? I said get out.”
“Where are we supposed to go?” Albatross demands. “Her boy’s in the bedroom. This place is small-”
“Go crowd in the closet for all I care. Get out,” Piano Man says dismissively. Still, no one moves until his gaze sharpens and they realize he’s being entirely serious. You shift to leave with them until his eyes land on you. “Not you.”
You feel like a child about to be scolded, which is ridiculous because you’re a mafioso, and though Piano Man is technically the same rank as you, he’s not really. He can’t scold you, but you shift awkwardly on your feet and share a concerned look with Chuuya anyway as they all wander out of the safe house and into the small hallway outside.
Once the two of you are alone, you finally glance back at Piano Man, who’s watching you carefully. After a few moments he says, “I take it you told him the plan?”
“I did,” you reply quietly.
“He didn’t take it well?” Piano Man questions.
“You know the answer to that,” you say a bit more dryly before shaking your head. “Would you have taken it well?”
“Of course not, I’d be livid,” Piano Man says immediately, making you cringe. “Does this mean we’re changing the plan?” 
“No,” you tell him. “We can’t. This is the only option.”
“I know,” Piano Man says with a thin smile. “So stop sulking and get your head in the game so we don’t all die trying to perform a coup.”
You’re startled by the sudden sharpness in his voice, but you suppose you shouldn’t be. Piano Man has always been capricious, going from his whimsical moods to more cold and ruthless ones within a matter of seconds. You can hardly meet his eyes now, looking down at the ground to avoid them.
“Why are you helping me?” you ask after a few moments.
You don’t have to look at Piano Man to see the way he raises his eyebrows judgmentally. “Excuse me?” 
“I was going to kill you earlier. I held a gun to your head. Why are you helping me?” you press, the words weighing heavily on you as you remember the way he met your eyes when you lifted the muzzle of your gun to his temple.
Piano Man has the audacity to look amused. “When I first recruited Lippmann, I tried to drown him in the harbor because I got paranoid he sold me out to the feds after a mission went wrong. It happens—the next time it does, I’m going to be pulling my own gun out though. So, don’t let it happen again, yeah?”
“Yeah,” you agree quietly. “I’m sorry.”
You don’t apologize often, even when you know you’re entirely in the wrong. Mori has taught you only to apologize when it serves you, otherwise you should never make an admission of guilt or liability. So it’s not surprising when Piano Man’s eyebrows shoot upward, but his expression softens after a moment. He reaches out to pat your head.
“I know this isn’t easy,” he murmurs, “but we need you at the top of your game if this is going to work.”
“I know,” you reply. “... I know.”
“Good,” he says, patting the top of your head yet again before sighing. “Let me go get them and we’ll get back to planning, okay?”
“Mkay.”
You lean back against the wall as you look down at the table Lippmann set up for planning. The Flags, your subordinates, Kajii Motojiro—they’re non-factors in the planned coup. The Flags will support it, your subordinates will support you, and all Kajii cares about is his experiments. Paul Verlaine is not quite as secure, but Chuuya is confident that he’ll support whatever Chuuya goes along with.
The issue lies in Kouyou and the Black Lizards.
You already feel a headache come on just at the thought, lifting your hands to your head and rubbing your eyes as you knock the back of your head against the wall and let out a heavy sigh. Kouyou and Hirotsu won’t support the coup, you know it. They’re both loyal to Mori—both victims of the previous boss who found refuge in Mori when he took over. They’ll fight for him, and you know better than anyone that during a forceful transition of power, all dissidents must be removed, especially ones that hold significant power and influence.
But it’s Kouyou and Hirotsu. Kouyou, who was the one to teach you how to do your makeup properly, who bought you your first kimono to match her own. Hirotsu, who was always quick to execute anyone that openly disrespected you, who took you to a movie on your fifteenth birthday when Mori was busy dealing with the power transition so you didn’t spend it alone. The thought makes you sick—they were family, and maybe Hirotsu could be convinced. He’s loyal to Mori, yes, but more than that, he’s loyal to the Port Mafia. If you can manufacture a legitimate reason for the coup…
You sigh as you glance down the hall where Dazai is hiding in the bedroom, startled when your gaze catches his familiar brown. He’s seemingly just as surprised that you caught him spying, immediately slamming the bedroom door shut to retreat back into the safety of the room. Your lips curl up into a small smile, which is quickly washed away when your subordinates, the Flags and Chuuya all file back into the room.
“I’ll talk to Ane-san,” Chuuya finally says, reigniting the conversation. “I’ll make her see reason.”
“There’s no time for talking, Chuuya,” Piano Man tells him. “This all has to be done within hours. If we let word get out about what we’re doing… The coup is risky, and a civil war would be the end of this city.”
Frustration flashes across Chuuya’s face. “I’m not budging on this,” he says, voice tight with thinly restrained anger. “Either you give me the chance to talk to her, or I’ll withdraw my support.”
“Chuuya,” you sigh tiredly, wanting nothing more than to just sit down.
“No,” Chuuya interrupts you. “I won’t actively stand against you, but I won’t stand with you if you don’t give me the chance to talk to her.”
“Fine,” you finally say even though you know it’s a mistake. It’s asking for trouble. Piano Man gives you a sharp, disapproving look, but you shake your head. “It’s fine. She won’t be keeping her executive position.”
Chuuya’s face twists. “But-”
“No.” This time you interrupt him, holding up your hand. “I’m not budging on this. If you want the chance to talk to her and convince her this is the best route, I’ll give you it, but you need to meet me halfway. She’s not retaining her executive position.”
Chuuya looks unhappy, but after a few moments, he nods. “Fine.”
“I can’t risk it, Chuuya,” you tell him quietly. “I need people who I trust in the inner circle. I can’t trust her after what just happened.”
“I get it,” Chuuya says. “I just don’t like it.”
“That leaves three executive seats we need to fill.” Piano Man lets out a heavy sigh as he sits on the edge of the table, tilting his head back in exhaustion. “Your’s, Ace’s, and Kouyou-san’s. Do you even have three more people who you trust?”
Klaus and Akutagawa, you think to yourself, but neither of them are executive material. Your gaze drifts over to Albatross, Iceman, and Doc, each of them pointedly looks away, none of them want the open seats. Lippmann can’t take it, not with what you have planned for him. So, who else-
“Verlaine?” Chuuya offers. “He’s got a ton of experience with the European organizations—we’ll probably need it considering Dostoevsky’s involvement with the Guild, and this Book that’s apparently somewhere in the city. If it gets out to the public, we’ll have organizations swarming just like during the Dragon’s Head.”
You don’t like the idea of Verlaine being an executive, and you don’t think Piano Man does either considering his unfortunate first meeting with the man, but Chuuya raises good points. You have your own experience with the European underworld, but it’s nothing like what Verlaine has.
“Okay,” you agree, “and the other two?”
The Black Lizards are its own command unit that answers directly to the Boss. They don’t have a seat at the table because it’s not their field. Their field is war, not politics… but what other options are there? The people you trust are far and few in-between, you can probably count them on one hand.
“What about Tolstoy?” a familiar voice asks quietly from down the hallway. You look up immediately, gaze focusing on where Dazai is standing in the door of the bedroom, hands shoved in the pockets of his sweatshirt, shoulders hunched. He doesn’t like the attention of everyone on him, so he keeps his eyes trained fully on you. “Mishima?”
“They’re not part of the Port Mafia,” Chuuya dismisses, “they don’t get seats.”
“But what if they were?” Dazai presses, shuffling forward. He hardly spares Chuuya a glance before looking at you again. “The transition of power is going to be shaky, you need to strengthen your position in other ways, otherwise…”
“You think we should merge with the Three Deaths and the Sun and Steel,” Piano Man realizes, sitting up straighter as he considers Dazai’s proposition. “Doesn’t that risk destabilizing us even more though?”
He looks at you for an answer, but your gaze is focused on Dazai. He’s not even gone yet, but you already miss him desperately; all you want is to be with him, but it’s just not possible. You can’t have him and run the Port Mafia at the same time; he will die because of his affiliation with you, just like he almost did when the Guild captured him. It wouldn’t matter how safe you tried to keep him, one mistake and he would die. And that will lead to every decision you make being centered around him, not what’s best for the Port Mafia and that will lead to its inevitable ruin. 
“No, Osamu’s right,” you say, and Dazai preens at the praise, but then quickly deflates again. You want to reach out for him, but you refrain. “Not a merger. An acquisition. The Three Deaths and the Sun and Steel are already pretty much extensions of the Port Mafia, we would only be formalizing it. I trust Tolstoy and Mishima—I pretty much built the Three Deaths into what it is today myself. We’d give the Port Mafia an official foothold in Russia, more sway over everything that happens in Tokyo. It’s a good plan. Great one, even.”
“Will they even agree to it?” Chuuya asks doubtfully. “Go from being fully autonomous to answering to us.”
“They pretty much already do just answer to us,” Albatross mutters.
“They’ll agree to it,” you tell him quietly. “I’ll make sure of it.”
Tolstoy won’t be hard to convince. He, Chekhov and Gorky are all good friends of yours, you helped them build the Three Deaths, you helped them win territory battles against the Pale Flame and the Red Chamber. All it would take a few words of convincing for them to agree to it. Mishima might be more difficult, but all you have to do is convince his daughters, and they hang off your every word.
There might be some dissent from the Sun and Steel executives, but even then, you think it would be minimal at worst. It’s a good plan. Having Tolstoy and Mishima sitting at the executive table would lend you some much needed support during the transition, and with the Port Mafia subsuming the Three Deaths and the Sun and Steel, it would provide a major deterrence against any foreign movements from Cao Xueqin or Yi Sang.
“What about Hirotsu and the Black Lizards?” Akutagawa asks, shifting awkwardly when all eyes turn to him. He doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes, and you know it’s because he actually cares about what your answer might be. Akutagawa likes to pretend that he doesn’t care about anyone, but you know he has a soft spot for the unit that took Gin in so easily.
“We can’t afford to lose the Black Lizards,” Iceman notes as he lights another cigarette. “Especially if we’re bringing in other organizations. We don't want our own people to feel like they’re being lost in the mix, y’know?”
“I’ll handle Hirotsu,” you finally say. “It’ll be fine. I just need to figure out how to frame this. Needs to be framed in a way that makes him feel like this was the best, and only, course of action for the Mafia. He’s loyal to Mori only to the extent that he’s good for the Port Mafia. I’ll figure it out. Leave that to me.”
“Ace’s subordinates?” Albatross prompts. “They been handled? We can’t have them knowing about him. Can’t have anyone knowing about him.”
“Dead,” Akutagawa says. “I killed them.”
“Security cameras? CCTV? Any record of this kid being affiliated with us?” 
“Wiped,” Klaus answers flippantly. “We’ve gone through it every day since they met. Weren’t allowed to sleep ‘til made sure everything from the day was wiped. There’s no physical record of him ever being around us.”
“Okay, so we get this settled, and then we wait on Repin for the rest of us, right?” Albatross asks. Dazai cringes at the mention of Repin, and you look away from him, unable to watch the pain that crosses his face.
“Yeah,” you say quietly. “It all needs to happen within no more than a couple days otherwise we risk the wrong people finding out so…”
“So we should get started,” Chuuya sighs, pushing himself off the wall. He squeezes your wrist as he passes by you, walking in the direction of the door. “We’ll give you guys some time. I’ll let you know how things go with Ane-san.”
You nod, eyes following him as he leaves. The others follow, filing out of the room until it’s only you and Dazai left again. You turn to look at him, so many words on your lips but incapable of pushing a single one out. Instead, you reach out to cup his face between your hands, running your thumbs across his cheekbones. His lashes flutter shut as he leans into your touch.
“It doesn’t have to be like this,” he whispers, brown eyes heavy and glassy as he looks down at you. “We can figure something else out. I know we can. Just give me some time, I just need a little time, I’ll figure something out.”
“We don’t have time,” you say, voice cracking over the words. “I love you, Osamu.”
Dazai pulls away, shaking his head. He wipes quickly at his eyes before looking at you again. You expect what he says, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.
“I won’t forgive you. Not for this. Not ever. I can’t.”
“I know.”
--
SIX WEEKS LATER
“I must say, I wasn’t expecting this invitation,” a familiar voice hums as the door to your box opens. You don’t turn to look at him, keeping your gaze trained down on the performance taking place below. “Not from you, and not after everything that’s happened.”
“No?” you ask absently. “It’s unlike you to not expect something, Dostoevsky. Less like you to admit it.”
“Fyodor,” he corrects as he comes to stand next to you. He’s close enough to you that you can feel his body brushing yours. You finally turn your head to look at him—his lips are curved up into a deceptively soft smile, violet eyes glittering with a type of mischief that you know is dangerous. “We are well enough acquainted to be on a first name basis, no?” 
“Dostoevsky,” you repeat pointedly, looking back down at the show as the first act reaches its climax. Of all of the shows you’ve seen, Tosca is still your favorite. This rendition here at the New National Theatre isn’t quite as good as the one at La Scala, but you’re enjoying it well enough.
Dostoevsky lets out a huff of laughter, you don’t turn to look at him when you feel him reach out to touch you. His fingers trace along the maroon scarf hanging loosely over your shoulders. You barely withhold a shiver when you feel his knuckles skim your neck—rumor has it, skin-on-skin contact alone with Dostoevsky is enough to kill. You don’t die, but it’s enough to beckon your attention back to him.
“Red is your color,” he murmurs, looking down at you through his lashes. “You look beautiful.”
“It isn’t yours,” you reply quickly, glancing down at the red tie tied neatly around his neck. “Neither is flattery.”
Dostoevsky does laugh this time—it’s soft and short, pretty like a bell. Unbefitting of him, just like the color red and false flattery. 
“It isn’t?” he asks, keeping his voice deceptively playful. “I wore it for you. Since you invited me, I thought it appropriate that we match. I heard of your success in Yokohama. I should congratulate you on your new promotion. Or perhaps extend my condolences for the death of your father? Are condolences still proper when you were the one to drive the knife into his back?”
It’s a dig, an attempt to get under your skin and throw you off before getting into the meat of the conversation. You can feel his eyes on you, the soft playfulness gone and replaced by a sharpness that has you on edge.
“You said it yourself. One life or thousands.”
“It was a bullet to the head,” you correct idly—the words taste like poison on your tongue, but you’re careful to not let it show on your face. “Condolences are unnecessary. He was not my father.”
“It’s okay, dear, this was how it was always meant to be.”
“Hm,” Dostoevsky hums, amused. “I was quite pleased when I found out about the coup. I wasn’t expecting it.”
He wants to add something else but he decides against it. He’s very calculating with his words, he always has been, but he is especially now. You know that each word he speaks is chosen for a specific purpose, and it’s hard, even for you, to break down each one as he speaks it to understand why he says it so you can choose your own words carefully in return. Fyodor Dostoevsky is the only man capable of consistently beating you in exchanges of words, and that is concerning. 
It’s why you invited him here—you need an idea of what he’s planning while you solidify your newfound position.
“It seems you struggle to expect many things I do,” you note. “I should add it to my resume. I doubt many people are capable of repeatedly surprising Fyodor Dostoevsky.”
“It is true,” he agrees with an airy laugh. “You are a… difficult opponent. I will admit it.”
 “Is that so?”
Dostoevsky makes a soft noise of agreement, lashes fluttering as he glances over at you once before he looks back down at the show taking place down on the stage. 
“You are not guided strictly by logic,” he muses. “It's there, of course, you are very intelligent but it’s laced with so many emotions. It is difficult for me to determine your course of action because I can never predict when you will lead with emotion, and when with logic. And even then, there are grades to it. I could account for dozens of plans of action and miss the one you take because you are just a bit less emotional than I anticipated… I did not predict that you would go for Zelda Fitzgerald, it was quite bold—there was a high risk for failure. You make things… much more interesting. I enjoy it.”
“You would find something like that enjoyable,” you say sarcastically, taking a sip of your champagne. “There is something seriously wrong with you, Dostoevsky.”
“Fyodor,” he corrects again with a light smile. 
“Dostoevsky.”
“Heh,” he laughs quietly. “I will… wait for things to settle before making another move here in Yokohama. I’m curious to see how all of the chips fall on their own. You’re in for quite the storm with that bill that just passed through the Diet, aren’t you?”
You don’t respond. You got the answer you needed, so there’s no reason for you to keep entertaining his snide comments; you’ll just watch the show in peace. You’ll have the bit of time you need to get things settled before Dostoevsky makes his next play. Though the man is a compulsive liar and you have no reason to trust him, Dostoevsky has never lied so blatantly to your face, so you’ll take him at his word until you have reason to believe otherwise. 
Dostoevsky takes your silence as an opportunity to continue talking, naturally.
“I did have a question for though,” he says, a bit too thrilled by the prospect of your answer. You don’t like the way his eyes are lit up, and you especially don’t like the smile on his lips. “Entertain me?”
You raise your eyebrows pointedly, waiting for him to ask it. 
“I heard rumors that the reason behind your sudden decision to overthrow your father was more… intimate than most believe,” Dostoevsky murmurs, leaning like he’s sharing in some schoolgirl gossip with an old friend. Your brows furrow as you process his words. “You must tell me what boy has managed to steal your heart. He must be something special. Not even I was capable of that, I’m almost jealous.”
You look at him now, gaze sharp but confused as your eyes trail over him before focusing back on his face. He seems surprised by your reaction, tilting his head to the side and studying you carefully.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
--
to be continued in ... the land is inhospitable (but are we?) [est. release: early feb]
--
WOWWWWWW GUYS WE FUCKING FINISHED CIVZAI .... or well, ;) civzai1. some notes:
i promised a happy ending, i know ... but i promised it for civzai in general, and they DO have a happy ending ... just not yet. pls dont bully me ill cry i'm so proud of this. i didn't lie.
i always intended on there being two parts to this series because i feel like time apart is essential in the pmreader universe. when dazai defected in canon universe, and now with her taking over as boss and wiping her memories of him. the first part was always gonna be the guild arc, the second arc is gonna be my rendition of the hunting dogs and the decay of the angel
this is the ONLY universe where pmreader becomes port mafia boss ;) i actually had it noted that there was only one universe on the background page in wykyk once i started writing wasteland, baby but no one caught it ;) i was wondering if anyone would put two and two together
i actually went back and retconned chapter 1 to have them talking about the divine comedy instead of petrarch because of the first scene in this chapter. i thought it would be neat coming full circle with the themes of betrayal and death, + the hozier song this chapter is based on is about the 9th circle in the divine comedy. so everything just tied together too neatly for me to not add it.
;) just remember now with repin involved, reader's narration is now entirely unreliable. we don't know what's truth and manufactured by repin.
i was actually really tempted to base civzai2 off of a mother mother album just because hayloft II fits what's going to be the first half of it SO fucking well, but i had to go with mitski because the whole album literally captures the vibes of the second series perfectly
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harunayuuka2060 · 10 months ago
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Savanaclaw students: Wait— Is that Yuurin?
Yuurin: *running laps*
Savanaclaw student A: *shouts* HEY!!! YUURIN!!!
Savanaclaw student A: HOW MANY LAPS ARE YOU DOING?!!
Yuurin: *signals with her hand that she's doing 50 laps*
Savanaclaw student A: Oh. Okay. That's not bad.
Leona: *sips his coffee* She meant last 50 laps.
Savanaclaw students: Eh?
Ruggie: Yuurin woke up at 4AM.
Leona: Yeah. The lady already finished 100 laps.
Savanaclaw students: ...
Savanaclaw student B: HEY, YUURIN!!! TAKE SOME WATER BREAK!!!
Savanaclaw students: YUURIIIIIIN!!!
Leona: You don't feel sleepy at all after running like that?
Yuurin: No. Actually, I feel wide awake.
Leona: ...
Leona: You remind me of an Arctic tern.
Yuurin: ...
Yuurin: I don't think that animal suits me.
Leona: It does. Here. I bought you a hairpin that looks like one.
Yuurin: ...
Leona: This will look good on your hair.
Yuurin: ...
Leona: You didn't need to send a photo to your parents, did you?
Yuurin: No.
Leona: That's good. *clips the hairpin on her*
Yuurin: ...Thank you, housewarden.
Leona: You're too formal. Just call me by my name.
Yuurin: ...
Yuurin: Leona-senpai.
Leona: *ruffles her hair*
Yuurin: *her hair gets messy*
Leona: Shit— Let me fix that.
Other first-years: *staring at MC because of her bird hairpin*
Ace: *teasing smirk* That looks good on you, bro.
Yuurin: ...
Yuurin: Thanks.
Ace: ...That's not what I—
Yuurin: *ignores him and focuses on class*
Professor Trein: Yuu, can you answer this question?
Yuurin: Yes, professor. *then proceeds to answer the question correctly*
Professor Trein: *smiles in satisfaction* You didn't forget any details. Great job, Yuu.
Yuurin: Thank you, Professor.
Ace: *mutters* Nerd.
Deuce: Dude, what?
Ace: What? He reminds me of Housewarden Riddle!
Yuurin: *looking at him*
Ace: ...
Professor Trein: Yuu? Is there something wrong?
Yuurin: Nothing, professor. *sits back down*
Akihiko — You look great with your hairpin, Yuurin.​ (⁠✿⁠^⁠‿⁠^⁠)
Yuurin — Thanks, Aki. How's your health?
Akihiko — It's great. I haven't been sick for a week now. ​(⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)
Yuurin: *smiles*
Ace: *approaches her* Yo! *smirks* You were textin' your girlfriend?
Yuurin: *her face turned serious* No. It's my brother.
Ace: Eh? *stands next to her* You enjoy talking with your brother?
Yuurin: Yes. Is there a problem?
Ace: Whoa— You don't have to look at me like that.
Yuurin: ...
Ace: Anyway, who gave you that hairpin?
Yuurin: ...My housewarden.
Ace: ...
Ace: You're just new here and you're being bullied? *clicks his tongue*
Yuurin: ...
Yuurin: No one's bullying me.
Ace: You must be naive then.
Ace: No decent guy would think that receiving a cute hairpin is a good thing.
Ace: What you're experiencing is lowkey bullying— Hey! Where are you going?!
Yuurin: *has already walked away from him*
Ace: Hey! I'm still talking to you! Hey!!!
Jack: What? ACE SAID THAT?
Yuurin: Hm.
Jack: ...
Jack: Well, does it make you want to take off the hairpin Leona-senpai has given you?
Yuurin: ...
Yuurin: I don't want to take it off, but at the same time, I don't want anyone to think that Leona-senpai is bullying me.
Jack: ...
Jack: Well, I can wear hairpins too.
Jack: So we're matching.
Yuurin: ...
Jack: ...
Yuurin: Won't that cause an even bigger misunderstanding?
Jack: ...
Jack: You think?
Yuurin: Yes.
Leona: That's not a problem. I'll start wearing hairpins too.
Yuurin: ...
Leona: Oi, Ruggie! Buy every freaking hairpins from Sam!
Ruggie: Sure. You want the cute ones?
Leona: Yeah. The cuter the better, that little shit. (referring to Ace)
Yuurin: ...
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boxofleftoverbeans · 2 months ago
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And on the topic of the whole "Snape is not an effective teacher, he never teaches them anything!"
He literally gives them his own potion instructions which are better than the books! When they mess up he lists everything they did wrong that led to the result they got! He assigns homework that directly explains the uses of ingredients to make them understand it better (or is in other ways tied to what they are currently practicing to do!) His punishments are essays on what you did wrong or preparing ingredients! He always had an antidote ready in case something went wrong!
Even during the horrible Occlumency lessons he: -answers Harry's questions -explains to Harry what to do -compares it to a skill Harry is familiar with for explanation -when Harry still doesn't get it, leads him through the steps to help him do it correctly -tells him what he is doing wrong and what he is doing right -assigns him homework that will help him learn the skill
He isn't just yelling "Close your mind" as some people say. He is still a dick about it but he does teach him properly.
Very rarely do we get glimpses into how exactly the other teacher's classes go and even then they aren't any more detailed or explained than Snape's classes. Usually, we just find out what they are doing and no instructions from teachers whatsoever. Yet people take this vagueness to say Snape didn't explain or teach anything properly when every other subject gets even less description. (with a few exceptions like Lupin's first class and a few of Hagrid's)
And we do see some students like his lessons, so not everyone hates him or considers him a bad teacher:
“didn’t get a chance to speak in Defense Against the Dark Arts this morning. Good lesson, I thought."
That is not even mentioning the fact that most if not all of his students pass OWL exams (even Neville!), Umbridge describes his class as fairly advanced for their level, Snape only takes students who get O on their OWLs to NEWT classes and we see plenty of them do get Os.
(And people say Slughorn is a better teacher but he never corrects any student or explains why their potion turned out wrong, he just passes by them with no comments unless it's someone he wants to "collect"! He never teaches them anything, just has them follow the instructions in the book!)
Snape might be a bullying snarky bat but he is actually an effective teacher.
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