#that's a lot more work than just. going over other sources.

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Meet-Cute - Zoro's Story - 13

Source for pic

Trouble 13 🔞

Word Count: 5343

Tags For The Whole Story: Fem!Reader; Protective!Zoro; Soft!Zoro; Sexual Tension; Teasing; Flirting; Mature Audiences (I'll always tag the NSFW chapters); Modern Day AU; Reader is being stalked; Fear; Paranoia; Angst; Rom-Com Vibes; Mild Gore-like Descriptions; Blood; Reader in a terror-like state; Dead Animals Mentioned; Fluff; Romance; Banter; Manipulation; Miscommunication; Frustration; Reader is very clumsy;

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: After moving away from the hustle and bustle of Grand Line City to help your father around the property following a horse-riding accident - and in the hopes of healing your broken heart after your asshole ex-fiancé cheated - you settle into the country calmness of the Calm Belt. You and Zoro are slowly returning to your easy friendship filled with banter and flirting and you actually begin to glimpse a future with the green-haired cop. But then you start to receive weird gifts. They quickly escalate to manipulative texts. And now you're stuck in a spiral of terror and there's no way to get help because the Stalker, whoever he is, is threatening something other than just your life.

Notes: Early update! Are you all happy about this? Did I feel bad about leaving you with a mean cliffhanger? NO! But I managed to write a lot on Monday, when I had the day off work, so here's your reward! I hope you enjoy this chapter. I'm thinking the next one will be the epilogue, but I still want to wrap some things up, so I'm not sure if there isn't going to be two more chapters instead of one, we'll see. Also, important WARNING for this chapter: non-consensual touching/kissing and overall descriptions of near-rape. It can be triggering, please be careful when reading, hence the 🔞 for this chapter.

Masterlist

King's fingers dig into your skull before he grips your hair tightly and pulls. You grunt and cry out for Zoro, holding him like he's an anchor, but the pain in your head is splitting. King pulls at your scalp relentlessly while he drags you across the floor, so you instinctively grab your hair to try to ease some of the pain, the sting of tears burning your eyes as your legs thrash. 

You feel Zoro's hands grabbing your thigh, trying to hold you close, but his strength is depleting, and as his fingers slip, he lets go with an animalistic growl of defeat. 

King snarls as he releases your hair and pushes you down until your back hits the hard floor, stealing the remaining breath from your lungs. Your back hurts and you hear the unmistakable crunch of broken glass beneath you. Then, King pins you down, his knees holding your flailing arms in place while he sits over your thighs. You're trapped. 

His hand pushes your cheek against the floor as he turns your face towards Zoro and you hiss from the sting of the glass against your cheek. “Watch!” He growls, spittle flying everywhere. His other hand wipes blood away from his eyes and then he presses your cheek even harder, making you wince. “Watch as your dear cop bleeds to death in front of you.”

You can feel King's rage as if it were waves, spilling slowly and venomously from his body. 

Your eyes lock with Zoro's, and he grits his teeth, his nails scraping against the floor as he struggles to try to get up. There's already a pool of blood beneath him, and you feel a wave of nausea overpowering you. 

“Zoro!” You sob, and he calls out your name. Weakly. So weakly. 

“I’m magnanimous, you know that, Kitten?” King’s laugh thunders around you maniacally. “You've been such a slut for this cop, and I still let you say goodbye!” He leans forward until his nose touches your ear, and his hot, heaving breath against your skin makes you shiver for all the wrong reasons. “And he'll get to watch as I finally claim what's mine.”

And then, with another snarl, King rips your top, leaving your breasts exposed to him, and you scream. 

This can't be real. It can't be.

“Fucker!” You hear Zoro grunt, fury permeating his words as he grits his teeth again, and with a pained, desperate sound, tries to rise. 

“You!” King barks, his face whipping to the side as blood still trails down his temple, and he wipes it furiously. You realise he has at least three broken fingers because of the way they seem crooked, but it's like he’s not even acknowledging the pain. “Fucking hero. You just die quietly.”

Your arms feel numb from the weight he’s pressing upon them. Your chest heaves from exertion, from crying, screaming, praying. But King doesn’t relent. His hands grope, squeeze, and pinch. 

It’s disgusting.

And it hurts on so many levels. 

“Please, please, please… stop. Please…” You mutter, your words piling over one another as you try to appeal to a sense of decency you doubt he possesses. 

“That’s it, Kitten. Beg.” He sticks out his bloodied tongue and swipes it over your nipple. You shiver and sob so hard your throat hurts. Zoro is spewing curses from where he’s standing, but you’ve shut your eyes tightly. You don’t want to look at Zoro when King is doing this. “Beg, beg, beg!” King snarls. 

Then his hand climbs along your neck, and his index finger and thumb pinch your chin, forcing you to turn your head to him. “Look at me.” You shake your head frantically. “No? Still defying me?” You hear the unmistakable jingle of a belt buckle being fiddled with and your whole body feels cold.

No. No. No.

“Stop. Stop. Please!”

“I will fucking kill you!” Zoro shouts, then coughs, and you hear a wet sploch as he spits blood on the ground. 

Just make it all stop. This needs to stop. 

“You will learn your lesson thoroughly.” King promises you.

Then, he moves his left knee to lower his pants, freeing your arm, and you seize the opportunity. Your numb fingers search the floor around your body wrapping tentatively around a shard of glass. You grit your teeth through the pain as you grip it tightly, then, with a sharp intake of breath, you plunge it against King.

You aimed for the neck - the artery - knowing he would bleed out fast: die, faint, anything! 

But your aim fails due to the numbness of your arm.

He’s too big, too tall, too massive. And the shard is insignificant. 

The shard sticks out from his shoulder, and he grunts with the impact. His eyes dart to the side, then back to you. The red in them burns brighter, hotter, and scarier. When a grin starts distorting his face as he rips the shard from his skin as if it were nothing, you don’t know if he’s aroused or angry with your actions. 

“Kitten… Kitten…” He tuts, and you squirm, trying to free yourself now that one of your arms is released from his grasp - as if that alone could make a difference in your escape. “So naughty.”

King grabs your wrist and twists it in an unnatural way, squeezing at the same time. The pain is unlike anything else. It travels up your arm, takes hold of your senses, and pierces your soul. He shatters the bone with sheer strength. 

Your scream seems to go on forever, and tears burn on your swollen and bloodied cheeks. 

You seem to register Zoro cursing louder and calling your name. You hear scuffing and dragging. You feel the rage - a deadly aura rolling out of Zoro - but he can’t reach you. 

He can’t save you.

You’re doomed.

The fight is instantly drained out of you as your arm falls limply by your side. As your chest rises and falls, it fills with helplessness. King wipes the tears away from your cheeks with a mimicry of affection and leans down, taking your unmoving lips in his with a satisfied grunt.

“There. See? All quiet and still now. That’s my good girl.” He fixes your hair, and cups your cheek, stealing another kiss away from the numbness of your mouth. “You’ll learn to love this. I won’t have to hurt you again, love. I’ll take care of you. I’ll fix you up. You’re mine to take care of.”

Tears keep spilling, pain keeps making your arm throb, and your chest feels heavy with dread. As King keeps fidgeting with his pants, you let your face fall to the side. Locking eyes with Zoro again, you recognize the same desperation reflected in his wide eye. 

He punches the floor repeatedly with a powerless grunt, shaking his head as a stubborn tear mixes with the blood on his face.

He’s crying?

And then, he stops. His eye focuses to his left, and you slowly follow his gaze.

The gun.

Hope begins to claw its way into your chest. But when your eyes fall back on Zoro, you see how much he’s struggling just to keep his head up. He’s so pale. You don’t know if he has the strength to reach it. 

“Eyes on me, Kitten.” And this time, you obey. You don’t want King’s attention to fall on Zoro.

Not now. 

“Yes. That’s it. Focus on me.” You refuse to look down, but you still feel it. The way he’s caressing himself, watching terror flood your eyes with a lewd moan spilling from his split lips. “Beautiful.”   

You can’t help a whimper from escaping your lips as his fingers find the hem of your bottoms. King curses loudly and hisses, likely because of his broken fingers, then doubles his efforts to try and get rid of the pesky fabric. 

“Mine. Mine. Mine.” He chants insanely, his body bending down as he kisses your stomach, making you heave dryly in disgust.

“Please… please…” You implore, the word stumbling over his, repeated to exhaustion. A prayer, a plea, a supplication. 

It falls on deaf ears, and King’s hands finally pull the fabric down to expose you. His breath shudders as you feel his fingers dig into your hips, bruising and hard. “This was always meant to be, love. You and me, Kitten. Us. You’ll never even think of him again.”

King turns his gaze towards Zoro, and your breath hitches as you follow his gaze too. Zoro looks deadly still. He has managed to rise to his knees, but his body is wobbling with the effort. His shirt is crimson with blood, and his breath comes out in violent shakes of his chest. 

You don’t see the gun.

“You hear that, hero?” King chuckles, his fingers pulling your bottoms down further and further as tears keep staining  your cheeks. You still flail your legs weakly, but you have no more strength. No more will. “How does it feel to know you weren’t strong enough to save her? To die knowing she’s mine?”

Zoro’s chest begins heaving in a rhythmic motion, and you sob harder, your lower lip trembling relentlessly. Is this what death looks like? Is this what it feels like? A pit of growing despair? A hollowed chasm of hurt and indifference? 

And then, you hear it: Zoro’s laugh - something he rarely does. It starts slow, and then it crescendos into insanity, mixing with an animalistic roar as he raises his head to face King. There’s blood all over his face and mouth, but his eye… it seems to be glowing red with fury. 

Then, he smirks, raising his hand which is steady, despite all the blood loss, and he points the gun at King. “You talk too much, fucker.” And, without hesitation, he shoots. The gunshot rings like the thunder from the storm outside. 

Loud. 

Unforgiving.

Freeing.

King jerks violently, his hands climbing towards his torso, where blood is pooling. For the first time, he looks surprised - frightened, even. His breath hitches, and he coughs up blood, his eyes widening as his gaze falls on you one last time.

It’s a vision you know you’ll never forget. He looks defeated, but he still watches you like he owns you. He snarls low and gurgles on the blood coming up his throat. His hands inch forward, still trying to grab you - to claim you.

You hear Zoro grunting in pain before he speaks again. “I told you, you don’t get to touch her.”

Another shot.

King’s eyes open wider, his head jerking violently to the side as the bullet enters through his temple, exiting on the other side with a sickening, meaty sound. Blood and brain matter splatter everywhere, and you can hear pieces of his skull hitting the floor with revolting clatters, like the shattering of the finest china. 

And then, as if in slow motion, he collapses on top of you.

Dead. 

You stay frozen for a moment as your brain tries to grasp what just happened.

King’s dead.

He’s dead.

Zoro saved you.

Zoro!

A dry thud catches your attention, and you shift your focus back to Zoro. He has slumped forward and looks very still.

“Zo! Zoro!” You squirm, trying to push the massive form of King away from you. But if he was impossible to move when he was alive, it’s even worse now. A frustrated cry leaves your lips as you shove his limp body with all your might, ignoring the throbbing pain in your shattered wrist. 

With a lot of effort and kicking, you pry yourself away from King, taking an extra second to pull your bottoms up before you kneel down next to Zoro. The first thing you do is press your fingers against the pulse on his neck - you still feel it, soft and irregular.

A deep, shattering sigh escapes your lips as you slowly turn to Zoro to look him in the eye.

“Hey, Trou–” He groans, leaving the rest unsaid as he can’t seem to find the strength to finish the sentence. 

In the distance, you can hear the faint sound of approaching sirens, mingling with the receding thunder and the dwindling rain. 

“Shh, shh, Zoro. I’m fine, you’re fine. We’re going to be fine.” You sob through your words as your hands stick with the blood on them. Pressing the wound, trying to slow the bleeding, you stare into Zoro’s eye. “You saved me, Zo.” A mere whisper.

The sirens approach.

Blood keeps pooling around you.

Zoro hums, his smirk twisting into a grimace. “Always… gettin’… trouble…” You tremble as you chuckle, more from trying to contain the tears than from the gesture. 

“Yeah, I know… paperwork on your desk, right?” Zoro mumbles something and closes his eye. “Zo, come on.” You whimper, dropping your forehead against his and sobbing uncontrollably. “Open your eyes, come on.”

For an agonizing moment, he’s completely still. No breathing, no nothing. You hold your breath too, chin trembling.

And then he lets out a long exhale, opening his eye lazily, trying to refocus on your face. “Only… have… one eye…” He jokes again, and you hear a car screeching to a halt outside before you can answer him. You move your gaze towards the door and find relief when you see Captain Mihawk.

The older man falters for a split second, his eyes assessing the scene in front of him before he approaches you and mimics your earlier gesture by pressing Zoro’s pulse. He exhales in relief before removing his jacket and placing it on your shoulders so you can cover yourself. Then he sets his amber gaze on your eyes. “Keep talking to him. Don’t let him go unconscious. The ambulance was right behind me.”

Mihawk rises and walks towards King, repeating the process of checking for the pulse, and then he turns back to Zoro. “Roronoa, you are in no way dismissed. Stand your ground, Officer.” Zoro grunts and you feel your chest constrict. You can sense the way Mihawk is distressed over Zoro’s condition, so you refocus your efforts.

“Zo, Zo, look at me, come on, you Mosshead.” That seems to do the trick as he opens up his eye again and frowns. “Yeah, you heard me. Focus on me, will you?”

He tries. You can see he’s trying. But when he closes his eye, it just seems to be harder and harder to open it back up again. You hear the ambulance stop and the paramedics shouting outside, so you cup Zoro’s cheek and press a kiss to his cold, shivering lips.

“You can’t quit on me Zo. I love you. You hear me? I love you. Stay with me… please!”

You can see him struggling to answer, his lips trembling with the effort, but he can’t muster the strength. And then it all happens at once.

The paramedics rush to your side, and you give them space to work, though your hand still holds Zoro’s. One of the EMTs wants to assess you because there’s so much blood all over you that the poor man thinks you’re dying too. But you push him away, saying you’re fine and refuse to let go of Zoro’s hand.

It’s not until you’re both riding the ambulance to the hospital - your hand clutching Zoro’s so hard it’s already numb - that the worried EMT tries again and frustratedly asks you to please let him assess your wounds. 

“I said I’m fine!” You snap, your voice cracking, showing just how frayed you really feel. “Just… just fix him!” A sob claws at your throat, and you swallow it down, your fingers squeezing tightly. 

Zoro is laid on his stomach as the EMTs work on the stab wound on his back. He’s breathing very shallowly through an oxygen mask, and a sheen of sweat makes his forehead glisten. 

“BP’s dropping.” One of the EMTs who’s monitoring Zoro’s condition states and bangs on the window. “Speed it up!” The ambulance picks up its pace, and every jolt, every bump makes Zoro groan and turn paler. You lean down, your forehead touching his again while your shoulders shake violently. 

“Zo… fight! Please. This is not the way you die, hear me?” You can’t stop the whimper that escapes your lips, nor the way your heart hammers incessantly against your chest. 

“ETA to the hospital?” The EMTs talking are mere background noise. All you hear is the faint breaths Zoro’s taking, the slight wheeze every time he inhales, and the heavy grunt every time he exales. “Five minutes?”

“You will die a very old, very grumpy man. None of this bullshit, hear me?” Your hand squeezes his tighter, and you shake again, your shoulders shivering violently.

“That’s five minutes too many, step on it. Ma’am?”

“You stay right here with me, Zo. I selfishly want all of your years. Don’t quit on me, Mosshead!”

“Ma’am!”

You don’t answer, don’t even look. You’re laser-focused on Zoro’s pained expression and barely register when someone drapes a blanket over your shoulders. 

And then you feel it.

A gentle, very light squeeze of your hand. Zoro’s still awake, he’s still fighting.

Time seems to stand still as you strain your ears for any more sound, any other confirmation that he’s still there with you. 

And then time crashes violently, and all at once. 

The ambulance screeches to a stop, and the doors fly open. The EMTs haul Zoro’s gurney out, and you follow blindly, too stubborn to let go of him, too tenacious to focus on yourself. There’s already a team of doctors and nurses waiting by the hospital doors, white coats, medical jargon, the smell of strong disinfectant, it’s all too much.

“Talk to us.” One doctor begins, his voice steady.

“Male, early twenties, stab wound to the back, multiple lacerations, and blunt force trauma likely from a fight. No exit wound - possible organ damage, and massive blood loss. BP’s crashing!” The EMT states, and the doctor nods, you’re all moving inside the hospital, but the sounds are too loud, the colours too bright.

Everything feels surreal. 

“Get him to trauma one and prep for transfusion. Someone page surgery, if he’s bleeding internally, we’re taking him straight in.”

A nurse grabs your arm, and one of the doctors steadies you, making you let go of Zoro’s hand with a gasp and a whine. “Zo!”

“Ma’am?” One of the EMTs stops near the nurse and sighs. 

“She refused treatment on the way, possible shock, multiple traumas and lacerations, her wrist is a mess.” The nurse nods and talks softly to you, steadying your shoulders as you try to follow Zoro’s gurney.

“He’ll be fine, dear. We need to examine you. There’s nothing you can do about him now, he’s in very good hands.”

“No, no, no!” You sob, pushing past her, trying to run to Zoro again. “I can’t leave his side! I can’t, Zo!” 

Suddenly, security comes near you, a big man with an intimidating stride, though kind eyes and smile. He reaches to stop you from following Zoro and the entourage of doctors. “Listen to the nurse, Ma’am.”

“No! I can’t leave him!” You thrash violently, even though you have no idea where you find the strength. The security holds you, and you hear someone say something about sedatives. You keep calling out to Zoro and the last thing you hear before a needle pricks your arm and everything goes black is the scariest thing you’ve ever heard in your entire life.

“We’re losing him!”

And then… darkness.

-*-

You lost track of time.

Lost track of where you are.

But not of what happened. It takes you a full minute, but you get there. As the steady inhales you take slowly dissipate a wave of nausea, you remember everything. King; Zoro; The near-rape; Zoro; The desperation; Zoro; The stabbing, the gunshot, the sirens, the hospital…

Zoro.

“Zoro!” You rise with a jolt and a pained cry. Everything hurts. Your body feels sore and heavy, every cut stings, every bruise throbs, your wrist feels like it’s being crushed by a truck. Yet, what hurts most is your heart. 

“He’s alive.” A gravelly voice jolts you. 

Your face whips to the side faster than the speed of light, and you are met with a stern amber gaze. 

“Captain Mihawk!” How long has the man been seated by your bedside? You have absolutely no idea how much time has passed, but it’s dark outside, so at least an entire day. “Where–”

“It’s classified information. I can’t tell you where he is. But he’s alive, though heavily battered. He’s still asleep.”

Alive… alive! Alive!

You release a gargled sob, your good hand climbing to stop it from turning into an ugly cry in front of Zoro’s captain. 

You inhale quickly and sharply, trying to fend off tears and keep from being an emotional mess, since Mihawk seems bored to death by your display. 

“I called your father. I didn’t disclose too much because I didn’t want to worry him, but he’s on the first flight back. He’ll be home tomorrow.” 

You nod, relief flooding your veins. Shanks is coming back - you missed your dad - and if you noticed the way Mihawk’s voice softened when he spoke of him, you ignore it, feeling like it’s safest if you don’t mention it.

“Home? But our house is–...” Destroyed, filled with blood, a dead body…

Tainted…

“The forensic team finished up during the day, so the cleanup crew should be working now. By the time Red arrives, it will be like nothing happened.” His eyes soften for a fraction of a second, and he sighs. “Visibly, at least.” 

Right. Because emotionally and psychologically, you’re fucked. 

And you haven’t even begun to process it yet. 

“Red?” You can’t let this one pass. Even more so because the rest still feels too traumatic to address. 

Mihawk uncrosses his leg, sets it down, and crosses the other one instead. He never blinks. “I’ve known your father since school days.” Another heavy sigh while his lip curls up in slight discontentment tells you he won’t elaborate on the subject further. “Did you know him? King?”

Just as he mentions him, the pain in your wrist becomes unbearable, and you wince, bringing it closer to your chest as tears start to unwillingly pool in your eyes.

“Yes. He was my ex-fiancé’s bodyguard. Vinsmoke Ichiji, my ex, had many enemies and… fans.” You inhale a shaky breath. “I barely talked to King during the two years he worked for Vinsmoke Enterprises, but he was… obsessed. My phone it–...”

“We collected it for evidence.” Mihawk nods. 

“He… he hurt Rob Lucci and– God, I don’t even know his name, the store clerk of the supermarket by the corner street–...”

“We know. Roronoa connected the dots first, and by the time I went to speak to the clerk, he told me that you had called the supermarket to warn him. He didn’t know your name, but he had seen you with Zoro. When King threatened him to ‘never touch what’s his again’, he too connected the dots. He was just too scared to share that information when we first took his statement.” Mihawk purses his brows. “As soon as he told me that vital information, and since the special squad was heading over, we sped things up and rushed to your house.”

You nod slowly. Once more completely overwhelmed by everything King did. The tears threaten to return and you sniff loudly. Mihawk rises in his chair and sets the furniture back into its rightful place, by the corner of the room, coming back with a tissue in his hand, which he hands to you.

“I’ll take your full statement once you’re recovered. There’s no rush. Besides, I’ll speak with Vinsmoke first to see what type of information he can provide us with. Until then, please rest.”

You nod again, wiping your tears and nose. All you really want to do is see Zoro.

“Are you sure you can’t tell me where Zoro is? I–... Please?” Gripping the sheets with your good hand, you feel your chest constrict. You can’t spend another second away from him. 

“No. It’s completely classified information.” Mihawk heads towards the door and opens it. “I can’t tell you he’s in recovery room 3, down the next hallway, third door to the right. It’s classified, stop asking.”

You grin, the smile so foreign on your cut lips that it almost hurts. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Mihawk’s brow raises, and your grin widens. “Rest, child. You need it.”

-*-

You managed to peek at the time, and it’s nearly four in the morning. Twenty-four hours have passed since this nightmare came to its conclusion. It still feels so surreal to know your stalker is dead. That he’s not going to text you anymore; that he’s not going to hunt you, control you, punish you…

But all you want right now, all you need, is Zoro…

Your feet are bare as they pitter-patter down the next hallway and take you to the third door on the right. You’re lucky no nurse saw you or heard you, because you had to rip the IV needle from your arm, you’re still dizzy from being heavily sedated, and you’re pretty sure any nurse would have scolded you and dragged you back right away.

You don’t quite know what to expect as you push open the heavy green door and enter the dimly lit room, but whatever it is, it wasn’t this.

Zoro looks so unlike his usual self. His torso is heavily bandaged, there’s a small tube coming out of his nose - likely to help him breathe - an IV line in his arm, and all sorts of equipment set on his chest and finger to keep track of his vitals. 

He looks so frail.

So unlike the strong, unshakable Zoro who protects you and keeps all harm away. 

The small click of the door closing behind you disrupts the steady beeps of the monitors, and you bite your lower lip to contain your sobs as you walk towards him. 

“Hi…” You whisper softly, maybe hoping that he hears you. He doesn’t stir, so you swallow down the rest of everything you have to say to him. You want to thank him, you want him to know how much he means to you, but you also want to call him careless and reckless. Maybe not all in that order, though. 

With a longing sigh, you find a chair by the corner of the room and drag it towards the bedside. With your uninjured hand, you grab Zoro’s - it’s freezing - and just stare at his face. His brows are scrunched, even though he’s heavily sedated, but the beeping on the monitor seems steady and his chest rises and falls regularly.

He’s alive.

He made it.

He saved you.

“Thank you.” You know he doesn’t hear you, but the words burn so deep on your tongue that you need to release them. Then, you lay your forehead against his hand and hope he wakes up soon. You need to hear his voice. 

-*-

Time is so relative. It seems you were asleep forever, a dreamless, drug-induced sleep, but when you blink slowly, chasing away the drowsiness, the room is still dark, so you couldn’t have been out for too long.

You inhale deeply, ignoring the pain in your back from the small cuts of glass from the table; the sharp sting of the still-fresh bite mark; the constant throbbing of your wrist, yet– there’s something you can’t ignore: a steady thread of fingers through your hair.

Zoro!

With urgency in your movements, you raise your head, eyes already opened wide as they meet his soft gaze. 

“Zo…”

“Hey there, Troublemaker…” He grunts and smirks. “This time, you really made some trouble, huh?”

A choked wail leaves your lips as you scramble to get up and wrap your arms around him. For a second, it's bliss. 

Then it’s pain.

“Ouch!” You both wince at the same time as you disentangle away from him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” You start babbling, and he chuckles softly.

“Missed you too, Trouble.” You can’t help but notice the roughness of his voice and how breathless he sounds. 

“I thought I was going to lose you!” You can’t stop the stubborn tears, nor do you really care about stopping them. You want to press closer to Zoro, to never let him go, but you’ve just learned that you have to be careful. Instead, you grip his hand tightly. 

“I thought the same about you.” Zoro tries to raise his hand, but his strength fails him, so you lift it and bring it to your lips, pressing a soft kiss on his knuckles. “When I woke up and you were gone…” Zoro snarls softly. “We’re still going to have to talk about that stunt you pulled.”

“Later.” You dismiss him, not caring about being scolded.

“Later.” He agrees, too tired to argue with you. “C’mere.” He lets go of your hand and scoots softly to the side, taking care not to strain his wounds.

“No!” You protest, though feebly. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

He sighs. “Here.” Then he pats the side of the bed softly. “C’mere.” He talks as if he’s scolding a small child, and frankly, you don’t have it in you to protest. You need to feel him against you, to know he’s real and alive and breathing. So you climb the bed, taking care not to strain your injured arm and wincing as everything hurts. 

Zoro grunts as the mattress dips but hums in agreement when you nestle close to him, your foreheads almost touching. “Better.” He mutters with a long, relieved exhale. 

Then he pulls you a bit closer by placing his hand on your waist. You grin and brush your nose against his. “Softie.”

“Shut up.” He scolds. Then you feel him chuckle even before he curves his lips to release the sound. “I heard you, you know?”

“Hmm?”

“You said you love me.”

Your breath hitches as you feel your neck burning from embarrassment. “You were half-dead, what do you know?”

“I know what I heard.” He counters, and you press your fingers against his chest, softly. 

“No, you don’t.”

Zoro’s hand moves slowly but surely, when he raises your chin so you can look at his eye. “Lie to me one more time, Trouble.” You almost melt. God, you do love him. Your blush and soft smile are answer enough. “That’s what I thought.”

Then he presses his lips softly against yours. Just a small peck, a reminder, a promise for more. 

“Fine.” You admit in a barely-there whisper when you break apart. “I do love you.”

His eye softens like you’ve never seen it do before, all the usual harshness being replaced by something sweet, just for you. 

“Good.” He pecks you one more time. “Because I love you too.”

The blush on your cheeks spreads, but so does the warmth in your chest as you bury your head against the crook of his neck. “Idiot. You just wanted me to say it first.”

You don’t have to look at him to know he has a smug smirk on his lips. “Yeah, I did. Especially because I’ve loved you since I was a horny teenager.” You can’t stop a heartfelt laugh from escaping your lips. “I think I loved you more than swords back then, and that’s saying something.”

You laugh again, feeling so much relief from this interaction. It’s normal. It’s back to how things were before King broke you. It’s you and Zoro. Real, steady, familiar.

“It’s not a competition, you bonehead.”

He chuckles and snuggles closer, exhaustion and drugs getting the best of him as his eye droops slowly. “Tch. If it was, I’d have won.”

You let out another breathless laugh as you feel him drift off, a smug smile still pressing his lips.

It’s over.

The nightmare’s over. 

Finally.

Tag List: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid @ren-ni @jqperi @lycoriskalmia @daydreamer-in-training @iloveyoushanks @thegalaxysedge22 @kyllium @keiva1000 @chibinasuu @my-name-is-heartache @laidenbreecatchall

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[greenerteacups]

I cannot tell you just how obsessed I am with Lionheart - I have literally ranted about it with everyone who has even a remote interest in Harry Potter. It is the best thing I have read, it has made me fall in love with the series all over again, I feel like I'm reading and experiencing it all for the first time! I'm even trying to dabble in bookbinding just to actually have a hardcopy of your fics (hard emphasis on trying)

I love sweet cranky Draco and how you have so beautifully written him into the golden trio - I love how he balances Hermione out and matches her brilliance, I have always hated how she was always the odd one out whenever Ron decided to stop talking to her. I keep telling everyone I truly think you have a better understanding of the characters than JKR did - how you've written Harry as this very perceptive and gentle peacemaker who is craving so deeply for family (that scene end of book 4 where Arthur comes crashing in to save him? ugh, ab.so.lute.ly. heartwrenching!!) , how you've made Ron a wonderful character and brilliant in his own way (it's so easy for fanfic writers to bash him and make him this big dumb boy who doesn't get hermione- I love that even Draco recognizes that he has his strengths). I love how you've paralleled Snape as Draco's godfather to Sirius and Harry. I love the subtle ways you have changed the story to keep us on our toes. I love how slow and realistically they have grown page by page and I am so very excited to see where you take them next. Ugh I can go on and on. Everything is so well written and I love how you've expanded my vocabulary. You are such an exceptional writer!!

I do find it interesting (and I haven't been able to find any previous posts on this) that Book 2 is the chambers of secrets book and there is zero appearance of the basilisk, which seems a pretty glaring omission. Obviously this is what Theo is trying to find where we are in Book 5, but I was wondering why the delay and doesn't this mess with lining up events with the main series? I guess we wont' know until the grand reveal. But then that made me wonder if it's just "Book 1" and "Book 2" - are there no subtitles "Draco Malfoy and the Chamber of Secrets", etc?

Anyways, I'm all caught up now and just wanted to say - I'm so in love with your work and can't wait to see where you take us next!

Hi, thank you so much for this message! You are so kind to write it!

I would point out that Book 2 isn't really the "chamber of secrets" book — as you point out: he got no gotdamn Chamber in there. The plot of Chamber of Secrets doesn't really work without Lucius, so it's one of the places where the fic diverges the most. Books 6 and 7 will also diverge a lot more from the source material, just so you know! I view Lionheart as a reimagining of the Harry Potter story, not a beat-for-beat retelling. Obviously, some things will remain the same (contrary to what they may believe, neither Lucius nor Draco are so important that the plot totally collapses without them) but for the most part, I'd say I'm trying to re-tell the story in my own way, which means parking the basilisk for a few years while I sort out other things in the story. I promise I'll try to make all payoffs worthwhile, though. :)

[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 66: Prove To Me

Masterlist: https://www.tumblr.com/sl-newsie/739551758747090944/american-woman-thomas-shelby-x-american-oc?source=share

“Give our best to your parents,” Anna says and gives me a final hug before I board the train. “Your neefs are going to miss you.”

It’s time to leave. As much as I would love to stay longer there is lots more calling me back west. Thomas and I meet with Uncle Colon in three days. The Müller contracts need to, nay, will be approved by Thomas. I also need to see what he already knows about the Nazi movement. If it’s spreading this fast here then surely it’s going to become more than just a rumor in Britain.  

“Please stay safe,” Franz bids as he hands me my luggage. “Trouble’s brewing everywhere nowadays.”

We all exchange uneasy glances, partially due to the swastika flag hanging overhead, and Abel steps forward for his own hug.

“You’re going to visit Uncle Colon?”

“Yes. I pray that he will have some answers to Mr. Shelby’s problems. As well as my own.”

My soft-eyed broer nods and offers a hopeful smile. “Our prayers are with you. Tot ziens.”

“Tot ziens, Abel. I guess the next time I might see you all is for Christmas.” I give a small tug on the lead and test out my hond’s new name. “Komm, Dílis.”

The German Shepherd climbs the steps onto the train car and we find a cabin. Dílis hops up on the seat next to me and lays his head on my lap. After a few minutes the train rocks forward and begins chugging away. So here I go. Instead of finding a man in my travels I acquire a German Shepherd. How fitting. Out the window I see Abel and the others on the platform waving at me. 

Arf! The canine whines as he looks out at more Jewish immigrants waiting for their trains.

“You said it,” I murmur, my heart clenching at the sight.

Somehow the trip back seems to fly much faster. Before I board the boat in Amsterdam I make a quick call to arrange for a car to get me once I reach England. The secretary is a different one than last time but she too remembers not to mess with me.

I recognize Nathaniel on another ship once my boat docks in Port of Hull. He steps off and joins me once Dílis and I depart our own barge.

“I see you found a friend," he observes with a smile.

“This is Dílis. Gib Pfötchen.”

The dog’s ears perk up. He remembers what I taught him on the way over and proves it by raising a paw for Nathaniel to shake.

“Well, hello!” Nathaniel returns the gesture. “So did you find what you were looking for?” He wonders as we walk towards the dock entrance.

“I got what I came for. My broer and his family are now partners with Mr. Shelby.”

Nathaniel runs a hand through his thin beard. “That’s very kind of you to do that. But it sounds more like a professional goal rather than the personal one I pegged you for.”

Am I really that pathetic? “However my life is to proceed, God will lead me there. Right now I need to work towards earning money for my familie.” I change the tide of the topic. “What about you?”

The sailor tilts his head in thought. “My family’s doing their part. I guess my job is to keep transporting people. Between the depression and the conditions in Germany, more and more people are moving these days.”

“I agree. In fact you might see my broer and his familie pass by too.”

“I’ll keep a weathered eye out,” Nathaniel promises as a black Bentley cruises towards us. “Just remember your family always has a friend at Port of Hull.”

“I am most grateful,” I thank him as I slide in and Dílis jumps up next to me. “Tot ziens, Nathaniel.”

The car drives off and I’m presented with the familiar English countryside. A freezing countryside. It’s no warmer here than Germany. Throughout the whole day I’m driven across the country, watching the many towns and villages blink by. When we drive past places more affected with poverty there’s no denying the strange looks being given to my pristine transport. I’m sure there will come a point when this depression will turn almost any honest man into a desperate one.

“Here we are, Ms. Steenstra,” the driver says as he pulls up to where I assume is the Port of Liverpool. “Mr. Shelby instructed me to bring you here and tell you that he will be waiting for you.”

Of course he will. “Thank you, sir. Komm, Dílis.”

The pup jumps out of the car and we begin to make our way to the docks. After a few minutes of walking I spot the man I’m searching for. Compared to the rest of the sailors and pedestrians here Thomas’ tailored suit sticks out like a sore thumb; though then again my fur coat isn’t too ordinary either. 

He locks eyes with me and stands up from the bench he’s sitting on. I can’t tell- Is he perturbed? Upset? Anxious? The one thing that is clear is his confusion towards the dog perched by my side.

“What is that?” Thomas asks bluntly.

I gesture to the panting canine, who’s already trying to smell him. “This is Dílis, my new companion.”

Thomas raises an eyebrow. “Dílis?”

“It’s Celtic for ‘loyal.’”

This gets a shadow of a smirk on Thomas’ face. “An Irish name for a German dog?”

I shrug. “I’m American. It’s sort of our thing.”

The gangster takes another skeptical look at him. “He’s just a pup.”

“He’ll grow,” I assure sternly. “Dílis, gib pfötchen.”

Dílis stands up and repeats the trick from earlier. What’s different now is that he’s still smelling Thomas, as if trying to uncover what kind of a person he's just met. Meanwhile Thomas is very accepting of this greeting and gives the dog a gloved handshake.

“Hello hello, Dílis.”

I smile proudly. “You have your horses, I have my hond.”

“Indeed. He likes you.”

Dílis licks his glove. “He likes you, too.”

“Yeah. But you’re his master. The one giving the orders. He’s a fighter. He would tear a bloke to pieces for you.” Thomas and I begin walking to the ship bound for Ireland. “I should tell you there’s a new cause for celebration. I’ve arranged for Aberama and Polly to be married. But don’t tell her. She doesn’t know.”

Of course not. Why change anything now? A fleeting thought of relief sparks through me and I close my eyes. “That’s good. We need some good in the world right now. A wedding sounds like a perfect way to share it.”

Another wedding. More talk of love. Another ceremony for me to be cast out of because I can never truly be one of them. Deep breath. Remember who you are here for.

“I have the Müller contracts to submit to you. We can talk about that later. We have lots to discuss from my trip.” A pinch of guilt tugs at my stomach. “Also…”

“No. Don’t tell me,” Thomas grunts and we stop next to the ticket booth. “You want your pay, yeah? ‘Cause that’s all I am to you now. Another paycheck.”

I keep my tone cool. “You should be used to that by now. I wish that wasn’t true. If you had gone through what I have, can you blame me?”

He doesn’t answer. He stays silent and plunges a hand into his pocket, pulling out his glasses. He fishes out his cheque book and after a few waves of a pen hands me the slip. 

“Here. Take the bloody money.”

Another thousand pounds. “My familie appreciates it,” I acknowledge gratefully and stow it in my purse. “What did you expect?”

He finishes buying our tickets and scoffs. “‘Hello, Thomas.’ ‘Good to see you.’”

“What’s the good of small talk when you’ll just ignore me again? The contract says I am still an employee so I am here on behalf of my familie to earn some extra wages.”

If he thinks I’m here out of the goodness of my heart he’s dead wrong. It kills me to do this to him but he can’t play the innocent card with me. I’m not the same naïve, helpless meisje who wound up in your kitchen all those years ago. In fact, you could say that you helped shape me into who I am now, Thomas Shelby. Now instead of sporadically handing out kindness, I reserve it and look out for my familie first. Much like yourself.

Four hours later we’re both standing at the edge of the barge, staring out at the approaching country. It doesn’t look to have changed much since the last time I visited. Dílis is already enjoying the fresh air.

“How might I address your uncle?” Thomas mutters after lighting a cigarette.

I pull my coat tighter around me. “His name is Edmund Colon. Mr. Colon will suffice.”

“And this Mr. Colon… He ain’t gonna fuck with my head, is he?”

“Absolutely not. If he dislikes you he will not hesitate to tell you.”

Thomas takes a puff and shows no definite reaction to this answer. “Good to know.”

“Relax. If I’m around he won’t do anything drastic.”

He hums and keeps looking outward. “Have you been in touch with Linda?”

Now it’s my turn to scoff. “You know me better. You know I don’t stay in touch with her or Lizzie.” 

He smirks. “I thought you said you tend to avoid jealousy. ‘Causes viciousness,’ as you’ve said.”

“‘S not just that,” I admit. “They don’t want me to talk, so I won’t.”

He doesn’t respond. Instead he takes another puff of smoke and straightens his cap. “I’m afraid there’s more news. While you were constructing business in Germany, we had a visit from a mister Brilliant Chang. We’re now helping to transport opium.”

Drugs? He’s shipping drugs now? How can he agree to that after the mess that drug gave to his body? Well, he most certainly isn’t going to convince me to sell it.

“I see” is all I answer with.

Thomas grunts. “I must say it was unfortunate that you were not here to negotiate. Chang brought a whore who put a gun to Finn’s head.”

His tone sounds as one does when talking about the weather. First Finn gets himself shot and now this? It’s like Polly said when I first started. They forget he’s still so young. Even Finn is forgetting how stupid he can be.

“It was Finn who allowed such a woman to get so close,” I reply softly, reaching down to scratch Dílis’ ears.

“I knew you’d be disappointed,” Thomas sighs. “There’s more.” 

My head whips up at him. “More?”

“Yes. We’ve been in contact with a gang called the Billy Boys.” Thomas licks his lips and continues. “They’re the ones who killed Bonnie Gold. Billy Boys fucking tied him to a cross and shot him.”

Bang! The memory of a gunshot rings through my head and the image of Bonnie’s corpse takes form. My body goes stiff and my cold hands grip the railing.

“Jesus Christ… " I murmur with dread. "Have they no morals? Is this all just to get to you? Thomas…”

His icy blue eyes creep over to mine, analyzing me. “You think I don’t feel guilt?”

“I’m saying… When will enough be enough for you?” I gasp. “Your company, your empire, has grown most impressively despite the losses in America. History shows that every civilization eventually experiences its downfall. You need to know when enough is enough!” 

Thomas’ jaw tightens and he takes a step back, pointing a finger at me. “I had you bring me here to discuss matters with your uncle so that I might handle them. Not to hear about how everything I do is wrong.”

My face stays straight and my stare hardens. “I never said that. And believe me, Edmund Colon will say these exact same words when he hears of what you’re going through.” 

The ship docks and I immediately lead Dílis off. Lord, I am already losing patience. Just pay attention and get Thomas to the meeting. Settle things out and then I can get back to work.

Thomas hails a cab and when I ask for Uncle Colon’s address the driver gives me a double-take. Even here it’s not a normal request to be driven to a gangster’s home. But he agrees and in no less than twenty minutes we’re riding through misty green meadows and over frozen streams. Thomas and I stay quiet the whole time and the only noise comes from Dílis’ small whines. Soon the car approaches Uncle Colon’s road and the sight of the cozy stone home makes me relax by a fraction. With its trimmed fence and many bushes. Even the guards don’t bother me. The handful of men standing watch outside recognize me and give friendly waves as I step out of the car.

Thomas, however, is not eased at all about their company. He keeps fingering his cap and running his hand over his jacket where his gun is most likely concealed. I snap him out of it by taking his hand and leading him and Dílis around to the barn. We step inside out of the mist and I hear metal clanking in the distance. I poke my head around a corner and spot Uncle Colon hunched over a beaten up Ford truck. His rolled up sleeves allow for a view of the Celtic cross tattooed to his wrist, just like my necklace. His worn work clothes are a steep difference compared to Thomas' overdressed appearance.

Arf!

At the sound of Dílis’ noise my uncle looks over his shoulder and gets a wide grin.

“Ah, Verena! How’s the cutting?” Uncle Colon greets as he wrings his hands on a grease towel.

“As good as it can when the world’s this dark,” I smile and we both hug. “Good to see you, Uncle Colon!”

Dílis doesn’t hesitate to begin smelling his shoes. “Who is this handsome beast?”

“This is Dílis,” I introduce.

Uncle Colon gets a wise gleam in his eye. “Ah, wise choice. He does look very loyal.” He gets the towel down and reaches for a glass of water. “Have you heard any word from Alfie?”

My smile fades. “I’m afraid Mr. Solomons has been dead for some time now, Uncle Colon.”

The older man’s eyes soften. “I’m so sorry to hear that. It appears our estranged relationship will go on unmended.” His eyes travel past me and his gaze sharpens. “I see you brought someone. This is your boss, then?”

I step aside and gesture to my colleague. “This is Thomas-”

“Thomas Shelby, of Shelby Company Limited,” Uncle Colon asserts, staring him square on. “Anyone who’s anyone here knows about you.”

Thomas stays quiet the whole time, not showing too much gruffness but not exactly appearing overly friendly either. He never moves his eyes away from my uncle.

“He’s the one who’s requested an audience with you,” I remind him.

Uncle Colon nods, staring at Thomas, and goes to pull a tarp over his project. “Alright, then. This banjaxed car can wait a moment or two. Go on in, Verena. Help yourself to a drink.”

Don’t mind if I do. I nudge Dílis forward and walk back out into the damp pasture towards the house’s warm glow. My end of today’s job is done. It’s up to Thomas now to strike an understanding with my own familie.

General POV

The rugged Irishman leads Thomas into another room in the barn. This one appears less dirty and more for business purposes. How can Thomas tell? Because of the waiting cases of empty whiskey bottles. Somewhere in here is Edmund Colon’s own small distillery. Thomas should respect it as if it were his own.

So this is the man who’s always stood behind Verena. The connection to the White Hand. At a glance Thomas thinks he could pass for any other Irishman. A few inches taller than he is, calculating hazel eyes, and a worn face with a faint beard matching the salt and pepper hair tucked under his flat cap. No dapper suit or accessories. His clothing consists of simple muck boots, work trousers, suspenders, undershirt and coat. One could say he appears as a wise friend.

This Mr. Colon is part of Verena’s family, there’s no doubt about it. She shares his bluntness and sense of tradition. If only Thomas wasn’t equally blunt when he paid her. His words are coming back to haunt him. Now he’s whoring away his shame to her while she earns the paycheck.

“Four years ago you got a taste of American cars,” Colon gloats as he pours them each a drink. “Did you enjoy our gift?”

“Yes. The Hudson still works splendidly. It’s one of my brother’s favorites.” They each take a seat on some barrels and Thomas looks up again. “Mr. Solomons is alive and well, Mr. Colon. Verena doesn’t know.”

Colon takes a deep breath and swirls the whiskey in his cup. “Sometimes a dead man is a free man in this world. Give him my regards, if you wouldn’t mind.” He gets a distant look and states: “I love my country, Mr. Shelby. Ireland is a true beauty. But you English always look at us the wrong way.” His hazel eyes flash up to inspect Thomas. “You Peaky Blinders certainly have made a name for yourselves.”

“If you know who we are-” The Brummie gangster starts to explain.

“Mr. Shelby, I don’t care if you’re Gypsy, Catholic, or Jewish. The only reason you’re still breathing is because my informants keep me updated on one of your employees.” Colon points in the direction he just sent Verena and then points to himself. “My niece. Right out there. She trusts you. That got me thinking. You are not members of the Crown, nor am I a member of the IRA. We are simply two men trying to do business for the good of our families. So let us have it remain that way.”

Thomas replays his words and it clicks that now he’s getting somewhere. Just like Verena, any of Colon’s decisions are going to be based on family. 

“My cousin informed me of some men passing through Belfast,” Thomas expresses, taking a drink of the familiar whiskey. “Those one’s called Billy Boys.”

Colon lightly pounds the wall. “Them damn Billy Boys. Thinking they can walk through my streets all high and grand. What trouble did they give you, eh?”

“They’re trying to snuff us out.”

The Irishman lets out a laugh and raises his glass. “Join the club. How’s about we make a deal? I keep away any more mishaps from affecting your trade routes through Belfast, and you kill Jimmy McCavern.”

This man works fast. Thomas can already tell he’s read his character but the question is why is Colon already so accepting? Is it because of Verena’s trust in him?

“That isn’t a fair trade, Mr. Colon. We both want him dead.”

“Aye. But it gives you better motivation. You deal with him and it will prove to me if I should help you. Prove to me that the Shelbys are all they're made out to be.” Colon polishes off the rest of his liquor. “Oh, a fair warning. We do not control the Titanic folk, Mr. Shelby. We keep to ourselves. If they cause trouble it will not be the White Hand’s problem.”

“Very well.”

Thomas takes that as his que of dismissal and stands up, dusting off his jacket. He nearly reaches the end of the room when Mr. Colon speaks again.

“One final thought, Mr. Shelby.” Thomas hears his boots creak closer and closer until Colon puts a firm hand on his shoulder. “You know, when I married my dear Eleanor I thought the guns and fights would leave us alone. But you can’t have both, Thomas Shelby. One or the other, they cannot coexist. From what I’ve been told you found this out the hard way. Your first wife-”

Thomas flinches. “Do not bring my late wife into this.”

“The Hell I will,” Colon growls. “You’re a chaser. This is the life you made for yourself, Shelby. Do not drag my niece into it too. No bullet will be carved with her name.”

The Brummie swallows. “Verena chose to-”

“Malarkey! First you make her think she owes you. Then she falls in love with you.” Colon holds up his wrist with the tattoo. “I am a religious man, Mr. Shelby. But if you break her heart… Another dead man is no skin off my nose. Have I made myself clear?”

His other hand reaches for a pistol under his jacket, never breaking eye contact, and Thomas knows exactly what he’s thinking. It’s the same process he goes through when scum politicians and aristocrats turn their noses up at his own family. He never wanted to cause Verena pain. It just… fell out of place. But there is no denying now that he will do what it takes to support her family. 

Thomas holds out a hand and the two men shake. “Very.”

Verena’s POV

It’s sad to see how the house has gotten so cluttered. Instead of a mobster’s home it looks like a hunting cabin. I remember when I was younger it was always spotless, with fresh flowers placed around during springtime. Aunt Eleanor’s touch has since been fading away. Part of this reminds me of Vinegar Hill back home. More Celtic crosses, a faded Bible placed on the mantel, and some of vader’s gifted delft pottery. 

Dílis has taken the liberty to lay in front of the warm fireplace. I set down my glass and look up at the ticking grandfather clock. It’s been an hour. How long are they going to talk? Is Thomas really so stubborn to ignore what offer Uncle Colon might have? If he knows anything about the men who killed Bonnie then he should not hesitate. 

I think back to Michael’s words. This is by far the time to not hesitate. Now is the time for action, to show that Thomas is no spent force. Franz was right. Trouble is brewing and I am not going to let myself be caught in it.

Creak.

The back door swings open and Uncle Colon steps in, stomping the mud off his boots. 

“I left your boss outside to wait.” He points to where he just came from. “Verena. That man. He is just as I’ve been told. Stubborn, scheming, arrogant. Yet you still give yourself to him.”

My jaw drops. “I do not-”

“I’m not talking about virginity. I’m talking about time. For over ten years you’ve served this man. And for what?” He taps the side of his head. “That’s the question you need to answer, Verena.”

If I didn’t know better I’d say his lecture is tinged with pity. Lord knows I’m one of the oddballs in my familie as far as courtship goes but I think I’ve done enough mental bashing to myself by now. Of all people I’d hoped Uncle Colon might understand my position.

“I know.”

My uncle takes my hand as if to say he means no harm. “You’re a wise lass. I know you will do as God guides you. But make sure you remember to value your time, Verena. As your Aunt Eleanor would say, time’s as precious as endless fortunes of gold.”

I respond with a bittersweet smile. “Yes. I understand.”

“Good. ‘S been good to see you, lass.” He smiles down at my dog, who’s now up and alert. “You take care of her now, Dílis. Eh?” 

He leans in for a hug goodbye and I lead Dílis back to the door. Thomas is already waiting in the car. 

“Visit your crazy uncle more often, eh? Slán.”

His Irish phrase brings a smile to my face and I wave goodbye before climbing into the car next to Thomas and Dílis.

“Tot ziens, Uncle Colon. Thanks a million.”

The driver revs the engine and begins driving down the muddy road. As the cottage gets further and further behind us Thomas makes no move to speak. Did Uncle Colon have news for him? Did they accomplish anything?

“What did you think of my uncle?” I outright ask in a laid-back tone. “He’s nice, isn’t he?”

“That’s one way to put it.” Thomas pauses, still staring ahead. “You’ve said family is everything to you… Never thought it was this deep.”

“What do you think I first thought when I first saw how your familie runs itself?”

@sherbitdibdab @meadows5

[kaurwreck]

def recommend expanding beyond Wikipedia for learning more about the bsd authors. and for most other things. but here especially.

[biowaredisasterbisexual]

So I actually wrote a companion mini-chapter to this, from Rook’s POV. On reflection, given the big picture, I’m not going to post it up with the series on AO3.

WHICH MEANS THIS IS NOW AN EXCLUSIVE!

(Yeah, let’s go with that! That sounds cool!)

This hasn’t been beta-read, but was written with the enabling provided by @mageofquandrix and @vael-fire who are my favorite shoulder devils.

Rating: T

Below the Cut: The Lightbringer - Rook’s Best/Worst Idea

If asked, Rook would swear until his dying breath that he hadn’t intended on ending up alone with Neve Gallus at a Tevinter bathhouse. And it would even be true!

But he definitely wasn’t complaining. He’d take whatever time of hers was on offer.

The way she looked at him — an eyebrow arched, hand on her hip — as he returned after paying made him thank his past self for choosing one of the city’s bathhouses that required bathing clothes or small clothes stay on.

It would be embarrassing, though admittedly hilarious, if poor Neve had to return to the Lighthouse and explain that he’d seen her naked, passed out, and then drowned.

Even as it was, he was playing with fire. But hey, what was life without a little risk?

“You don’t even accept free fish.” He defended himself when he reached her. He knew it, Halos knew it, Neve knew it. Part of it, he was pretty sure, was that Halos needed the money more than Neve did. But Rook also suspected that she didn’t like accepting handouts in general. “It was my idea, and I offered to treat.

“Besides,” he smirked, “plenty of this I took off of cultists anyway.”

Neve might not want to give up the pride she had in what she’d made herself - and she shouldn’t, she’d worked hard for it - but who wouldn’t want to spend their enemies’ money on a trip to the baths? He suspected she enjoyed the petty victory of it as much as he did.

And if his money covered the difference, or filled the little pouch of coins he handed her before tucking his arms behind his back, it wasn’t worth mentioning.

Rook let himself into the changing room, greeting the elven attendant - who couldn’t have been more than nineteen - with an easy smile. The space was largely empty, save for one scowling middle aged man near the other end of the room. It was late for a bath, though, so Rook guessed that made sense.

He stripped off his armor and then the protective set of clothing he wore beneath it, precisely folding each article before placing them into one of the cubbies. Then he carefully placed his weapons and supply belts inside on top, leaving out a a couple pouches of coins for tips and a folded note he’d hastily scribbled as he’d paid for admission earlier.

He heard a huff echo through the room, and glanced over at the source of the sound. “Didn’t realize they let Soporati dogs into the baths.” It was, ostensibly, the older man muttering to himself as he finished messily shoving his belongings into his cubby, but was clearly calculated to reach Rook.

Always love coming to Hightown.

Well, if he wanted a reaction from the dog in question, Rook would hate to disappoint. He grinned at the older man, unabashedly. “Even dogs need to be washed sometimes, otherwise they stink up the house,” he pointed out brightly.

He shut the door to his cubby, and couldn’t help himself from continuing, “Hey, you look like a man who’s always looking for more money.”

The attendant covered his mouth with one hand, and Rook smirked.

The highblood marched his way to where Rook stood. “What’s that supposed to mean, dog?” He demanded.

“Mean?” Rook said, feigning ignorance. “Didn’t mean anything. Anyway. I have a gold sovereign here if you don’t mind setting the ward on my cabinet.”

It was a not-entirely-open but well-enough-known secret that a lot of the Altus class carried more debt than gold. And Rook hoped he’d used just enough of his own gold to bait the hook.

The man sneered at Rook, but did ward the lock, before shoving a grubby hand in Rooks face.

“Thank you so much, ser,” Rook said obsequiously, handing over the promised coin. The older man knocked into Rook’s shoulder as he headed out the door without so much as a glance at their attendant.

Oooooh, tough guy, Rook snickered to himself.

Now alone with the attendant, he made his way over to him and grinned. “Imagine being that fragile,” he joked. He passed one of the pouches to the, undoubtedly enslaved, young man along with the note.

And then the idea hit him. “You know,” he told the attendant conversationally, winking, “that’s a really interesting wall.”

The young man smiled, and looked over at the wall in question. “Oh, yes. It certainly is.”

Rook quietly made his way down to the disgruntled Altus’ cubby and, sure enough, distracted by Rook’s impertinence the highblood had forgotten to ward it.

As silently as he could, no reason to make the attendant anymore a witness than he already was, Rook pulled all of the man’s belongings out of his cubby, and moved them to another. He considered reimbursing himself the “Soporati tax” he’d just paid from the man’s coin purse, but decided against it. The asshole would probably blame the attendant if he did, whereas this way the jerk would just look like an idiot who had no idea where he’d left his things.

Sometimes a guy had to make his own fun.

Rook closed the cubby up, and headed back towards the doors. “Such a nice wall.” He said. The attendant, smiling slightly, turned back to face him. “Anyway! I’ve got a friend to meet, but thanks so much for keeping an eye on things. And read the note. I’d love to see you again some time.”

The elf’s ears flushed red, but he nodded. “O-of course. I will.”

“Great!” Rook clapped him on the shoulder and then headed out to the palaestra.

He was mildly disappointed to not see Neve when he arrived, but he suspected her clothing took a bit more finesse to get out of.

Not that he’d put any thought into it.

Okay, well, not much.

Rook found a sunny spot clear of obstacles or any of the few other visitors, and slowly began stretching out his sore body. The catacombs were not great to fight in anyway, but the curved walls and low ceilings in some of the tunnels were hell on his back. He made a mental note to warn Emmrich and Taash if they ever needed to go in there.

He twisted slowly, carefully, as he waited for the distinctive sounds of Neve’s footsteps.

You’ve got it bad, he thought as he realized what he was listening for. Pull it together, at least enough not to embarrass yourself.

Just his luck he was lost enough in his thoughts not to hear her approaching until she cleared her throat and greeted him.

If he startled a little, he hoped she didn’t notice.

“Neve!” He stopped his stretches and turned to face her and -

Wow.

Yeah, this had been the best and worst idea he’d ever had. Which was saying something. He’d had a lot of both.

She was…a vision. Rook had known she was gorgeous from the moment they’d met - of course he had, he wasn’t a complete idiot - but seeing her stripped of her outer clothes was like a revelation.

He couldn’t help as his gaze lingered on her. The graceful line of her neck, the subtle curves of her chest, the flat and surprisingly muscled plane of her abdomen, arms that looked strong and he knew from experience were even stronger than they appeared, and her hips…Rook swallowed hard and looked back up to meet her eyes.

He wondered if she felt the same tension in the air he did.

As he peered into those dark, expressive eyes he thought she just might.

Rook shook his head, shaking the thoughts out physically, and smiled. Maybe grinned. “Perfect. Let’s get clean.”

Let’s get clean? He let how terrible that sounded roll around in his head as they went over to the two attendants pouring oil.

A younger man, maybe around Taash’s age, drizzled oil at the top of his back and shoulders and began firmly rubbing it in. An experience Rook normally would have luxuriated in, but this time…well, he was kind of distracted.

Because Neve was getting the same treatment next to him. Oil glistened on her soft-looking skin, and when she closed her eyes and sighed in obvious pleasure, Rook felt his blood make a swift exit from his brain.

Don’t be that guy at the baths, c’mon, he admonished himself as he forced himself to look straight ahead. Think about something else, anything else. Daggers, maybe? Blight?

He stood still, not getting the full benefit of the attendant’s semi-massage, as he mastered his body as best he could.

Sure, she probably knew he liked her, or that he was attracted to her at least. Neve was as smart as they came, and could be frighteningly observant. But there was a difference between knowing someone thought you were attractive, and someone forcing you to acknowledge it in a public place. And Rook was not going to cross that line.

He breathed a small sigh of relief as he felt his heart beat and circulation return to normal.

“Wanna wrestle?” He joked once they were ready, realizing only after the fact that that could be taken very wrong.

Fortunately, Neve laughed, and the weird invisible lightening in the air seemed to dissipate. “Not a chance. But I could stretch.”

“As you wish,” he agreed, chuckling and letting her lead them to where she felt most comfortable.

Back in the sunny spot he’d found earlier, Rook slowly continued his stretching as Neve looked around and did the same. He, Harding, and Neve made a formidable team - Neve and Harding could play off each other perfectly to devastating effect - but it was a team that meant he spent most of his time up close and personal with their enemies.

And his arms and torso were sore. He couldn’t help the slight sounds of discomfort mixed with relief that escaped as he slowly tried to get his muscles to release.

“You alright?” Neve asked him, as she bent to reach down towards her toes.

Pained muscles immediately forgotten, Rook tried very hard not to stare at her ass, and failed absolutely miserably.

He was only human.

“Uh….Y-yep!” He wrenched his eyes off of her. “Completely fine. Never better!”

He wasn’t sure how his crush on her got worse by the day, an inexorable slide deeper every time he was in her presence, but he was sure that today was going to make it so much worse.

So, so much worse.

Can’t stop, won’t stop! Apparently.

That’s right, I’ve added another one-shot to the Getting Into Trouble series!

The Lightbringer

Set shortly before the Express Interest scene, Neve accepts Rook’s invitation to a trip to the Tevinter baths. This may, in retrospect, have been a mistake.

Shout-out to @mvrcar, @taashyvashedan, and of course @mageofquandrix for all of their help and support!

[goldentigerfestival]

Forgot to post this earlier but I did in fact comb the entire Vesperia script to determine how many times he uses ま/まあ throughout the game, along with a few other phrases he uses repeatedly. This counts all of main story, every single sidequest, and every single skit in the game.

Final counts were:

ま/まあ: 280

Ma/Maa; translates to "well". He uses this at the beginning of a sentence usually, but it's sometimes in the middle. "Ma" is usually more quick and snappy. "Maa" is more thoughtful and/or prolonged. Obviously it can vary based on context, but that's the general breakdown.

んじゃ and any variants: 133

Nja, along with variants such as "ja", "soreja", etc. Variants are counted when they're all used to express "let's get going", when they're about to head off ("ja" could be used in a sentence such as "ja/but then, why is xyz like this", etc). They encompass translations such as "well then" (let's get going implied. includes "so then", "then" "alright then", and so on), "we should be off", "let's get going", "let's go", etc. (not to be confused with 行こう(ikou), 行くぜ, (ikuze), and other similar versions of this phrase. That can also mean "let's go", but any instances of Yuri using that particular phrase was not counted because it wasn't a variant of, specifically, んじゃ, which is also his most common "let's go" ja variant).

おい / おいおい: 66

Oi/Oi oi; translates to "hey"/"hey, hey", though "oi" is more or less an accepted word in English nowadays.

おっと: 12

Otto (not to be confused with "oto", referring to sound); an expression of surprise that can translate roughly to "whoa there" (which is the most common translation I do see for it and what I'd use in most cases too, context of course varying). The reason I included this one despite it being so seemingly low in number is because it's not a particularly common expression, much less one used multiple times by a single character? It's so rare from anyone else, which is just a regular thing relative to Yuri and his dialogue/speech (i.e. most characters sparingly use phrases repeatedly, as compared to Yuri... as you can see lol. Other characters use these words/phrases, but nowhere near as regularly, if regularly at all).

Realized along the way I should've included やれやれ (yare yare, "good grief", "oh dear", "oh boy" etc), but by the time I realized I should have in case it was an interesting count, I was too far into the script to be able to handle going all the way back through it LOL.

No. No, I am not joking that Yuri used ま/まあ 279 times throughout the course of the game. That is to say, it could be more if I missed any, but on the assumption I didn't, that's where it stands.

Why do I love this so much? Because it's a very specific character quirk of a character I adore. I'm very fond of his repetition. Thank you.

[lovieku]

OBVIOUS ⋆ 정국

you lose your virginity to jeongguk, the only boy you’d ever trust with such weight. and what you both feel for each other couldn’t be more obvious.

୨ৎ from the grande series

pairings: bookstore employee!jk x virgin!fem reader

genre: smut, strangers to friends to lovers

ratings: +18 / mdi

warnings: based on this ask, lower case intended, porn with some plot, mutual pining, age gap (21 n 25), first time, dry humping, tit play (small boobs lover jk!!!), oral (f receiving), fingering, hand job, size kink, protected sex, missionary, cowgirl, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, sooo much praise, and pet names, jeongguk is so so loving and caring, sm fluff hehe, bit of angst maybe? but lovey dovey confession <33

word count: 12.9k

a/n: aaaa this is so silly and rushed but theyre so cute and i had to do something about it. ps: this is my first time writing smut, hope it’s not embarassing Help ..any feedback is appreciated 👩🏻‍💻

────୨ৎ────

you met jeon jeongguk at your favorite bookstore. the one tucked away in the quieter part of town, hidden in the shadow, squeezed between a small café and a vintage shop with an unassuming facade. it’s not the kind of place that draws crowds, most people passed it without a second glance, without paying it the attention it deserved.

but you always did, too attentive for your own liking, too curious for your own sake. you had always been the type to notice the quiet places where stories seem to breathe.

there was nothing not to love about the store. it felt like a refuge in tones of deep brown wood and soft amber light. it wasn’t flashy, but that’s why you loved it. stepping inside always brought a sense of calm, brought you closer to feel the whisper of worn leather bindings, the smell of old pages. it was being understood, accepted, seen.

meeting jeongguk wasn’t fate. it wasn’t some serendipitous moment ripped from a movie script. you didn’t bump into him while too immersed in your favorite novel. you didn’t reach simultaneously for the same book and argued over it, only to end up in the café next door.

jeon jeongguk was simply working there. he was an employee at the bookshop, stocking shelves, checking inventory. he just so happened to be charming, and the only one who came up to you after you’d been standing in front of a high shelf for what felt like an eternity.

“looking for anything in particular?”

when you turned to follow the source of the honey voice, not too low but still smooth, you had to fight hard to keep the gasp that was threatening to escape locked in your throat. he was tall. way taller than you. his dark hair fell in soft curls, brushing the nape of his neck, framing his face with carefully crafted, but effortlessly beautiful curtains. and when you managed to escape his wide eyes, seemingly storing all the warmth the shop could offer, you found it even harder to contain the surprise as you spotted a trail of intricate ink designs starting from his hand and running up his muscled arm, only to disappear beneath the short sleeve of his black polo.

he was still staring, expectantly. and you just kept standing there, mute. observing like a maniac. you stumbled over your words, trying to steady your voice, “oh— um. i was looking for the japanese author, kawamura?”

the way his eyes lit up at your request was unmistakable. and after that, the same spark would flicker in his gaze every time you stepped foot in the shop.

you later found out that he was new, which explained why you hadn’t noticed him before, all the times you’d gone and searched for books. which weren’t a lot, but enough for the other staff to know your face through the years. and now, certainly enough for jeongguk to become acquainted with your presence.

you started finding excuses to go more often, week after week, convincing yourself that you needed new books to accompany your tea as the colder months approached. truth be told, it wasn’t just the books pulling you in. your friends kept teasing you about the real reason why you’d always hurry there after your lectures ended, and deep down you knew you just had to accept it. you were developing a silly, little crush.

jeongguk didn’t seem to mind the growing frequency of your visits. if you had to guess, you’d say he was just as eager to see you. or maybe he was just exceptionally good at his job. if that were the case, you hoped he was crowned employee of the month every single time.

there was always a line he never crossed. his professionalism remained intact. he greeted you like any other customer, offering his help when you needed it. and you always seemed to need it, didn’t you? yet, there was something in the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when you smiled, the way his lips curved in that subtle, almost hidden way when you left with a new book in hand. you’d walk out of the store, clutching your latest literary find, grinning like a fool, and jeongguk would watch, his own smile lingering long after you were gone.

deep down, you knew this couldn’t last forever. you were just a student, miserably scraping by in the tiniest flat imaginable, your waitressing part-time job barely paying enough to make it through the month. but you’d feel bad, wasting hours of jeongguk’s shift, monopolizing his time with your indecision over paperbacks, keeping him off his tasks, just for it to be a waste. you needed to show him your gratitude, in a way. contribute to the income of the bookshop. so, you kept buying books. you weren’t sure you even had more space to fit them in your own shelf.

yet no matter how much you tried to convince yourself to stay away, you couldn’t help it. books were your escape, your joy, and the fact that they were sold to you by jeongguk was just an added bonus. the problem wasn’t him— it was your wallet. your poor, overworked wallet that kept reminding you of the price of each novel and how your little crush was becoming financially unsustainable.

it was one of those afternoons after your morning lectures, where the crisp autumn air made you even more eager to slip into the bookstore, feeling that familiar rush of warmth as jeongguk greeted you with his usual smile. this time, he surprised you with a book he had found just for you, claiming “you’d enjoy it. feels light and genuine, just like you.”

when it came time to pay, cheeks still flushed after the sickly, sweet grin he flashed your way, you sighed as you rummaged through your bag for your card.

he scanned it, only to glance up at you with a hesitant expression, “huh… it declined.”

“what?” you laughed, though it was shaky, disbelief lacing your words, “no, that can’t be right. try again.”

he did, but the outcome remained unchanged. he met your eyes with a worried frown, and you felt your face flame in embarrassment, not the one that made your insides swarm with butterflies minutes before this.

you groaned, pressing your palm to your forehead in mortification, “fuck, this is so humiliating.”

jeongguk chuckled softly, his voice soothing, “hey, it’s really not. it’s okay. i’ll pay for it.”

your jaw dropped, and you looked at him like he had lost his mind, “no, what? are you crazy? don’t— don’t do that. you don’t need to. i’ll just come back another day.”

what followed was a ridiculous, playful back-and-forth. you refused, he insisted, and soon enough, the two of you were locked in a silly tug-of-war over the book itself, laughing despite the situation. he finally threw his hands up in surrender, his smile impossibly wide, the kind of grin that made your heart skip a beat.

“alright, alright,” he relented, shaking his head, “but i’m still not happy about this. if i can’t pay for your book, at least let me buy you a coffee. i’m clocking off in 15. will you wait for me?”

you couldn’t contain your eyes from widening, your smile to dumbly paint your features as you eagerly nodded. you didn’t trust yourself to speak, afraid that if you did, some ridiculous teenage squeal would escape. he was grinning just as hard, though.

and so, you began seeing jeongguk outside the confined space of the bookstore, in a world beyond the shelves and spines of novels. his attire was always simple, dark tones that exuded comfort and warmth. his sweaters seemed soft enough to curl into, and his presence felt just as inviting.

but you pushed those thoughts away, trying to remind yourself that he was becoming a friend. one of your closest, even. you tried. you did! but you just couldn’t help the way your mind wandered, imagining what it would be like to lean just a little closer, to feel the warmth of his embrace. god, get a grip.

still, it was impossible to ignore the flutter in your chest each time his eyes lingered a little longer than necessary. outside the bookstore, jeongguk was different. not in a bad way. he was just more relaxed, more himself. his touch came naturally, a hand at the small of your back guiding you through a crowded street, his arm slung casually over your shoulders like it belonged there. he was playful in a way that hinted at something deeper, his jokes sometimes drifting into uncharted territory, leaving your stomach in knots, your thoughts spiraling down paths you hadn’t dared explore.

and then there was the way he looked after you. he was older, just by a few years, 25 to your 21, but it felt like a gulf of experience separated the two of you. he’d seen more, lived more. experienced more. knew more. about all that stuff you’d been scared to explore, the stuff that happened in the intimacy of one’s bedroom. you knew he had his fair share of girlfriends, he told you about it. just how you’d told him you never got close to a relationship. you just flirted around with a boy in high school, messily making out in the corners where no one could see you. but it never went over that.

jeongguk’s protectiveness over you came naturally. you didn’t mind. it was reassuring, the way his hand tightened around your wrist in a crowded space or how his gaze followed you across a room, always making sure you were safe.

you found yourself spending more and more time together. walking through the city, staying up late at cafés, or just wandering aimlessly in his car, talking about everything. you told him about your classes, the stress of exams, your dreams of becoming a teacher, and the uncertainties that weighed you down. he listened, really listened, in a way that made you feel seen, like every word you said mattered.

jeongguk shared his own story too. he’d dropped out of college a year ago, deciding that the path everyone else had planned for him wasn’t for him at all. now, he was drifting, trying to figure out where he belonged. he took inspiration in the way your eyes sparkled at the prospect of your future. little did he know, your eyes just reflected the galaxies in his that you loved getting lost into.

it terrified you. because with each passing day, your feelings for him grew stronger, more undeniable. it wasn’t just a crush anymore. it was something that had its own weight, pulling you closer to him. the lines were blurring, but you let them.

one night, after a long week of classes and stress, you went out with a few friends. jeongguk hadn’t been able to join, caught up with work, but when your tipsy self had dialed his number later that night, he picked up right away. your voice was soft, your words slurred. they echoed through the bar’s bathroom, followed by your uncontainable giggles as jeongguk playfully scolded you on the other line. the same softness was painting his face, and he only hung up when he started his car, showing up within minutes.

by the time he arrived, you were well past tipsy and leaning dangerously toward drunk. you didn’t notice him sheepishly greeting your group of friends, their eyes lighting up with interest at the image of the renowned jeon jeongguk, until his low voice called your name, slipping his arm around your waist and helping you up from the bar stool, “come on, let’s get you home. say bye-bye.”

you glared at him, face slightly reddening at his tease. he just loved treating you like a little kid. loved poking fun at you. still, you leaned into him, the scent of his body wash wrapping around you like a comforting blanket, banter ready on your tongue, “i’m fine, grandpa,” you slurred amusedly, but your legs wobbled as you tried to walk.

he chuckled under his breath, guiding you out of the bar, “yeah, sure you are. you’re barely standing.”

the night air was cold against your skin, but jeongguk was warm, his body solid and steady as you clung to him.

you didn’t mean to say it, didn’t mean to let the words slip, but in your hazy, alcohol-fueled state, you genuinely wondered, “why are you so good to me?”

he paused for a moment, glancing down at you with a small smile, “because you deserve it.”

the car ride was silent, in a comfortable way. you got lost in the way the city flashed past you, and jeongguk stole sneaky glances at you from the corner of his eye, his hand gripping the steering wheel a little tighter each time he let his eyes linger.

when he reached your place, he helped you inside, gently guiding you to the couch. you were too dazed to fight him when he insisted on getting you some water and a blanket. he moved around your cramped flat with ease, having memorized where every single thing belonged after his countless stays at your place, watching movie after movie or simply keeping you company while you revised.

he sat beside you for a while as you rambled on about your night, how the music was slightly disappointing even with the drinks being overpriced.

jeongguk listened attentively, even with your words stumbling out in messy fragments, jumping from one topic to another. his eyes traced the way your hands moved in wild gestures, the way your lips fumbled for the right words, the glaze in your eyes reflecting the soft glow of the room. he didn’t realize it at first, but his body instinctively followed your movements, leaning closer with every excited wave of your arms, his knees brushing against yours, his head nodding in time with your words.

only when you stopped talking, turning to face him and catching his gaze in the dim light, he was made aware of the little distance between you. it wasn’t unusual for the two of you to be this close. always sneakily seeking for one another in booth seats of the pubs you’d visit every so often, his hand lingering on your knee for longer than needed when calling for your attention, your arms locking together when walking through the city.

but this moment was different. it was heavy with something unspoken. and so tender, fragile.

your cheek rested on the back of the couch, your body slouched, your eyes half-lidded. he sat straight, his torso turned towards you, his head bending down to study your face better.

you didn’t think when you blurted his name out, your gaze falling on his lips, “jeongguk.”

he hummed softly.

“i want you to kiss me.”

the words tumbled out before you could stop them, but you didn’t take them back. you couldn’t.

jeongguk didn’t seem startled by your unfiltered words. he didn’t flinch, didn’t pull back. he only tilted his head slightly, the corner of his lip inching up sweetly, “you want me to kiss you?”

you hummed, with the same softness, only tinted with uncertainty. fear of rejection. you were suddenly aware of what you asked him now that he repeated it back to you. and you realized how much you meant it, just now.

but his tone wasn’t condemning. it was seeking for confirmation that he heard right, that it wasn’t just your drunk thoughts talking. still, he didn’t lean closer, nor let his eyes fall to the lower part of your face.

he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, “i’ll kiss you. just not now.”

”what? why not?”

your eyebrows were cutely furrowed, the blush the alcohol painted you with only making the pout on your lips even more irresistible.

jeongguk hissed amusedly, ”because you’re drunk. and when i’ll kiss you, i want you to be sure about it. want you to remember it.”

”but i am sure about it. i want you.”

once again, your blunt confession didn’t seem to faze him. he smiled, kept his tone low, ”i know. i want you too.”

your breath hitched at the unexpected sincerity of his words, your eyes roaming all over his face. you subtly shifted closer, your lips parted slightly with desire. the flame that lit up your body burned all the alcohol from your system, and suddenly you were more awake than ever. you were alert. your heart pounding, your core pulsing. he looked so inviting, so pretty in that light.

he wet his lips, darting his tongue out to play with his piercing. you could feel your head spin. you didn’t just want him. you needed him. and it wasn’t the alcohol. you were sure of it.

you could only dumbly lean closer and hope for the best, but he chuckled softly, his large hand framing the side of your face and forcing you to stop your path towards him, look at him, swim in the intensity of his gaze.

his tone was gentle, delicate, understanding, “if you don’t change your mind, we’ll talk about this tomorrow, okay? when you’re sober. hm?”

his eyes searched yours, waiting patiently for your response. you only managed a small nod, your eyes glossy with frustration and a bit of shame. you bit your lip, muttering a small okay and letting him fix your hair with the fondest look in his orbs.

he left your flat only after tucking you in your bed, because you begged him to, and after much more pleading, you even convinced him to stay beside you until you fell asleep. you didn’t feel him slip out of your hold on his hand, the weight of his body leaving your bed, and with it, the warmth of his presence going as well.

but the following day, after downing the glass of water you assumed he left by your nightstand, you bore through your headache and searched for his contact in your phone first thing as you woke up. you were instantly hit with flashes of the night before, and you remembered exactly what you told him, what he promised. that if you still wanted it, you would talk about it. and you just needed to hear his voice, as soon as possible.

you’re not sure what there was to talk about. you asked him for a kiss. his lips on yours. it’s not like there would be much space for talking.

with your phone to your ear, the ringback tone was the only sound filling the space between your thoughts. you felt a twinge of anxiety in your stomach. you should have probably called later, let yourself adjust to consciousness. maybe rationalize yesterday’s events and find a better way to move around them. give yourself more time to think it over. the wait stretched on, and it only gave your doubts more space to spiral, turn into little monsters whispering evil things in your ear.

he probably wanted to talk to you about it because he thought it was a stupid idea. he didn’t really want it, was just lying to get you to shut up. he thought you were foolish, childish, not his type at all. or maybe, he was seeing someone and didn’t know how to tell you. wow, that would be humbling. you wanted him so bad and he was just—

“hello?”

his voice sounded muffled through the line. you clumsily adjusted your device to your ear, sitting up, still in your bed, last night’s makeup smudged under your eyes, “jeongguk?”

”that would be me, ma’am.”

“hi,” your voice was low, thick with sleep and the remnants of your hangover, and it sounded weaker than you’d intended to reveal.

”hey. feeling better, miss?”

his playful tone was laced with affection, and it instantly put a smile on your face. you didn’t realize it, but your mind was clearing, your body unconsciously easing back into the covers, “i am.”

jeongguk hummed, and you heard the faint sound of movement on his end. he was probably getting ready for the bookstore, but still found time to pick up your call. it made you alert, awkwardly aware of what both of you were probably expecting out of this conversation.

you cleared your throat, smoothing some of the morning grogginess and sounding lighter, softer, “come over after your shift? i miss the office. and your ramyeon.”

when he chuckled in your ear and teased you for that one time you said his cooking was average, you felt your shoulders relax. even more when he agreed and shot you a quick see you later, followed by the exaggerated sound of smacking lips.

it was his signature goodbye, always ending your calls with that. it would usually make you roll your eyes, a grin tugging at your lips. but this time, it made you blush like a pubescent teenager. get. a. grip.

jeongguk noticed the slight shift in your demeanor right away. he could taste the tension, smell it in the air, feel it in the way you’d become stiff, even when his fingers barely grazed your skin. it was a stark contrast to how things had been between you two.

you still moaned around the first bite of his ramyeon, still giggled with your mouth full as he mockingly mimicked your voice, playfully downgrading his cooking skills from months ago. but you blushed a little harder at the smirk that followed his usual tease. subtly ran away from his hand seeking your contact.

with time, both of you had grown comfortable with the casual touches, playful proximity— tickling at each other’s sides, poking jokingly, or simply brushing hands when no one was looking. it had become a natural part of your dynamic.

but after your earlier slurred confessions, he could tell that it was affecting you more deeply now, your body reacting differently to his touch. the way you startled at his closeness, the small breath catching in your throat. it all made his head spin, his fist tighten in restraint. you weren’t the only one affected.

on your couch, you found it hard to relax in his familiar embrace, an arm around your shoulders, your head resting on his chest. the steady rhythm of his breathing usually soothed you, but tonight, your heart was fighting its way up, dangerously close to spilling all over his neat clothes. you exhaled shakily, the office playing quietly on the tv doing a weak job at distracting you.

and jeongguk couldn’t take it anymore. lust wasn’t the only feeling simmering under the surface. he was scared. that he may have read it all wrong, that you only blurted it out because you were drunk and not in control of your thoughts. he was terrified of stepping the wrong way, doing something that would determinately scare you away, end whatever you two had for good. and he didn’t want to lose you. wanted to keep you. and that went over the need to taste your lips.

through the corner of your eye, you could feel him stare down at you intently. his other hand reached to move your hair out of the way, and you let him. you turned to meet his gaze, and relaxed slightly at the fond look on his features.

“what’s going on in that pretty, little head of yours? will you tell me?”

you blinked. gulped down loudly. the reassuring smile on his face grew bigger. you shifted slightly in his hold, moving your body to face him, and the arm that was around you naturally fell down your waist.

you tried to word it differently, tried to suppress it just a bit longer, find another way around it, but his blown out pupils lowered all your inhibitions, “do you— do you still want to kiss me?”

“i do. very badly.”

his response was immediate, and it came through a whisper. it caressed your face sweetly, and it made you aware of the natural gravity that pulled you even closer, to the point of your noses almost touching.

you were unable to move, to initiate anything, to be truthful to your desires. your orbs jumped on every corner of his face, widening. he let his palm close around your hip, then he spoke low, “will you let me do that?”

jeon jeongguk kissed you slowly. his lips lingered on yours, tasting, moving with intent. his hands framed your face, traveling down your neck and holding you gently by the nape.

it was sweet, and delicate. he took his time becoming acquainted with your pace, letting you control the movement of his doings. when he darted his tongue out to trace your lower lip, you granted him permission to explore the insides of your mouth.

with tongues intertwined, the kiss gradually became sloppier, more desperate. your fingers found home in his long curls, tugging at the base of it, and supporting yourself while arching your body into his, pressing yourself against his chest, seeking for confirmation that he wanted this just as badly as you did.

he welcomed your proximity by letting his palms fall to your waist, keeping you close, and tracing his touch dangerously close to the curve of your ass.

you whined lowly, but the sounds became ingloriously louder the more he pressed your body against his hard one, his touch wandering, squeezing, feeling.

you messily straddled his lap and sat with your knees on both sides of him, your desire deepening with your kiss, devouring his lips harder, twisting his hair in a confused tangle the more you got lost in them.

his hands went to hold your hips, and you soon felt a stronger weight on them, gently pulling you away and giving you a minute to catch your breath. though it was taken out of you the moment you took in the man in front of you, his lips swollen, his eyes half-lidded, his curls all over the place.

he let out an amused chuckle, combing through your own mess on your head, “hey, pretty. it’s okay. there’s no rush. we can take it slow, hm?”

in that small moment, you were made aware of your own eagerness slipping out of your control and rushing your actions, insatiable with wanting more, but not even being sure if jeongguk wanted that more just as much.

instead, you were sure your whole face was a crimson shade with the way the boy under you fondly grinned, his hand guiding you by the nape and letting your lips meet again in a small peck, before he focused on your face again.

jeongguk never left your eyes, and you were too hypnotized to even think of looking elsewhere. his gaze was steady, magnetic, thirsty to drink in your reaction as he guided your hips against him, letting them drag over his clothed bulge. you moaned, unshameful, your eyes rolling back.

”yeah? you like that?”

you could only nod dumbly, repeatedly, using your hands on his shoulders as support while you kept grinding on him. slowly at first, just how he had suggested. but the stimulation was too good, your clit deliciously meeting his hardness, spreading the embarrassing amount of wetness you had already collected all over your panties. you tentatively picked up your pace, his hands immediately stopping you.

”you need to be patient, doll.” his scold was only playful, the smirk spreading on his features letting you know he enjoyed the effect he had on you, the way he bit his lip communicating he was just as affected. but you liked the feeling of him guiding you through this.

you didn’t know what to do, weren’t sure how to please him, too shy under his adoring look. you sheepishly smiled, falling onto him and hiding yourself in the crook of his neck.

he laughed, his chest moving with it, and you could feel his heart pumping, his warmth meeting the side of your face. he took the hand on your waist and dragged it up your back, soothingly, “you’re doing so good, baby. okay?”

it was sweet, and the praise made you pulse around nothing. you nodded, your nose brushing against his neck as you timidly let your lips leave a trace of wet kisses along his adam’s apple, going up his jaw. he hummed, the sound reverberating in his throat and against your mouth.

you left small pecks on his cheek, to his nose, retreating after laying a quiet one on his mouth. you looked back at him, jumping between his eyes, confession tumbling out your tongue, “sorry. i just want you so bad.”

he chuckled, moving your bangs out of your face, “i want you just as much. but i don’t want this moment to be fast. want to make it special for you.”

his whispered words tugged at the strings of your poor heart. you felt it begging to be ripped out of your chest, banging on your rib cage, maybe trying to find another way up your throat. but its repeated, quick pumping also matched the need pooling down your lower belly, staining your panties.

you nodded, finding his lips again and deepening the kiss, adapting to a slower rhythm as your tongues fervently explored each other. he grabbed your sides and grinded you closer to him, moaning in your mouth as you matched his gentle guiding, meeting the involuntary buck of his hips.

the almost too tender drag of your clothed pussy against his clothed, hard cock soon became torturous for the both of you, reduced to panting, eager messes. you felt unashamedly close just from the repeated action, and if he hadn’t decided to lay you on your back just then, you were sure you would have cummed already.

he was gentle as he positioned you on the couch, your body sprawled while he was mindful not to put too much of his weight on you. when he left your lips, you instinctively whined. your head subtly lifted off the sofa to try and follow his mouth, bring it back on yours, but he only smirked and darted his tongue out to lick off your taste.

he didn’t give you time to protest, to miss his touch, to be left unattended. because he quickly moved to work on your neck, his tattooed hand tentatively seeking its way under your t-shirt.

you let him wander. let him leave wet traces from your jaw down your collarbones while his fingers left goosebumps along their path, and rose up to your chest. he hummed at the feeling of your bare breasts, smirking at the absence of a bra.

he felt the skin under it, only for his palm to cup your boob and knead at it. it was a perfect fit in his large hand, his thumb teasingly slicing over your nipple and making you mewl, arching your back and pushing your front into him.

he moved himself from your neck and hesitantly lifted up your shirt, searching your eyes for permission. you put your hands on his and led them to take it off you, discarding it on the ground.

he sat back on his heels, admiring your figure laying between his legs. in his eyes, you found something you were never met with until that moment.

he looked starved, his pupils blown and following every curve of your body, his hands hovering only to end up caressing your sides delicately.

you blushed, hard, using your hand to cover your face and throwing an arm over your chest. his palms squeezed your hips twice, his thumbs stroking the skin under your ribs, “don’t hide from me, pretty. let me see you.”

you shook your head stubbornly, a small whine escaping your throat. but he could tell you weren’t starting any fight, he could make out your smile, barely concealed under your fingers.

jeongguk moved your wrists and laid them on top of your head, his face nearing again to leave an adoring kiss on your lips. when he found your eyes again, the fondest smile was painting his features, “you’re beautiful.”

“my boobs are small,” your voice was muffled, shy, hidden behind your childish pout.

“i fucking love them,” with one hand still keeping your wrists together, he used the other one to play with your breasts once more, his gaze hypnotized by the way he could make them fit in his large palm, squeezing them together and kneading at the softness.

you moaned, loud and unashamed, when he guided his smooth lips to your nipple, his gaze never leaving yours while he attempted small, kitten licks at it.

when he saw how your eyes lustfully rolled back as his fingers went to play with your other boob, rolling it and letting his thumb slide over the sensitive center, he took it as his go-ahead to wholly engulf your wet nipple in his mouth and suck on it, lick around it, kiss it.

jeongguk was hastily making out with your tits, giving both of them the attention they needed, reducing your nipples to soaked, hard messes.

you felt your soul ascend high and leave your body when, as you unconsciously thrusted your hips up in desperate need of friction, you found that in his knee, the one that was positioned between your legs, the one you now grinded into with no control over your pace, bringing yourself closer to the edge.

“fuck, jeongguk,” you didn’t have time to feel ashamed over how delirious you sounded, or looked, the lewd noises of his sucking taking you even higher, his hands massaging your boobs with intent.

you only got louder the more you let your cunt rub against his leg, a motion you were unable to slow down, too eager to get to the finish line. and this time, jeongguk let you, even spurring you on, “let go, angel. cum on my thigh.”

it was all the encouragement you needed to fully loosen, his own whines resounding against your chest and blending with your high-pitched moans, eyes rolled back, head thrown to the side, fingers clutching around jeongguk’s locks and guiding him further into you as you lost control on his thigh, “gonna cum!”

your orgasm took over your whole body, shaking with overwhelment at the stimulation. all the sensations you were feeling were new to you, but nonetheless welcomed in the way your eyelids drooped with relaxed pleasure and you worked to catch your breath, your muscles untightening, your arms falling by your sides.

jeongguk left one last kiss around your nipple before lifting himself up to admire your fucked out state, your cheeks flushed and sweat adorning you with an angel-like glow, the lazy smile on your face as you stared at him making his heart skip a few beats.

he let his eyes wander, his own expression incredulous at what had just happened, “that was so fucking sexy, baby.”

the way you sheepishly chuckled was contagious, his giggles filling your ears as he lifted you up and pulled you against his chest, your still weak body falling onto him with ease. he smiled fondly, looking down at your face, “if you want to stop here, it’s totally okay. i won’t—“

“no!” your energy came back to you as quickly as it left your body minutes before, sitting up straight in his embrace with your eyes wide and worried. you fumbled with your words, “no— no. i want to keep going. please.”

the grin that took over his features adorably caused his nose to scrunch, and he had to put his lips on yours and let them blend together in a sickly sweet kiss to keep himself from saying the words that were so dangerously close from spilling, on the tip of his tongue. he hoped, as he slid it against yours, that you could still feel them, and accept them.

he retreated to cup your cheek in his palm, your eyebrows still unconsciously drawn up in agitation, but easing as he reassured you, “you don’t have to beg, angel. i’ll give you anything you ask for.”

”okay. couch is uncomfortable. take me to the bedroom,” your arms stretched out, teasingly expecting him to pick you up.

you squealed when he did, taking your legs, wrapping them around his tiny waist and getting up the sofa, leading both of you to your room. he didn’t have to watch where he was going, his feet automatically guiding him, having adjusted to your flat long ago. but even if that weren’t the case, he would still not look, too caught up in your glossy orbs.

he pinched your sides before laying you on the soft surface of your bed, legs still tight around him, “bossy much, hm?”

you shrugged, a naughty grin accompanying the playful glint in your eyes, “you’re following my orders flawlessly.”

he scoffed amusedly, kissing his teeth, “ah, is that right?”

you hummed, eager with taking the back and forth further, see where it takes you, “such a good boy.”

the giggle that tumbled out of you as he narrowed his eyes betrayed you, breaking into a full fit of laughter as he tickled your sides, your legs leaving his waist. he tauntingly bit your neck, not enough to hurt you, grinning mischievously, “i’m letting you get away with too much. need to teach you a lesson.”

the laugh died in your throat the second he lifted his shirt up, showing his body to you for the first time. michelangelo would have loved to sculpt him, that’s the first thought your slowed down brain could come up with as you let your eyes wander all over his upper body.

he was toned, his eight pack abs glowing effortlessly for your mouth to water, his nipples a brownish color and so inviting, making you lean on your forearms for a better view.

the arm that wrapped around one of your legs and pushed it on the side was the one inked with those intricate designs you spent boring, lazy afternoons analyzing, and now they were the reason why you could feel a familiar buzz down your core again, coating your panties with even more of your sticky juice.

“cat got your tongue?” there was no way you could even think of a witty come-back with the way he lowered his pretty face between your thighs, his cocky smirk never leaving his expression as his eyes fixated on your own, challenging you.

but you were long gone, willing to let him do whatever he wanted to your body. you stared intently as his fingers hooked under the hem of your shorts, pulling them down in a sensual motion, until they fell on the floor.

your head fell backwards as he let his nose trace your soaked slit, still hidden underneath the layer of cotton panties, “is this okay?”

he only needed your eager nod to leave a subtle kiss on your clit, then lap at your slick through the thin material, “taste so good, doll.”

jeongguk repeated the motion, licking at you through your undies and letting his big nose brush against your clit torturously, his saliva and your wetness causing the fabric to dig between your lips uncomfortably, showing yourself to him.

you unconsciously bucked your hips up, eagerly demanding to set you free, but he held you down by your waist, “patience, baby.”

you whined loudly, and you couldn’t believe how delirious you sounded already, only moments after your earlier climax. he seemed to enjoy your reactions, the tip of his tongue teasing your entrance and ripping a desperate moan out of you, trying to push yourself into him further but being held down by his strong palms.

you fell on your back, your hair sprawled over your pillows, suddenly too weak to fight against him. he chuckled darkly, speaking against your core, “you’re so cute. so eager for me, angel.”

when he lifted himself up, his mouth glistened with your juice, and you couldn’t help but blush at the image. you were so wet, the liquid stained him even through the layer of clothing still keeping you from fully feeling him.

the silent plead in your eyes was listened to. jeongguk slid off your panties in one swift motion, his eyes hungry at the sight revealed to him, “fuck. so perfect. the prettiest.”

he didn’t show mercy at your weakened state, returning his starved mouth on your cunt, slurping at your lips and sucking on your clit, the stimulation making you see stars under your eyelids.

your eyes snapped open the moment you felt something tentatively poking at your entrance, and as you lowered your head you saw his finger playing with your virgin hole, going up to collect your slick from your slit, then returning on where you were starting to need him.

but you were anxious. he immediately saw it in the way you got up on your forearms again, instinctively closing your legs around his hand. his eyes found yours, reassuringly, “baby. you alright?”

you nodded sheepishly, “yeah. i’m just— scared. don’t want it to hurt.”

the hand that was playing with you now laid on your lower stomach, rubbing it in a sweet manner while he sought for your mouth with his, leaving a honeyed peck on it, “it will hurt a bit, pretty. but i’ll try and make it feel good, hm? if you’re not sure, we can always stop.”

you could only bite your lip as the both of you searched for security in each other’s eyes. he tilted his head, waiting for your approval, the grin spreading and making his long dimples visible infectious, and you stumbled on your words, “can you— kiss me while you do it?”

he hummed fondly, his lips immediately finding yours as he positioned himself between your legs, spreading again and granting him access to the spot you were anxiously eager to feel him.

his tongue slowly moved with yours and lightly lulled your racing heartbeat, instilling some needed tranquility in your system as you felt him close to your core again. his middle finger repeated a circular motion around it, spreading your stickiness, only to bring it on your hole before delicately pushing his digit inside.

a choked out moan escaped you, captured promptly by his lips, keeping you somewhat distracted from the slight burn you felt. it grew the more he slipped himself inside you, and you bit his lip to conceal the pain.

he growled at the action, retreating his finger only to push it in again, this time tentatively deeper. he went over the movement a few times, enough to get you adjusted to the foreign presence, and the more he did it, the more the sharpness turned into pleasure.

”feel good, princess?” the pet name was whispered against your swollen lips, and you kept your eyes closed as you nodded, basking in the newly welcomed feeling.

when he started curling the finger inside you, you involuntarily bucked yourself up against him, your body spasming with your hole and he groaned at the feeling of your tightness, unconsciously grinding on the sheets.

he couldn’t help himself from breaking your kiss to look down, getting lost in the way his digit got sucked inside you, only to come out soaked in your juice. without warning, he slowly added another finger, and you arched your back, searching for support in his shoulder.

jeongguk’s eyes kept jumping between your wet cunt, where his fingers worked in and out, and your pleasure-contorted expression, your mouth agape and unleashing your every moan as your eyes squeezed shut.

he felt deliriously close only from the image, his hard dick desperate for friction and insatiable with the way he was still constricted in his jeans. but this moment was about you and you only. once he felt the way you gripped his shoulder tighter at one particular curl of his digits, he kept hitting that spot repeatedly, faster.

you didn’t notice his face retreating at first, too lost in the bliss of his purposed touch, but you gasped harshly, your eyes tearing open the moment you felt his lips enveloping your clit again and sucking at it, lapping all around it, tasting it as if it was his first meal after ages.

when you looked down, you found him already staring at you through half-lidded eyes. you wailed, feverish, “oh, shit. gguk, don’t— don’t do that.”

he hummed questioningly, and the sound reverberated against your sensitive nub.

you rolled your eyes back, ”gonna cum again if you— fuck.”

“cum around my fingers, baby. cum on my tongue,” the words came out slurred, his mouth full of you, the drenched sounds of your pussy making his encouragement even more erotic as he added a third finger.

his digits kept digging relentlessly inside you, that spot that made your legs weakly squish jeongguk between them being hit repeatedly and bringing you close to your second climax.

what completely undid you were his eager cries against your cunt, and when you managed to lift your head to look down at the boy working so desperately to make you cum on his lips, you saw his hips rutting frantically against your sheets.

you didn’t even have time to announce it, the way your hole spasmed around his fingers and your high-pitched moans doing it for you as you fully let go for the second time because of jeongguk. it was more intense, your body moving with it and unconsciously running away from the touch once it became too intense.

jeongguk cleaned you as best as he could, slurping your juices and licking you off his fingers, climbing up to find your lips and share your own taste with you, his chin coated with your slick.

your pleasured sounds mixed together, the both of you panting and soon laying in silence, one beside the other, staring at the ceiling. you laughed breathlessly, “fuck, gguk. i almost died.”

he only chuckled along with you, the sound strained and dying soon in his throat. with your heartbeat and your breathing settling down, you turned to the side to find jeongguk with his eyes squeezed shut and his jaw clenching. his fists were clutching the fabric beside him, and his knuckles were white from the effort.

it wasn’t complicated to understand why, the next thing you spotted being the hard outline of his cock looking completely suffocated by his pants. you gulped, “gguk. you seem hard.”

he let out a delirious scoff, his eyes finding yours with an intensity you were only then noticing, ”i am hard, baby. so hard for you.”

you tentatively guided your hand to the button of his jeans, undoing it along with the zip. your words were hesitant, but so sincere, ”let me touch you. wanna make you feel good, too.”

jeongguk watched with his mouth agape as you straddled his lap, sitting on his legs only after sliding his pants down to his ankles. you looked so innocent, timidly playing with the hem of his boxers, and he tried to be patient, but he couldn’t.

he groaned, his head thrown back. “___. please, do something.”

his eyes were glossy with frustration, and you had to fight the urge to kiss him stupid, focusing on the task ahead. a big one, indeed. you weren’t going to lie, you were already intimidated by the outline of it.

now that your naked body sat on top of him, being faced with his almost totally bare skin, you realized how much bigger he was compared to you. of course, he was taller, always towering over you, teasing you for your height and pretending he didn’t see you, bumping into you purposefully or asking how’s the weather down there?

but with his large palm resting at your side and almost covering your entire tummy, you realized the implications of such difference. he could totally wreck you, if he wanted to.

ogling at his dick didn’t make it better. it looked huge. a wet patch stained his underwear near the tip, and you salivated at the sight of it.

you tentatively let your finger run along the covered length, and he hissed, slightly thrusting his hips, making you slide closer, “baby. don’t tease.”

the apology was ready and fast on your lips, genuine concern written in your eyes. you didn’t want to keep his suffering going, but you were also hesitant with how exactly you were going to please him. you’ve never seen a real-life dick, and you’ve certainly never touched one.

it was like jeongguk could read your every thought, your wide orbs like an open book to him, reassurance slipping out of him naturally, “doll. you see this?” he took your wrists and laid your hand on his hardness, gulping at the contact, “you feel this? this is what you did to me. there’s no reason why you should doubt yourself, okay?”

you nodded, still unsure, but surely smiling at his sweet tone. he grinned himself, “you’re so hot, and i literally almost came just by looking at you.”

the giggle that escaped you was lively and it eased your nerves with the way it mirrored in his eyes, fondly jumping all over your face. you bit your lip as you escaped his attentive gaze, finally freeing his cock from his confines and making him release a shaky sigh.

it was perfect. pretty. it touched just under his belly button, the tip angry and wet with precum, the pulsing veins running along its length making it throb.

you took it in your hand delicately, jeongguk hissing, and you gasped under your breath. it felt thick in your hold, your fist barely closing around it.

you weren’t sure what to do. your only examples were pornos, and you knew not to fully trust them. but as you started letting your wrist tentatively flick up and down, slowly, you eagerly drank in his reaction.

jeongguk moaned lowly, his eyelids fluttering shut, focusing on the feeling of your smooth hands taking care of his boner. he got louder when you unexpectedly played with his tip, your thumb swirling around it and spreading his wetness down.

your movements were messy, stutteringly uncoordinated, but the concentrated look in your eyes as you stared at his member intently made his head spin, wishing he could fill your slightly agape, watering mouth with it.

in your own mind, you wished his length could be stuffing up your cunt, instead. you slowed down your doings, ending up haltering them as he found your face again, a protesting whine ready to escape him, but you were quicker to surprise him, your voice shy, ”wanna feel you inside me.”

jeongguk groaned deliriously, eyes rolling back at the simple request, ”fuck. you sure?”

you whispered, ”please.”

”of course, angel. been waiting for so long.”

your mouths found each other quickly, starving, both your heartbeats picking up at the prospect of what was going to happen. he combed through your hair to move them behind your ears, rolling the two of you and making you the one laying under his weight.

in between kisses, you asked, impatient, “do you have a condom?”

”yeah, got one in my wallet,” he was panting with effort just as you were, moving from you only to fully free himself from his clothes and then search in his jeans pockets.

as he took the condom out, ripping it open, he stumbled on his words, suddenly awkwardly self-conscious, “it’s not like i have it because i was— expecting us to, huh—“

”jeongguk. it’s okay,” your sweet voice interrupted his overthinking, pulling him to be on top of you again by his arm, “i’m glad you have it, ‘cause i need to feel you. right now.”

he didn’t need to be told twice. you watched, eyes glossy with want, need, as he rolled the condom along his length, huffing out at the sensitivity.

jeongguk brought you closer to him by your thighs, wrapping them around him. he lowered himself on his forearms, his forehead touching yours, eyes swimming together, the proximity making the both of you smile sheepishly.

he exhaled, “are you still sure about this, doll?”

you nodded, the subtle but growing anxiety making your words get stuck in your throat. jeongguk was gentle, patient, his large palm cupping your cheek, “need to hear you say it.”

”yes. i’m sure. want you so bad,” the confession was slurred, shy under his adoring gaze. he kissed along your jaw, slow, intentional.

“okay. just know we can stop whenever you want. let me know if it hurts. i wanna hear you, hm?” his eyes searched yours, frantically, making sure you were good.

as you nodded again, he grasped your hand to hold it, letting your fingers intertwine and lay by your head. with the other hand, he took his length and positioned it where you needed him the most.

jeongguk made it all feel so intimate, special, and safe, that you sensed your eyes water with a feeling stronger than the words you could allow yourself to say. you felt eternally grateful to him for turning a moment you used to dread into something so delicate and precious.

you felt adored. you felt seen, and heard. you felt protected, understood. you saw your reflection in his eyes, in a way that made you want to hide in there forever, maybe travel a bit further down and find home in his heart.

as he started easing himself inside you, both of you gasping at the feeling, his hand gripping yours harder, a tear ran down your cheek. it was a mixture of emotions, sensations. the fullness of his cock entering you, the burn that came with it, his eyes widening alarmingly as he noticed the tears welling along your bottom lashes.

he stilled inside you, his tip now nuzzled in your warmth, his breath hitching, “does it hurt? baby, what’s wrong?”

”no, it’s just—“ it was on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t say it. not now. maybe never? you swallowed it down your throat, “it hurts a bit but it feels so good, gguk.”

”yeah? fuck. you’re so tight, princess. taking me in so good,” his praises replaced the hurt, both emotional and physical, with a familiar fuzzy pleasure, pooling in your lower stomach and releasing more of your wetness on his dick, making it easier for him to slip inside you.

he groaned as he bottomed out, your moan higher than intended. you felt him throb inside you, just how he could feel you pulse around him. a string of curses followed as he repeated the slow action, pulling back to his tip only to push back in, making sure you grew accustomed to the feeling.

”gguk. i feel so full,” you cried, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist, forcing him to stay still inside you. he growled, kissing along your neck and leaving small bites to contain himself from snapping his hips against you.

it was complicated, with the sounds escaping your lips resounding sweetly in his ears and your hole tightening around him in a torturous manner making him release precum inside the condom.

”baby, can i please move? i’m gonna go crazy,” his voice was strained, whiny, muffled in the crook of your neck as your fingers combed through his hair, unconsciously searching for comfort.

your granting hum was more of a high-pitched whine, but he took it positively as he attempted one first thrust inside you, followed shortly by another. your moans got stuck, the air cut from your throat the more he picked up his pace, lifting his face from your neck and straightening up to admire the scene.

it was better than anything he’d ever witnessed, his thickness stuffed in your tight, virgin hole and taking him in so perfectly. he took his free hand to hold you still by your hip as he pushed himself deeper.

you were a mess underneath him. legs squeezing around him, you barely gave jeongguk space to move. you wailed, his name tumbling out your tongue repeatedly as he fucked into you faster. he’d been so gentle with you until that moment, but now his roughness made you impossibly wetter.

when you let your eyes flutter open, you could feel yourself spasm around him at the sight in front of you. his abs contracted with the effort of his pushes, his cock slammed into you relentlessly, his nipples hardened and called for your touch.

you threw one hand to his pec and felt his firmness under you, gripping it for support as he pounded you with intent, your nails scratching his skin, the sounds of your bodies slapping together overtaking your pleasured moans.

he panted, rambling, “fuck, love this pussy. love fucking this pussy. wanna fuck it forever.”

“made just for me. such a perfect fit.”

“that’s how you’ve been waiting to be fucked, huh? nice and deep, you fucking love that.”

his praises and dirty comments made your head spin, your eyes rolling to the back of your head, letting your mouth hang open and release your cries into the stuffy room.

the sight of your fucked out state underneath his control was going to torture him for the following weeks, he was sure of that. he’d see you, sprawled out on your bed for him, your tits moving up and down with each thrust, your pleasured tears staining your face as his name left your pillowy lips like a mantra, every time he’d close his eyelids.

he had to physically hold himself back from releasing already, his length too sensitive and eager, but he wanted to make this moment last for as long as he could possibly handle. he closed his eyes, but he couldn’t escape you. you were loud, and the hottest thing he’s ever heard.

and then, the challenge became harder when you stuttered, unexpectedly, “wanna ride you.”

he threw his head back, a feverish groan rising up his throat, “fuck. you do, pretty?”

you hummed, just as unhinged, your legs untightening around him and weakly pulling at his arm to try and bring him to lay on the bed. he pulled himself out of you slowly, making you cringe at the emptiness, and as he let his back fall on the soft surface, he lifted your figure effortlessly and led you to straddle him.

now on top of him, you weren’t so confident with your earlier claim anymore. underneath you, jeongguk was panting, his pupils blown out, lips agape, cock laying unattended on his stomach. he stroked your sides comfortingly, subtly pulling you closer, and the action caused your slicked pussy to grind against his balls.

the two of you moaned at the contact, and he immediately took his length to pump it a couple of times, gently tapping it against your tummy. you lifted your hips up, positioning yourself on his tip, looking down at jeongguk for support.

the lazy smile you were met with made your heart stutter in your chest, and you put your hand on top of his, still tightly gripping your hip, as you sank down his dick.

your head was thrown back in pleasure, your back arching into him, and jeongguk had to fight with himself to keep his eyes from fluttering shut, wanting to bask in the image of you.

as you fully took him in, you leaned your weight on the palm that fell on his chest, his hands steadying you promptly by your waist, praise ready on his tongue, “doing so amazing, princess. making me feel so good.”

you attempted moving subtly, trying to adjust to the more intense stretch, and the hand that was still holding his led it to cup your boob, instructing him to knead at it.

he moaned shakily, playing with your tit while you lifted your hips only to sink them down again, tentatively repeating the action and gaining confidence the more his whines got louder.

soon, you lost control. the way your clit would brush against his skin every time you bounced down made you pulse relentlessly around him, grinding into the sensation and rotating your hips on him with intent.

you tried to prevent it, to hold yourself back, but all your resolution dissolved in a second the moment you felt jeongguk’s thumb teasing your nub. you jolted forward, still balancing yourself on his chest, his hand on your breast working to keep you straight.

”gguk, i think— i think i’m close again,” you admitted ashamedly, your cheeks flushing but your desire unable to make you stop rutting your hips against his touch, his cock throbbing around your walls.

”yeah? then cum around it, make me feel it,” his low voice spurred you on, the thumb that was teasing you now slicing on your nipple, spreading your slick on your boob.

and that made you let go, for a third time, convulsing on top of him, your cries louder as you spasmed around his thick length, your cunt hugging him impossibly tighter, and for a moment you genuinely feared he’d get stuck.

the strength taken out of you was enough to make you fall onto him, your face in his neck as you panted frantically, his heartbeat matching the speed of yours under your palm laying on his chest.

jeongguk’s voice was weak as he spoke in your ear, his fingers stroking your back comfortingly, “that was amazing, baby. so good.”

you appreciated his constant praises, a lazy grin spreading on your lips, but you couldn't ignore the way he kept thudding inside you, quiet whines stuck in his throat as he tried to conceal them by clutching your sides tighter, stilling himself.

jeongguk wailed feverishly when you lifted yourself up again, resuming your earlier actions, the ones that were bringing him to the point he badly wanted to reach. he was breathless as he took in the determined glint in your eyes, “fu— fuck. doll, what are you—“

”wanna make you cum, gguk.”

he physically couldn’t hold himself from rolling his eyes far deep, bucking up to meet your hips, and the force of his thrusts threw your weak body back on him again, your hard nipples brushing against his equally stiff ones.

”i’ll fuck you, baby, hm? you already did so good for me,” his words were hushed, whispered, delirious, the sound of them overtaken by the sharp pounding.

but he made sure you could feel every syllable, his lips close to your lobe as you held yourself tightly on his shoulders, “so perfect. letting me fuck you good and deep. gonna make me cum so hard, doll.”

your brain couldn’t process any other kind of response other than loud cries, your cunt being relentlessly abused. the waves of your last orgasm still flowed inside you, the buzz coming back to life as the new position gave him perfect access to your sweet, needy spot, hitting it at an inhumane force.

his effort was translated into deep, raspy growls only pushing you closer to the edge, and you swore you could pass out from the overstimulation. but you basked in it, the tears in your eyes blurring your vision.

”you wanna cum again? i know you can, c’mon. i know you got it in you, pretty. just another one. cum with me.”

his pleading, delirious tone undid you. the way you both released with harsh moans was perfectly synced, his hips jolting you forward as you chased your high against his lower stomach. with a few more pushes, he let go fully inside the condom, all the energy being ripped from him at that moment, his hands freeing your waist from the sharp grip while his head fell weakly on the side.

the two of you were almost wheezing, your exhales shaking in your panting chests as you lifelessly rested on him, slowly being lulled by his breathing.

you didn’t even notice yourself slipping so easily into slumber, and if it weren’t for his delicate touch tracing your closed eyelids and moving your hair behind your ear, his sweet voice preventing you from fully falling unconscious, you would have enjoyed just staying in that position forever.

“sweetheart. you sleepy?”

you only hummed, the sound rough and thick.

he removed himself from you slowly, both of you still gasping at the overstimulation, and he gently laid you on your back before tying the condom and throwing it in the bin next to your nightstand.

as soon as your head hit the pillow, your eyes fluttered shut again. the room spun faintly, and your body, exhausted, ignored every request your mind was screaming at you. you were cold, goosebumps rising on your naked skin; your thighs still trembled, a mess of wetness and slick. but you were too tired to move. you could only lay there, sprawled on the sheets.

luckily, jeongguk thought of everything. his mind was full of you, his only thought being taking care of your figure and making sure you were safe, comforted.

he had taken your virginity. it wasn’t just a physical act— it was a gift you had entrusted him with, something you had kept close to your heart, even through all the fears and anxieties you’d shared with him. you had always been afraid to let go, to give such an intimate part of yourself to someone.

but you trusted him, fully and deeply, in a way that you hadn’t trusted anyone before. that knowledge bloomed in his chest like warmth spreading to every corner of his body. he felt a deep sense of responsibility and gratitude. he wanted to honor that trust.

with care, jeongguk slipped away from your side to retrieve a warm, damp towel. the cool air hit your skin as he left, and you stirred slightly, though not fully awake. when he returned and began gently wiping you down, you startled at the sensation, your eyes slowly fluttering open. you were met with his grinning face, his eyes crinkling at the sides, that same boyish smile that always made your heart skip a beat.

“we should clean up, baby,” he said soft, his voice warm and coaxing as he continued to gently clean the slickness between your legs.

“tired,” you murmured in response, your voice thick with exhaustion. “tomorrow.” the word came out as more of a sigh than anything else. you stretched your arms out toward him, your lips forming a small pout. “cuddle. now.”

jeongguk laughed fondly at your sleepy demands, shaking his head as he tossed the towel to the floor. without a second thought, he slid back into bed beside you, pulling the covers over your naked bodies. the warmth of the blanket and the weight of him beside you immediately soothed the lingering shivers in your body, and you sighed in relief.

instinctively, you reached for him, your leg curling around his, your hands seeking the familiar comfort of his waist. your head rested on his chest, where you could feel the steady thump of his heart beneath your cheek. his arm wrapped around you naturally, his fingers tracing gentle circles along your spine.

it wasn’t unusual for you to cuddle, especially during movie nights, or simply when the other needed comfort.

but this was different. there was a new weight to the way your bodies pressed together, your brain grasping around the reality of what had just happened.

your first instinct faced with that thought was to chuckle lightly, your sleepy brain struggling to come up with any more reasonable reaction. when he hummed and moved to look down at your face, you hid yourself further in his chest, your voice muffled, “i can’t believe you fucked me.”

he sounded tauntingly cocky as he moved your hair from your forehead, “now that you put it like that, well, i did.”

your drowsy state lowered all your inhibitions, your eyes fluttering close as you spilled your honesty, “i’ve been fantasizing about this moment for so long.”

“yeah? what a naughty girl,” his playful tone made you blush, the low voice and the hand grazing at the small of your back making you clench around nothing, still sensitive.

you lightly pushed at his chest with a weak smile, “you literally said you were waiting for it to happen, too.”

jeongguk’s eyes gleamed with amusement, his tone dripping in mock shame, “did i, pretty? did i do that? oh god, how indecent of me.”

the taunting banter went on for a while, your fond grins almost breaking your faces in two halves as you started a quick tickle war. it was almost surreal how easily the two of you slipped back into the habituality of your dynamic, as if nothing had changed at all. and in a way, nothing had. you were still you, and he was still jeongguk— the boy who teased you relentlessly and made you laugh until your stomach hurt.

as the laughter faded, your body began to relax completely, your muscles loosening as you sank further into his embrace. your head rested against his toned pecs, and you could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath your cheek. his fingers continued their gentle caresses along your back, and for the first time in a long while, you felt completely at peace.

but jeongguk, even in the quiet comfort of the moment, couldn’t let it end just yet. his mind was still racing, still full of thoughts of you.

he wanted to hear your voice. wanted to be soothed by its melody. he spoke quietly, almost hesitant, his breath warm against your hair, “don’t fall asleep so soon. i’ll miss you.”

your voice was rough with weariness, but you were quick with your answer, “i’m literally lying on top of you.”

“i know,” he whispered, his thumb brushing softly against your waist. “but i wanna talk to you.”

with great effort, you blinked your eyes open, lifting your head just enough to look at him through half-lidded eyes, “it’s your fault if i can’t talk right now.”

“damn, i got a magic stick,” his voice sounded oddly proud of it and you groaned, hitting him weakly on his stomach and causing him to giggle.

“you’re so gross.”

“you hurt me!” he whined dramatically and it made you roll your eyes amusedly.

chuckling softly, you took his face in your hands and pressed your fingers gently against his lips, “shut up.” your voice was playfully fond as you nestled back against him, your eyelids growing heavier by the second, dozing off again.

at least trying to, because only a minute later his soft voice resounded again.

it was barely audible in the stillness, “___.”

“hmm?”

“i’m so happy.”

his whispered voice tickled your ear and you giggled, brushing it on your shoulder with a sheepish grin on your lips.

you looked up at him through droopy eyelids, both your orbs swimming in a deep feeling you couldn’t name, “i am too. i don’t think i can feel my pussy anymore, but i’m very happy nonetheless.”

your wittiness even after being completely drained of all your energy surprised him, the laugh escaping him moving in his chest and reflecting in your own fond smile.

he left a peck on your forehead, bringing you to lay down on him again, “you’re so silly. i love you.”

the words left his lips so naturally, as if he had always known them to be true, and they sounded so right that it took both of you another moment to realize their implications.

your heart stopped, and both of you froze. your breath hitched and your eyes widened, but you stayed still, too startled to look up at him.

you felt his heart beat impossibly faster in your ear, and you perfectly pictured the shock that was painting his expression right now.

his hands clutched your sides tighter, trying to find a way to keep his running mind from spiraling, your silence not helping whatsoever. he stuttered, “i— i mean. i— oh god, i’m so sorry.”

the hurt in his tone immediately made your chest clench, panic flushing in your veins. you met his eyes alarmedly, jumping between them, “jeongguk. don’t be sorry. you love me?”

he wasn’t sure what to do, couldn’t figure out if the feeling was mirrored as intensely in you as it was in him. it had been building inside him for weeks, lingering beneath the surface, making his heart race and his thoughts blur every time you were near.

the realization hadn’t come to him in a grand, sweeping moment but in the quiet of the bookstore one random afternoon. he had been stacking shelves, mindlessly organizing the rows of novels, when he caught sight of you. you were tucked into a corner, absorbed in a murakami novel, your fingers brushing the edges of the pages with care.

he hadn’t expected you to show up that day. he was sure you’d mentioned having lectures and that you couldn’t meet up with him, so seeing you there, completely unannounced, had startled him.

he remembered standing there for a moment, frozen in place, just staring at you walk through the door. and then you had lifted your head, and your eyes met his across the quiet, sunlit room.

the smile you gave him was sheepish as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, your confession tumbling out softly, “i skipped my classes. i wanted to be here. needed to see you.”

it was shy, and said with a feeling in your gaze that he was scared to decipher.

but he couldn’t help the way it settled in his heart. stubborn, unmoving. the truth was clearly in front of him, and it took the semblance of your face.

you were the truth. he was in love.

so, he could only be truthful to you, “i— yes. i love you.”

the words sank into your skin, filling you with warmth and a sense of completeness that made your chest swell. you exhaled deeply through your nose, trying to steady the burst of emotion building inside you, but your eyes softened, and a tear slipped down your cheek as you smiled, wide and genuine.

“i love you too, gguk.”

it was a simple reply, but the weight behind it carried everything. you didn’t need to say anything more. you couldn’t even if you wanted to, your lips immediately eating at each other, gulping down your furious flow of thoughts and accepting. hearing. feeling. seeing.

all the times you forced to keep shut and convince yourself that what you saw in him and all his care towards you was just coming from a place that would forever see you two as friends. all the secret touches, the shared meals, the warm nights on your couch. all the books you read for him, all the lines he highlighted for you.

it was love. all along. and you felt its power against him, your heartbeats syncing.

when you finally pulled away, you rested your forehead against his, both of you breathing softly in the quiet aftermath of the confession. jeongguk’s arms tightened around you, pulling you even closer as if he couldn’t bear to let go.

the silence that followed wasn’t awkward or uncertain. it was peaceful. comfortable.

and lulled by the quiet, jeongguk ended up being the first to fall asleep, his nervous energy fading away, replaced by a deep sense of contentment. his breathing became slow and steady, his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his muscles relaxing.

despite your earlier exhaustion, you were too wired to sleep. you were still flowing with excitement. the night’s events hit you with great force, and kept you wide awake.

quietly, you reached for your phone on the nightstand, careful not to disturb jeongguk. the screen lit up, showing the time. 3:47 am.

even though it was late, you couldn’t resist. you pulled up jimin’s contact and pressed the call button. waiting. he was always awake at this hour.

jimin had been your best friend for years. your loyal confidant, the one you could splutter all your feelings to and never be judged. he had been by your side all along this particular ride, going from a silly, little crush to feeling raging love for the boy in your arms.

you smiled wide at the prospect of jimin’s reaction at the news you were about to share with him. he was the first person you wanted to inform, he deserved to know.

“bitch, don’t tell me you’re crying over jeongguk, ‘cause—“

those are the first words that came through the line, and they made you silently chuckle at the irony, immediately engaging in his banter, “well, sorta kinda. he said he loves me.”

there was a beat of silence on the other end, followed by jimin’s amused scoff, “wow. crazy news. would have never guessed.”

you were stunned, to say the least. your mouth hung open as you whisper-yelled, “bitch! is this seriously all you have to say?”

you were mindful not to wake jeongguk with your conversation, looking down at him with care. his cheek was squished on your small breast, his mouth pouting and releasing heavy puffs. one of his hands rested protectively over your side, and his thumb brushed your under boob.

he was cozily nestled between your legs, his wavy hair brushing your chin, and he looked so peaceful it was like he was made to be held by you.

you couldn’t help the tears from welling in your eyes as jimin’s next words accompanied the view of the boy you loved, now finally yours.

“babe, c’mon, it was obvious.”

[champagnefountains]

LUCIFER MAGNE - H.H.

Prompt: Lucifer continuing to wear his wedding ring despite being in a relationship with you.

Genre: Angst and hurt; somewhat fluffy (but only for a brief while). Warnings: Swearing. Unhealthy relationship/coping mechanisms (?). Word count: 2.2k+

Lucifer had been courting you for a couple of months already, the King of Hell finally deciding it was time to make the two of you official. The tension was so incredibly thick, that even the hotel’s patrons were growing sick of having to watch the two of you dance aimlessly around each other. Charlie included. 

The past couple of months were more than delightful – Lucifer treated you like a Queen, taking you out almost every other night, having nice candle-lit dinners, and dancing the night away. And if you weren’t really feeling the glamour, the both of you would stay cuddled up against one another whilst watching some cliche rom-com. It was like a dream. It was perfect…well, almost. 

The very source of your concerns was the golden band that remained in Lucifer’s ring-finger. 

You knew about the heart-break and torment that Lucifer underwent following his separation with Lilith. Understandably, having been together for many decades and centuries, the King had a difficult time trying to move on. Even in the earlier stages of your relationship, when he had been comfortable confiding in you, it was evident that he still deeply cared for Lilith, despite her absence. 

You tried to be understanding – you really, really did. But every time you held his hand, the cold metal feeling against your fingers set a painful reminder that maybe he still hasn’t moved on completely. 

It filled you to the brim with self-doubt. Perhaps he was just keeping you around just to fill in the void she had left. And if that were the case, were you even doing a good enough job in that? Hypothetically, if Lilith were to waltz in front of the hotel’s doors one day, was he going to throw you off to the side and run away with her? What if he’d grow bored of you all of a sudden?

Questions such as these would linger at the back of your head constantly, and as they did, you would cast a longing gaze in his direction. When he catches your eye, he would automatically send a smile your way, pearly-whites in full display. It would make you smile without fail, because how could it not? You loved that dashing smile of his. But everyday, you wondered if you could continue to maintain that smile in your life. 

One night in particular, during dinner at one of Hell’s finest establishments, Lucifer noticed that something was off. Your smile hasn’t been reaching your eyes, and you seemed like you were anywhere but here. Your eyes had a distant look to them and whenever he’d ask if something was wrong, you would become dismissive. It concerned him a lot. 

“Darling, are you alright?” Lucifer carefully asked once you both made it to the front porch of the hotel. “Was it the food? Was it not to your liking? Because the chicken was a bit off to be honest, it could’ve been a bit more seasoned–” 

“Luci,” you intervened and grabbed his hands, giving them a reassuring squeeze. “The food was great, really. It’s just…” As your voice trailed off, you were quick to feel that damn ring around his finger. Because, of course you did, and it didn’t help your mood at all. You force out a huff and pull away, causing the demon’s frown to deepen, “I’m feeling a little under the weather tonight – probably just lacking a bit of sleep.” 

Lucifer scanned your face all over, his brows furrowed in worry. “Well…I guess you have been working harder for the hotel recently.” There had been some truth in that – after all, there had been an influx of sinners in the hotel since the cancellation of this year’s extermination. But he didn’t seem to stop there, not fully convinced by your reasoning, “...But are you sure that’s all, my dear?” 

You looked at him, surprised, as if suddenly caught red-handed. He was quick to pick up on that too, confirming his suspicions and making him all the more nervous.

 “What are you trying to say?” You ask. 

“Well, i-it’s just that I noticed that you’ve been acting a bit off recently,” he splutters. “And not only tonight. You’ve become a bit more…I don’t know, distant with me. And it worries me, y’know? I just…I really, really care about you. A lot.” He almost looks defeated as he rubs anxiously at his nape, “And if I’m being honest, it scares the absolute shit out of me that what I’m doing now isn't right."

Your brows crease in confusion, “...What are you talking about?” 

Lucifer closed his eyes, dragging a palm against his face as an exaggerated groan leaves his lips. “Look, I’m not exactly experienced with all…all this – the one woman I’ve ever been in a committed relationship with left me. Just like that!” He lets out a humourless snort. “A-And I don’t know what I did to make her leave and I for sure don’t want to make that same mistake again. I…I want to be assured that I’m making you happy.” 

Lucifer looks up at you, eyes filled with warmth, as he places a gentle hand against your cheek. He breaks the distance between you to press his forehead against yours. You automatically lean against him out of habit. “I don’t want to lose you. And if I’m doing something wrong, tell me. Please, don’t shut me out.” He pleads, his voice almost falling into a whisper. The unexpected confession left you speechless, your chest feeling all the more tight. It was making you feel worse than you already did. 

You let out a shaky sigh, trying to keep the pending tears at bay. “Luci, I’m sorry. I didn’t know…I-I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. Trust me when I say that you’ve been nothing more than a gentleman, and every moment we’ve spent together has been magical. I appreciate you so, so much, and I could never, ever ask for anything more.” 

You shut your eyes tight, shame filling your very core. “I’m just being a little silly–”

“No, no. Don’t say that, darling. Please tell me what’s going on. It’s okay,” Lucifer encourages softly, his thumb rubbing reassuringly against your cheek. 

You grab his wrist and gently pull your face away from him. With the hand on his arm, you slide it down to grab at his own, bringing it up into view and in-between the both of you. Almost instantaneously, both your eyes lie on the golden band on his finger – to Lucifer, it suddenly clicks. But he couldn’t help but feel an internal conflict brew within him. 

“I-I know how much that ring and Lilith means to you. I really do and I feel awful having to feel this way, but I just…I can’t help it,” you mutter, finally allowing the first couple of tears to fall, “I-I often find myself counting the days and hours when you’ll suddenly realise that I will never be good enough for you. It feels like I’m constantly having to compete with her–heck, what am I even saying? I know I’ll never be able to compete – because, I mean, come on. I'm a nobody!” You chuckle tearfully whilst gesturing to yourself with a free hand.

“And I don’t think I’ll ever understand how you’d ever settle for someone like me. I’m not nearly as important, nor am I the best-looking demon out there. I’m just me.”

“But Lucifer, whenever I’m with you, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. I smile more. Laugh more. I even enjoy the little things more. And I don’t want that to go away. And I’m just hoping– Satan, I’m fucking hoping that it’s the same for you. And if it is, then how long is that going to last with me?” 

Completely shocked, Lucifer watched in silence as his love sobbed their heart out in front of him. He wanted nothing more than to go and wrap you in his warm embrace, and whisper reassurances and hush down your cries. Because, you were right – you did make him happy. So unbelievably happy. You had been the light that casted away the shadows in his darkest times. And yet, why? Why did he remain where he stood, unmoving as tears pathetically poured from his eyes? Why wasn’t he saying anything?

There was a brief, stagnant moment of contemplation where the both of you just stood there. It was the realisation that Lucifer didn’t make any effort to formulate some form of response, that disappointed you even further. It only made the doubtful voice in your head louder. 

It was you who ultimately decided to make the first move, wiping tiredly at your reddened face as you glanced at the hotel’s door. “I’ll be heading off first. I’ll be in the guest room tonight – it’s been a long day,” you raspily say, hiccuping as you pushed through the doors and disappeared into the hotel, leaving Lucifer alone outside. 

As you entered the hotel, you immediately noticed Husk’s presence by the bar, who had been polishing some glasses by the counter. In front of him was Angel, who was making some sweet, small talk with him. They were both alerted by your entrance as the doors flew open, and as Angel was about to greet you in his usual playful fashion, his voice fell flat when he saw the depressed state you were in. 

“Woah, there. What the hell happened to you? You look like shit,” Angel asked, standing to meet you half-way, “I thought you and Short-King were out on a date. Did something happen?” 

“We were but we had a fight or something,” you tiredly shrugged as you walked past the arachnid and plopped yourself down on one of the bar stools. You swirled yourself on the seat to face Husk. “Give me the strongest shit you have. And make it double,” you waved absently at the feline-demon, who raised an incredulous brow at your bluntness. “Damn, it must be that serious considering you don’t even drink,” he grumbles as he turns to start brewing a glass of something, “...do you wanna talk about it?"

You contemplated his offer for a second and realised that you did. For the next five or so minutes, you ended up recounting everything that happened earlier tonight, all the while shedding even more tears. Angel was kind enough to supply you with a mountain of tissues to cry into.

“Well, it sounds to me that your man’s got a whole lot of thinking to do,” Husk clicks his tongue. “But what you’re feeling is completely valid.” “Yeah, who the fuck wears their ol’ wedding ring while dating someone else? What an asshole,” Angel hisses. 

“S-So you guys think there’s a possibility that he might consider ending things with me?” You question dejectedly. Husk and Angel share a look of uncertainty, suddenly feeling the need to be careful of their words. Because they genuinely weren’t sure.

“I–Look, that’s not something we should be focusing on at the moment– I mean, of course, let’s hope that that’s not where this is going. I just think he needs some space to think things through properly,” Husk says. 

“And I know I was talking a whole lot of shit before but let’s take the benefit of the doubt and look at things from his point of view. He was in that boat for more than a couple thousand years. And shit, that’s a lot of fucking years.” Angel points out. “It might take him a while longer to adjust to that, y’know?” Angel places a hand on your shoulder, grinning at you reassuringly, “But there’s one thing for sure that myself and everyone else knows: the guy loves yah, toots. Anyone with eyes can see it, and you guys are really fucking disgusting about it too–ow!” 

Angel suddenly lunges forward against the counter as one of Husk’s wings swipes down to slap the back of his head. “‘The fuck was that for?! It’s true, ain’t it?!” Husk rolled his eyes at his dramatics, before turning back to you. “He’s right, though. Just…just give him a bit more time. I’m sure in the end, the both of you will be fine.” 

Meanwhile, Lucifer decided to head back to his own castle, wanting to be alone to sort through his cluttered thoughts. He was beyond upset with himself for making you cry like that, because it was the last thing he wanted. But he was more upset at the fact that he didn’t know how to navigate through his emotions, despising that he found himself second guessing his feelings. 

As you explicitly implied, was he really still unconsciously longing for Lilith? Was that why he kept wearing his ring? Why was he still wearing it? Was it just for his own comfort? But why would he need it anyways? You were there, weren’t you? All he had said to you tonight, he was contradicting himself, wasn’t he? Perhaps he’s scared. Maybe he isn’t ready yet. But, why would he be with you if he didn’t think so? What exactly were you to him? And what exactly was Lilith to him now?

Lucifer was a complete mess, and that night he couldn’t find a single blink of sleep as these thoughts plagued him. And neither could you, as you scrutinised every aspect of your relationship, thinking of what this could mean for the both of you, moving forward.

Yeah…perhaps you both needed some time. 

Chapter II [x]

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]

in holy matriphony ch6. the in-laws

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, and have been taking care of your sick mother ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket to more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance plan in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity, mentions of cigarettes, depression/anxiety; btw gojo in this fic is in his mid 30s n reader is in her late 20s

ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!

ᰔ chapter. 6/x

ᰔ words. 12.6k

a/n. hiii my ihm lovelies!! hope you all had a great holiday season. i wanted to get this chapter out as a christmas gift but i failed and then i wanted to get it out as a new years post but failed and then i got food poisoning yesterday and while i was rotting in bed i ended up finishing the chapter LOL. it seems i can only write when i'm under duress? but anywho. hope you enjoy haha and see you at the bottom!

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“Alright, let’s head out,” you hear Gojo say from the bottom of the staircase, followed by the sound of dress shoes on the hardwood floor, and you glance over to see him clad in a navy suit with a white button up shirt that had one singular button undone. He’s messing with the cuffs of his suit jacket as he makes his way over to you. You catch the scent of his cologne, and it’s alarming how familiar it’s become to you.

Days go by shorter lately, mainly because it’s winter, and so the sun has almost fully set by 6pm. The sky outside is a dark hue of purple, seen past the windows of Gojo’s house, and the warm, dim lighting inside makes you feel strangely nostalgic. Like in a way that feels like home.

You tirelessly tousle with your hair at the mirror hanging above the foyer table that was snug up against the wall at the front entrance. Your hair wasn’t cooperating. You attempted to curl it, for the first time in forever given you can’t remember the last time you had enough time to do your hair, so you were out of practice. It was obvious, given the way some strands were curled outwards from your face, some inwards, some straighter than others, some curlier than others, and you were about to have a full blown mental breakdown before you remember your grounding exercises– 1, 2, 3, 4.

You turn to face Gojo, who you saw in the mirror was standing behind you and watching you with amusement, and you breathe in deep. “How do I look?” you ask, petting down the fabric of your dress as you face him. The thought occurs to you–why do you give so much of a fuck how you look right now? It’s just Gojo’s family. It’s not like they’re actually your in-laws. And from what Gojo’s mother had told you, it was just an intimate little get-together with Sana’s family. It’s really not a big deal. Yet the necessity to impress still consumes you.

Gojo threads his hands into the pockets of his pants and tilts his head to assess your appearance, and you watch his gaze trace the frame of you. “Nice,” he says, “you look nice.”

“That’s it? Just nice?”

“Well, I tried to call you hot earlier, but it got me yelled at.”

You roll your eyes and grab your purse off the foyer table, “okay, whatever, I’ll take it.” And then you head towards the front door. You hear the jingle of car keys from behind you as they’re shoved into a pocket.

The outside air is chilly in a way that’s almost sobering. Gojo opens the door for you to get inside his car and the warmth of your peach cobbler in your lap comforts some of the nerves you felt. By the time Gojo clicks his seatbelt into place in the driver seat, you realize you’ve never been in his car before, or driven anywhere by him before.

The interior smells of pine and something more familiar too, with sleek leather seats that are so comfortable they make you feel like you’re floating. You know it’s a Benz, you’re just not sure what year or model, and you’d usually ask most people out of a friendly curiosity, but for some reason your pride always got the best of you when it came to him.

“I seriously can’t wait to eat that thing you made,” Gojo comments after he’s backed out of the driveway, “it looks really nice.”

“Do you have a sweet tooth?” you ask him, glancing over at him, and you try not to stare at the strong one-handed grip he has on the steering wheel as he corrects it. 

“Oh yeah,” he answers, “big time.”

“You don’t seem like it,” you mindlessly say, turning your head to glance out into the dim street, passing by houses that idly sit in this neighborhood.

“Why’s that?” he asks.

“You seem to maintain a steady weight,” you politely comment.

You can hear the smile in his voice. “Is that the closest I’ll ever get to a compliment from you?”

You roll your eyes. “It’s just science. Hard to maintain a build if you eat a lot of sugar.”

He turns onto the mainroad, and you keep your gaze plastered to the outside. “I seem to manage.”

“It’s because you're tall. Tall people get to eat whatever they want.”

You see him nod his head once in your periphery, and you take it as some form of dismissal. “Sure.”

It doesn’t take terribly long to get to Gojo’s parents’ house, just a thirty-five minute drive without traffic. He kept surprisingly silent throughout most of it, and the few moments you did glance at his face, you could even say he looked like he was deep in thought. With a creased brow, a grip on the steering wheel that sometimes faltered, sometimes strengthened, but rarely fully eased. It was all so different from his usual impulse to talk. You know that you often wish for Gojo to shut the fuck up sometimes, but the silence seemed unsettling today.

His parents’ house is large, maybe twice the size of the homes in your neighborhood, but it’s tucked away in a slightly remote area, where the next closest house is about a quarter of a mile down the road. The driveway is long and runs downhill, so you stumble a little on the high heel of your shoe when you step down onto the pebbled pavement, but Gojo holds your elbow so you don’t fall onto your face. And also so you don’t drop the peach cobbler he so desperately wants to try. You’re not sure which of the two was the bigger priority for him.

As you two walk up the driveway towards the front entrance, you hear him sigh behind you. “Just so you know, my mom doesn’t really have any sense of boundaries.”

“Ah,” you comment, “nice to know where you get it from.”

He gives you an irritated look, seen in the corner of your eye, and it’s hard to fight the small amused smile that makes its way onto your face.

He sighs again as you two make it to the top of the steps. “Seriously, though. Chances of you wanting to leave me after this dinner are high.”

“Why? You’ve got a hot older brother I don’t know about or something?”

“I am the hot older brother,” he tells you.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, and then face him fully. “You’re not the first guy that’s warned me about his parents, okay? I’ll handle my own. What good is life if your in-laws–er, fake in-laws–aren’t at least a little strange?”

He lifts his finger to the doorbell, and just before pressing it, he says, “alright, then.”

It only takes twelve seconds for the door to swing open, the aroma of fresh herbs and something more sultry like vetiver arouse your senses, along with a warmth beckoning you from the inside of the home. 

Gojo’s mother stands at the doorway, surrounded by a halo of warm lighting, and her face instantly morphs into one of delightful glee.

“Oh! My dear, you’ve made it!” she exclaims happily, and just when you think she’s about to pull Gojo in for a hug, she pulls you in for one first instead, which startles you. “How lovely!”

“Oh—” you stutter, stumbling slightly as your nose becomes buried in the fluff of her silk pressed hair, but the delicate fragrance of lilac is somehow comforting.

She pulls you away to hold you by your shoulders. “You poor thing, you’re shivering! Come inside.” She hastily ushers you inside and you can feel the heat from Gojo’s body as he follows closely on your tail.

When his mother closes the door behind you, you find yourself surrounded by the kind of warmth only a house could provide. 

You take a small look around the foyer, noticing that it’s large with tones of deep wood and a bright white and golden chandelier that hangs daintily above in the cavity of the high ceilings. Leather, wood, velvet, silk, these are the textures that you see as you look around. It’s an old-fashioned taste, with a polished grand piano off to the right in the hall and display cases of vintage dolls and porcelain plates. So very different from modern, but it’s comforting. Like a wave of nostalgia, but from something you’ve never experienced before.

“What’s this?” Mrs. Gojo asks with curiosity lilting her voice as she walks up to you and points at the casserole dish you were holding.

“Oh, it’s peach cobbler,” you say, holding it up slightly with a small smile adorning your face, “for dessert.”

“How sweet! You’re an angel,” she coos, then twists her torso towards the kitchen, “honey! Come here, will you?”

Shuffling down the hallway from the heart of the house is, who you presume to be, Mr. Gojo. He’s tall, with his shoulders slightly curved forward as he approaches you all, and you note that he looks more aged than his missus.

“Ah, this must be my new daughter-in-law,” he says, his voice gruff and crackly from years of use. You smell the faintest hint of smoke from his clothing.

You glance at Gojo, who is watching you interact with his parents, an unreadable expression on his face as his hands remain shoved into the pocket of his suit pants.

Mr. Gojo takes the peach cobbler from you and gives you a curt smile before taking it back towards the kitchen.

“Darling, I must say, you have a lovely figure—” Gojo’s mother begins to say, reaching her hand out to hover it over the curve of your waist, but just at that moment, Gojo comes up to stand in between the two of you.

“Alright, what time’s dinner?” he asks.

Mrs. Gojo glances up at him, her face immediately twisting into a frown. “Nevermind that. I want to take y/n with me back to the kitchen to help braise the chicken,” she says, grabbing a hold of your wrist and tugging you towards her.

“Oh—” you stumble slightly.

“Nope,” you hear Gojo say from beside you, and suddenly there’s a strong arm wrapping around your waist as he pulls you back to his side, “she stays with me for the night.” You’d remember to blush at the feeling of being pressed flush up against him, but the shock overshadowed.

“Satoru!” Mrs. Gojo exclaims, rather loudly, and she lets out a hmph noise before placing her hands on her hips. “You’re no fun!”

“I’m not gonna let you indoctrinate her into whatever multi-level marketing scheme you’ve fallen victim to this month,” he says, his hold on your waist tightening.

“How petulant!” she says, trying to manage a stern look but Gojo doesn’t seem fazed by it, “quit acting like I’m going to corrupt her! I’m not some witch.”

“Your track record would prove otherwise,” he comments.

“Oh please, the only other time was when you brought—”

She suddenly stops speaking, her eyes going wide, and she glances at you. You cluelessly tilt your head at her.

Ah. The other woman. This mysterious ex-wife. Would you be the other woman in this case? Seeing as to how his entire family seems to walk on eggshells about the subject around you. And they all seem to think that any mention of her would devastate you, when really, you and Gojo aren’t even actually lovers.

But there’s a small part of you,

A teeny tiny part,

Revealed from the way your heart sank at the realization of who his mother was referring to,

That actually does feel some type of way about it.

You want to know who this woman was to him. Does he still think of her? Does he still love her? What happened between them? Was she the one that got away? And how does he feel about the fact that he’s now here with you?

You shake your head vigorously to get those thoughts out of your head.

It was like method acting. You stepped into the role of wife this evening, and now you feel the way that they expect you to feel at the mention of your husband’s ex-lover.

That must be the reason, right?

You slowly push yourself out of Gojo’s hold, and you try not to become hyper aware of his eyes on you as you smooth out the fabric of your dress, then you glance at his mother.

“I’d love to help you braise the chicken,” you say.

There’s a brief silence as you find your voice in this house, and then Mrs. Gojo flashes you a grin.

“Come with me, honey,” she says before wrapping a delicate hand around your wrist and pulling you towards the heart of the house.

There are pictures hung up on the walls as you brush past every hallway, along with peeling wallpaper that is peppered with florals and striped prints, sanded off from years of shoulders brushing against their surfaces in a way that creates an old, dated charm. You learn quickly that Gojo has always been pretty tall, judging from the photo of him standing with, whom you assume are his middle school friends, out on a boat, holding a bass the size of a small child. 

There’s photos of the four of them together, like one professionally taken photo where Gojo and Sana are knelt in front of their parents, and your gaze fixates on the strong grip Mr. Gojo has on his son’s shoulder, digging deep in the bone, creasing the fabric, almost desperately. Gojo looks young in the photo, maybe a recent high school graduate, and his smile is bright but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

And, God, the trophies. The trophies that adorned the surfaces of aged cedar wood dressers, seemingly random in the order they are sprawled across the display yet you know there was intention behind it too. Ballet, soccer, tennis, spelling bee, FRC, even dragon boat racing. 

“Feel free to take any of those home,” Mrs. Gojo says with a teasing tone, “you eventually get tired of staring at them.”

You wouldn’t know. Your mother never had much extra cash hanging around to take you to tennis lessons, or ballet lessons, or SAT prep, or whatever. You were lucky enough that you got into college with the cards you were dealt, but you sometimes wonder what your potential could’ve been if you had parents like Gojo did. Maybe the house you live in would be your own, and not something that your mother has spent the past forty years of her life trying to pay off. Maybe you’d have a freshly renovated kitchen and a pretty boat out on the street. But throwing a pity party for yourself right now wasn’t exactly going to get you through the evening.

Mrs. Gojo finally leads you into the kitchen, and the aroma of fresh herbs overwhelms your senses. 

“Smells wonderful,” you comment.

“I know,” she cheekily comments, “will you turn the meat please?”

You grab a pair of tongs and attempt to sear the cuts that were sizzling on the stove.

“Sooooo,” she coos, wasting no time to playfully bump her hip to yours, “how is married life?”

“Nice,” you respond, your cheeks warming slightly, “it’s nice.”

“It won’t always be that way, you know,” she muses with some underlying sense of sincerity that isn’t lost on you.

When you remain quiet, concentrating on the searing sizzling noises coming from the pan, she decides to keep speaking.

“Eventually, you two will settle in a little too much…start to care less about your bodies…and then, oh gosh, when kids come into the picture, forget about having any time for yourselves,” she continues, “some days you’ll resent him, others you’ll feel like it’s the first time all over again.” She sighs. “Marriage is a funny thing—”

“Mrs. Gojo,” you interrupt her, turning to face her, “I—…I really appreciate you, I do, but, um, I’ve already learned a lot already about marriage from my own parents. Things are fine between Satoru and me.” You look into her widened eyes. “And…if something does happen down the line, and we choose not to be together anymore, then that’s okay too.”

After all, you had to prepare her.

“But that’s the thing!” she chirps, “your generation is too—…too impatient. Unwilling to work anything out! A marriage is supposed to be hard, but also it’s something you aren’t supposed to give up on so easily.”

It’s your turn to meet her with widened eyes in response to her preaching, and her posture immediately deflates before she holds you gently by your arm.

“I’m sorry, honey…I know it’s too early to be saying all these things to you,” she says, managing a small smile, “I always forget that I’m too old to be doting on my children like this anymore.”

Your expression softens and you wrap your palm over her bony knuckles, feeling the thinness of the skin that stretches over them. In a brief glimpse, you see your own mother in Mrs. Gojo’s eyes, something familiar, a universal expression of the love a parent has for their child.

“Well…” you say after clearing your throat, “for what it’s worth, you have nothing to worry about, Mrs. Gojo.” You try to manage a small smile. “I’m—…I’m really happy with your son.”

It was hard to lie to someone like this, especially from the way there’s relief that floods her irises, a genuine feeling that is so hard to come by in these days of false niceties. You often wonder how far a single white lie can stretch before it shatters against its own resistance.

“That’s a relief,” she says, managing her own prim smile, “I’m so glad.”

The two of you finish up in the kitchen, and when you circle around back into the hall, you see Sana standing in the warmly lit family room with Gojo and their dad.

Sana catches your eye, and you purse your lips together hesitantly before walking up to her.

“Hey,” you say softly and she returns the small smile you give her.

“Hi,” she says back to you.

“Um, where’s Juno?” you ask, looking around.

“Oh, she has a sleepover at her friend’s house tonight,” Sana says, “Jun’s dropping her off, and then he’ll come by here later.”

“Ah, I see,” you comment, itching at your elbow from the awkwardness.

“Well,” Mr. Gojo says, gesturing towards the dining room, “let’s eat, shall we?”

The three of you nod at him.

It’s fascinating to watch how the family falls naturally into their chairs, an assigned seating pattern that stays consistent among all dining halls and rooms and tables in the world, one that every family has. Mr. Gojo sits at the head of the table, his wife to his left, his son to his right. Sana sits quaintly to her mother’s left, and you sit across from her to Gojo’s left. The one empty seat is left for the presence of Jun.

“Food looks wonderful, darling,” Mr. Gojo says before leaning over to place a kiss on her bashful cheek.

Your heart does something weird at the sight. A simultaneous twinge paired with a warmer feeling that follows. You hardly witnessed any affection within your household growing up, not between your parents at least, probably because you were young when they got divorced and so the turmoils and tribulations started long before you had any higher order of cognitive discernment beyond the childish interest in Disney princesses and The Backyardigans. For you, the only memories that last of your parents’ marriage are those that feel like nothing more than the frigidity of a business arrangement. Ironically similar to the one you were currently in with Gojo. Except at least yours hadn’t been initially built on a foundation of love and a promise to be there for one another until death did you two apart.

Death was knocking on your mother’s doorstep now. But your father was nowhere to be found. So much for a vow.

Mr. Gojo pours his son a glass of whiskey, single malt as read on the label. Mrs. Gojo pours you and Sana a glass of red wine, and you try to hide the grimace, because you would’ve much rather had the whiskey.

“To y/n,” Mr. Gojo says, raising his glass up into the air, “for being our newest addition to the family.”

You all clink your glasses together, then in a variety of pairings, the last one being the tap of Gojo’s glass against yours, before you all take a drink.

“So…” Mrs. Gojo speaks up, “exactly how long have the two of you been married?”

You glance at Gojo for help, which isn’t exactly an unsuspecting thing to do.

“Four weeks,” he says.

You watch Mrs. Gojo’s eyes twitch. You can understand. Her own son gets married and doesn’t tell her anything about it for four weeks after the wedding. Well, in your case, a courthouse arrangement.

“Where did you two go for your honeymoon?” she asks, and Mr. Gojo clears his throat.

You look at Gojo for help again, and mentally pinch yourself for not being more discreet about how fake this whole thing is.

But Gojo surprisingly looks at ease. “Greece,” he says, and leaves it at that.

Mrs. Gojo’s body language turns to you, clearly irritated by her son’s short and curt answers. “Did you have a fun time, dear?”

“Oh! Yes, it was a very fun time. Definitely did all the newly wed stuff. Just as normal newlyweds do, you know. Because we are newlyweds,” you say through an awkward cough.

“Like…?” Mrs. Gojo pushes, and you can tell that she’s asking out of a genuine curiosity over the itinerary you two had allegedly carried out, but you crack under the pressure.

“W—…We made love,” you say, “we made lots and lots of love.”

The sound of silverware clanking onto ceramic plates startles you out of the blissful ignorance you had to the words that you had just said. Like you were so caught up in your mind about wanting to seem like an actual real life couple to his parents that you almost forgot about the number one social rule when meeting your (fake) significant other’s parents: no references to copulation. 

You glance up to find Mrs. Gojo’s eyes are wide, a slight tinge of pink to her cheeks. The width of Mr. Gojo’s eyes match his wife’s except his expression is also duly accompanied by a furrowed, perplexed brow. Sana looks visibly uncomfortable, shifting in her seat and trying hard to put on a poker face as she pretends like she didn’t just hear what you said.

You finally glance at Gojo, who’s looking at you with the most what the fuck? face you’ve ever seen someone make, and there’s concern on there somewhere too, like he’s not even fully convinced that you’re mentally sane at the moment because why on God’s green Earth would you say something like that at a family dinner table.

Trying your best to laugh it off, you say, “ah…ahaha, d-did I say make love? I meant–I meant that we–”

“Just–” Gojo interrupts you. “Just stop.”

Everyone are still stunned silent and the flush to your cheeks grows warmer. While clearing your throat, you set your lap napkin up on the table and clumsily scootch yourself out of your chair.

“Ex…cuse…me...” you mumble under your breath, knocking the table with your knee on accident, your wine glass almost toppling all over the pretty linen tablecloth but your reflexes catch the stem to steady it. “I need to…use the restroom.” And then you head straight down the hallway without sparing them another glance.

“Use the upstairs one!” Mrs. Gojo calls out to you, “the guest bathroom is under renovation.”

“Of fucking course it is,” you mutter under your breath, but flash them a polite smile before rounding the staircase pillar and then briskly walking up the stairs.

You quickly realize there’s more personality to the house upstairs, with some clutter in the theater loft and mismatching decorations that don’t reveal the careful deliberation of an indoor designer. The master bedroom is directly to the right of the top of the staircase and you glance across the loft at a narrow hallway that leads into the three bedrooms tucked away into the heart of the house.

One foot after the other, you float in that direction as if some force were compelling you towards it. Some trance of curiosity that no human being could ever resist. It’s fine. You didn’t actually need to piss anyways.

The first bedroom you walk past is rather boring, with beige tones all around. Beige bed sheets, beige wall paint, beige lamp shade, beige curtains. But the air smells crisp, and you notice there’s a shelf that has about half a dozen plants lined up in a variety of artistic pots. Similar to the set-up Gojo has in his house at home. You walk inside and brush your fingers across the dresser surface, rubbing fine dust over the pads of your fingers, and with your next inhale, you sneeze.

A guest bedroom, you think to yourself.

The next bedroom you walk past is sweeter, kinder, warmer. There’s pink hues scattered across, the most obvious one being the pillow covers, and there are some shades of a baby blue as well. But the furniture looks modern, sleek, and new. There were two identities at war in the room, like that of a little girl and a grown woman. Neither able to find its voice among the chaos of friendship bracelets sprawled across the desk and the Louis Vuitton purse resting at the foot of the bed. 

Sana’s room, you think to yourself. 

Childhood bedrooms are like time capsules if left untouched for very long. You’ve lived in your room at home for as long as you can remember, only recently having shifted to the master bedroom. The room grew up with you. It had no chance to become some entity of its own. 

The next bedroom you walk by feels familiar, even before you walk inside. There’s a comforting feeling that envelopes just from the lighting alone. You push the door open with a gentle palm.

The culprit of any young man’s room–navy blue sheets. Stretched taut against a made-up bed that has some sort of feminine flair to it, like it wasn’t set by Gojo, but rather his mother passing by his room one day to sit in his absence, only to needlessly mess with the sheets because it gave her a sense of purpose. You go eighteen years pouring blood, sweat, and tears into raising a child, protecting them, nurturing them, being the one they lean on for all of life’s woes, only for them to pack up and leave one day. You suppose that if you were a parent, you would find melancholy in that loss of responsibility too. 

His desk is a large expanse of cedar wood with a desktop monitor and some bookshelf speakers set up on it. The PC itself has collected dust over the years but there’s a small mechanical whirring noise you hear somewhere within. The rest of the desk is mostly empty except for some unopened mail tucked away with some books, the spines creased at the last few hundred pages, but never to the end. 

You pick one of the books up, flipping the pages open, and see sticky notes on some of them. Like English literature notes one would take in class, with studious words that over exaggerate the significance of the prose just to make a teacher happy. Who cares if the curtains were blue? Maybe the author just wanted them to be blue. Why does everything in life have to have meaning?

Setting the book back down with a sigh, you walk over to the bookshelf. There are some more trophies, some sets of comic books, some strange robotic-looking figurines. Small picture frames of foreign scenery are set up in different corners wherever there is empty space, like an afterthought. 

“Hmm…” you hum to yourself, tilting your head to the side to read the vertical spine of a thick black book that was tucked flush up against the shelf's side. 

West Valley High School. Class of 2007.

With your index finger hooking the spine, you slowly pull the book out from its comfy corner. It’s heavy in your hands and you notice that there are ink smudges across the tips of your fingers.

When you open the cover, you’re met with a page filled with a variety of colors and handwriting, and you realize they’re signatures. And to no one’s surprise, most of them are feminine. With hearts, some merely outlines, some shaded in with ink, scattered across the page. Bubbly handwriting, neat handwriting, cursive handwriting, a lot of it in pinks and purples and reds. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think it was like those Valentine’s Day cards all the girls would sign in grade school to pass onto their crush, except imagine if all of them were intended for just one guy.

You roll your eyes as you flip the pages, seeing no end in sight to the signed ink. I mean, come on, how many signature pages does a yearbook even need? This was excessive. And, no, you aren’t bitter simply because your high school yearbook has maybe a max of fifteen signatures (four of which were from your teachers). It’s just frustrating. And confusing. Why does everyone on this planet adore Gojo except you? Is there something wrong with you? Are you the problem?

There are some signatures from boys too, most likely his friends. Otherwise, you’re not sure what random fleeting classmate you’ve only spoken to a couple times would be brazen enough to draw pictures of penises squirting in whatever empty space they could find in your yearbook, if not for his high school friends. These boys are probably in their mid thirties now, just as Gojo is, maybe with wives and kids they’re now responsible for. You wonder if they’d still find the drawings funny all the same today.

You flip the pages more, taking in image after image after image of smiling portraits. ABC…DE…F…ah, G. Hmm, there. There it was. 

Gojo Satoru.

Seems like his high school didn’t allow yearbook quotes, but you try to imagine what his would be. Probably something corny and lame, like See kids? I told you I was sexy in high school.

He looks cute though. With his hair fluffy, boyishly ruffled to pair with a charming smile that’s at ease. He just looks a little younger, that’s all. Not that much different. Perhaps a bit more scrawny, a bit more mischievous-looking. As opposed to his adult self, who appears sturdy. More serious. But you realize that cheeky part of him that comes out every now and then when he’s teasing you or pissing you off is that boy within him that looks exactly like the portrait in this yearbook that you trace with the pad of your finger. 

You close the book, suddenly a little out of breath, and then slip it back into place. Your eyes catch the shimmer of the trophy at the top of the shelf. It was shaped like a baseball glove mitt, and in the palm cup, there is an actual baseball in there with a black ink signature. You gently pick it up and turn it in your palm to try and read the ink.

Ichiro.

Your dad used to watch baseball. You’re familiar. Seattle Mariners, Ichiro Suzuki. The first Japanese player to ever make it to the Major Leagues. Ten time all-star, and tenth member of the Mariners hall of fame. He retired when you were just a little girl, but you still remember the look of awe in your father’s eyes as he stared at the box TV in the living room of your house when Ichiro took his last stand at the plate.

Gojo was also a boy at that time. Living in this house. Maybe his old man was watching that game at the same time. And maybe Gojo was watching the look on his father’s face, too. It’s the romance of life–you look up at the moon in the sky, and you know that there is someone else out there, someone that you’ll meet some day, maybe even someone that will mean the world to you someday, who’s looking at it too. But you just don’t know it yet.

Lost in endless, rather fruitless thought, you continue to turn the baseball in your hand to pointlessly assess the seams, but it slips out of your hand and onto the carpeted floor with a loud hollow thud that startles you, and when you attempt to bend down and pick it up, you accidentally push it with your toe and it rolls underneath the bed.

“Shit,” you mumble, getting down onto your hands and knees to look underneath the bed.

You see the ball rolled a few feet away, and when you reach for it, it becomes clear that you don’t have the arm span to grab it. You struggle and you struggle, the tips of your fingers barely tickling its seam, and the frustration makes you sweat a little.

“Come…here…you…stupid…thing,” you mutter. You’re sure your hair is a static mess now, too. 

You finally manage to roll it towards you a couple inches and then your palm wraps around it before pulling it to your shoulder, but not without something collateral that’s dragged along with it.

A photograph. Printed out, vintage. You pinch the corner between your two fingers and stand back up onto your two feet in order to better assess the image under the light of the floor lamp.

The first person you notice in the photo is Gojo. He looks younger than in the yearbook, but he’s wearing a suit and a tie. It’s a little big on him, ill-fitting as most teenage boys should look in a suit, like a rite of passage. His smile is less warm than the one in the yearbook too, more prim and stretched into a thin line that’s only slightly curved upwards. It’s only then when you notice the slender fingers sprawled across his chest near the collar of his undershirt, black nail polish blending in with the fabric of the suit. Your eyes trail the dainty hand, and your heart skips a beat when you see a girl standing next to him, pressed up against him, her smile much brighter than his. Pink braces line her teeth and her hair is that classic mid-2000s side-swept bang mess, but she’s pretty. Dressed in a pink-ish purple gown that almost looks like a bridesmaids dress, and you finally see the banner stretched across behind the both of them in the picture that reads Homecoming 2005. 

It’s hard to explain it, but you can just feel it somehow. That this person is important to him. Not just some last-minute date to Homecoming, or an old high school girlfriend he’s long since lost touch with. It seems larger than that, somehow. Unlike penises drawn on yearbook paper, this feels like something a person never outgrows.

Of course, people have lived fully-fledged lives before you’ve met them. Just as you have as well. But you’re overtaken by the insane curiosity to want to learn every single detail about this past life that Gojo has lived. Where did he and his friends hang out after school? When did he learn how to drive? When was the first time he got shit-faced drunk? When was the first time he snuck out of the house? And who was this girl in the picture? 

“Find what you’re lookin’ for yet?” a voice calls out, entirely startling you to where you almost jolt out of your skin, and you swiftly turn on your heel towards the entrance of the room. 

You see Gojo standing in the door frame, leaning against it with his arms crossed as he levels his gaze at you. He has a blank expression on his face, although you would say it’s more serious than playful. 

“What–...I–” you stutter, shuffling the picture you were holding behind your back so he doesn’t see. 

His eyes don’t flit to the movement. “You don’t have to tear the room apart to find my illicit drugs. You could’ve just asked.”

 You roll your eyes. “As if you would do drugs.”

“You say that like it’s an insult.”

“It is.”

“So, then, if you’re not looking for drugs, what are you looking for?”

Your cheeks are warm. “I don’t know. Petty cash? Human body parts? Playboy?”

He snorts. “Playboy? Who still has a subscription to Playboy?”

“Maybe your teenage self did.”

“I’m not that old,” he says, “I was watching porn like the rest of my peers.”

“Ew, you freak,” you say, and you grab one of his pillows and throw it at him.

He lets out a laugh before catching the pillow with ease, and then walks up to you, placing the pillow on top of your head. You half-glare, half-pout at him.

“C’mon,” he probes, “tell me why you’re hiding away up here.”

“I embarrassed myself,” you confide in him with a sulk of your shoulders. “I mean. Seriously. What the fuck was that? What a humiliating thing to say in front of your parents. I just feel so weird pretending like this.”

His expression softens. “Sorry,” he says, “for dragging you into this dinner.”

“No,” you sigh, “I’m the one that did. I forgot you can’t necessarily fake a marriage without…doing the typical couple things.”

“Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm,” he hums as his gaze flits towards the bed, “doing the typical couple things, you say?”

You roll your eyes. “In your dreams.”

“Oh, in my dreams alright,” he says with a grin.

“And if I strangled you? What then?”

“I like that. It’s kinky.”

“And I’m supposed to believe you don’t have magazines lying around?”

“Brown box underneath the bed. You didn’t look hard enough.”

You give him a disgusted look. He laughs.

“I’m joking,” he says, pushing his hands into his pockets.

“I’m not convinced,” you say, turning your body away from him slightly to keep the photo hidden behind your back.

He tilts his head at you, gaze flickering down to your other hand. Your heart skips a beat. “I could’ve guessed that.” 

His hand reaches out and you flinch ever so slightly, something he thankfully doesn’t notice, and then he’s grabbing the baseball out of your palm.

“I always thought I could sell this thing for major money,” he muses, throwing the ball up into the air to catch it. And then doing so again a couple times.

“It’s authentic?” you ask with genuine curiosity.

“Oh yeah. I caught it. First ball game my old man ever took me to, and it happened to be Ichiro’s last.”

Your eyes widen. Gojo was at that game. He wasn’t just watching it from home on some TV like you did with your dad. He was living in it.

“Wow,” you say, “must’ve been quite the game.”

“Don’t really remember too much about it to be honest, other than how stoked I was to just be there with my dad.”

“Mm,” you hum, “I’ll have to ask Mr. Gojo more about it when we get downstairs.”

His expression falters slightly, his smile dropping in the most subtle way that you wouldn’t have even noticed if you hadn’t been intently staring at his face. 

“Yeah,” he says, “maybe.”

Gojo continues to stare at the ball in his palm as he rotates it in inspection. There’s an awkward silence that settles between the two of you, and you feel the burden of conversation has suddenly fallen on you. 

“My, um. My dad was a fan too,” you say.

His eyes glance up to meet yours. “How come I’ve never met him?”

The question catches you off guard. “Wh–...I’m sorry, what?”

“Your dad,” he says, as if it was something so casual. 

“That–...well, he’s–...I don’t know, I haven’t seen him in years,” you admit, “not since…not since my mother was diagnosed with cancer.”

He stares at you earnestly, studying your expression, before he decides on saying nothing else except, “I’m sorry about that.”

You sigh. “Satoru, I–” you start, keen on the way his body stiffens slightly when you say his name, “I really don’t have the capacity for much else tonight. I mean, the questions. And the lies. And walking on eggshells around your mom.” 

“Well. I was sent up here to get you,” he says, “and I can’t exactly go downstairs empty handed.”

“Fine. Let’s just get this dinner over with as fast as possible.”

“Sure,” he easily agrees, “I’m with you on that one.”

You take a step forward to head towards the door, but then suck in a sharp gasp when you remember what was being held behind your back.

“Wait,” you say, “look away.”

“...huh?” he huffs, a puzzled look on his face.

“Just look away for a second.”

His eyebrows furrow before he lifts one in a questioning manner. But he acquiesces and turns on his heel to face away from you. “Have I ever told you how strange you are?”

“No,” you say while discretely crouching down, playing along in an attempt to distract him, “you haven’t.” You flinch a little from the sound of your hip popping, but he doesn’t seem to notice and so you bend your wrist in preparation of flinging the photo back to the abyss underneath his bed.

But you stop.

And you take one more glance at the photo.

And your stomach flips the same way it did the first time you saw it.

If you asked, would he tell you?

But the more pressing question is,

Why are you so scared to find out?

You shake your head vigorously to get rid of all your pestering intrusive thoughts. It was the stress, you played it off. A hyperactive mind leads to hyperactive ruminations. And besides, it’s just silly. Sure, there’s your gut feeling that suggests otherwise. But this girl in the photo could really just be an old friend or girlfriend that had no significant impact on the trajectory of his life. Why be the crazy one and lose sleep over this? You’ve lost sleep over plenty of other things in your life, but not stuff like this. It’s just not like you.

You fling the photo across underneath the bed and then stand up just in time for when Gojo turns around to look at you out of curiosity.

“Alright,” you say, dusting your hands off, “let’s go.”

You walk over to where he stands by the doorframe, a slight warmth to your cheeks when he doesn’t move out of your way like he usually does, but instead he leans towards you slightly as you brush past him, and your heart jumps a beat in your chest when you feel his hand gently fall to the small of your back, softly urging you forward ahead of him. A feather of a touch, yet intentional, almost naturally so, like a curious test of the boundary between you two that he’s been dying to understand a bit better. And the fact you don’t turn on your heel to face him with that same undeserved and petty rage that you always do, and instead slightly shudder at the feel of his touch, means that somewhere along the way, you’ve moved the line a little closer.

He’s hot on your trail as you walk down the stairs slowly and when you turn around the post at the bottom then make your way back to the dining room, you see his family staring at you with wide eyes.

His mother stands up. “y/n! Come sit back down, dear.”

You nod meekly, and Gojo pulls your chair out for you to take a seat before he resumes his seat next to you.

The food is slightly cold by the time you finally get to pick at it. It’s not very seasoned, either. Not enough salt for your taste. But somehow Mrs. Gojo having a phobia of sodium is a study of character that makes perfect sense in your head.

Eventually, the awkward silence is too much for you to bear, and you set your fork and knife down on your napkin with a slight bit more force than you probably should’ve.

Everyone looks at you.

You sigh. “I’m sorry for earlier,” you say, “I’m…uh, I’m just not really used to these sorts of dinners…I don’t have much family here in this town, and it’s always just sort of been my mom and me. And I—…I guess I’m just a little nervous.”

Wide eyes blink at you. Mr. Gojo shifts a little uncomfortably in his seat while Mrs. Gojo blinks her long lashes at you. Sana tilts her head, and you have no interest in seeing what Gojo’s expression looks like. You fear it’s the one you’d remember the most.

You were just being honest with how you felt. And it doesn’t take you long to realize something you probably should’ve realized earlier walking into a home like this where everything was perfect and on display with no evidence of the way a true family can crumble on the inside—a house like this does not value honesty. Your mother couldn’t afford you many luxuries in life, but you never felt like you couldn’t be honest in front of her. 

You glimpse up at Sana, and there is some knowing expression on her face. It’s almost sympathetic. As if you two were on the same page about something right now. When you glance at Gojo, you see him staring down at his plate with his brow slightly furrowed.

“It…it’s quite alright, dear,” his mother says through a prim voice, and in an attempt to change the subject, she says, “I do hope you are enjoying the chicken.”

“Ah,” you exhale, “yes. I am.”

“So!” Mrs. Gojo chimes in again as she dabs her mouth to a linen napkin. “Tell me about what you do for fun.”

You blink at her. “Oh, umm…binge watch TV? Occasionally I’ll go for a walk.”

“Ahh interesting! What about reading? Do you enjoy reading?”

“Well, the last book I purchased was a picture book about North Korean missiles…so.”

She lets out a laugh. “And where do you see yourself in five years?”

You hear Gojo sigh beside you before he reluctantly sets down his silverware and then he turns to Mrs. Gojo. “Mom. C’mon. This isn’t a job interview. Just let her eat.”

There’s a slight tinge of pink to the tips of her ears from the interrogation interruption as she glances between the two of you. She looks over at Sana for help but finds nothing other than a gaze tipped down towards a plate full of picked-at food. Mr. Gojo folds a hand over her frail knuckles as if to silently communicate, but Mrs. Gojo retreats her hands to fold in her lap underneath the table.

Feeling somewhat bad for the two of them, you turn the face Gojo’s dad. “Um…Mr. Gojo, Satoru was telling me about how you were a big baseball fan and a big Ichiro fan…do you still keep up with the Mariners?”

The man’s eyes grow wide with a visible confusion and you swear you hear Gojo clear his throat beside you.

“Ah…that’s–” he starts before the sound of the doorbell ringing startles you.

Sana immediately stands up without a word of excusal or a glance in anyone’s direction and she heads straight for the door.

You all look around at one another before Mrs. Gojo says, “must be Jun.”

You were at least glad to find you would not be the only “in-law” at the table full of a tension-laced family dinner, especially given the fact that in most of the cases where you’ve met Jun, his penchant to talk overshadows any other energy.

“What’s up, y/n!” Jun shouts when he waltzes into the dining hall, a few steps ahead of Sana. He throws his jacket over the first surface he finds, body language matching that of someone twenty years younger than he actually is. You can’t tell if it’s overcompensation for something, or if he just genuinely believes he’s still in his twenties. 

To your surprise, he opens his arms out for you to greet him with a hug, and you hesitate before standing up slightly to give him a well-meaning wrap of your arms around him, but it lacks any warmth of familiarity.

“Welcome to the fam!” he jovially exclaims before patting your arm. He then hugs Mr. Gojo, then Mrs. Gojo (paired with those cheek kisses that the French do in greeting), then daps up Gojo (to which you notice Gojo is less than enthusiastic about) before he finally kisses Sana on the cheek and then takes his seat at the other end of the table. Your eyes are keen on Sana now, watching her intently, but she remains staring at the food on her plate. You had a feeling there was someone in this room that didn’t want to be at this dinner even more than you did.

“How was traffic, Jun?” Mr. Gojo asks.

“Oh it was nothing. Took a shortcut. Backroute off of Lake City Way. Full of pot holes though.”

Sana turns to him and scowls. “While you were taking Juno to her sleepover?!”

He lifts an eyebrow at her. “Yeah? We were running late.”

“How many times do I have to tell you not to take that route to get into the city! Those pot holes are so dangerous.”

“Honey. Chill. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Just last week I saw news of three plot holes on the Mercer Street intersection opened up. Three people were injured, including a young boy.”

“Okay well if I also believed everything I saw on the news was going to personally happen to me too then we’d have never gotten this far in life.”

“Jun,” Sana deadpans.

“W-Why don’t I fix you a plate, Jun? You must be tired.” Mrs. Gojo chimes in. 

Sana breathes in deep and exhales slowly before slumping down into her chair. 

“Thanks,” Jun says, easing his brow as he sits back in his chair nonchalantly, before he turns to Gojo and starts to talk about mundane things like the stock market, the recent election, something about a new bowling record, and this one Thai restaurant he really wants to try on the other end of town, all within the span of time it takes Mrs. Gojo to set a plate down in front of him.

Mr. Gojo jumps in on conversation from time to time. Mrs. Gojo listens idly, sometimes placing a laugh where she feels appropriate. Jun gets particularly animated about this incident he ran into earlier last week when he was dropping Juno off at school, a story that you notice everyone at the table is for some reason entirely intrigued by, but you suppose it’s the most interesting topic of conversation you’ve all had tonight thus far. At certain critical points of the story, Sana jumps in with a that’s not what happened, Jun and you find yourself finally settling in somewhat to the evening.

Just as Jun’s story is ending, you glance up to Mrs. Gojo and find that she’s staring at you with a smile on her face. It makes you jump in your seat a little, luckily unnoticed by the rest of the table because of Jun’s engaging theatrical hand gestures as he attempts to keep his wife, his brother-in-law and his father-in-law engaged. You would’ve expected Mrs. Gojo to avert her gaze the second yours locked with hers, but she doesn’t. She just continues to look at you with a soft smile on her face and a slight tilt to her head, like she’s getting used to the sight of seeing you at this table.

Her gaze flits downwards slightly and you follow her line of gaze, tracing it to the ring that was adorning your left hand. 

Your eyes widen slightly.

“Oh–” you stutter, the words already getting caught in your throat, “I–...I forgot to say, it’s an honor to wear your ring, Mrs. Gojo.” The table suddenly goes quiet, and you can’t tell if it’s because of you, or if it’s because there was no more story left to tell. “It’s beautiful.”

It truly felt like for every two steps you took forward, it was ten steps backwards. Because you watch the way that soft smile of hers entirely drops, her expression replaced with one of confusion, brows knitted together as she looks at you like you’ve just spoken in a language no one on Earth can speak. 

She glances at Gojo, and you don’t have to look at him  to tell that he’s stiff in his seat. You could’ve felt the tension from a mile away. 

Mrs. Gojo looks at you again. “Oh honey, that–” She glances between you and Gojo. “That’s not my ring…”

Your eyes widen, cheeks already flush from whatever’s to come.

But suddenly, and to your surprise, Sana speaks up. “It was our mother’s ring.”

You look at her with confusion. And then you glance at Gojo. And then you glance back at Sana. And then at Mr. & Mrs. Gojo.

“But…” you trail off.

“Sumiko and Daichi are our aunt and uncle,” Sana says with a strained voice, “our real parents died in a house fire when we were younger.”

You blink at her in shock.

“He didn’t tell you?” Mr. Gojo asks.

“I–” You glance at Gojo and see that he’s poking his tongue to the inside of his cheek as he stares down at the glass of scotch he was twirling around in his hand.

“Of course he didn’t,” Sana interrupts, the bitterness in her voice matching the attitude she’s since displayed this entire evening. Her gaze is locked onto her brother’s face, and when his gaze flickers up to meet her eye contact, his expression is set with a tense jaw. “He never wants to mention them. He never wants to acknowledge their life. He never wants to honor them. He just wants to pretend like they never existed.”

“Sana,” he cuts her off, and a chill gets sent down your spine from the seriousness and rigidity in his voice. “Now’s not the time for this.”

“When is the fucking time?!” she spats at him, the simmering tension brewing over. Ah. Yes. The moment you had been expecting. After all, what family does not have its baggage? Sana abruptly stands up from the table, startling everyone with the clanking of silverware and ceramic from the motion. “When is the fucking time for you to admit that you never gave a shit about mom and dad dying? When is the fucking time for you to admit that we moved on to live with these people so fast? When is the fucking time for you to admit how wrong it was for you to force me to call the people here my mom and dad my whole life when they aren’t?” Her voice cracks near the end.

You glance at Mr. & Mrs. Gojo, who both look shocked, hurt, even embarrassed as they gaze down at their food. Your heart stalls in your chest for them.

When you glance back at Gojo, you see that his gaze is hardened even further now. “You’re being rude,” he says, in as steady of a voice as he can manage from the way his brow is creased with disappointment. 

“Yeah, whatever,” Sana says as she wipes at the tears with her sleeves, and you notice that she looks young like this. Younger than the usual prim and proper self that she portrays. Too young to be a mom, too young to be a wife, too young to be an adult. Like someone propelled into a life that she never wanted. “That’s always what you say, isn’t it? No answers, you just claim that I’m being childish and rude.” Jun tries to reach out to hold her hand but she snatches it away from him. Under her breath she says, “I didn’t want to come here. I should’ve just stayed home.” And with a rough swipe of her sleeve across both of her cheeks, she suddenly storms off somewhere deep into the house. Jun immediately stands up to follow her, leaving the four of you here with stale, cold food.

The timer in the oven goes off, the sound heard in the distance like a lifeline, and Mrs. Gojo immediately stands up. “Ah, must be…the roasted potatoes. I’ll be right back,” she fusses, and you avert your gaze from her face so she doesn’t feel embarrassed over the streak of a tear you saw streaming down her face.

“Let me help you,” Mr. Gojo says in a small sheepish mumble before following his wife into the kitchen.

And then there were two.

You only have a moment to process the dramatic outburst and subsequent fall-through before you turn in your chair to face Gojo, your face narrowing in contempt. You see him running a hand through his hair, entirely ruffling out any sort of neatness he had combed it into earlier, and he undoes the top button of his shirt with an impatient thumb like he was letting go of whatever image he had been trying to keep up for tonight, because after what just happened, there was no use. 

“So when were you going to tell me that they aren’t actually your real parents???” you hiss at him.

He sighs and runs a hand down his face. “They’ve raised us since Sana was just three years old. I didn’t think it mattered.” 

“Okay well if I had known then I wouldn’t have mentioned the ring??? Now everyone’s left the table because of me.”

“It’s not because of you,” he quickly corrects you, “it’s because of years of unnecessary drama of which I’ve still got no fucking clue why it still gets brough up at every. family. dinner. If you didn’t bring it up, then they would’ve figured out a way to bring it up somehow anyways.”

You blink at him, a little taken aback by how dejected he was by this entire conversation.

“Are you going to go check on Sana?” you ask him.

“No,” he says without hesitation, “she’ll calm down soon enough.”

You press your lips into a thin line, contemplating his dismissal, before you let out a huff of disappointment and disapproval. You pull your napkin off of your lap, setting it up on the table, and slip out of your chair to head into the house in the direction you saw Sana storm off into, leaving Gojo to himself at the table.

As you walk down the hallway, all those pictures you saw hung up on the walls, those photos of illusion that painted this pretty picture of a nuclear family fall apart in the narrow space, those firm smiles and hesitant postures making much more sense to you now. They aren’t even his real parents. Baseball and wedding rings. Those details belonged to a life he never intended on sharing with you. 

You walk past the kitchen, stopping briefly just beyond the entrance before backtracking and you find Sana standing near the sink with her arm across her chest as her other hand wipes at her cheeks. The soft sound of a sniffle echoes in the room and you’re surprised to see that Jun left her alone.

Tentatively, you shuffle your feet across the wooden floor. She seems to make note of you in her periphery but refuses to glance up. 

“Hey…” you start when you finally make it to the space in front of her, your hip leaning against the edge of the sink counter in parallel with hers as you face her.

“I—” she starts, shuffling her palms across her cheeks again. “I am so severely embarrassed.”

Your eyes widen slightly at the honesty. “Don’t be. It’s just family.”

“No but that’s the point,” she says through a crack in her voice, “I’m thirty-one, I’m married, I’m a mom, but they’ll always just see me as some immature little brat because I always behave like this.”

You don’t know what to say. You suppose if you were a therapist, or a priest, or a mentor, or a mom yourself, or any other person with an emotional IQ higher than yourself, you would know the right thing to say to her right now. But you don’t. So silence is all that you can offer her, and you hope that it’s enough.

It seems to work in it’s own magical way, as she slowly opens herself up to you within the next passing sixty seconds. A fleeting glance up to your face. The halt of pointless fidgeting with the fabric of her sleeve. The way she stands up straighter, her hip no longer leaning against the kitchen counter, and you find that you mirror the same movement.

She clears her throat, rubbing her nose with the knuckle of her index finger, her eyes no longer glistening with tears but the corners of them look puffy.

You glance down at your feet for a moment before inhaling deep and making eye contact with her. “Hey, listen…” you say, “I’m—…I’m really sorry…about earlier today. For overstepping about the bullying. Juno’s your daughter, and I really shouldn’t have given her advice before at least running it by you beforehand. Especially for something so sensitive.”

The delicate muscles of her brow lift in surprise at your words, lids fluttering slowly as she processes your words, and the wave of melancholy is contagious as it washes through you as well.

“I’m sorry too,” she says, “for how angry I got with you. It’s just—” she hesitates, and you see that semblance of her that you’re more familiar with. Strict, stern, rough around the edges but for a noble reason. “Y’know, with kids…we tend to get overprotective over them.” Her gaze drops to somewhere beneath yourselves as if she suddenly lost confidence in her train of thought. “I’m just trying to do the right thing for her.”

A silence settles between the two of you before you realize you ought to respond to her.

“I get it,” you finally say. “I mean—…I don’t. Because I’m not a mom. But…I’m sure that when I am one some day, I’d understand.”

She finally offers you a smile in return to your words, polite but genuine nonetheless. And a soft remnant sniffle makes her ruffle her nose.

Her expression softens, and she stares straight ahead to your collarbone rather than your eyes. “She really likes you, you know?” Sana glances up at you now. “Hasn’t stopped talking about your ‘blubbery’ pancakes since last week.”

“Aww.”

There’s a sad glint in her eyes when she turns her torso away from you slightly in resignation before some hint of optimism flashes by in her face and she turns to you again.

“Do you…think you could give me the recipe?”

You want to ask her if everything is okay. But instead, you say, “sure.”

The sound of footsteps approaching is heard near the kitchen entrance and the two of you glance in that direction to see Jun walking in. He offers you a fleeting glance before taking his place beside Sana, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling him towards her before placing a kiss on her temple and saying, “hey honey.” 

You watch as she averts her gaze down to the tips of her toes.

“Feeling better?” he asks her but there’s this lack of warmth you cannot quite discern.

“Yes,” she responds, scratching at her cheek as a discreet way of getting rid of the last remaining wetness that had streamed down her face earlier.

He rubs her arm soothingly and then looks at you with a smile pressed into a firm line. “Doing alright?”

You blink at him. “Wh—…yes.”

“Say, y/n, how’s your mom doing by the way?” he asks.

“She’s…better. She’s in hospice now.”

“Palliative?”

“Well—” you say, “I guess. It’s just temporary.”

He shuffles inside the pocket of his coat and takes out something. A small card with finely printed black ink on it. He hands it to you.

“I can’t imagine how expensive that all must be,” he says, and you glance down at the card.

Carevest Capital est. 2016

Invest in a healthier you!

You glance up at Jun. Sana’s gaze has now shifted to the inside of the sink.

“I started this business,” he says, “where we’re revolutionizing the way healthcare costs are managed. In our platform, we basically invest our clients’ money into the stock market, leveraging our high-reward algorithm to maximize returns. But here’s the unique part: we partner with leading healthcare CEOs who match a portion of the profits as an incentive for stock purchases. Together, these funds go directly toward paying off hospital bills and easing related financial burdens.”

Your eyes widen at his words. The speech was practiced, one you can only assume he has pitched to many potential clientele. But there’s a hint of personable grace to it as well.

“I’m telling you, y/n, we’ve had clients who have overcome six figures of medical debt in just six months,” he says, “and you’ll only need a couple thousand dollars to start yourself up.”

You purse your lips together, your finger pinching the corner of the card. “That’s amazing, Jun.”

He smiles at you, releasing Sana’s waist. “Sorry if this kinda came out of nowhere, but I heard through the grapevine that things have been rough.”

Oh, like how your card has declined publicly at the grocery store multiple times, or how you haven’t been able to afford your insurance deductible to get that chipped off part of your bumper fixed, or the fact you haven’t paid your landscapers in over three months so your lawn now looks like a swamp? It was a small town. And people’s finances were always a topic of interest for most.

“I just wanted to offer any help I can,” Jun says.

“Thanks,” you say, returning his smile, “I’ll, um, I’ll look into it.” You push the card into your pocket.

He offers you that same firm smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes before he pulls Sana to him again, placing another kiss along her hairline and the PDA seems like overcompensation on some front from the way Sana is entirely frigid to his touch. 

Maybe it was a woman’s intuition,

But you felt like something was wrong.

“Kids,” you hear Mr. Gojo’s crackly voice say as he stands leaning against the doorframe near the kitchen entrance, “let’s finish dinner?”

The three of you exchange glances before nodding and heading back towards the hall.

Your peach cobbler was apparently very good, the only thing that seemed to cut through the tension of the night. But that was the thing with family, right? You can yell and scream and cry and lecture and mope and roll your eyes at each other all you want but at the end of the day, they’re still family. Sana still seems slightly dejected though, and you can see Gojo in the corner of your eye at the table glancing up at her every other minute or so. His own way of making sure she’s doing okay, you think to yourself. Sana refuses to meet anyone’s line of sight except yours, however, which makes you feel some slight burdensome responsibility of sisterhood you had never signed up for. Nonetheless, you try to offer her a soothing smile whenever she looks up at you, and it seems to put her at ease.

The news of Sana and Jun moving seemed slightly anticlimactic, as Mrs. Gojo mentioned that they had already had an inkling that Jun and Sana would be moving closer to the city. You briefly wonder if Mrs. Gojo knew all along, but decided to make the announcement into some big affair just so that she could see her niece and nephew over a meal.

You make no more embarrassing comments. Conversation dulls into anything and everything unpersonal to you all, such as the news and weather and gossip of other people. And somewhere along the night, you relax your knee, the ball of it pressing into Gojo’s thigh underneath the table. It was wordless, innocent contact that occurs when two people become more comfortable with one another. Only excusable due to the slight buzz you felt in your veins from the wine. He’s kissed you before, yet somehow the press of his thigh against yours feels even more searing. There’s a point along the night where you tip your head to the right slightly, daringly close to resting your head on his shoulder due to the tipsy dizziness weighing in your head, and it would certainly put on a convincing show of newlywed affection for his aunt and uncle, but you manage to catch yourself. And subsequently refuse any more glasses of wine.

“Thanks for having me,” you say to Mrs. Gojo at the front entrance before she pulls you in for a hug.

“Oh, anytime dear,” she says as she gently pats your back, “please.”

When she pulls away from the hug, she holds you by your shoulders before her eyes glance down towards your left hand and the shimmering diamond that sat on the ring finger. She holds your hand in hers and lifts it to examine the twinkle underneath the lights of the chandelier.

“It really is a pretty ring,” she says, her eyes glossing over. “It looked beautiful on my sister, and it looks beautiful on you too.”

Your breath hitches slightly in your throat. “Thank you, Mrs. Gojo.”

“Please,” she says in response to the title, “Sumiko is fine.” But in less of a way in which she’s relaxing formalities, but rather in a way that acknowledges she never had the sovereignty to be called that in the first place.

You hear masculine voices approaching down the hallway as the three men make their way towards the front entrance as well. Gojo glances at you in the midst of their conversation, and he leaves the two of them to make his way over to you.

“Alright,” Gojo says, turning to face the rest of them as he stands beside you. “We’ll head out now.”

Sumiko pulls him in for a hug, then his uncle, and then obnoxiously by Jun as well. Sana fidgets with her fingers as she remains at the end of the line, and you catch a glimpse of surprise on her face when Gojo pulls her in for a hug too. You see him whisper something to her, and it’s only after she hears what he said that she returns the hug and wraps her arms around him as well.

You’re jolted out of your people-watching trance when Gojo walks up to you and takes your hand in his, shoving his other in his pocket. You glance down at the sight, the way his large hand engulfs your own. It’s warm in a firm hold, delicately squeezing your hand once right before you feel the cold air behind you when his uncle opens the door.

Well, you survived. That’s what you think to yourself as you sit in the passenger seat of Gojo’s car, watching the city lights twinkle as you two drive by. You don’t know what you were expecting. Drama? Ease? Tension? For a piece of the sky to fall and land on the roof? There was a part of you that wanted to impress. You want to be one of those daughter-in-laws that the in-laws just adore. You know, where they’re like, god am I so happy that she’s a part of the family now! The one that the mother-in-law is just so ecstatic to know that her son managed to hold down such a catch.

But any expectations and pressure dissolve with the reminder that this is all fake. Fake, fake, fake. And you’d do really well to remind yourself of that reality whenever you spent time with Gojo. Whenever you find yourself acclimating into his life for even a moment, just remember that it’s fake. Can you have a little fun here and there? Sure. Will you probably find yourself in even stranger situations going forward? Yes, because, well, that’s how life is. But it’s just fake. No obligations, no responsibility, nothing. Nada. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

But as you walk through the front door, staring straight ahead into the dark house at Gojo’s back as he sets down the keys by the foyer table, and even as you follow him further into the house towards the kitchen, that feeling inside you surges. 

A woman's intuition.

That something between Jun and Sana was wrong.

Not just routine marital issues,

Or the occasional argument,

Something worse. Something dangerous.

And it’s not something you would ever expect a man to pick up on, even Gojo.

Because it was from the way Sana’s eyes silently communicated with you from across the table,

Something so subtle, a silent plea across a shared dimension,

That she needed help.

“Hey…” you speak up softly, standing in front of the fridge. 

Gojo glances over his shoulder at you from the other side of the kitchen island, barely illuminated by the moonlight through the windows. He turns to face you. “What’s up?”

You blink at him. 

“Um, I really don’t want to overstep again, but—”

There’s a sobering thought that flashes through your mind when you recall that you have never seen yourself as the hero in anyone’s story.

Simply because you could never, ever, ever trust yourself.

You could never trust your feelings or your decisions.

Because you cosigned on hundreds of thousands of dollars of medical loans. Because you stuck around for five years with a man that didn’t love you anymore. Because you still feel naive enough to believe that your best friend who betrayed you still misses you somehow. Because you still foolishly believe your mother will be around to hold her grandchildren someday.

Because you thought that your best bet in order to pull yourself out of hell was to fake marry a man,

And then act as if it’s all real when his aunt looks you in the eye with bittersweet tears as you now wear her bereaved sister’s ring in honor, entirely unaware it was actually being worn in vain.

How could you ever trust your judgement when you behave this way? 

Never the hero. If anything, the villain.

“What is it?” Gojo repeats when he sees that you’ve been silent for too long. He tilts his head at you, his hair falling over his forehead haphazardly and he runs a hand through it to try to get it out of his face. Even in the dim light, his eyes shine a breathtaking blue.

You swallow hard.

“Um,” you say, and then glance down at the wetness you find at your heel. “The, um, the fridge is leaking again.”

He blinks at you for a solid ten seconds, and then the tension in his shoulders drops when he sulks and closes his eyes with exhaustion and defeat.

“Fuck. Okay.”

.

.

.

[end of chapter 5]

a/n. looool i really keep thinking i can post shorter chapters and them bam they be 10k+ words. but i swearrr it's just cuz i be yapping :(( anywho hope you enjoyed this chapter!! a lot of characters were kinda introduced and mm given a bit more depth in this chapter. sorry there wasn't as much romance or anything in this one though haha there will be more in the next one :0 big big thank you to my lovely ihm beta readers ayelin, jules, leni & mirl for helping me out w this chapter!! i believe i may have mentioned this before but i STRUGGLLEEEE with multi-character scenes (i'm much more comfy writing scenes that just have back n forth between two characters) so this chapter was challenginggg esp the whole dinner sequences and there were also a lot of complicated feelings at play, descriptions, stuff i wasn't sure if it was coming off the right way (and tbh am still not sure haha) but they really helped me work my thoughts out n gave wonderful suggestions too so tysm :'') much loveee!! hope to see you all in the next one <3 - ellie

➸ take me to chapter seven!

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[oc-ology]

How to get past the fear of OC posting

People should create for the sake of creating but people post to engage with the community. However, posting can be intimidating and anxiety-inducing for a lot of people. It’s easy to say “do it scared” but much harder to put into practice. So, I’ve put together a few steps that lead up to doing it scared. These won’t work for everyone and this is meant more as general advice.

Step One: Why are you scared?

The first step is to figure out what about posting is scary for you. Oftentimes, it’s not as simple as “what if my post flops” or “what if people think I’m cringe”. Once you’ve figured out the surface-level reason, dig a little deeper. If your post flops, does that lead to you doubting the worth of what you’re creating? If you’re worried about what people think, is that because you’ve experienced judgement before or are worried your inbox will be flooded with criticism?

Identifying why you’re scared will not only help you understand yourself better (yippee!) but you can also then work on the source of your fears and anxieties at your own pace.

Step Two: Find ways to lessen your fears

One way of working through anxiety online is to find ways to mitigate the specific source of your fear.

Some fears have easier solutions than others. If you’re worried about people criticising your work, you can turn off anonymous asks (as most people are less likely to be haters when there’s a name attached to it) or turn asks off entirely, as well as limiting replies to those who have been following for a week. This way, if someone does want to be an unpleasant individual, it’s a little harder for them to do so.

A lack of engagement is a little harder to remedy. Here, the only real solution is to try and divorce the idea that engagement = worth. Remember why you’re creating an OC. Because it’s fun! It’s an act of creation! Because you want to find a community…? A community or OC friends will never just drop into your lap. You need to seek them out yourself. Look into discord servers, forums, tumblr networks (are they still a thing?), fandom events and exchanges, and most importantly: go out of your way to send asks/questions to others and build friendships with them! If you’ve got social anxiety like me, this is going to be a big challenge. Which leads to the next step…

Step Three: Start small

It doesn’t matter how small your first step is - so long as that step is forwards! If you’re nervous about OC posting, find the smallest thing about them and post it with the expectation of getting no notes. That’s right, I want you to go in and expect it to flop. Anything over one note is an automatic win. This first post isn’t about engagement - it’s about getting over the initial fear of posting. 

It can be tempting to just go right out the gate with elaborate explanations of backstory, lore implications, power levels, everything. But the trick really is to start small. Most people scrolling tumblr aren’t going to read a few thousand words on something they’re not invested in yet. TL;DR is a curse that I’m sure we’ve all fallen victim to. 

Instead, break up information about your OC into small pieces that can be posted one by one and have some kind of visual piece with it. People are usually more drawn to images than text. For example, which of these two things are more visually interesting?

What Perseus keeps in his bag:

Amulet

Tinderbox

A broken blade

50ft of hempen rope

25gp of silver powder

Waterskin

Rations (cheese, bread, sausage)

OR

Obviously this comes down to personal preference but a lot of people would find the illustrated version to be more interesting. You don’t need to be an artist to do this either! You could make a version of that example in photoshop or a similar program. Picrews, moodboards, edits, game screenshots and photography can all be used to add a visual element to your posts.

Step Four: Why am I still scared?

Fear is not easily stamped out. Anxiety is definitely the kind of thing that lingers. These steps aren’t meant to immediately make OC posting not-scary. That’s something that will only come with time as you get used to it. Again: Do it. Do it scared. Gradually, it’ll be less terrifying and in the meantime, you might be able to make a few friends who also want to talk about your blorbo.

[foreveradreamaway]

helmets and hats- MV33/1

summary- the stress his father put on him never left his head, and neither does his helmet. only until you turn up with his lucky cap.

yes i know max won 2021, this is for the plot don’t come for me

Abu Dhabi 2021. the ride or die race for max and lewis. both of them just one race away from being the world champion. this was one of the biggest races of maxs life. this was what he had been waiting for his whole life. everything his father had put him through was for this. he could not mess this up.

but he did.

you stood in the room with all the engineers and important people who help to ensure maxs car runs perfectly throughout the entire race. you knew how much pressure max had been putting on himself in the weeks leading up to the race. spending 10 times more time at the race simulator and even more time working his body tirelessly to make sure it was race ready. you had watched hopelessly when he would do this many times before and knew this was just how he works. no protest from you will stop him, only make him work harder. he will come to you whenever he needs that little bit of comfort and reassurance, or even just a quick kiss to keep him motivated.

it was your favourite thing. knowing that he still needed you. he could be so deep in his own mind and would still seek you out. only you. he relied on you. for some things more than others, but he still did and you both knew it. he didn't always admit it, or want to, but you both knew. you were his main source of comfort and he couldn't go a day without it. he needed you in every sense of the word. he needed your love, he needed you there to remind him to pack enough socks when he goes away, he needed you to look after him when he was ill and most importantly he needed you there for the losses.

your heart drops when they cross the finish line, further than its ever dropped before. he wanted this so bad, needed it even. he had never lost a race this big before. but you were prepared, you would do the exact same as you did every other loss.

your feet carry you over to the intern whos specific job was to hold maxs hat. it was a very important hat and needed a whole person for it. you had had many interactions with the intern, retrieving his hat every time he lost. she gave you a knowing smile as you took the hat from her hands and went to meet max at you're usual spot.

he doesn't look at anyone as he exits the car and storms off. he physically cant. he doesn't even remove his helmet as he walks over to you, something you were already prepared for. his head is hung low as he approaches you, your hand immediately finding his shoulder. his feet stop in place, keeping his head down. the visor of his helmet was still all the way down so you couldn't make out the expression on his face.

he doesn't say anything as he places his hand softly over yours that sits on his shoulder. you knew not to push him at a time like this, letting him take your comfort when he needs. you stayed like that until you felt a sob rake his body. immediately wrapping your arms around his neck. his arms stayed at his side as you just held him. it wasn't often that he cried, but when he did, he did.

you weren't sure how long you stood there until his hands found your hips. you took this as your sign to move both your hands to his shoulders, finally speaking the words on your mind.

"you did so good baby" your hands moved to the sides of his helmet, attempting to lift it over his head but his hands quickly grabbed yours and brought them down in between the two of you. your face scrunching in compassion. lots of people knew what his father was like when max was younger, you more than most. the constant badgering and abuse never left his head, sticking with him throughout his life. as much as you comforted him and told him how proud you were of him, he always did the same thing after his losses. refusing to take his helmet off.

instead, you move to lift his visor up, catching a quick glimpse of his tear stained cheeks. you didn't see them for long before he quickly swiped it back down to cover his face again. your hand, once again, went back to swipe it up. his hand repeating his previous actions. smiles appeared on both your faces as you both kept up the act. his hand returning to yours when he heard a giggle escape your lips, allowing the visor to stay up. your laugh was his drug.

your head tilted to the side when you finally got to look at him. his cheeks slightly squished from the sides of his helmet and those slightly red eyes staring back at you, full of emotion.

"let me take your helmet off max" you whispered. his eyes shut as he shook his head, dropping it down again. you rested you forehead against the helmet in front of you. hands still gripping each others.

"you're safe baby, ive got you. its just me and you here." his head still didn't rise until you pressed a kiss to the top of his helmet. "im sorry" he croaked. your arms wrapped back around his neck to provide the comfort he desperately needed in that moment. the front of his helmet rested on your shoulder causing your head to tilt to the side, when it did you caught a glimpse of his oh so special hat.

you let go of one of maxs hands and leaned slightly to be able to grab the hat. as you did max slowly lifted his head up to see what you were doing and caught you with the hat in hand. a small smile appeared on his face when he noticed. it was always the small things that he loved about you. the fact that you noticed all the little things that comforted him made him feel so seen and loved in a way that he never had before.

you made eye contact with max and he gave you a small nod, approval to remove his helmet. your hands reached up to the sides of his head and slowly lifted it off. you placed it on the table where the hat had previously sat and moved back in front of max. one hand going to the back of his neck to carefully remove his under layer. you had never seen his face look sadder.

he closed his eyes and moved his head to rest between your neck and shoulder. this time you could feel the tears that were coming from his eyes. your heart breaking even more with every tear that fell.

"im so proud of you max" you whispered gently in his ear.

"i did so bad, schatje baby" his voice could barely be heard as he just felt too weak from everything. his body was filled with emotions that he didn't even know existed. the disappointment he felt was sickening and he didn't quite know how to deal with these feelings. the only thing he could do was cry in your arms.

"no way you didn't, you drove so well my love. that race was yours, it was a split second thing. there was nothing more you could have done. ive never been more proud of you than i am now max, everyone is so proud of you" you always tried your hardest to comfort him after a loss but he was stubborn and rarely actually took in what you said.

"not my dad" his voice was low, as if he didn't even want you to hear what he said. but you did. his father always loomed in the back of his mind no matter what he was doing. his fathers voice booming through his brain.

"he isn't here, no one else matters but me and you right now. im proud of you and thats all that matters. you've given this season your all, trust me i would know" a soft smile fell on your lips, max couldn't help but stare at your mouth as you talked. "you've spent countless hours in that bloody gym at home and did everything you could to make sure the best max was out on them tracks this season. i promise you max so many people will believe that you won this race and are standing behind you" his face had seemed to calm down a little now. his eyebrows no longer scrunched and his frown was slowly become flat.

his eye fell to the hat that was in your hand, your eyes doing the same. your smile got bigger as you knew what he wanted. you quickly secured the hat on its rightful place on maxs head. hats had slowly become a comfort for max. you would hardly ever see him without one, especially on race weekends. it became a shield between him and the scary eyes of the world. all he needed to do was tilt his head slightly down and he was alone and away from the chaos.

he quickly secured his lips to yours as his hands found the sides of your neck. your hands grabbing his wrists. he needed one final reassurance from you before he had to face the horrible questions of the media.

"go do what you need to do baby, call me and ill come find you. remember, im so proud of you." you placed a final kiss to his nose and cheek before he grabbed his helmet and began to make his way out the room. "you'll always be my champion max verstappen" you winked before he disappeared out the room.

he was a champion, he didnt need a trophy to prove it.

i hope you enjoyed my first max fic, many more to come. please send me requests i love hearing them

[fixyourwritinghabits]

AI, Plagiarism, and CYA

Shout-out for all the students gearing up to go back to school in increasingly frustrated times when dealing with all this AI bullshit. As you've probably noticed, lots of institutions have adapted anti-plagiarism software that incorporates AI detectors that - surprise - aren't that great. Many students are catching flack for getting dinged on work that isn't AI generated, and schools are struggling to catch up to craft policies that uphold academic rigor. It sucks for everyone involved!

As a student, it can really feel like you're in a bind, especially if you didn't do anything wrong. Your instructor isn't like to be as tech-savvy as some, and frankly, you might not be as tech-savvy as you think either. The best thing to do, no matter how your school is handling things, is to Cover Your Ass.

Pay attention to the academic policy. Look, I know you probably skimmed the syllabus. Primus knows I did too, but the policy there is the policy the instructor must stick with. If the policy sets down a strong 'don't touch ChatGPT with a ten-foot pole' standard, stick to it. If you get flagged for something you thought was okay because you didn't read the policy carefully, you don't have ground to stand on if you get called out.

Turn off Autosave and save multiple (named) drafts. If you're using Microsoft Word because your school gives you a free license, the handy Autosave feature may be shooting you in the foot when it comes to proving you did the work. I know this seems counter-intuitive, but I've seen this bite enough people in the ass to recommend students go old-school. Keep those "draft 1234" in a file just in case.

Maintaining timestamped, clearly different drafts of a paper can really help you in the long-run. GoogleDocs also goes a much better job of tracking changes to a document, and may be something to consider, however, with all this AI shit, I'm hesitant to recommend Google. Your best bet, overall, is to keep multiple distinctive drafts that prove how your paragraphs evolved from first to final.

Avoid Grammarly, ProWiritingAid, etc. All that handy 'writing tools' software that claims to help shore up your writing aren't doing you any favors. Grammarly, ProWritingAid, and other software throw up immediate flags in AI-detection software. You may have only used it to clean up the grammar and punctuation, but if the AI-detection software says otherwise, you might be screwed. They're not worth using over a basic spell and grammar check in both Word and GoogleDocs can already do.

Cite all citations and save your sources! This is basic paper-writing, but people using ChatGPT for research often neglect to check to make sure it isn't making shit up, and that made up shit is starting to appear on other parts of the internet. Be sure to click through and confirm what you're using for your paper is true. Get your sources and research material from somewhere other than a generative language model, which are known for making shit up. Yes, Wikipedia is a fine place to start and has rigorously maintained sources.

Work with the support your school has available. My biggest mistake in college was not reaching out when I felt like I was drowning, and I know how easy it is to get in you head and not know where to turn when you need more help. But I've since met a great deal of awesome librarians, tutors, and student aid staff that love nothing more to devote their time to student success. Don't wait at the last moment until they're swamped - you can and will succeed if you reach out early and often.

I, frankly, can't wait for all this AI bullshit to melt down in a catastrophic collapse, but in the meantime, take steps to protect yourself.

[limarkova]

Yandere Batfam x Neglected Reader x Yandere Al Ghuls

Pt 9

Author's note: Hey guys! I promise I have not disappeared my school semester is just kicking up and I'm focusing on that. Anyway I started up a Ko-Fi so you want to you can leave a tip. Link is my bio. As always thank you for reading my work and all the engagement. Writing this has been oddly therapeutic so I'm glad that someone is enjoying it.

Prev

The Library was once again quiet as you walked in. One of the librarian nodded to you as you strolled by. Quietly opening your bag, you returned some of the books you got the other day. A part of you still felt buzzy and hollow. The strange tickling feel lingered in your chest like a bad habit. A part of you felt like that feeling was going be there forever and you hated that. You were saved from it when you caught sight of your investigation notebook inside your bag the feeling changed.

The tingling shifted into a burning rage that smoldered in the pit of your being. Filling the hollow space inside of you with venomous smoke. It killed the small pieces of hope that said your 'family' was telling the truth, that they didn't know. The smoke took the hollowness away. You loved the rage for that, embracing it like life-line.

Turning to the study areas in the back you moved to the one you used yesterday. Talia wasn't there yet. In the isolated part of the library, you began to update your journal.

First you scraped your orginial list. Things were changing, you couldn't punish the whole family. No it wouldn't be fair to those who were involved. Plus you knew you needed to hone your intentions from experience. Even though you could have gone after all the scientists and guards during your escape, you focused on the exit instead to ensure you got out. It had more you more efficient. That's what you needed here.

Obviously there was Bruce simply because he had to have approved the whole thing. You wrote Bruce Wayne at the top left of the page. Under his name you wrote the evidence you did have, the financial records. You thought back on the past days than wrote down, "Past injuries to Robins/Allies=Motive?"

On the right side of the paper you wrote Richard Grayson. Under his name you wrote attempted to get information, admitted to knowing boarding school was a lie, was one of four to know 'real' boarding school location. Thinking a bit you decided to add "potential motive= over protective of allies/ Jason's death?"

Halfway down the page under Bruce's name you wrote Alfred Pennyworth. Beneath it you wrote pretty much the same thing as Dick; knew about the boarding school and was one of four to know real location. Afterwards you wrote "painfully loyal to Bruce. Would have information on what happened? Motive=Unclear."

On right side of the page and on the same lines as Alfred you wrote, Cassandra Cain/Wayne. Under her name you wrote "Choose the 'boarding school'. May have read investigation journal. Spied on me two years before kidnapping." For motive you simple drew a question mark. You honestly had no clue why she would have chosen to help Bruce with the experiments.

You considered adding Barbara but stopped yourself. Yes this morning had been a lot but the signs on her were mixed. If she was acting the part much like Dick was than she was just as dangerous to interact with. Yet if she wasn't and genuinely wanted to help than maybe she would be a good source of information. She might be a good source either way. You'd leave her off the list for now.

Turning the page you had just barely written out Edward Davis and Clint Owen when someone cleared their throat. Closing the notebook, you saw Talia standing at the entrance of the study area. Giving her your best easy going smile you greeted her, "Hello Ms.Talia"

"Hello dear. How are you doing today?" She set her bag down on the table. It let out a soft thud when she set it down. You guess she had learning tools in it. That or books, it was a library after all.

You nodded to her and began to pull out different notebook. Tucking your investigation notes away for bow. She watched the exchange with a raised eyebrow. Her mouth quirked to the side and she tilted her head towards your bag. A nervous laugh left your mouth, "Yeah, I'm doing okay. Sorry this one's my diary, don't think I should mix personal problems with Arabic notes."

"Oh, I'm glad you journal. It's good for development." She gave you that mother's smile she had. Something in you preened at the look but it was under cut by your own sarcastic thoughts. 'Would she be proud if she knew what it was really for?'

She gestured behind her to someone hidden just out of sight from the little alcove. "I have someone I want you to meet."

A man stepped into view. He was slightly taller than Jason but not by much. His hair appeared to be well groomed, almost like it was permanently styled. Parts of his hair were white, not in the salt and pepper white of aging but in a way that felt intentional. His features were stoic and calm. Something about him reminded you of half your family. Maybe it was sure footing or the steady stance but you knew he was trained to fight.

Yet that wasn't what stopped your brain. He was familiar. Not in the I've seen him on the street before way but in a deeper, I've known you in the past way. It felt like something in you cracked it's eyes open. That hidden part of you whispered to watch, to learn, to leave. Need this new thing in you be quiet you spoke quickly, "I'm sorry but have we met before?"

Talia blinked looking at the man. He also gave a slight look of surprise that disappeared quickly. Whatever their reactions were it was enough to get that part of you to quiet down. Tension left your body as you watched how the man would respond. There was an edge to his smile that told you he was impressed, "I don't believe we have. My name is Ra's Al Ghul, I am Talia's father."

"I'm (Fake Name). Are you one of the material art teachers Ms.Talia mentioned?" You held your hand out to him. If he was slightly impressed before he was completely impressed now.

Shaking your hand he asked, "How could you tell?"

You thought for a minute before answering, "The way you stand. Everyone I know who has had extensive training of some kind stands a certain way. Almost like they can't help but do it automatically."

That seemed to be the right answer. Both him and Talia shared a look. Ra's gave a subtle nod that made Talia's smirk grow the smallest but. She lifted an eyebrow as if to say 'watch' before clapping her hands once.

"Well than, after your lessons today my father will show you some of the basics." Talia offered, pulling things out of her bag. You looked at the items intrigued, it seemed to be learning aid for a different alphabet. An eager smile crossed your lips as you readied your notebook.

Jason leaned against his motorcycle holding a kid sized helmet. A cigarette hung out of his lips as he waited, watching the library doors like a hawk. Roy was nearby on his own bike. Neither one of them spoke.

Finally (Name) came out from the library. She was clutching her backpack looking around the space. When her eyes caught on him, she got a confused look. Jason put out his cigarette, gesturing for her to come over. "Hey kiddo."

"What are you doing here?" She walked up to him. Her body was angled away from him. A habit she seemed to have picked up with everyone.

Jason shrugged, "Tim told me to pick you up. Didn't he text you or something?"

Her face slackened before she bluntly stated, "I don't have a phone."

"Shit, did that get stolen too?" Jason rolled his eyes. Of course her kidnappers would take her phone, that was kidnapping 101. Maybe they could track it down to try find some evidence.

She gave he an absurd look, "No. I've never had a phone."

"The fuck..." Jason rubbed his eyes. Bruce was going to send you to a foreign country without a phone. No fucking wondered she got kidnapped. He tossed her the helmet, "Okay, we're fixing that. Put the helmet on let's go."

"And where are we going to?" She caught the helmet but didn’t put it on. In fact she gave it a strange look before turning her gaze back to him. Her look told him she didn't trust him. That wasn't good, he needed her to trust him.

Before he could answer, Roy spoke up. Jason couldn't tell he wanted to punch Roy or thank him for what left his mouth, "We're gonna go get lunch than see if we can max out your Dad's credit card."

"Sorry what?"

"Yeah, take you phone shopping than grab whatever else you need. Or want honestly." Roy snubbed out his own cigarette before lazily stretching. (Name) looked at the helmet for second before looking back to Jason and Roy. Jason could see consideration in her eyes.

"Can I get one those fake nose piercing things with the magnet to give Bruce a heart attack?" She gave them a sweet guilty smile and batted her eyelashes. Jason snorted, trying not laugh. Roy didn't care and double over laughing.

Of course her first thought was how to piss off Bruce with this. There was a surge pride in his chest. She gave him a hald assed shrug. Jason gave in to the laughter, "Fuck. You are my sister!"

"Hell yeah, let's go!" Roy pulled himself together enough to get on his bike. Jason gestured for her to put on the helmet and hop on. He secured her in the seat behind where he would sit before hopping on himself. After giving her a quick safety brief, they were flying down the highway.

The rest of the Outlaws were waiting for them at a Burrito Buck down by Jason's apartment. He lived relatively close to Crime Alley so if her goal was give Bruce a heart attack he was helping already. Everyone was passing around greasy Mexican food when him, Roy and (Name) pulled in. Jason could feel his phone going crazy in his jacket pocket. Handing his sister over to Roy he pulled out his phone to see what was going on.

4 missed calls from B

7 missed calls from Dick🖕

2 missed calls from Cyber Stalker

8 missed calls from Human Flashlight

3 missed calls from Murder Germlin

4 missed calls from Purple Chick

1 text unread message from Tim.

Jason sighed running his hands through his hair. What the fuck could have happened for them to be calling this much. Just when he was about to call one of them back he saw the preview of Tim's text. "She doesn't want to see Bruce" the rest of the message was faded out. Jason went to click the notification when his phone started ringing again.

"Great..." Jason rolled his eyes. His phone blaring a custom ringtone warning that his brother was calling. Pressing answer he launched right into it, "What do you want, Dick?"

"Where are you? You were supposed to be back by now? Is (Name) with you?" Dick panicked voice came out of the phone. Jason almost rolled his eyes again. This is what got them all panicking. Did they seriously not trust him with her?

"Yeah, (Name) with me. She said she was hungry so we stopped to get food." Jason shrugged moving towards the restaurant's window. He could see Roy leading his sister to the table. Kori immediately got up to hug her but was pulled back by Artemis.

"Dude, we were going to take her to get lunch before doing a family day." Dick half whined in his ear.

Jason paused. He racked his memory for when someone mentioned a family day but couldn’t come up with anything really. "Hold up. When did you guys decide to do a family day?"

"This morning at breakfast. Steph pointed out that (Name) and Duke have never been apart of a family day. So we decided to have one." Dick said it like it was the most obvious thing ever.

Jason popped his jaw to relieve the tension that shot through his body. He had a sneaking suspicion that he wasn't the one picking her up he wouldn't have been invited. Rolling his neck he sarcastically drawled out, "Okay. So when were you going invite me?"

There was a heavy pause. Dick said the words like he handling a bomb, "when you got here with (Name)?"

"Alright." Jason smirked to himself. If they wanted (Name) they have to find her. He knew his phone location was scrambled, a habit he picked up somewhere. "We're at the Red Lobster in the Heights. Haven't placed our order yet so if you wanna join in be my guest."

"The Heights? Dude what are you doing over there?" Dick asked. Jason didn't have to hide his mischievous smirk. The family would lose their shit on him for this but he didn't care.

"Didn't the one by the manor close down. Beside this one has the best cheddar biscuits."

"Just stay there we'll be there in 10 minutes." Dick said before hanging up. Jason nodded his head and clicked his tongue. He was going to have so much fun today. Turning his phone off, he went inside the Burrito Bucket.

His sister was sitting next to Roy listen to him tell a story. She had a taco in hand nodding along to what he was saying, sour cream stuck in the corner of her mouth. She giggled as Roy finished his story, "Yeah so after leaving me in a Denny's Bathroom for 30 minutes without pants, the dude had the audacity to sit there showing me photos."

"What story did you just tell her?" Jason squeezed into the booth with the rest of the Outlaws. One look around the table told he really didn't want to know. Everyone at the table had a shit eating grin. His sister let out a devious little giggle. He started to hope it wasn't an inappropriate one.

"You left him in a Denny's without pants to go and watch my 2nd grade science competition?" She sounded half shocked and half amused.

Jason groaned face palming. Oh course it was that story. Roy would never let him live it down, "Please tell me you didn't tell her why you were pantless in a Denny's Bathroom."

The Outlaws started to laugh. It was Artemis that responded to (Name)'s question, "He's done shit like that to all of us. He had Bizarro fly him back to Gotham leaving me somewhere in the Amazon Rainforest for a Christmas recital."

Bizarro nodded with a huge smile, "He did not."

"Yeah, and than he'll sit there showing us pictures of the event he ditched us for." Roy laughed before taking a bite of his burrito. Jason was hiding his face behind his hand. Sometimes he forgot that the Outlaws loved to embarrass him.

(Name) turned to him. Her expression was a mix of confused and happy. His heart dropped at she said, "I thought you didn't show up to any of those cause you hated me."

Jason blinked looking at her. He had shown up but stayed hidden from her. He was dangerous to be around, he knew that much. Yet he couldn't stop himself from wanting to be there. He sighed pulling her into a side hug. She tensed but let him, "B depends on the day of the week honestly, but you never."

She looked up at him with bright eyes, the small amount of sour cream still stuck to the corner of her mouth. He grabbed a napkin and wiped it away.

Maybe it was parental instinct, that made Roy keep an eye on the girl. She was close in age to Lian. Whatever it was he was glad he did. (Name) showed startling signs of PTSD. From the hypervigilance to disassociation to increase anxiety, shame, sadness and aggression. It was made worse knowing the family she was in. The Wayne's would support her but it was unlikely she'd get the professional help she desperately needed.

They had gone to a mall with a phone store to get her set up. Kori and Jason's Sister were up ahead of them talking. Suddenly there was a squeal of excitement from the little one and she bolted ahead. Kori shrugged, "She saw something she likes."

With that Kori ran ahead to keep an eye on her. Roy stopped Jason before he jog to catch up to the girls. The vigilante seemed confused when Roy stopped him. Taking a deep breath Roy began, "You need to get your sister help."

"What?" Jason gave Roy a weird look. The two look at each for a moment. Roy took a deep breath, not a great way to start this conversation. Still he pushed forward.

"You and your family have a bad habit of just toughing through your mental health issues." Roy placed a hand on Jason's shoulder. He continued on, "Yes, you all support each other but when it comes to the more serious stuff all of you tend to just destroy yourselves. She doesn't deserve that. If you get her actual therapy and help than she has a chance of being normal. Or at least not implode on herself."

"Dude she'll be fine. I'm gonna keep her safe from now on." Jason shoved Roy away from him. Roy watched as Jason walked towards her with a sinking feeling. This didn't feel right. If (Name) didn't get the help she deserved, he could only imagine the path she'd end up going down.

They found her and Kori at the pound's adoption in the mall set up. The two girls were currently playing with a small cat. The paper displayed said the kitten was a russet dark ginger cat named Churro. (Name) looked up at them with wide begging eyes, "Can we keep him?"

"B told Damian no more animals." Jason sighed shaking his head. The little girl's face dropped slight before morphing into a pleading smile. Roy looked over to Jason who had a contemplating look.

"He told Damian no more animals. He has literally never said anything to me." She spoke in an pleading tone, pulling Churro closer to her. It was adorable to watch but the last sentence caught Roy's attention. He couldn't explain what it was about it, the tone or the wording. That hurt seemed to be coming back with a slight rage.

"I don't know. I don't think it's safe to drive with a cat and a kid on the back of a motorcycle." Jason scratched his head. She looked down at Churro in despair. The kitten mewled before nuzzling into her arms. She gave it a little kiss to the forehead, giggling when the cat began to paw at her hair.

"I can watch her well you go get the car from your apartment." Roy offered to Jason. He could tell she was emotional attached to the kitten. Maybe it would help her when her world felt like too much. Similar to how he use to hold Lian when his world was too much.

Jason sighed before rolling his eyes. "Okay fine let me fill out the paperwork real quick."

Once Jason was gone to get the car, Roy sat next to the girl. She was petting Churro who was curled up in her lap. Kori was currently talking with the adoption lady about the different cats. Roy nudged her once, "Hey kiddo. Can I see your phone?"

She stopped petting Churro to consider him cautiously. Roy gave her a reassuring smile feeling his chest tighten. Finally she handed him her phone. He put his secondary number Jason didn't know about in her contacts as 'Uncle Will.' He than add his main number to her contacts under his real name.

"There. Now you can call me anytime you need something from this number." He pointed at his contact with his thumb showing her the screen. He than showed her the Uncle Will contact, "This one you can call if you are ever in a situation where you need a pick up no questions ask. All you have to do is press Call and say hey Uncle Will I got your message. The only thing I'll is where are you and are you safe, okay?"

"Why are you giving me this?" She took her phone back looking at the new contacts. Due to it being a new phone those contacts and Jason's were the only ones there. She had insisted on not getting any of her other family members numbers.

"I've made a lot of mistakes around your age." Roy rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. Saying it felt like a understatement, he had taken part in massive fuck ups. Looking at (Name) reminded him that angry kid though, "I like to imagine if I had someone I though would pick me up no questions asked, I wouldn't have made at least a quarter of them. So if I can get you out of at least one dangerous situation, I'll consider it a win."

"Okay, but why give this to me?" She gestured towards herself with the phone.

Roy thought for a minute. He wasn't certain what was making him reach out to her. Maybe it was guilt for his past mistake or the little kid he use to be reflecting in the girl. Whatever it was may this necessary. So he decided to give her what he had wanted, "Because something tells you just want someone in your corner that cares regardless of what happens."

She blinked her face turning into a sad form of shock. Looking at the phone, she smiled. Roy considered reaching out to hug her. Yet before he could her face fell into a resigned melancholia. "Thanks, I guess."

"Come on, I have a great idea for giving Bruce a heart attack." He stood from the bench gesturing to a beauty store nearby, "I think that store has a hair dye called Arsenal Red."

That got her to smile. Roy sighed to himself slightly, hoping everything would turn out okay.

Prev

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[ecrivainsolitaire]

A summary of the Chinese AI situation, for the uninitiated.

These are scores on different tests that are designed to see how accurate a Large Language Model is in different areas of knowledge. As you know, OpenAI is partners with Microsoft, so these are the scores for ChatGPT and Copilot. DeepSeek is the Chinese model that got released a week ago. The rest are open source models, which means everyone is free to use them as they please, including the average Tumblr user. You can run them from the servers of the companies that made them for a subscription, or you can download them to install locally on your own computer. However, the computer requirements so far are so high that only a few people currently have the machines at home required to run it.

Yes, this is why AI uses so much electricity. As with any technology, the early models are highly inefficient. Think how a Ford T needed a long chimney to get rid of a ton of black smoke, which was unused petrol. Over the next hundred years combustion engines have become much more efficient, but they still waste a lot of energy, which is why we need to move towards renewable electricity and sustainable battery technology. But that's a topic for another day.

As you can see from the scores, are around the same accuracy. These tests are in constant evolution as well: as soon as they start becoming obsolete, new ones are released to adjust for a more complicated benchmark. The new models are trained using different machine learning techniques, and in theory, the goal is to make them faster and more efficient so they can operate with less power, much like modern cars use way less energy and produce far less pollution than the Ford T.

However, computing power requirements kept scaling up, so you're either tied to the subscription or forced to pay for a latest gen PC, which is why NVIDIA, AMD, Intel and all the other chip companies were investing hard on much more powerful GPUs and NPUs. For now all we need to know about those is that they're expensive, use a lot of electricity, and are required to operate the bots at superhuman speed (literally, all those clickbait posts about how AI was secretly 150 Indian men in a trenchcoat were nonsense).

Because the chip companies have been working hard on making big, bulky, powerful chips with massive fans that are up to the task, their stock value was skyrocketing, and because of that, everyone started to use AI as a marketing trend. See, marketing people are not smart, and they don't understand computers. Furthermore, marketing people think you're stupid, and because of their biased frame of reference, they think you're two snores short of brain-dead. The entire point of their existence is to turn tall tales into capital. So they don't know or care about what AI is or what it's useful for. They just saw Number Go Up for the AI companies and decided "AI is a magic cow we can milk forever". Sometimes it's not even AI, they just use old software and rebrand it, much like convection ovens became air fryers.

Well, now we're up to date. So what did DepSeek release that did a 9/11 on NVIDIA stock prices and popped the AI bubble?

Oh, I would not want to be an OpenAI investor right now either. A token is basically one Unicode character (it's more complicated than that but you can google that on your own time). That cost means you could input the entire works of Stephen King for under a dollar. Yes, including electricity costs. DeepSeek has jumped from a Ford T to a Subaru in terms of pollution and water use.

The issue here is not only input cost, though; all that data needs to be available live, in the RAM; this is why you need powerful, expensive chips in order to-

Holy shit.

I'm not going to detail all the numbers but I'm going to focus on the chip required: an RTX 3090. This is a gaming GPU that came out as the top of the line, the stuff South Korean LoL players buy…

Or they did, in September 2020. We're currently two generations ahead, on the RTX 5090.

What this is telling all those people who just sold their high-end gaming rig to be able to afford a machine that can run the latest ChatGPT locally, is that the person who bought it from them can run something basically just as powerful on their old one.

Which means that all those GPUs and NPUs that are being made, and all those deals Microsoft signed to have control of the AI market, have just lost a lot of their pulling power.

Well, I mean, the ChatGPT subscription is 20 bucks a month, surely the Chinese are charging a fortune for-

Oh. So it's free for everyone and you can use it or modify it however you want, no subscription, no unpayable electric bill, no handing Microsoft all of your private data, you can just run it on a relatively inexpensive PC. You could probably even run it on a phone in a couple years.

Oh, if only China had massive phone manufacturers that have a foot in the market everywhere except the US because the president had a tantrum eight years ago.

So… yeah, China just destabilised the global economy with a torrent file.

[themultifanshipper]

Hello!!

I was wondering if I could ask for a request? I love your work and I had an idea for a fic but don't have the skills to make it a reality, ANYWAYS lol.

Charles leclerc finding out his crush does onlyfans 😏

You were very well paid as an engineer in one of the top Formula 1 teams, but your secret side hustle provided much more of an... escape, than your day job did.

Warnings: onlyfans, sextapes, smut, masturbation, fluff, Charles’ brain literally malfunctionning, angst but it end well, also I know this isn't how being a brand ambassador works but for the sake of this fic pretend Charles owns part of APM.

You had an Onlyfans. You'd had the account since college, and it had helped pay for your engineering degree.

But you'd found the experience so liberating and exciting, that you never really stopped.

So you continued posting regularly, and streaming, completely anonymously of course.

It would be absolutely mortifying if any of your colleagues found out about your other source of income.

You were smart about it. You never showed your face, barely spoke, and didn't put anything on your account that would in any way hint at your identity.

Your username was inconspicuous, you didn't really have any defining features on your body like tattoos or scars, and you'd even bought a green screen to hide your surroundings.

Sometimes you recorded videos in risky places, but they were never recognisable enough for someone to know exactly where you were.

Being a mechanic for Charles Leclerc was a dream.

He was so nice to you, if a bit shy, and extremely helpful in his feedback to you and the team.

He had made moving to Italy a lot easier and the flat he rented for when he was there was in the same neighbourhood as yours.

Charles had a thing for you. He couldn't deny it, he'd been taken with you ever since your first day, when you walked in late, and wearing a Ferrari uniform that was obviously several sizes too big for you.

“They sent me the wrong ones!” you panted as you tried to explain your attire “the orders got mixed up and I got sent someone else's uniform, I've just been at the office trying to figure it all out”

He was barely listening, your eyes had captivated him and it was too late, he just stared at you.

“Charles?”

He snapped out of it and you could finally get to work, but not before Carlos had sniggered in the corner and given Charles a teasing look.

The teasing only got worse when it turned out that the uniform mix up was actually with Charles, because you had similar addresses.

The discovery that you'd actually been technically wearing his clothes had driven Charles to the edge of madness and back.

You'd tried to give them back to him once you’d received your own, but he insisted you keep them.

“I don't need them, you can have them”

“But they're yours! I don't need them either and they're way too big for me anyway”

“They look really good on you, you can wear them for bed or… or something…” he stuttered, the image of you in bed and in his clothes was too much for him, and he blushed his way out of the room as Carlos, who had unfortunately witnessed that interaction, howled with laughter at the idiocy of his friend.

Over the next few months Carlos was getting increasingly annoyed with Charles.

He'd teased him to bits for a few weeks, but now it was getting just plain pathetic.

You were all Charles could talk about, but he was too shy to do anything about it.

“Cabrón, you need to ask her out instead of talking my ears off about her”

“It's worse than that Carlos, I've done… something”

Carlos raised an eyebrow at his teammate, whatever Charles had done, it couldn't be good.

“Go on”

Charles blushed and looked around before getting his phone out to show Carlos something.

"There is this Onlyfans account…” he started and Carlos groaned in frustration, already knowing where this was going.

“She looks and sounds a bit like her and… Carlos I'm obsessed. I think I have a problem”

Carlos glanced at the screen. The girl didn't not look like you, but given that her face wasn't visible, and he had never seen you naked, he wasn't capable of making any sort of comparison.

“You need to do something about this mate, this is not healthy”

Charles sighed, putting his phone away. “I know”

They were at a race, waiting for qualifying to start while you were out working on the car that would hopefully get him pole position.

And it did.

The first thing he did when he got out of the car was run to you and lift you up as you laughed.

“Thank you, thank you for the car. It was perfect!” you blushed and hugged him back.

“Anything for you, Charles”

Eventually he was whisked off for his interviews and you were left red-faced and grinning as you watched him go.

The first week of summer break was spent in the factory doing some sim work and testing to see exactly what was so right about the setup, and whether you could replicate it for Carlos' car.

So the three of you (plus all the usual employees) were in Maranello for a few days.

Charles took you to one of his favourite restaurants to celebrate his latest race win.

You had a few drinks and laughed the night away, and when you separated at the end of the night, all Charles could manage was a peck on the cheek.

You went home to finally start your stream, late, and Charles went home to discover his favourite account would be starting their stream late.

 Perfect timing, he thought as he unbuckled his pants and got to work.

Yeah, he had a problem.

“Ferrari69 has joined the stream”

It wasn't rare that formula 1 themed usernames popped up in your subscribers, but it always made you chuckle when your literal employer's name appeared while you masturbated on camera for the world to see.

Ferrari69’s name was a regular sight, and a regular donator, and quite generous too.

It was probably an old rich man who had nothing better to do with his money, you supposed.

You had planned to film one of your riskier videos that week.

You didn't want to livestream it in case something went wrong, or you got caught.

There was a beautiful park in Maranello, one that had plenty of hiding spots.

That, and you did it at night when no one was around, so it was all good.

It all went smoothly, and once you were done you packed up your equipment and started making your way home when you spotted a familiar frame walking down one of the footpaths in front of you.

“Charles?” you called out and you heard a gasp followed by a relieved chuckle.

“Oh my god you scared me!” he smiled at you as you got to his level.

“What are you doing outside at this time?” he asked, perplexed.

“I uuhh… I was just clearing my head I guess… it's been a long week, you know?” you tried, and he obviously wasn't convinced but he nodded anyway and silence fell over you.

“So um…” you could feel the awkwardness dripping from his tone “that's a nice bracelet”

He motioned to your wrist and you grinned at him.

“Thanks… it's your own collection” you giggled and he facepalmed.

Yes it was his collection, he was wearing the same one around his own wrist.

“Right, right… I think I should probably head home and get some sleep then” he chuckled.

“Yeah, me too. Need to be up bright and early tomorrow for my flight home”

“Yes! Me too actually…” he fiddled with his hands nervously and the awkward silence became too much for you.

“Right well, goodnight then. I'll see you in a few weeks, Charles” and before you could think too much about it you leaned in and pressed a light kiss to his cheek.

He reddened and smiled shyly.

“Yeah, see you around”

You rushed home and slammed your front door, leaning against it as you tried to slow your heart rate down.

That could have been a disaster. God knows what could've happened if Charles had wandered past a few minutes earlier.

You shuddered, the idea of Charles catching you in the act wasn't completely unpleasant.

But you couldn't risk it, you wouldn't be filming in that park ever again.

You looked through the footage, editing what needed to be edited, and uploaded it to your channel before going through your nightly routine.

Your phone buzzed with likes and notifications as your most avid followers reacted to your new post but you didn't look at them until you were firmly planted in your bed, ready to go to sleep.

By the time Charles got home, he was ready to do some serious unwinding.

‘that's a nice bracelet’ ??? What the fuck was wrong with him.

He took a quick shower and checked his phone for the notification he hoped would be there.

He clicked on the video and grabbed a bottle of lube before climbing into bed.

He didn't even get to open the bottle though, because his eyes zoned in on the little familiar blue diamond chain around the woman's wrist.

Then he took in the surrounding trees and bushes, which were even more familiar.

No...

It couldn't be you, surely it was some kind of twisted coincidence.

But objectively, the evidence was damning.

He decided to look through the comments as a distraction.

There were the usual comments about how hot she was and how people wished they were with her.

A flash of possessiveness surged through Charles at those.

That was new. He'd never felt possessive over her before, but now that he suspected it was you… that was a different story...

You liked a few comments, replied to a couple of others and were about to call it a night when you got a different notification.

A private message. From Ferrari69.

You opened it curiously, he'd never messaged you before, despite the numerous times he had sent you money.

“That's a nice bracelet”

A chill ran down your spine. That's exactly what Charles had said, in the park.

“Is it new?”

Bit of an odd introduction, but you supposed he deserved to know, it was his money that had paid for it after all.

“It is yes. I was in Monaco recently and I thought I'd spend some of the very generous tips you've been sending me ;) thank you so much by the way”

Charles' possessiveness flared again. Technically he had paid for that little trinket that he'd seen you wear only hours prior. He felt emboldened, and a bit turned on by that fact.

“That's a shame… I happen to know the owner of the collection, I could have made sure you got one for free. You could’ve spent the money on something else…”

Several red flags went off in your mind.

He seemed to be taking an interest in becoming your sugar daddy, which is not what you'd signed up for.

But more importantly, this man (you assumed it was a man) was potentially acquainted with Charles. Big no-no.

He could be lying for attention of course, but if the amount of money he'd sent you was any indication, he was proper rich, and therefore could very possibly know everyone in the goddamn paddock.

“If it makes you feel better, I've spent your money on other things as well, like a custom dress I'll be wearing to an event soon, and also that custom dildo I used in the park earlier :)”

Charles' dick throbbed as he thought back to the video.

“Really? Money well spent in that case. I enjoyed the video very much ;) Will you be doing any more risky ones like that?”

“I don't know… I was almost caught by a colleague of mine tonight”

Charles was in too deep. He needed to stop this madness before somebody got hurt.

He ended the conversation as quickly as he could without seeming off, and groaned when the thumbnail of the video flashed on his screen again, cock twitching at the sight of you riding a dildo that he'd paid for.

And then you’d met him in the woods, and acted as if you hadn't been getting yourself off minutes before.

Instead of doing the reasonable thing and having a cold shower, he put the video on again and fisted his cock desperately until he was spent.

Yeah, Charles was fucked.

A chill ran down your back as you turned your phone off.

You couldn't shake the feeling that your identity was in danger.

You shrugged it off, putting your paranoid thoughts down to the fact that it was late and you were tired as fuck.

You caught your flight the next day, barely, because you'd forgotten to set an alarm. So the night before was successfully put out of your mind for now as you snoozed away on the plane.

A couple of weeks later was the event.

You and Charles called it that in a derogatory way, because you knew it would be anything but an event.

It was possibly the most boring day of the calendar, basically the equivalent to a business meeting, but with everyone forced to be dressed to the nines because sponsors would be there.

It took place in a big mansion, belonging to some CEO or another, in the Swiss countryside.

So all the most important staff were invited, and put up in a fancy hotel.

Charles was waiting anxiously for you to arrive.

He had decided that today was the day he was going to tell you he knew about your uhh… side activities.

He didn't quite know how to broach the subject, but he was sure the inspiration would come to him at some point.

He'd spent the last two weeks avoiding any conversation with you, and he hadn't told Carlos a thing, confusing the Spaniard to no end as he watched Charles suddenly turn completely dismissive whenever you were mentioned.

When you arrived, he thought he was dreaming.

You were wearing a long red satin dress. It showed off your curves, having a very low neckline and no back.

The old rich pigs sponsors were going to love you.

He certainly did.

Wait what? Did he love you? He was certainly possessive over you. And completely obssessed with you, and your eyes, and your smile, and the way you were the only one who laughed when he made stupid puns…

“Charles?” you frowned at him, eyes full of concern as you snapped your fingers in his face, trying to get his attention.

You were standing right in front of him, sparkly makeup making you glow, and you smelled divine. He didn't know how long you'd been standing there.

His brain was short circuiting and he stared straight at your breasts that were barely covered by the rosso corsa fabric that was clinging to your body.

“Charles?” you knew he was staring, and you were getting slightly uncomfortable. “Are you okay, man?”

He paid for that dress. You looked fucking sexy incredible in a dress that he was responsible for buying, in his colour.

Something glinted in his vision as you lifted a hand to his forehead to check whether he was having some kind of fever.

You were wearing the bracelet. His collection. The bracelet you were wearing when you fucked yourself on camera with the dildo he also paid for.

“Charles people are staring. Do you need to lie down?”

Shit. He needed to say something.

But there was no way in hell that anything that came out of his mouth could possibly be appropriate right now.

He gave it a go anyway.

“You're all mine” he growled.

You jumped at his tone, retracting your hand in surprise.

“What?” you whispered, glancing around to see if anyone was listening in.

“Do you want to know a fun fact?” he said, mouth dry, brain barely working.

“Uhh… sure?”

“I paid for that dress”

You looked at him questioningly but he didn't elaborate.

“What?” you chuckled nervously. “No, I paid for this?” you were very confused by Charles' sudden change of personality. He looked like he was on drugs, pupils swallowing his irises as he scanned your body.

“I also paid for this” his voice was hoarse as his hand went to grab you wrist.

He internally begged you to understand what he was saying, even if his mouth couldn't say it out loud.

“I… I don't understand Charles… this is from your collection but you didn't buy it for me? What has gotten into you?” you ripped your arm away from his grasp.

“No, I paid for it, and I can prove it to you.”

You frowned as he took out his phone and tapped away on it for a minute, hiding it from your view.

You were even more confused when he put it back in his pocket and waited.

“Charles what-“  you were cut off by the sound of your phone buzzing in your bag.

What on earth was he playing at? You pulled it out to check it.

He opened his mouth just as you saw the notification on your screen, and you froze as your brain absorbed the information.

“I just sent you two hundred euros”

‘Ferrari69 has sent you 200€’

Your fingers tightened around your phone.

You physically couldn't look away from the screen.

You reread the notification over and over, while your brain replayed Charles' words.

This couldn't be happening.

You tried to heave in a breath but it got caught in your throat and you choked on a sob.

You walked away as quickly as you could, tears threatening to blur your vision as you almost ran down a hallway in search of somewhere you could block out the thoughts threatening to split your head open.

You've been found out. You're going to lose your job. Charles has lost all respect for you. You will lose your career, your friends, everyone you've ever known is going to be disgusted by you.

You didn't hear the footsteps behind you until it was too late.

Charles wrapped an arm around your middle and dragged you into the closest room he could find.

You didn't have the strength to fight.

Tears flowed freely down your cheeks as he sat you down in a chair and cradled your face in his hands, crouching down in front of you.

“Hey. Hey, it's okay. You're going to be okay. It's just me. I'm the only one who knows. Just breathe. Come on, deep breaths for me.”

Thankfully, Charles' brain had rebooted at the sight of your trembling frame running away from him.

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.” He leaned his forehead against yours, thumbs wiping the tears from your cheeks. “I shouldn't have told you like that. I don't know what came over me. I’m sorry…”

At last you were breathing relatively normally again.

“Charles” your voice shook as you pushed him off and put your head in your hands.

“You have no idea. No idea how humiliating this is.”

“I won't tell anybody, I promise.” Charles took your hands in his and squeezed.

“That's not the point. It’s supposed to be secret. If anyone else finds out I'll lose my job, and… and you”

“Look at me” he whispered, and you slowly raised your head, eyes betraying nothing but vulnerability.

“You are not going to lose your job, or me. I have been in love with you for months. This is not going to change that. And I will not tell a soul about this, I promise…”

Your jaw dropped. Your head was pounding with all this information.

“And do you want to know a fun fact?” he cracked a smile and you couldn't help letting out a nervous laugh.

“I think I've had enough fun facts today thank you very much”

He chuckled dryly and nodded understandingly.

“This one is important though. Do you want to know why I followed your uhh… account, in the first place?”

You shook your head.

“It is because I was too much of a coward to tell you how I felt, and the woman in the videos reminded me of you. So it was like I was in my own little fucked up fantasy when I watched them.”

Your eyes were wide as you listened to him. He was thinking of you, while unknowingly jerking off to your actual nudes…

“And you have no idea how fucking hard I came when I figured out it was actually you”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“That is so fucked up, Charles”

He nodded.

“I know. So if anything, I'm the one who is humiliated, and if you never want to speak to me again, I will understand”

You laughed disbelievingly. It was almost sweet how he was trying to make you feel better.

“Charles… I don't think you understand. I am in love with you.”

His mouth opened and closed several times before any sound came out.

“Oh…”

You laughed “Yeah, oh…”

“You don't care that I am a pervert who has been sending you money?”

You froze and thought back to the conversation you'd had that night.

“Oh my god… is that how you figured it out?”

“No” he chuckled “I figured it out because you wore my fucking jewelry collection in a video filmed in a place I know very well, minutes before I saw you in it”

You sighed. “I knew it was a bad idea”

Charles’ hand came to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing at your lower lip.

“If it makes you feel better, not a day has passed where I haven't thought about fucking you in those bushes”

Your breath hitched and you saw his pupils grow in size.

“As long as we don't film it and post it on the internet, I don't see why we can't make that particular fantasy come true”

It was his turn to gasp.

“Next time we are in Maranello, I am going to fuck you under the moonlight.”

You scrunched your nose at his words.

“That's very sappy Charles”

He laughed, slowly leaning in closer to you as he responded.

“Well, so far the beginning of our relationship has been… complicated. I need to make up for it…” his lips brushed yours and your unsteady breath mingled with his “starting right. Now.”

He pressed his lips to yours and your eyes fluttered shut.

It was surreal, kissing the object of your long time affections.

His lips were so unnaturally soft, parting your own as his tongue came to deepen the kiss, and his hands came to rest on your waist.

Your own hands came up to curl in his hair and tug at the strands, making him groan.

“Fuck- don't do that unless you want to walk out of this room limping”

You smirked at him, very tempted by the offer. But you knew that at any moment someone was going to come looking for Charles for his speech.

“I'll take you up on that at some point, but right now you need to go. I'll get myself freshened up and join you in a minute”

He nodded, coming to his senses. He did need to go make a speech. Inaugurating his new relationship would have to wait.

His speech was the most entertaining thing of the event, considering how dull the rest of it was.

Every time he spotted you in the crowd he would stutter, blush, and need about a minute each time to get back on track.

And only you noticed, but he kept subtly readjusting himself every time he put a hand in his pocket, feigning nonchalance.

The two of you left straight after the speech, bumping into Carlos in the lobby.

“Where are you going, Cabrón? You need to do the thing at the end with the-“

He took one look at your guilty faces, and intertwined hands, and groaned.

“Jesus… okay, go. I will cover for you”

You both thanked him breathlessly and all but sprinted to Charles' car.

He drove you to the hotel you were both in, and dragged you up to you room as fast as was humanly possible.

Unlocking the door was a challenge, already climbing on each other by that point, and if someone else had been in the corridor at that moment they would have seen a shirtless Charles pulling your dress up around your waist while trying to get his keycard in your slot, as it were.

It wasn't long before you were inside, fully naked, pressed against the wall with your legs hooked over his arms as he pounded into you.

You panted and whimpered into each other's mouths, pulling each other closer as you struggled to kiss with the pleasure that was coursing through your bodies.

“I love you” he said, voice cracking with the effort of holding back.

“I love you, Charles” you whined, one hand scratching down his back, the other tangling in his hair to pull on it once again.

He growled and his hips slammed yours against the wall.

“Fuck, I'm going to fill you up if you keep doing that”

You moaned, extremely close to edge yourself.

“Do it. Fill me up, Charlie. Make me yours!”

You reached your highs at the same time, moans echoing in the room as you rode the waves of pleasure, clinging to each other desperately.

He carried you over to the bed, put you down gently and kissed you senseless.

You showered together and you put one of his shirts on (the ones mistakenly sent to you) to sleep in.

While you were in bed, cuddled up together, one of his hands slipped under the shirt and came to rest on one of your breasts.

“Baby?” you giggled as he gave it a quick squeeze.

“I can't believe I used to fantasize about these, not knowing they were next to me the whole time…”

He kissed your cheek and you groaned.

“God, you are such a perv, Charles”

He laughed softly. “I think you are not well placed to be saying that to me”

You gasped in mock offence.

“Why? Because I've been posting myself masturbating for the world to see?”

“Nooo…” he purred in your ear “Because, you are going to keep doing it” he bit your ear lightly as his other hand trailed down your body “and I am going to buy you all the things I want you to use on yourself, for the world to see”

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Hi, I like your blogs but I want to ask how to write a flawed mentor? And how about writing reluctant mentor

Writing Notes: Mentors

You can use related tropes as a guide. Here are some examples I found for you:

FLAWED MENTOR

The "Anti-Mentor"

Think they are great at what they do and decide to train others in their ways. However, they are more often than not the worst at the very things they teach, and thus training with them could be considered anti-training.

In some cases, their student will be well aware of how bad they are and simply attend their lessons out of pity. Others will be honest and tell them how bad they are. There are those students who will think they are being great teachers by showing them what not to do.

Alternatively, the teacher may actually be good at what they do but terrible at teaching it. In these cases, they just don't know how to get their lessons across.

It's not so hard for the student to surpass the teacher here, because the teacher had so little to surpass.

RELUCTANT MENTOR

The "Apathetic Teacher"

Jaded, misanthropic, and very likely a Deadpan Snarker, this is the teacher who's been in the job too long. Dislikes students in general — been there long enough to know they're thick and (usually) irritating.

Hates the school, hates the job, really hates the management — but because s/he's known virtually nothing else, s/he still sticks at it, putting her/himself through it year after year.

Sometimes, this person started out as a young, Enthusiastic Newbie Teacher, who got beaten down by rowdy kids and an uncaring system, turning the teacher jaded over time. There's usually one person who will find that their no-longer-gives-a-shit attitude makes them a Cool Teacher anyway, or at the very least an occasional confidant.

They're likely to seek solace in the bottom of a bottle.

It's often implied, if not outright stated, that even their home life doesn't offer them much respite, either.

In pretty much all Save Our Students movies, one of these (if not an entire school of them) will serve as a foil to the idealistic teacher.

If the school is an inner-city one, expect this teacher to be the one to make some remark about how they can't really expect anything from kids with this "background".

Occasionally, an apathetic teacher will be won over by the enthusiasm of an idealistic teacher and will start caring about the students too.

In psychology, these people are called "burnouts."

This kind of teacher is likely to hand out an Extremely Easy Exam.

Apathetic Teacher vs. Sadist Teacher

The key difference between Apathetic Teachers and Sadist Teachers is the former hate their jobs while the latter hate their students.

Sadist Teachers often seem to take a sick glee in torturing their students; the teachers this trope describes don't seem to take much joy in anything, least of all their work.

This is quite similar to the "read a lot" advice we constantly hear. So, you can also go through your favourite stories (literature, films etc.) and learn from how your favourite authors write the character you are aiming to create in your stories. If I wasn't able to include here the exact one you need, you can look through the sources below. Hope this helps & thanks so much for your kind words :)

Sources: 1 2 3 ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References