#even though these two look like nothing they are such an improvement on my starting stock though!

[tetedurfarm]

while i'm posting eval pics: look at these extremely hotot-shaped hotots x:

top is cuckoo, bottom is boy smells. cuckoo is a quarter satin, boy smells is purebred. i feel like you can really tell, even though cuckoo is by no means gorgeous. but she has a wider shoulder and base than boy smells. i just wish i knew what in the hell her spine thought it was doing lol.

i will be at convention next month and hope to do a bit of shopping. i am going to be much more picky this time than i was last time because i've been tinkering enough i know more of what i really need. nars and anastasia are already a step in the right direction i think, but anastasia's first litter with me is only two weeks old and nars' is not quite weaning age so i haven't been able to evaluate yet. this time i am looking for depth depth depth depth. anastasia and nars are bringing the width but now i need DEPTH. and with depth comes spine flexibility which i sorely need too. pray that my really underdeveloped shmoozing skills work in my favour

[medicinemane]

.

[bbyseok]

at first sight? — GOJO SATORU

pairing: gojo satoru x gn!reader

word count: 10k (idek i was possessed)

banner by @/bbyseok , dividers by @/bunnysrph !!

a/n: um hi. its finally here ! thanks to all who liked the teaser, this is my first jjk/gojo fic ever but i really think everyone needs some comfort after jjk chap 261.. and fuck u gege !!

content: soulmate au, gender neutral reader, minimal use of they/them pronouns for reader but gender is not specified, sorcerer reader, nicknames ‘sweetheart’, ‘pretty’, ‘baby’, fluff, mild angst with a happy ending, slowburn??, several pov switches, suggestive/implied nsfw at the end but nothing explicit, brief swearing/explicit language, brief violence/injuries, alcohol consumption, reader gets mildly drunk but nothing else, implied satosugu as past soulmates: can be interpreted as either romantic or platonic, fic takes place after jjk 0 but before the show starts

analysis: this is a world filled not only with curses, but soulmates—in which you know someone is your soulmate when you first make eye contact with them. but for your case, things can get a bit complicated when someone is wearing a blindfold.

here, in this universe, you can tell that someone is your soulmate by simply looking at them. so with that, the saying of “love at first sight” is actually pretty accurate here. you see them for the very first time and barely know the person and yet, somehow, they’re the one you’re destined to be with.

with that, you’d think it’d be pretty common for two random people to run into each other while crossing the street or something and bam! suddenly you’ve found the supposed love of your life!

and you? well, for you, that hasn’t happened yet.

to be fair, it’s not like you’re actively trying to look for your soulmate. handling curses as a jujutsu sorcerer is difficult enough. (maybe you’ll run into them one day after saving them from a curse or something. how romantic!)

it’s better to leave it up to fate. it’s fate who decided your pairing anyway, right?

your transfer to jujutsu tech had been fairly smooth. after being stationed in kyoto for a while, tokyo was a nice change of pace.

coincidentally, you had been out of the country during the incident known as the night parade of a hundred demons. a scary event that proved the threat of curse users to be formidable.

because of that, your decision to transfer to tokyo seemed like the right thing to do. and so far, it’s been decent.

it’s a nice change of scenery. the students are aspiring; while maki and megumi aren’t the friendliest, they’re warming up to you. toge and panda are gradually improving.

nanami’s pessimistic outlook on jujutsu society and shoko’s overall unenthusiastic demeanor are certainly interesting for the most part, but your coworkers are pleasant to be around.

well. except for one.

gojo satoru knows that you are his soulmate. he has indeed known this fact right from the very start, ever since your first meeting.

even with his blindfold on, he could see your own eyes before him. his six eyes can see everything. the thing is.. he didn’t know he could have another soulmate.

his situation with geto suguru is something he doesn’t talk about with anyone. maybe shoko at times, but even then, it’s rare. it’s not that he doesn’t want to, but it’s pretty hard to talk about.

after suguru defected, gojo could still obviously feel their bond. even though they were no longer together as the strongest duo, did it really matter when their souls were still connected to one another? it was a factor that played in avoiding (and perhaps meeting up with) each other as the years went by.

satoru felt their bond die that day after the events with okkotsu and rika. and it had frightened him. that lingering presence of the bond was no longer there.

so imagine his surprise when he sees you.

a new sorcerer in kyoto, now transferred to tokyo. normally, gojo doesn’t seek out the new recruits, but yaga had dragged him over regardless. besides, he might as well get to know his possible assistant teacher that would be helping him out with the new first years.

“i guess i can check out some new faces,” he relented with a sigh, adjusting his blindfold and looking to the side as yaga’s steps slowed as they approached you.

gojo rolled his eyes–not that you’d see it anyway–as yaga introduced you with your name and your sorcerer grade. he stopped to stand next to the principal.

you extended your hand to offer a handshake, and gojo finally turned his head.

that feeling as his gaze fell upon yours beneath the blindfold was familiar—frighteningly so—and unfamiliar at the same time. as if he could breathe for the first time in ages. your eyes are unaware, but they’re so revealing to him.

satoru stuttered in his movements, reluctantly taking your hand. the skin that touched yours felt like it was on fire. he briefly held on to see if you felt it too.

but you simply smiled up at him.

“it’s nice to meet you, gojo,” you said, blissfully unaware of the revelation currently dawning on the man before you and the turmoil it brought as he abruptly retracted his arm back.

gojo stiffened. he merely offered a curt nod before turning on heel and walking away briskly. he could faintly hear yaga protest about his sudden departure before apologizing to you hastily. satoru shook his head.

how was this be possible? how could the universe give him two soulmates? he didn’t even know that was a thing that could happen. he wondered if there had been a similar occurrence before.

gojo couldn’t help but feel nauseous. was this the world playing some sort of sick, cruel joke on him? or was it perhaps giving him a second chance?

and truthfully, it wasn’t like gojo even wanted another soulmate. not after what he had been through with suguru. he hadn’t given it much thought.

was it really worth it?

what if he couldn’t protect you too?

so satoru had decided on one thing that day: the blindfold stays on. concealing his eyes from the world not only for him, but for your sake too. he was certain in his choice; he would never tell you the truth.

as far as you were concerned, you haven’t met your soulmate yet.

and never will.

your first meeting with gojo wasn’t exactly unpleasant, but it wasn’t something you could describe as good either. you’ve been left with the impression that he’s cocky and indifferent.

and that he doesn’t like you.

it’s been around.. two? three weeks? it’s been a while since your encounter with the white-haired sorcerer, and you’ve only seen a few glimpses of him here and there on campus.

okay, he doesn’t display any outright mean or ill intention towards you. on the very rare times the two of you do interact, he is obviously curt and clipped. seems like he’s deemed you worthy of the only either nods or one word responses.

you’ve yet to actually participate in a lesson or mission with gojo, but you prefer it that way. providing individual training and advice for the upcoming second years has been going great. at this point, you’re sure it’d only be awkward.

besides, the strongest sorcerer alive doesn’t necessarily need assistance in dealing with curses after all. that much is understandable.

you’re currently in the teachers’ lounge room with nanami. even though he isn’t actually a teacher, he pays visits sometimes. he’s good company anyway.

“it’s nice to hear that you’re settling in well,” the blonde says with a nod. he loosens his necktie absentmindedly as he adjusts the newspaper in his lap. “especially with that gojo around. he can be a pain in the ass sometimes.”

you frown at the mention of the sorcerer, crossing your arms. you’re seated across from nanami, watching him idly look through the newspaper.

“oh, well, actually, he isn’t too much trouble. for me, at least,” you reply, brows furrowing, “he barely talks to me.” (in fact, he seems to avoid you like you’re carrying the plague or something.)

nanami looks up, raising a brow. “huh. you should be grateful then.” he then hums, “but maybe that’ll change once there’s actually new first year students to teach. you both are assigned to them after all.”

you lean back in your seat, your shoulders committing to a halfhearted shrug. “maybe. it’s not like i never did anything bad to him though..”

nanami sighs gruffly. “don’t think about it too much.” before he can continue, there’s the sound of footsteps. nanami brings his newspaper back up, muttering, “speak of the devil.”

“nanamiiii!” gojo’s voice sounds from around the corner. it almost startles you how lively he sounds. you realize you’ve never actually heard or seen how he acts without you around.

nanami doesn’t respond, rolling his eyes.

gojo strolls in enthusiastically, blindfold on. “heyy, nanami, we should-” he cuts off when he presumably sees you, falling quiet and stopping short.

you blink, a bit hurt. does he dislike you that much? but you don’t let it show, resorting to greeting him politely like you usually do when you occasionally pass each other.

“good afternoon, gojo,” you muse, offering a little wave.

nanami notices his reaction too, but doesn’t comment on it. he continues to ignore the sorcerer’s presence in fact, eyes still roaming over the newspaper.

gojo clears his throat and resumes his pace. “afternoon,” he responds, focusing his attention back on nanami. he reaches the two of you, giving you no further acknowledgment.

you don’t care if he can see you looking at him, you opt to stare at the black blindfold covering his face. you have a hunch that he can see, or at least feel, you staring at him.

“can i borrow you for a sec, nanami?”

nanami emits an exasperated sigh, but stands nonetheless to follow gojo out of the room for some discussion not meant for your ears apparently, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

do you make gojo uncomfortable? you don’t know what you could’ve possibly done so though. from what you’ve heard from the others, he can be rather eccentric and overbearing.

does he just not like you? perhaps he views you as inferior, too below his level and power to actually converse with you. while it seems a bit of a stretch, you’re sure it’s not out of the possibility also based on what you’ve heard about him from others.

your frown returns. before you can dwell on it any longer, nanami comes back into the room. “well, i certainly see what you mean from what you said about gojo earlier,” he announces.

his words do nothing to falter your frown. “right.” you then shrug once more, “it’s okay. it’s just a bit.. strange.” you then shake your head, trying to be a bit optimistic. “but also like you said earlier, that might change! who knows?”

who knows, indeed.

megumi tucks the cursed tools inside their designated box and closes the lid. he moves on to the next one right as gojo enters the shed, beaming a smile.

“hey, megumi. you almost done wrapping up things here?” satoru asks, undoing his blindfold naturally. there’s a pair of glasses in his hand ready for use.

the teen nods. they had used a few cursed tools during training session today, and the storage did need a bit of tidying up. “almost done.”

satoru makes a noise of approval as he places his glasses on. “great! do you need help setting up your dorm room?” he looks excited at the idea, still grinning.

meanwhile, megumi looks disinterested at his offer. “no thanks. i think it’ll be easy enough. it’s not like i’m decorating it anyway.”

“oh, boo.” but gojo doesn’t insist on it any further. he actually falls strangely quiet, which causes megumi to glance at him curiously.

his teacher looks.. distraught. it’s hard to actually tell, but he seems to be looking at the floor, maybe lost in thought. before megumi can say anything, gojo’s expression changes and he starts talking again.

“you’re, uh, with the new teacher for tomorrow,” gojo then informs. he shoves his hands into his pockets and kicks at the floor absentmindedly. (he’s fidgeting. subtly.) “it’ll just be you two, i think, on a small mission. so they can get used to actually working with students on field. it’ll be good for the both of you.”

megumi nods. he tilts his head afterward. “you can say their name, you know. it won’t kill you,” he says a bit pointedly, “and they’re not technically new anymore. it has been a few weeks now since they’ve joined the school.”

“right, right.” megumi’s face scrunches up as gojo’s hand comes down to ruffle his hair gently. (a habit that has not died since his younger days.) “whatever you say, megumi.”

despite your minimal interactions and his rather closed off demeanor, megumi is actually one of your favorite students. (and yeah, maybe you shouldn’t have favorites, but oh well.)

your mission with megumi, or rather, the mission you’ve been assigned to supervise the student on, is rather simple.

there’s been reports of a low grade curse roaming the premises of a supermarket neighboring a nearby cemetery, so megumi is to obviously exorcise it under your watch. the area has been closed off with a small veil. megumi had decided to check the parking lot first for any lingering traces, so here you are.

“i think we’re good here,” the teenager confirms as his demon dogs return to his feet, seemingly in the clear. you nod and let him lead the way towards the inside of the store.

as the two of you begin to walk down each aisle with one of the demon dogs trailing behind, megumi says your name in an inquisitive tone. “what do you think of gojo-sensei?”

the sudden question has you blinking in surprise. your eyes scan megumi as you both continue to trek down the aisle. “what makes you ask?”

“no reason.” he doesn’t meet your gaze.

you bite down on your lip in contemplation. you’re not sure what brings this question to mind for him, but you’re willing to indulge him for now. “well.. i think he’s.. alright.” you pause. “as a sorcerer, i admire his strength. though, i think a lot of people think that obviously.”

“and as a person?” megumi presses, turning to investigate the next aisle. he still doesn’t glance over to you, still preoccupied with searching for the curse.

(hell, for a teenager, he sure is perceptive.)

you choose your words carefully, thinking it over with a brief pause.

“i’ll admit, i don’t think i know him well enough to be sure. as a person, i think he’s.. self-centered and rude. sometimes, i see him act very carefree in a way. he’s.. obscure, i guess.” you clear your throat and reiterate, “but again, i don’t really... know him.”

you can see megumi go over your words silently. the quiet continues. the conversation seems to be dying, but it doesn’t matter when monstrous gurgling sounds up ahead.

a curse appears in front of you, the shelving of the aisles toppling over as it gargles some unintelligible roar. megumi doesn’t hesitate, using his technique to summon his demon dogs once more to swiftly engage in combat.

the fight is easily handled in three minutes top. (they weren’t kidding when they said it’d be easy.)

after the commotion has settled, you allow megumi to do one more check up around the store just in case. just as you are prepared to exit and bring down the veil, you decide it’s your turn to ask him now.

“and what about you, megumi?” you inquire lightly, giving one of the demon dogs a few head pats for their good work. “what exactly do you think of gojo?”

megumi hums.

“i agree with most of what you said actually,” he answers honestly, causing you to chuckle in amusement. the teenager tilts his head and finally looks at you. “but i also think he’s kind when he wants to be.”

his frontward honesty surprises you once more. this kid sure is something. you believe his words; he has no reason to lie to you, especially about gojo of all things. still, you poke at him teasingly, “really now?”

you don’t really expect him to answer, but then megumi says in a mumble so quiet that you nearly miss it.

“well, he did sort of raise me after all.”

“i just don’t think he likes me, shoko,” you puff out a sigh, watching as she puffs out smoke. “i’ve seen the way he is around other people, and he’s not like that with me.”

she’s on break right now, so you thought you could talk to her about a certain blindfolded sorcerer who’s been plaguing your thoughts.

it’s interesting to hear about the different sides of gojo satoru from your peers. from nanami, you’ve learned that he’s pretentious and troublesome. from megumi, that he can be caring in his own way. and shoko?

“he’s crazy.” the doctor waves her cigarette at you with a shrug of her shoulders. “but it beats me on why he doesn’t particularly like you.”

you groan, slouching in one of the chairs set up in the infirmary. “maybe i should’ve stayed in kyoto,” you mumble. it’s more of a joke than anything; your.. weird terms with gojo isn’t enough to actually deter you.

but shoko puts the cigarette back to her lips and tilts her head. “want me to ask him about it?”

you straighten your posture abruptly and look at her. “what? you don’t have to. he might think i asked you to or something.”

she shrugs again. “your call.”

your brows furrow. “maybe we just got off on the wrong foot somehow. even though all i did was shake his hand.” you snort. “maybe i can get him something to break the ice. what does he like?”

shoko doesn’t even hesitate. “sweets. he likes his sweets.”

oh. oh, okay! you blink and nod. who would’ve thought? the strongest sorcerer in the world likes sweets. “i can handle sweets.”

you, in fact, cannot handle sweets.

why are there so many? you’re at a local bakery staring at the rows and rows of pastries they have on display, looking as if you’re trying the decipher the world’s hardest math problem.

shoko never specified what kind of sweets he liked during your conversation with her a couple days ago. cake? ice cream? cookies? you might as well buy the whole damn store at this point with your luck. the last thing you want is to buy him something he won’t actually eat.

“oh, fuck it,” you mutter and finally decide on a small piece of cake. it happens to be your favorite kind of cake, but oh well. if he doesn’t like it, he doesn’t like it! it’s the thought that matters anyway, right?

as you exit the shop with your newly acquired dessert, you try to devise a way to give it to him. do you just.. hand it to him? or maybe it’ll be better to leave it in his office. or have shoko give it to him!

ughh, who knew how hard it’d be to give a man a cake? okay, okay. you’ll simply give it to him in person since he’ll know it’s directly from you. problem solved.

well, actually, problem is not solved. how are you supposed to give the cake to gojo in person when you have absolutely no clue where he is right now? after returning to the school, he’s no where to be found, so you eventually turn to yaga for help.

“he’s on a mission where??”

you stare at yaga with wide eyes as he names some city so far away you’re pretty sure you wouldn’t be able to find an affordable ride to get you there in a reasonable amount of time.

“oh, alright,” you say, feeling a little disappointed. the cake suddenly feels a little too big and heavy in your hands.

the principal’s gaze flickers down to your little intended treat for his former student. “these kinds of missions are no trouble for satoru. i’m sure he’ll be back soon, so you can leave that in his office.”

you brighten up at that and nod. “thank you, yaga.” you then dismiss yourself with a polite bow after he informs you where gojo’s office is exactly, and you start to make your way there.

it’s only a few minutes until you get there. you open the door and catch sight of a desk. it looks rather plain, which is understandable since it doesn’t seem like he uses this space often. (though, there is a chair that looks more expensive than your entire rent.)

either way, you walk inside and set the container down on the desk with a small sigh. hopefully the gesture is appreciated! if he really does have a sweet tooth like shoko says, you’re not sure why he’d turn it down. again, you can only hope.

you sigh again and turn to leave when the sound of the door creaking open sounds again. you freeze in place when it swings out fully, revealing the very man you were thinking about.

(yaga was not kidding when he said that gojo finishes his missions pretty fast.)

gojo perks up at the sight of you in his office, and even with his blindfold on, you can tell he’s got a surprised look on his face. “can i help you.. or do you have a reason on why you’re snooping around in my office?” he inquires, walking in.

while not evidently hostile, his appearance and words suddenly have you anxious. “oh, well, i-’’ you want to mentally smack yourself for fumbling over your words. “i’m sorry for intruding. i, uh, just wanted to leave you a little something.”

it’s only then does gojo look past you and makes a small noise. you can’t really decipher it, but you watch as he walks by you to open the small packaging to see the slice of cake meant for him.

and when he makes a small noise again, you can tell it’s one of delight. “you got me.. cake?” he asks, looking to you again questioningly.

“i did,” you clarify with a small nod, summoning a small smile and rubbing the back of your neck a bit sheepishly, “i didn’t know what kind of sweet you would like, so i just ended up choosing my favorite cake. um, i really hope you don’t mind the flavor, but if you don’t you really don’t have to eat it so-”

“kikufuku.”

you stare at him, confused. “what?”

“kikufuku,” satoru reiterates, and it’s his turn to smile. (it nearly catches you off guard because although very small, it’s pretty.) “s’my favorite. or.. one of my favorite sweets. crepes are good too.”

his newfound friendliness has you smiling a bit more evidently, pleased that this interaction is your most pleasant one with him so far in the weeks you’ve been here. “oh, okay,” you chuckle, “noted.”

gojo opens the container and unwraps the plastic fork that had came with it. he takes a bite of the cake and hums in approval. “can see why it’s your favorite. it’s not bad.”

your face lightens up at that. “oh, i’m glad.”

he hums, popping another slice of cake into his mouth. “any particular reason on why you’ve decided to give me cake, if i may ask?”

you falter once more, now nervous in telling that you’re hoping to.. resolve this one-sided tension with you. ultimately, you decide to be straightforward, inhaling deeply and looking at him. (well, his blindfold.)

“well, i’m not an idiot, gojo. you haven’t exactly been.. friendly to me. i’m not trying to win you over or anything, but if we’re going to work together with the first year students, consider this a gift for a truce. or um, a peace offering so we can act somewhat decent with each other.”

the white-haired sorcerer falls silent at your confrontation. you’re half expecting him to brush you off and walk out of the room entirely. especially since he seems to have stiffen up (similarly to the way when you first met, you had noticed).

he seems to contemplate for a bit. you don’t know where he’s looking at; the floor, the cake in his hands, you? it’s suddenly nerve-wracking.

“you’re right,” he finally speaks up, “i.. i’m sorry for my previous behavior towards you. can we start over?” he places the cake aside and walks back over to you to hold out his hand.

“gojo satoru.”

your eyes flicker to his blindfold to his hand, then back to where his eyes are hidden underneath. the rumored powerful and breaktaking six eyes concealed from your ever so curious sight.

against your better judgment, you repeat your name and take his hand.

“it’s nice to meet you, gojo.”

your new relationship with gojo is steadily becoming better. he’s no longer curt with you, and actually engages in conversations even with no other people around.

though, you can’t help but feel like he’d avoiding looking at you for some reason. which is pretty far off since you can’t technically see where he’s looking, but it’s a hunch you have nonetheless.

but hey, it’s progress, progress that you’re somewhat happy about.

like now, as satoru leans over your shoulder to peer at the clipboard in your hands. you’ve just finished wrapping up a lesson with the soon-to-be second years out on the field.

“ooh, what’s on the agenda for tomorrow, teach?” he pries.

“assistant teach,” you remind him teasingly, going over the contents of the clipboard. “more sparring. oh, and the registration for that new first year.”

“the one from the countryside?” gojo hums.

you nod. “yep. a.. kugasaki nobara. we won’t actually get to meet her, but arrangements for her arrival are getting finalized.”

“oh, boo. s’just more paperwork,” the sorcerer beside you whines, kicking at the grass.

“at least megumi isn’t the only one now,” you point out and finally turn to him.

just as you expected, satoru glances away to look at panda and toge finishing up. you squint at him narrowly but don’t comment on it.

“that’s true. not like that kid cares anyway, but it’ll be good for him,” gojo agrees airily, shoving his hands into his pockets.

you eye him. “hey, gojo?”

“yeah?” his head remains turned to the students. (further proving your point! you feel like you’re collecting evidence here; the gojo satoru cannot look at you in the eye!)

you hesitate. “wanna grab some kikufuku?”

he perks up at that. (like a puppy, really. it almost makes you laugh.) “mm, whatever happened to not trying to win me over with sweets?” he teases.

you laugh at that then, shaking your head in soft denial. “no- that’s not what i-”

“well, you did said kikufuku.." satoru interrupts you with a dramatic sigh and heave of his shoulders, “so how could i ever possibly resist?”

satoru doesn’t dare to look down at you.

“care to join me?”

but you smile up at him cheekily, and he hates the way the sunlight is hitting your features just right. it looks like the color of your eyes is glistening.

you’re just.. lying down on the grass of one of the training fields, admiring the drifting formations of white clouds on the blue canvas that is the sky.

satoru keeps telling himself that shouldn’t be doing this. his first mistake was accepting your cake. allowing himself to get closer to you. but when you look at him like that, he feels like he can do anything. which is odd, becaues really, he can do anything. it goes without saying as his status as the strongest.

but with you, it’s starting to feel a bit different.

when he doesn’t give you an immediate answer, you tilt your head and continue to blink up at him. “you can see the sky even with your blindfold on, right?”

he snorts. “yeah, i can.”

you pat the space on the grass next to you welcomingly, a beckoning that he just can’t resist again. “well, come on and join me,” you persist.

he hesitates, shifting his weight on his legs for a moment. against his better judgement, he joins you. it’s surprisingly comfortable, he finds, as he kicks out his legs and sighs.

it’s a comfortable silence that it’s almost startling. how easy it is just to be around you. (which is the exact reason why he had been avoiding you in the start, in fear of slipping up around you. he still might.)

“you get headaches, right? if you don’t cover your eyes.”

he chuckles at your question. “yeah.” it’s a half truth, half lie. he does get headaches, but for another reason now. you can’t get out of his head. (he’s got a suspicious feeling it’s because the soulmate bond is incomplete. but again, that’s just a theory of his.)

“‘m’sorry. that sucks.” you pout subconscously, still looking up at the sky to admire it.

he scoffs fondly, clapsing his hands over his stomach. “it’s no biggie. you think headaches can take down gojo satoru?”

“hey now, tough guy. they can take down me sometimes.”

(he’d fight off headaches from you if he could.) his heart is thudding against his ribcage, warning him. but he doesn’t heed the warning, and continues to lay down with you on the grass.

it’s a nice feeling. he doesn’t feel like the greatest sorcerer in the world with his colleague. it feels like he’s just satoru, pointing out the different shapes and animals you can spot in the sky with his soulmate.

“hey, that one looks like you!”

“hah?!”

“i’m guessing you and gojo-sensei are getting along now,” megumi bluntly comments.

it catches you off guard slightly, and you can’t help but laugh. (of course he had noticed how the both of you interacted from the beginning.) “oh, uh, yeah.”

and as you watch satoru go down the steps of the stairs to head over to you both whilst waving an arm with much more enthusiam than needed, you can’t help but smile.

“yeah, we are.”

this is a mistake. he shouldn’t be doing this.

but satoru can’t help but be so selfish, selfish in indulging in your looks, in your scarce touches. when you had confronted him with your peace offering as you had so called it, he had given in.

and now he’s spending more time with you. be it after lessons with the students, on random days where you have nothing to do, during weekends when there’s no authorities to bother him—he can’t help it.

was it the bond wanting to be complete? you were still unaware of his true identity, of what he could possibly mean to you, so why does he feel like he needs to be so close? he gets antsy at times when you’re not in his sight. it’s starting to affect him.

the soulmate bond, or lack of it—that has to be the only explanation for it. because he knows that you’re his soulmate, he’s subconsciously drawn to you and your presence. (it’s definitely not because he likes the way you smile, or laugh, or-)

fuck.

after a relatively tough mission, you’re obviously sent to see shoko. you’re not fatally harmed, maybe a scratch here and there. and okay, maybe a gash on your shoulder..

it had been enough to sort of knock you off your feet, but you’re fine. totally. exorcising a semi grade two curse at 1 a.m. in the morning was no biggie at this point.

once she’s finished tending to your wound, she dusts off her hands and places them on her hips. “you’re all set.”

you smile gratefully. “thanks, sho. can always count you to patch me up.”

she snorts. “well, it is my job.”

gojo suddenly appears right next to the table and you yelp, startled by his teleportation. shoko, on the other hand, looks unfazed, as if she’s used to this.

“gojo!” you blink, your voice taking a scolding tone soon after, “geez, you scared me! what’re you still doing awake??”

the blindfolded man falters, looking apologetic. “sorry. heard you got back from your mission.” he sounds worried, but before he can voice his concern, shoko rolls her eyes.

“they’ll be fine,” she says.

gojo’s shoulders finally drop down and he plays off his previous display of concern with a laugh. “ahaha, yeahhh, i knew that,” he scoffs with a wave of his hand, “i can’t bless you two with my presence?”

shoko gives him a displeased look before she turns around to tidy up her tools. you chuckle at her annoyance. “thanks for checking up on me, satoru,” you say sincerely. your eyes go over his appearance; he’s dressed more casually: a pair of dark slacks and shirt that expose his collarbones. not that you’re.. particularly looking.

but his shoulders seem tense again at your words and he hums quietly. (huh, strange. at least he’s not refusing to look at you anymore, you think.)

“well, i say this calls for a little celebration,” satoru suddenly purrs in delight, waving his hands in the air.

“celebration? for me getting kinda beat up?” you blow a raspberry at him, only for him to blow one at you right back. even though you had done it first, you can’t help but giggle at his childish antics.

he grins at that, then shakes his head. “heyy, i heard you beat up a semi grade two curse!” he says, “i think that does call for a celebration, does it not?”

you stare at him, unsure on whether he’s joking or not. wait, how did he even know that? well, maybe he had gone through the mission reports and assignments. still, you’re surprised that he knows. “you can wipe those out in less than a minute, gojo,” you point out with a raised brow, “don’t try and humor me.”

his grin lessens. “well, yeah, s’kinda easy for me, but i think that goes without saying. you’re telling me don’t wanna celebrate an accomplishment of yours?”

you look to shoko who is almost finished with cleaning up. she just shrugs. you look back to satoru and shrug yourself whilst rolling your eyes. “alright, we can celebrate.”

gojo fist bumps the air. and here you are again, giggling at him.

eventually, when he leads you out of the infirmary and to the teachers’ lounge. he digs through one of the fridges and hands you a bottle of what seems to be alcohol.

“i didn’t even know this was allowed here,” you mumble, settling down on what of the high chairs near the counter. you wiggle in your seat to get comfortable as gojo takes the one next to you.

you offer it to him but he shakes his head, nose scrunching up a little. “i don’t drink.”

“wasn’t this your idea?” you blink. “suit yourself, more for me.” you shrug and open the bottle to pour yourself a glass. and another. and another. and then another.

(you don’t know what particularly drives you to keep drinking as you talk with him, but perhaps it’s the way you know that satoru’s eyes are lingering just underneath the blindfold. you can practically feel his stare.)

and gojo watches you gradually drink yourself to being mildly drunk.

“okay, no more for you,” he laughs as he takes the bottle away from you and holding it above your head when you try to reach for it.

“awh, man.” you pout and rest your head on your arms on the table, looking at him the best you can. “you meanie. you got me drunk on purpose. give it back.”

he snickers, amused and endeared by your drunk antics as he pushes the bottle aside. “sorry. you’ll thank me later, pretty.”

pretty. he’s never called you that before. you wanna hear him say it again. (amongst some other things.)

“pretty.. you’re pretty. i bet your eyes are pretty too,” you say into your sleeve, your other hand reaching out to his blindfold, “everyone else says they’re v’ry pretty.”

he leans back to avoid your hand, heart pounding in his chest a little too loud for his liking. he wonders if you can hear it. “sure. i guess they are,” he says softly with a small chuckle.

“i wonder who my soulmate is,” you then mumble out. maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s your incoherent slurring, but you sound.. sad.

before he can dwell on it, you’re slurring out another question that has come to your head.

“d’you have a soulmate?”

satoru’s eyes widen under the blindfold. he knows that you’re drunk. that you’re just saying things. but your hazy eyes stare up at him with a glint that makes his heart lurch.

and you won’t remember a thing in the morning, right?

before he can answer, you’re out like a light.

you wake up in the morning with a splitting headache.

with a groan, you sit up in what seems to be a bed that seems way to be to be your own, legs kicking the sheets that had been draped over you in alarm.

you have no idea where you are, but there’s a glass of water along with some painkillers on the nightstand beside you, which you down gratefully. there’s also the smell of food coming from outside the room.

you can piece two and two together that you’re probably in the home of someone you know.. your brain racks for information of what had happened last night but it’s only causing it to ache even more.

gojo.

you shake your head and make your way to what seems to be the bathroom to tidy yourself up. you notice that your’re still clad in your clothes of last night, so gojo had done the courtesy of tucking you in.

after you’re done, you take a deep breath and head outside.

you navigate your way down the hallway and follow the smell of food. as you turn the corner, you catch the sight of satoru in the kitchen. not that you doubted that the greatest sorcerer could cook, but for some reason, he looks so domestic.

he’s simply wearing sweats and a loose fitting shirt, your back turned to you as he tends to the stove, but the mere sight of it has your heart leaping into your throat. you have a feeling that it’s a sight meant for you, for you to see.

you don’t no how long you stand there, but suddenly a laugh rings through the kitchen from satoru teasingly. “take a picture, sweetheart, it’ll last longer.”

you yelp, embarrassed. (sweetheart? you try not to think about it, but you hate the way it makes your heart leap again. he’s just.. messing with you.) “erm.. sorry. good morning, gojo.” you approach the kitchen and take a seat at the counter.

when he finally turns to you, he’s not wearing his usual black blindfold, but instead what seems to be white bandages. you haven’t seen it on him before, but you don’t comment on it though.

he says good morning back before serving you some food, which you thank him for gratefully. “thank you for the painkillers too. i didn’t do anything embarrassing last night, did i?” you inquire, half jokingly.

you try to remember what had happened last night, but your memories are still a bit hazy. all you can recall is talking with him about things and staring at him. (you’re not going to tell him that though.)

“nah,” he waves off, “just told me your darkest secrets, s'all.”

you straighten up. “what?”

“kidding, kidding!” he snickers.

you groan and drag your plate to you. “i didn’t know you could cook.”

satoru looks mildly offended, emitting a dramatic gasp as he waves the spatula at you in a petulant manner. “hey now, i’m no expert. but i can at least make some sort of breakfast.”

(he totally did not look up a tutorial on how to cook for you. definitely not. but he’s a natural at everything, so at least his naturally gifted skill is in his favor this time.)

“thank you, gojo.” a smile tugs at the edges of your mouth.

“satoru.”

“what?”

“c’mon, you’re literally eating breakfast in my kitchen,” he laughs, sliding a mug of coffee (probably with extra cream and sugar because it’s gojo) towards you across the counter. “satoru’s fine.”

you test the name on your tongue, paying little attention to the way it makes the man before you stiffen up as you grab the coffee. “satoru.. thanks, satoru.” you think you can get used to saying that.

(he does too.)

satoru turns away back to the stove. “you’re welcome.”

“hey satoru, what did you say what you wanted again? i’m thinking bubble tea but i dunno..”

he likes the way his name sounds from you.

“uh, satoru? satoru? helloo, earth to gojo satoru? satoru!”

oh.

fuck, he hadn’t realized he had spaced out. gojo lifts his head in a sudden motion, making a surprised noise. he smiles sheepishly. “what’s up?”

“you feeling alright, satoru?” you tilt your head.

keep saying his name.

“awhh, i’m feeling more than alright, sweetheart.” he shoots you a grin, liking the way your eyes reflect the café lights, giving it a warm hue. “i’ll have whatever you’re having.”

“you seem to be in a good mood lately,” megumi points out. ijichi, in the front see, looks at the two of them through the rear view in silent agreement.

(a lot of people have noticed actually.)

gojo pauses, halfway through unwrapping the plastic of a popsicle. it’s the same one he used to consume during his youth, but his taste really hasn’t changed after all this time. “oh?”

the teenager eyes him narrowly. “yeah.”

gojo merely hums and pops the icy treat into his mouth.

“heh, i guess i am.”

you can hear gojo and shoko’s voices coming from the infirmary, causing you to smile absentmindedly. you didn’t think you’d be enjoying their company this much in the recent months—especially satoru’s.

(strangely, it feels so natural to be around him, you can’t help but wonder if he feels the same. you try to write it off as spending so much time together for a while now, but you can’t lie when you say he doesn’t make the stomach churn with butterflies.)

you turn the corner and announce your presence to the two with a smile and wave. you catch sight of them when they glance over to you, noticing something different.

shoko is wearing her usual white coat with a cigarette in hand, but she’s got her hair tied up in a rare bun to keep any strands from her face.

but that’s not what’s different as your gaze strays to the man next to her, the familiar frame of gojo catching you a bit off guard.

he’s wearing his glasses.

you’ve never seen him wear anything but his blindfold.

how does he look even more breathtaking than without it? you can’t see his eyes still, no—it’s a deep, deep shade of blue that still blocks his gaze from anyone else. but it’s a more casual look, seeing as his hair isn’t being help up and a few strands fall down and you can see his sharp facial features a bit more and-

and then he’s gone.

you audibly make a sound of confusion and hurt, because one moment he’s there and the next he’s no where to be seen. he had vanished without a single world.

he’s fucking avoiding you again; the realization of it makes your throat close up. after all you had been through with satoru.

“what the fuck was that?”

shoko stares at the space gojo had just been standing, just as lost as you.

there’s a distance between the two of you again. it’s painstakingly familiar to when you had first met gojo and he had kept himself strictly professional with you.

and you don’t know why.

it’s back to the cold shoulder from him; you’re seeing him less and less around campus, and those times where you did hang out off duty are practically a thing of the past now.

satoru is going to be the death of you one day, you’re sure of it.

and you and satoru aren’t even.. a thing.

then again, you’re not even sure what you are. you’re friends, yes, that’s much more than clear, but why does it feel so much more intimate than that despite the fact that the two of you have never even done anything?

however.. a part of you knows that you want more. more of those days lying in the grass with him, more of those mornings eating breakfast with him in his home, more of those afternoon café runs, more of everything with satoru.

is that why does it hurts so much now that he’s pushed you away again?

satoru is praying that you’re not in there with shoko as he approaches the infirmary a week later. she had called him over, and though he could’ve easily refused, he found himself obliging anyway.

“hey, what was that the other day?”

shoko is blunt and straight to the point once he arrived, striking him with a petulant and expectant gaze with her tired eyes.

gojo blinks innocently, tilting his head at shoko. “what was what?”

shoko then rolls her eyes. “you know what i’m talking about. what was that. you just- walked out like they we’re going to kill you or something.”

that’s the thing. you just might.

the white-haired man frowns and continues to feign innocence. he’s starting to wonder why he bothered coming here. “i have no idea what you’re talking about.”

his avoidance causes shoko to frown as well and she crosses her arms. “you’re doing the same thing that you did with them when they first joined here.”

when he doesn’t say anything, she continues, “avoiding them, pushing them away. i thought you didn’t have any problems with them. at this point, make up your mind because you’re just toying with their feelings and it’s not going to-”

“we’re soulmates,” satoru blurts out.

shoko is cut off, staring at him all wide-eyed for once. “you’re kidding.”

satoru falters. “i’m not. s’why i always wear the blindfold. and that’s why i.. i ran that night. just my glasses was too risky.”

what if he had angled his head the wrong way, what if you saw his eyes, what if you finally realized that you were fated to be together at the whims of the universe? he couldn’t do that to you.

“how long have you-”

“since we first met. i.. i could see it because of six eyes,” he explains, running a hand through his hair. “i don’t know why. i didn’t think i could have another one after-”

the two fall quiet at the mention of suguru, a heavy feeling hanging in the air between them.

“what are you going to do?” shoko asks quietly.

satoru sounds wrecked. “..i don’t know.”

“well.” shoko smushes her cigarette against the surface of the metal table. “you better do something before it’s too late.”

unfortunately, the higher ups have also noticed.

(the push and pull that has been going on between the pride of the gojo clan and a random transferred sorcerer from kyoto. nothing goes unseen by their tight hold on jujutsu society.)

and you are none the wiser when you’re an assigned a mission late so at night, at a secluded edge of tokyo. you would’ve questioned it, but after looking over the details, it seems easy enough since it was a low level curse.

ijichi drops you off near the location and bids you luck. the night is dark, with the shape of the moon only peaking out every now and then due to the clouds to offer minimum light, and then the veil is coming up.

it’s fine though, as you start walking to get this over with. the faster, the better.

what the fuck? the cursed energy here is much stronger than you had anticipated, almost as if it’s suffocating. now uneasy, you continue your search with more caution.

a low growl sounds from somewhere behind you, and you turn on heel to brace yourself in case the curse decides to catch you off guard with an unexpected attack.

your heart drops.

it’s a grade one curse.

something’s not right.

satoru can feel it. he can sense it in the air. something is lingering, a presence that makes even him feel uneasy, and he doesn’t know why. nothing makes him feel uneasy. but it’s a gut feeling, it’s the bond tugging and tugging and-

you.

something’s not right.

and then gojo is teleporting and finding ijichi in record time, giving the poor man a scare. gojo’s voice is on edge and leaves no room for argument as he demands the assistant director where he had driven you minutes prior. the veil still stands, undisturbed.

fuck, fuck, fuck- shoko was right. he should’ve done something before it was too late, because now it might actually be too late as he steps through the veil.

it’s too quiet for his liking, but the lingering silence only lasts for a few heartbeats before he hears you scream.

you’re going to die.

you don’t want to think that, but you’re definitely not going to make it out of this unscathed as you dodge the curse’s scarily accurate attacks, as if it knows where you’re going to move and land.

the curse screeches out something ugly, and you’re too stunned to react in time as one of its malformed limbs swings down with a speed that you can’t comprehend.

your throat cries for help even as the air out of your lungs, but then there’s the sudden brilliant flash of red that blinds your vision.

satoru?

you can’t see and your body aches everywhere while the sounds of the curse fade out. it’s replaced by the sound of someone speaking frantically. it is satoru as he crouches down at you, hands coming to lift you up gently. his infinity is off. “hey, hey it’s me,” he voices, “it’s me, sweetheart.”

satoru, it’s satoru. satoru is here.

you emit a sigh of relief, cloudy vision gradually focusing. you try and focus it on satoru, tracing over his features repeatedly, trying to engrave it into your memory.

“shit. those damn higher ups,” gojo grits his teeth into an angered scowl. the higher ups? were they behind this? you don’t know, but you know that you’ve ever seen him this furious before. “i am going to rip those old geezers apart limb from li-”

“satoru, we need to head back.”

he looks dazed, tufts of snowy hair now hanging a bit loosely over his blindfold compared to when it’s normally pushed upright. he even sounds dazed, the great gojo satoru, when he says, “yeah. yeah, okay.”

he’s holding on to you tight and suddenly everything seems to get blurry for less than a second before you blink. you realize he’s teleported you both not to the school, not to shoko’s infirmary, but to his penthouse.

the interior is at least familiar: white walls, a little messy, a couple of decorations, and—

“my place,” he clarifies, as if he had read your thoughts. he sets you down on his couch, uncaring if you’re staining the color of the cushions. but he doesn’t let go, hands still cradling your form so tight that you don’t know if you’re still shaking or that he is.

“are you okay?” you utter out weakly and scan him for any injuries while clutching at his arms, which is ridiculous because he’s untouchable. but you’re not in the right mind right now, and you have a feeling he isn’t either.

“i should be the one asking you that,” he retorts, and you also have the feeling he’s doing the same thing with you with the help of his six eyes.

“i’m alright,” you try to reassure him with a small shake of your head. it only aids you in wincing, but the pain is the last thing on your mind. especially with him here. “it’s fine.”

“it’s not fine,” he argues, his hold tightening even more on you, if that was even possible. is that a slight tremor in his voice? “you almost died.”

“and why do you care?” it’s not a malicious question from you. it’s more of confusion, of genuine. after all you’ve been through with satoru, you’re not sure where he stands. what he feels.

he seems startled by your question, like he can’t believe you could ask such a thing. “of course i care! why-”

you clench your fists in your lap, eyes tracing over his face repeatedly. “i don’t know what you want anymore from me, satoru! you’re not- you’re not telling me the truth.”

“i didn’t want to hurt you,” he tells you hoarsely. god, you wish you could see what he’s thinking. what’s going on in that head of his.

“you did hurt me.”

gojo trembles. “i know.”

“you seem to know a lot of things.” your voice sounds tired. your hand goes to rest on his chest, where you can faintly feel his heartbeat underneath. (oh, to be the only one who can touch gojo satoru like this.) “what are you hiding from me?”

“i can’t hide anything from you.” he draws a slow intake of breath. he then whispers,

“but how am i supposed to tell you that we’re soulmates?”

your heart skips a beat.

gojo satoru is your soulmate?

astonished, you now stare at him with wide eyes. “why- why didn’t you tell me??” you ask, voice cracking. to think, all this time, your soulmate had been right there, right beside you, right in front of you.

then it all clicks. his off-standish behavior, his reluctant interactions, his avoidance. his blindfold. he didn’t want you to see his eyes.

he’s known all this time somehow—and oh, oh. his six eyes. your lips part in realization as you stare hard, as if you could see his damned eyes beneath the cloth that hides you from the truth.

“i thought that if you knew that we were soulmates, you’d-” satoru shakes his head. “something always happens to the people i love.” he hesitates, “you still have a chance. you can find someone else.”

“what if i don’t want someone else??” you say out softly in protest, gripping the lapels of his uniform.

gojo shakes his head again. despite this, he doesn’t let you go. like he can’t, like he doesn’t want to. “we’re not bonded yet,” he says your name shakily, “please.”

still gripping the collar of his uniform, you tug him closer to you desperately. it’s so clear, so obvious that he wanted this.

“satoru, have you thought about what i wanted?” you breathe out, feeling tears well up in your eyes, “that maybe, there’s a chance that i want to take the risk? that i want to be bonded to you?”

your eyes flicker down to his lips momentarily. “that i want you too?”

satoru’s breath stutters.

“you haven’t seen my eyes.”

you cup satoru’s face in your hands, swiping your thumb under the space where his eye is hidden with a fierce tenderness that makes him listen.

“satoru, i didn’t need to see your eyes to fall in love with you.”

your confession has him stilling.

(all the times he had stiffened up in your presence, he had been falling for you, bit by bit. you know that now.)

his hand comes to cover yours, the one that’s still resting on his cheek, fingers smoothing over your knuckles. and then his hand continues to go up, up, up, and-

he tugs the blindfold up and over his head, revealing his eyes to you at last.

his eyes are gorgeous, a blue that seems to spill into your vision and take over your senses. a blue that you can get lost in, a blue that reminds you of the summer sky, a blue that tethers your soul to his, and you both can feel it.

the bond between you is so electrifying that you nearly forget how to breathe.

and then satoru is surging forward, closer, even closer, until your breath is his and you forget how to breathe for a whole different reason entirely.

he’s kissing you.

he kisses you like you might disappear right before him, his head angling into yours to capture your lips with a force that makes your world spin.

and you return it tenfold, one hand still cradling his face while the other sneaks to dig its fingers into his undercut, and he’s making a noise into your mouth with fervor.

you’re all too aware of his heat against you, the frantic touches he’s now giving into as he draws you closer. the surface of the sofa dissipates into nothingness and then-

suddenly he’s teleporting you both again—or maybe he’s kissing you dizzy. but you realize you’re now in space that’s not overly familiar with you, but you can tell it’s most likely his bedroom based off of the feel of the lush satin sheets underneath you.

less than an hour ago you were fighting for your life, and now you’re fighting for your life on gojo satoru’s bed.

“satoru, s’toru, wait-” you’re gasping for air, for something as he engulfs you with his presence. he’s everywhere all at once, and it feels as if the bond is intensifying everything he’s doing to you.

“nuh uh. think we’ve both waited long enough for this, baby,” he gasps against your lips, like it’s impossible to be separated from you again, “don’t know how much i wanted this, wanted you. drove me crazy.”

his words makes your head all fuzzy. you don’t even know if it’s the bond anymore, or just the way he makes you feel. maybe even both. your lungs feeling like they’re burning, but even then, you manage to get out,

“you have me, ‘toru, you have me.”

“yeah?” when he pulls back, it’s not even a few inches, his nose brushing against yours. his alluring eyes glimmer in the darkness of the room, and you’re almost so mad that you feel like kissing him again because he’s kept them from you for so long.

your hands hook over his neck again. when your fingers run over his undercut again, you can actually feel him shiver, causing you to giggle in delight. “yeah, ‘toru.”

“yeah, pretty,” he sighs out and he’s losing himself in everything that is you once more so willingly. your eyes, your very being, compels him to give you everything, so he does. “y’have me too. all of me.”

his confession rings through your ears before he’s kissing you again, kissing you breathless. it’s a blur on what happens next; feverish touches and passionate symphonies, but one thing’s for sure,

the magnetic glow of his eyes in the dark of that night is something that you’ll never forget.

as your stir amongst the tousled bedsheets, you can feel the warmth of a certain someone creeping over you, like a cozy cat searching for cuddles.

your eyes peer open to meet the blurry sight of the ceiling, along with the sight of messy white hair tickling your chin.

“good morning to you, sweetheart,” a voice says cheekily, followed by cascading kisses down your jawline, prompting you to giggle softly.

you watch sunlight spill over into the bedroom, engulfing the man above you in an angelic glow as he finally pulls back to look down at you.

so maybe you didn’t fall in love at first sight with gojo satoru.

that’s okay.

cause as you stare up into your soulmate’s pretty ceruleans in the morning light, you think you can fall in love with him like this a little more.

BONUS!

“you owe me.”

nanami drags a hand over his face as he digs into his pocket for his wallet. “this is the first and last time i make a bet with you,” he grumbles.

shoko merely smirks. “you have such little faith in gojo.”

“bet or not, can we go back to before they were together?” nanami looks like he’s close to investing in a pair of one of gojo’s glasses that can block any normal person’s vision.

satoru is clinging onto you like a sloth.

“babyyyyy,” your boyfriend whines, resting his chin on your shoulder with his arms wrapped around your torso. you can’t help but giggle, endeared by his clinginess. (he had claimed it was to make up for the way he had acted in the past and for lost time.)

he’s like another part of you now. not that you mind. being his soulmate is everything and more—from the tender touches to the passionate ones, to the talks of everything: to the mundane to the serious. after all, your soul is his, and his soul is yours.

(and then his hands are sneaking off to places they shouldn’t be.)

“‘toru, not here!”

nanami heaves out another sigh as his hand comes to pinch the bridge of his nose. “is it too late to quit being a sorcerer again?”

TAGLIST : @spn-obession , @deepestartisanhumanoidshark , @scarasw1f3 , @kalopsia-flaneur , @90s-belladonna , @peachipeachy , @chrystinaamanda , @kalulakunundrum , @hunnyheavenn , @dekusdante , @dontmindmelove , @cherries-lostgirls , @rv19 , @etherealstarlightqueen

+ a/n: this fic ended up being way no longer than i expected omg.. but thanks to all who asked to be on the taglist !! some didnt work so im sorry about that </3

like this fic? feel free to go ahead and check out my other works here! -> masterlist

[luveline]

Hii! I'm in love with your Hotch adult daughter fics. Could we get one where she is getting bullied in college or where she works and then Hotch finds out somehow and helps her? Please please :)

thanks so much for requesting! fem, 1.2k

He decides to surprise you. He’s at risk of embarrassing himself greatly, and he’s okay with that risk. 

Hotch stands outside of the George Washington University and winces in the hot weather. The sun beats down on the back of his neck. He’s more aware of how little sun protection he uses as the time stretches on, waiting for you, but he doesn’t mind it. He’s worn full suits in the Nevada desert. 

You emerge from the main building where your last class for the day takes place. He dropped you off here last week, got to watch you walk in and say hi to the custodian. It was a nice insight of who you are, someone he’s proud to be the father of though he had little hand in what you’ve become. 

Behind you are two female classmates. 

Hotch pauses under the tree he’d taken refuge by. 

He can’t hear what they’re saying, but he can see the rigidity of your shoulders, your hackles rising as they talk. The brunette gets a nasty look on her face, to which you respond, and the blonde’s volume begins to rise. 

The brunette looks like she might reach for you. “Don’t touch me,” you warn. 

Hotch steps in. 

“Hey, excuse me,” he says, loudly and firmly, the Unit Chief tone in play. He’s gotten very good at raising his voice without shouting. “What’s going on here?”

The two women who were talking to you falter, but the brunette stays fiery. “We’re just talking.” 

“About what?” 

“It’s none of your business.” 

“If you’re going to lay your hands on her, it becomes my business,” he says. 

There’s a guilt to the blonde’s expression that proves you’d been thinking correctly and that she was going to touch you, even if it were only to grab your wrist, but she bristles and denies. “We weren’t.” 

“Then you have no reason to stay.” 

You frown deeply. “No, they can finish. Clearly they think it’s important–”

“But do you think it’s important?” Hotch asks you. 

Your frown, your anger beginning to ebb. You take a breath. “I suppose not.” 

Hotch levels the women with a look. Just a look, not interrogative or heated, but prompting —it’s the kind of look he gives people when he wants them to realise they’ve missed their cue to leave. 

“See you next week, then,” the brunette says, a threat he abhors. 

“I’m sure she will,” he says, hoping anything unsaid is felt. He has no idea who they are or what you’ve apparently done to make them angry, but you won’t be intimidated. 

“Do I need to talk with Dean Langley?” he asks, turning to you as the women walk out of hearing range. 

“Aaron.” You look at him, look like him, not in appearance but the pinch to your brow as you rub the bridge of your nose. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that.” 

“What?” 

“They do it to me every time I’m here.” 

“They do?” 

You sound like it’s a chore. “They think I’m sleeping with our professor.” 

“Why would they think that?” 

“Because ever since I stopped working, my grades are much better, n’ they think I cheated my way there.” 

Oh, of course. Hotch tries to do something good by you —he’s started giving you a little chunk of money every week so you don’t have to work anymore, nothing obsequious but enough to cover everything you need, rent and food and transportation, clothes, textbooks, and he made it clear you can ask for more— and it makes things worse for you instead. Still, “Your grades are improving?” 

“I’m doing pretty well,” you confess shyly. 

He holds your shoulder. “I’m sorry they’re jealous, and I’m sorry they’re inventing a narrative to cope. I really can speak with Dean Langley if you need me to.” 

You smile and let yourself lean into his touch. “Inventing a narrative to cope,” you repeat. “That’s a good one. I’ll use that one.” 

You have more fight in you, it seems. “If it gets too much, just let me know. You don’t have to entertain their delusion.” 

“I’ll use that one, too.” 

He laughs, hand sliding behind your back to hug you from the side, his nose briefly pressing to your temple before he gives you space again. “I was hoping I’d catch you on your way out, are you busy? Let me take you to dinner, celebrate your performance.” 

“You realise I wouldn’t have improved without your help?” you ask. 

“I think any parent in my position should provide for their kid,” he says easily. “It’s not help. Not everyone can support their children through college, but I can, and I wish I had been from the start.” 

“You don’t owe me anything,” you say. 

He nudges you into a walk toward his car. “I owe you more than you realise.” 

He takes you to an early dinner, and celebrates your improving grades with the dessert of your choosing. Conversation with you can sometimes feel strange. It’s hard to think you were a kid once and he’d never met you, but then he realises how young twenty two really is, how you’re still willing, longing for him to be a father to you. You’re smug that he’d go to the dean to for you. You like that he stepped in. And you love being doted on, being encouraged. He can see that easily. 

“When can I come back to see Jack?” you ask eventually. 

He wishes he could say whenever you like, but he has a hard time following Haley’s movements. “I’ll ask. Soon, I promise.”

“He took great care of me.” 

The last time you’d stayed over, Jack acted like you were the best thing since sliced bread (which you are, in Hotch’s eyes). 

“You know, he had a little trouble with bullies last year.” 

“They aren’t bullies,” you say, taking a bashful bite of your ice cream. 

“No, of course not. But he’ll understand, if you want to tell him about it.”

“Aaron, he’s five.” 

“He’s six,” he corrects. 

“Oh, sorry. But still, I don’t think Jack wants to deal with that. I couldn’t unload on him, he’s my… you know, he’s my little brother.” 

“Then tell me about it, at least.” 

“You saw the most of it.” 

He sighs. Wishes you’d call him dad, understands why you don’t, and can’t think of what to do. It was easier when Jack had trouble, because little kids bully each other almost on accident. They don’t know what they’re doing is wrong, having learned the behaviour from their parents. It’s almost never personal. 

Your situation is not the same. 

“I’ll talk to the dean,” he suggests again. 

“Don’t bother. It’s alright. And if it gets worse, I’ll tell you.” 

He smiles, reaching over plates to squeeze your hand briefly. “Thank you.” 

You look down at your food. Some shyness to you still at being cared about. “Thank you,” you mumble. 

[permanentlyfemale]

⚠️ Feminization, Misgendering, Forced detrans kink ahead! ⚠️

Today is a scary day for you. As a trans man, finding the right therapist is far more difficult than it is for most people, especially as you weren’t looking for just a new therapist today. You also need someone to write you a top surgery letter. Although you’ve only been on T for 2 months, barely enough to notice anything besides an increased libido and clit growth, your breasts are by far your biggest source of dysphoria. You often wear two binders when you’re going anywhere, and even then, a sizable bump is visible on your chest. You’re hoping they may become easier to bind with hormones, but you already know that you’ll need surgery regardless.

“Milo Brown?” A masculine voice calls your name from across the room. Glancing up, you see a very attractive man, much taller than you, looking to be in good shape under his professional attire, but not overly muscular. His dark shoulder-length wavy hair and stubble complement his gentle, masculine face and warm brown eyes.

Surprised by the man’s beauty, you stumble on your words as you rise from your seat. “I- uh- I’m here.”

“Great! Let’s get back to my office.” He smiles warmly and gestures for you to follow him out of the waiting room and down a hallway, passing mostly empty offices on the way. This doesn’t seem too odd, as there was construction on the lower floor. Maybe some patients didn’t like the noise and cancelled? Or maybe you’re trying to distract yourself from thinking of the exceedingly attractive man that may soon be your therapist. You’ve considered yourself gay since coming out, but starting hormones has certainly made that attraction all the more apparent.

As he opens his office door, you’re surprised by how casual it is. There’s a long couch next to an armchair, with a clipboard set neatly on top. His desk is to the side, seemingly ignored while clients were present in favor of a more personal layout. Thinking of something to say as you sat on the couch, you spit out “I like your office.”

“Thank you Milo, I spent a lot of time thinking of the anatomy of the room and how to make my clients most at ease. I find this works best.” He smiles at you, his eyes gentle and enticing. “I’m Dr. Sterling, I specialize in support for LGBT and FTM clients. Nice to meet you! Tell me a but about yourself and what brings you here.”

“My name is Milo Brown, I’m 19 years old, and I just started testosterone. I’ve been out as trans for a while but finally got access to hormones and I’m hoping to get top surgery as well, but I need a letter for it. I also just need support with my dysphoria and depression.” You cross your arms over your large chest self-consciously.

“Well, that’s nothing I haven’t heard before. Can you tell me more about your dysphoria regarding your chest?”

Shifting uncomfortably in your chair, you hesitantly proceed. “Every day is awful! They’re the first thing I think about when I wake up and I go to sleep trying not to feel or think about them. They’re so big and heavy that I feel them whenever I move and it makes me so dysphoric. It’s also impossible to make myself flat, so I never pass. As a gay man, it’s so hard to find a man who would want a guy with a body like mine!”

“Oh, Milo, I think that’s very negative thinking. Plenty of men would find you attractive! I thought you were quite beautiful when I saw you myself.”

You’re surprised by his words! That sounded very flirtatious, but maybe he was just trying to boost your ego. Either way, it made the empty space between your legs tingle when he said it. You also didn’t know he was queer, but it definitely makes you more comfortable with him. “Well… that does make me feel better. I still don’t feel comfortable with my chest though.”

“Why don’t we try something? This is an exercise I’ve done with plenty of my transmasuline patients before, and it has always improved their lives and helped with dysphoria. While we do it, I can assess you for top surgery as well! How does that sound?” He smiled at you expectingly.

“Uhhh… yeah, that sounds good. What are we doing?”

“I’m just going to have you answer some questions about your body and dysphoria. This may get uncomfortable, but it’s all part of this process. I’m sure you can trust me, right?”

“Of course!” You answer instinctively.

“Right. First, I want you to take off your shirt and binder.” He instructs casually.

“What!? I thought we were just answering questions. Is that necessary?” You’re again surprised, he wasn’t a surgeon and you had never shown anyone your chest before. You didn’t want to look at it yourself, much less this beautiful man you’re expecting to see regularly!

“I understand this is surprising and uncomfortable, but I want to understand your perspective on your body, as well as assess the size and density for surgery. I need to know this for the letter, and I understand this is very important to you. I’m sorry for the discomfort, Milo.” He looked at you apologetically, his brown eyes sparkling, staring in to your soul and shooting down between your legs.

“I… okay.” What he was saying did make sense, and you would do most anything for this surgery. Resolving to just get this over with, you take off your oversized hoodie and throw it on the couch next to you. Grabbing both binders at once, you exert a herculean force squeezing yourself out, panting as your huge breasts fly out. You blush with embarrassment as a loud clap can be heard from them swinging together.

Dr. Sterling calmly walks closer to you. “Do you know your cup size?”

“Uh… no, sorry.”

“That’s alright, we can measure now.” He smiles warmly and pulls out some measuring tape. Without hesitation, he walks up to you and wraps it around your chest! He first measures your underbust before moving to measure your bust. His hands rest on your breasts as he does so. “Alright… looks like you have J cups.” His hand brushes your nipple as he backs away.

“Mmph!” Involuntarily, you let out a short, feminine moan. Both the dysphoria of knowing your overwhelming cup size and your accidental vocalization leave you embarrassed and blushing harder than ever.

“It doesn’t seem like you’ve experienced any vocal changes from testosterone.” He observes.

“Umm… not yet, no.”

“It also seems like you have quite sensitive nipples?”

“I guess…”

“Well, have you ever considered embracing your breasts?”

“Huh?” You were confused. They made you sad and dysphoric, how could you ever embrace them? He did say whatever he was doing worked for all of his other transmasc patients, but this seemed absurd.

“Your breast are way too big to bind properly. I’ve seen you wearing two binders in here, and that is not healthy. As your therapist, I can’t encourage you to damage your body in such a way, and especially without two binders, you wouldn’t be able to hide them at all anyways. And why go through the trouble of binding if everyone can tell? It might do you some good to just accept your body as it is. It’s not like whether you bind now will affect surgery.”

Unfortunately, everything he was saying made perfect sense. Even when binding, it was very obvious you had breasts. Why go through all the trouble, especially if it was hurting your body? You were dysphoric either way, might as well be more comfortable physically. “I guess… I guess you’re right.”

“Yes… unfortunately it’s also not very possible hormones could reduce them to a bindable size either.”

This devastated you. Even later on testosterone, you would have obvious breasts? How could you expect anyone to take you seriously as a man? You had hoped to begin passing in public soon, and finally begin living comfortably, but you weren’t so sure now. Would it even be safe to live as a non-passing trans man? Why were you going through so much for hormones if there was no hope of passing before surgery anyways? Maybe you should just wait until then for hormones- no one will gender you right as you are now. “Maybe… maybe I should pause testosterone until surgery then.”

“Yes, I can see why. That might be the safest option for you.” He nodded solemnly. “We can practice some exercises to reduce dysphoria until then, if you’d like.” His frown shifted in to a comforting smile.

Still upset, you nodded.

He moved closer and, before you could react, placed one hand on each perky, round breast, grabbing you by the boobs.

Surprised, you squeaked.

“This is just to get you used to your breasts. It often helps most when someone else does it, so you’re more comfortable with other people seeing them.” He gently squeezed and pulled, running his fingers along your supple breasts, warm palms pressing your hard nipples.

“Mmmmmm-! Oooh!” You let out a series of feminine wails as the doctor palms at your breasts. They were so sensitive and they felt so heavy- so wrong on your body- and yet they sent waves of pleasure throughout your curvy figure.

“Are you still going to go by Milo? I mean, you’re stopping T until surgery because you won’t be able to pass. It would be weird to only keep the name and pronouns, especially for strangers.” His hands shifted to thumb at your nipples.

Your thoughts were flooded with waves of pleasure shooting from your tits. The importance of this decision didn’t fully register, but what he was saying made sense to you. “You’re right.”

“Good girl.”

“Huhh…”

“People are going to refer to you by what you look like. You know you don’t pass. This is just exposure training, okay?”

“Okay…” You mindlessly agree as he moves his head close to your breast.

“See? You are a good girl.” He starts to suck on your nipple, causing you to throw your head back and wail in pleasure. You don’t know when his own clothes came off, but he’s getting on top of you and pulling your pants off, leaving you in just your boxers with his much larger biologically male body pinning you down, suddenly kissing your lips.

“What… what are you doing now, d-doctor…” he cuts you off as you pant your words out.

“The easiest way to adapt to and accept being seen as a woman is to have sex with a straight man, one who can use you as only male can use female. You need this, Amelia. It’s okay.”

Hearing your deadname makes you cringe with dysphoria. You’ve always felt an aversion towards it, despising the femininity it signaled. You struggle to reconcile your attraction to the doctor and trust in his methods to your current panic. This all felt good and sounded logical but it’s happening too fast to react, and these are all such big decisions, and suddenly he’s pulling your boxers off.

“Your pussy is so perfect. You make such a sexy woman.” He rubs the length of his cock along your clit and hole. The distinction between your pathetic nub and his masculine length is obvious. He gropes your massive jiggling breasts, squeezing them together and lowering his head to kiss and suck your nipples as his dick prods your entrance.

“Doctor Sterling…” You moan his name as his assault on your tits grows heavier. He sloppily makes out with your huge boobs, enjoying every second he can get drowning in your massive breasts.

He momentarily pulls his mouth from your tits. “Yes… fuck, Amelia!” He rams his hard cock all the way inside you, hitting your cervix as he moans your deadname, resuming his assault on your massive wobbling boobs all the while.

You scream and wail, unsure if it’s in pleasure or some mix of dysphoria and grief for your lost ambitions. Whatever male identity you insisted on was currently obstructed by your massive tits and the straight man enjoying them as he pounded in to your soft, tight vagina. Anyone who saw you two would know immediately that this was heterosexual sex- they would never stop to consider you could be anything but a curvy woman being held down and fucked by a handsome man. Suddenly, the doctor’s thrusts sped up. You forgot condoms, and you’re barely on T!

Right as you open your mouth, he interrupts. “I’m gonna cum, Amelia! I’m cumming inside you!” He holds himself against your cervix, comforting you as you begin to scream. “Shhh, good girl, it’s okay.”

You feel his hot cum flood in to your unprotected pussy, tears falling from your eyes. Feeling the sticky cum start to leak out, you manage to speak. “Do… do you have a towel?”

“Uhhh… here!” He grabs your binders and rips them both, turning them in to makeshift towels as he pulls out, along with a flood of cum.

You know you said you wouldn’t bind anymore, but having the option taken away made everything all the more real. You know it was for the best tho. He specializes in helping trans men, and he said this always works. You just have to trust him! As time runs out, you don’t even realize you forgot to finish your top surgery letter.

Still… you couldn’t wait to book your next session.

[latin5mamii]

hate you

warnings: smut, +18 minors dni, cocky Jude alert!! Long chapter😚

summary: You hate him, right?Or at least you thought so…

genre: Enemies to lovers

author's note: Thank you all so much for the love on the first chapter! I’m so grateful for your support. I’ve been taking a short break to improve my writing, especially since English isn’t my first language, and i didn’t expect so much support! I’ll be back with being more active on writing soon, but I’m focusing on making each story better. Thanks for being patient and for all your love!🤍

You didn’t even know why you actually accepted this ‘date.’

Right now, in front of your bathroom mirror, you literally want to die.

You agreed to the date to do what? Prove him wrong? Show him you’re unaffected by his charm?

“Pride can get you killed” God, they were so right for this.

You pace back and forth, scowling at your reflection. You don’t want to give Jude the satisfaction of thinking he got under your skin. But here you are, taking extra time to look perfect, as if you’re about to meet someone who actually matters. You feel stupid for caring this much.

With a groan, you finally decide on an outfit. Casual enough to say “this means nothing,” but still flattering enough to make him choke on that smug smirk of his. You’re definitely not doing this for him… just a reminder to yourself that you’ve got it like that,right?

Now, as you stand in front of his door, you can’t shake the nerves. It’s just the usual banter, you tell yourself. It’s not a real date. Besides, the setting doesn’t matter,he’s still the same infuriating guy you can’t stand.

The door swings open, and there he is, leaning casually against the doorframe like he’s been waiting for this moment his whole life. He’s in a simple black tee and jeans, looking annoyingly relaxed and somehow even more attractive. You’re already regretting the butterflies in your stomach.

“Right on time,” he says with a smirk, stepping aside to let you in.

You roll your eyes, determined to stay in control. “I’m punctual. You should try it sometime.”

He chuckles, leading you into the living room. It’s a sleek, modern space, but still cozy. A bottle of red wine is already open on the table, two glasses waiting. You glance around, trying to keep your mind off the fact that this feels oddly intimate.

“Wine okay with you?” he asks, pouring the glasses.

“Depends. Are you planning on getting me drunk to make this bearable?” you shoot back, taking the glass he hands you.

Jude raises an eyebrow, amusement in his eyes. "Of course not," he says, his voice dripping with mock seriousness. "Though, if I did, at least then you might admit you actually enjoy my company."

You scoff, taking a sip of the wine. It's smooth and surprisingly good. "Never."

“You never give up, huh?” He smiles at you and you feel your cheeks literally burn. And despite your best efforts, a smile tugs at the corner of your lips. 

“There it is,” Jude says, a slow grin spreading across his face.

“There what is?” you ask, taking another sip to hide the warmth creeping up your cheeks.

“That smile. You spend so much time pretending to hate everything, I was starting to think you forgot how to have fun.”

“I know how to have fun,” you retort, your tone defensive. “Just not with you.”

Jude chuckles, settling into the couch beside you, close enough that you can feel the heat of his body, but not so close that it feels like an invasion of space. 

He swirls his glass of wine. “How long are we going to keep pretending that you hate me?”

You meet his gaze, refusing to back down. “I’m not pretending.”

“Prove it,” he challenges, his voice dropping to a lower, more intimate tone.

Your heart skips a beat, but you refuse to show any sign of weakness. “I don’t need to prove anything to you,” you say, your voice steady despite the rapid pounding of your heart.

Jude’s smirk returns, and he leans in slightly, just enough that you can feel his breath on your lips. “Scared you might like it?” he taunts, his words laced with that same infuriating confidence.

It’s a dangerous game you’re playing, but for some reason, you can’t bring yourself to back down.

“Please,” you scoff, though your voice wavers just slightly. “There’s nothing you could do that would make me like you.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” he murmurs, his eyes dropping to your lips for just a fraction of a second before meeting your gaze again. “I think you might be surprised.”

You want to argue, to tell him he’s full of himself, but the words stick in your throat. Because, deep down, you know there’s a part of you that’s drawn to him, no matter how much you try to deny it.

He leans back slightly, giving you just enough space to breathe, but the intensity in his gaze doesn’t waver. “Why did you agree to this date?” he asks, his tone more serious now, the playful edge gone.

“I didn’t know this was a date,” you reply, lifting your chin defiantly, trying to regain the upper hand.

Jude chuckles softly, shaking his head. “Come on, you’re smarter than that. You knew exactly what this was.”

You meet his gaze, trying to keep your voice steady. “Maybe I just wanted to see what all the fuss was about. I’ve heard enough stories about you.”

“Oh, yeah? And what did you hear?” he asks, leaning in again, his eyes locking onto yours.

“That you’re an overconfident player who can’t even drive himself to his own games and training,” you quip, a smirk tugging at your lips as you throw the dig his way.

Jude laughs, clearly amused rather than offended. “Fair enough. I guess I’ve got other things I’m better at.” He gives you a slow, suggestive smile, and you roll your eyes, even as your heart skips a beat.

“You’re so full of yourself,” you mutter, taking another sip of wine to distract yourself from how close he’s sitting, how warm his presence is next to you.

“Maybe,” he admits with a shrug, “but I think you like it.”

“Think again,” you shoot back, but the words come out weaker than you intended.

Jude shifts even closer, his knee brushing against yours, and you can feel the heat radiating off his skin. “I know you’re trying hard not to, but you can’t help it. I’m in your head, aren’t I?”

The tension between you is electric, the air so thick with it that it's almost hard to breathe. You try to find the words to throw back at him, to maintain your composure, but they catch in your throat as Jude moves even closer, his breath hot against your skin.

"Just as i thought" he murmurs, his voice so low it sends shivers down your spine.

Your heart pounds in your chest, every instinct telling you to push him away, to make some cutting remark and put him in his place. But you can't. Instead, your body betrays you, leaning in just slightly, drawn to him in a way you can’t quite control.

Jude notices, of course. He always does. His eyes darken, a slow smile spreading across his lips as he closes the gap between you. “See? I knew you wanted this.”

“Shut up,” you whisper, but the words lack conviction.

"Make me," he challenges, his voice a rough growl as he leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that steals the breath from your lungs.

His touch is fire, his hands roaming over your body with a hunger that mirrors your own, and you arch into him, unable to hold back the soft moan that escapes your lips as his mouth trails down your neck. It’s overwhelming, the intensity of it all, but you don’t want it to stop. You want more,more of him, more of this, whatever it is that’s driving you both to the edge.

Jude’s lips find yours again, and this time the kiss is slower, more deliberate, as if he’s savoring the taste of you, the feel of your body beneath his. 

“Tell me you don’t want this and I'll stop” he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough and full of need.

“Don’t stop,” you whisper back, the admission slipping out before you can stop it.

Jude doesn’t hesitate. He kisses you deeply, his hands gripping your hips as he pulls you into his lap, your legs straddling him as he deepens the kiss, his hands roaming over your back, your sides, as if he’s trying to memorize the feel of you. The sensation of his body against yours is overwhelming, the warmth of his skin searing through your clothes, and you can’t help the moan that escapes your lips as his hands find their way under your shirt, fingers brushing against your bare skin.

“You’re so fucking stubborn,” he mutters against your lips, his voice rough with desire.

“And you’re so fucking annoying,” you shoot back, but the bite in your words is softened by the way you’re clinging to him, your body betraying the emotions you’ve tried so hard to keep in check.

His response is a low, satisfied growl as he flips you over onto the couch, his body hovering over yours. The weight of him pressing you into the cushions is intoxicating, and for a moment, all you can do is stare up at him, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you try to catch your breath.

"Say you hate me again," Jude dares, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers the challenge. "I want to hear it."

You know he’s playing with you, pushing you to admit the truth you’ve been denying for so long. But instead of pushing him away, you pull him closer, your hands gripping his shirt as you bring his lips back to yours in a fierce, hungry kiss. 

"Fuck you," you murmur against his lips, but there's no venom in your words. It's almost affectionate, a twisted way of admitting that you've lost this battle, at least for now.

Jude grins against your mouth, his hands sliding under your shirt, fingers tracing over your heated skin. "I was hoping you'd say that," he whispers, his voice thick with desire.

His hands slipping under your shirt, pushing it up and over your head. He leans back just enough to take you in, his eyes dark and hungry as they roam over your body. “You don’t hate me. You’ve never hated me.”

“Shut up,” you repeat, but the words are weaker now, barely a whisper as he kisses a trail down your neck, his hands making quick work of the rest of your clothes.His teeth grazing your skin as he makes his way lower, and you can’t hold back the moan that escapes your lips when he finally reaches your chest. His hands are everywhere, caressing, teasing, driving you wild with need.

“You’re going to beg,” Jude whispers against your skin, his voice a low growl. “And I’m going to enjoy every second of it.”

You bite back a retort, determined to stay in control, but it’s getting harder with every touch, every kiss. When his mouth finally closes over your breast, his tongue flicking over your nipple, you arch into him, your hands tangling in his hair as you try to pull him closer.

He’s relentless, his hands and mouth driving you to the edge, but you’re not ready to give in. Not yet. You pull him up, capturing his lips in another searing kiss, your hands fumbling with his belt as you try to get it undone.

Jude grins against your lips, helping you get rid of his jeans, and when he’s finally free, you can feel just how hard he is, how much he wants you. It sends a thrill through you, knowing that you’re affecting him just as much as he’s affecting you.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him down against you, and he groans, his hips grinding against yours. The friction is almost too much, and you’re both breathing hard, your bodies pressed together.

But Jude doesn’t give you a chance to catch your breath. He moves down again, this time sliding his hand between your thighs, finding the wetness there with a satisfied growl.

“Already so wet for me,” he murmurs, his fingers sliding against your slick folds, teasing you, driving you crazy with need.

“Jude…” you moan, trying to keep control, but it’s slipping fast.

He chuckles darkly, his fingers dipping inside you, curling just right, and you can’t stop the way your hips move, seeking more of his touch.

“Say it,” he demands, his voice low and commanding. “Say you want me.”

“In your dreams,” you pant, even as your body betrays you, moving against his hand, desperate for more.

“Every fucking night ” Jude growls, his thumb finding your clit, pressing down just right, and you gasp, your back arching as pleasure courses through you.

He doesn’t give you a chance to recover, his mouth replacing his hand as he moves lower, his tongue sliding against your sensitive flesh, tasting you, driving you wild with every stroke.

“Jude, please” you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

Jude looks up at you, his eyes dark and full of desire. “There it is” he says, his voice rough with satisfaction. “I knew you’d beg.”

But he doesn’t stop. He continues his relentless assault on your senses, his tongue flicking over your clit, his fingers sliding inside you, bringing you closer and closer to the edge until you’re right there, teetering on the brink.

“Come for me,” he murmurs against your skin, and that’s all it takes. You cry out, your body convulsing as the pleasure crashes over you, leaving you trembling beneath him.

Jude’s lips curl into a wicked smile as he hovers above you, his body pressing against yours, the heat between you almost unbearable. He slides into you with a slow, deliberate thrust, making you feel every inch of him as he sinks deeper. The sensation sends a shiver through you, and you can’t hold back the moan that escapes your lips.

“Fuck,” Jude groans, his voice low and rough, “You feel so good. So fucking tight.”

You bite your lip, trying to stifle the sounds threatening to spill out, but it’s useless. He knows exactly what he’s doing, each thrust driving you wild, his words only adding fuel to the fire.

“You’re so wet for me,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. “You like this, don’t you? Being fucked by the guy you ‘hate’ so much?”

You dig your nails into his shoulders, clinging to him as he picks up the pace . “Shut up,” you gasp, but the way your body responds to him betrays your words. Every roll of his hips, every deep stroke has you melting beneath him.

“Oh, I don’t think you really want that,” Jude taunts, his voice dripping with confidence. He pulls back slightly, just enough to leave you wanting, teasing you.

“Tell me how much you want it. How much you want me.”

“Jude…” you moan, the sound more of a plea than you intended.

His eyes darken with desire, and he pushes back in, harder this time, his pace relentless as he drives into you. “Say it,” he demands, his voice rough with need. “Tell me you need me.”

You’re on the edge, teetering between holding on to your pride and giving in to the overwhelming pleasure he’s giving you. His hand slides down your body, fingers finding your clit, rubbing it in tight, skilled circles that have you seeing stars.

“Fuck, Jude,” you cry out, your body arching into him, your resistance crumbling. “I need you. I need you so fucking bad.”

“I knew this from the beginning” he growls, his lips crashing down on yours in a fierce, possessive kiss. He pounds into you, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge, the combination of his cock inside you and his fingers working your clit driving you insane.

Your breath comes in ragged gasps, your body trembling beneath him as the tension coils tighter and tighter, ready to snap. Jude’s name falls from your lips,you can’t think about anything else.

“Come for me,” Jude orders, his voice a low, commanding growl. “I want to feel you come all over my cock.”

It’s too much. You cry out his name as you come, your body shaking with the force of your orgasm, every muscle tensing at the feeling.

Jude follows you over the edge, his hips snapping against yours in a final, powerful thrust as he spills inside you, his groan of release vibrating through your entire body. He collapses onto you, his weight a comforting pressure as you both struggle to catch your breath.

Jude’s hand strokes your hair gently, a completely different gesture from what happened just moments before.

“Still hate me?” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, but there’s an edge of vulnerability there too.

You manage a breathless laugh, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his back. “You’re still annoying as hell,” you reply, but there’s no real bite to your words.

Jude chuckles, his lips brushing against your forehead. “Good to know I haven’t lost my touch.”

You roll your eyes, though there’s a smile tugging at your lips. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

He pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you, his eyes searching yours. “Too late for that”

[zyhkoo]

☆ well this is unexpected..

bat-fam x reader

the batfam asks you out on a date, though it didn’t turn out the way they expected..

a/n: i was thinking of doing batgirls x readers, i also improved my writing style a bit, anyways enjoy!! this was a req by anon but i accidentally deleted it :(

Bruce

Since he grew up eating with a silver spoon, he thought he wanted to try something simple. Fancy dinners, expensive places; he wanted to throw that away for a moment. It wasn’t bad to enjoy simple leisure was it?

His first date with you was in a park, nothing bad at all.

Well since he was Bruce Wayne privacy was practically impossible. People took pictures left to right and asked questions whenever they had the chance, people were insufferable. He just wanted to have his first date alone with you, he can’t help but scowl or brood whenever someone approaches the both of you

This was definitely a scene after all. The playboy billionaire on a romantic date with someone ordinary? This was going in the headlines. You only try to reassure him by squeezing his hand whenever he gets stressed. Though it helped a bit, no one could not leave you two alone.

Bruce debated if the two of you should just go back in the car.

“Bruce! Bruce!”

The reporters were like bloodhounds. There were cameras flashing, the lights were almost blinding. God he wanted to just leave. “Mr Wayne, is this another one of your many dates, or do you see something special in this woman?” A reporter spoke up, shoving a microphone in his face.

Your eyes widened at the bold question, who casually asks that?

Bruce frowned, didn’t like it when they referred to you like that, he found it as if they were trying to disrespect you. You’re his date, not another fling. He just wanted this to be over with, he was trying to think of anything that would make them leave. “She’s a special case.” He stated simply, that made the reporters go wild.

He held onto your hand. He wanted to scream, but even with his brooding nature he was surprisingly good at keeping a calm composure. He was tempted to just run, it was already humiliating enough and now it was just going to be plastered everywhere.

The reporters were getting louder and asking more questions, all wanting to know more about this strange woman who dared to catch the eye of Bruce Wayne.

He had enough. He took your hand and started walking towards his car. There was no point in staying here, it would all be over the tabloids the next day. He still had to deal with the aftermath of it, but at least he could try and have a semblance of a date.

He opened the car door for you, letting you in first. Once you were seated he got in himself. The reporters had decided to follow him, hoping to get any other pictures of the two of you. He slammed the door angrily shutting out their muffled voices. He wanted to let his frustration out, but he didn’t want to ruin what he had with you.

You looked at him and touched his hand “Are you okay?”

He shook his head. God he was so frustrated; this was far from what he was hoping for. He had wanted to have a simple date with you, not be hounded by reporters and questions.

“I was hoping that there would be some peace on our first date.”

You hummed as you stroked his hand with your thumb. “They don’t have boundaries do they?”

He looked at you with a frown. It was supposed to be a nice date. The two of you weren't supposed to be harassed by the press, yet he could still hear their muffled words and the sound of those cameras. He gritted his teeth, "I should have seen this coming."

“I’m going to get swarmed tomorrow.” He leaned back in his seat. No doubt your life was going to turn into an absolute hell since you were dating someone with his influence and status.

"Are you sure you want to be with me?" He asked softly. How could he ask you to live like this?

His heart was telling him that he wanted you. That it’d be fine and that you should just ignore what others say, but his brain was telling him that he was endangering you by having you be seen near him. He was a magnet for trouble, and now you’d be dragged into that side of his life.

“Bruce, I’m sure.” You leaned in closer. “If being with you means dealing with the press, paparazzi, and rumors? I’m up for the challenge.” You smiled at him. “I’m not going to back down so easily.”

“How about this, why don’t we go to my apartment?” you let go of his hand.

As the two of you arrived at your apartment, you took the roses he gave you and spread the petals around the floor. He took a lighter, lighting the candles around your apartment. He took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the candles.

It was a nice and soothing scent, calming his nerves. The two of you started to make spaghetti. It wasn’t as fancy as the meals he was accustomed to but he didn’t mind. Bruce was just happy to be spending time and cooking with you.

As you two finished cooking, he took some forks and plates taking them to the living room so you and he could have some dinner.

“I have wine.” you walked towards the table “It’s about time that I use this thing.” He chuckled softly. He took the bottle and started to pour some wine for the two of you.

After the two of you finished your dinner, he brought the plates to the sink. He walked back to you and took your hand and pulled you to your feet gently. “May I have this dance?” He asked, already pulling you into a slow waltz.

You chuckled, “You already are.” He leaned down and kissed you. The kiss was slow and gentle, his hands finding their way to your waist and pulling you closer.

Eventually he pulled away, a small smile on his lips. "I guess I am." he said softly.

Dick

For your first date with Dick, he wanted to go out. He wanted it to be as romantic as possible. He asked you for valentines (or christmas whatever comes to your imagination) in which of course you accept.

As the two of you entered the restaurant, the waiter informed Dick that the place was full. Okay there was always a plan B! The art museum? Closed. The mall? Too many people. The park? Closed due to cleaning. Dick started to get frustrated, sunset was almost near and his date with you hadn't started yet.

Dick was just about to give up. He took your hand and gave it a light squeeze, a sympathetic look etched on his face. "I'm sorry. I guess today isn't the best day for us, huh?"

You shook your head “You don’t need to apologize, Dick. It’s not your fault.”

“I know," he whispers, “but I want our date night to be perfect. To be better than your former ones. To be better than any other one that you’ve had. You deserve it.” He gives you a light kiss on the cheek, his breath feeling warm on your skin. "Let's go for a walk."

The night air is cool in Blüdhaven. There are few people out on the streets as it's late, the two of you are alone. The moon shines brilliantly, its light catching Dick's bright blue eyes. The two of you start down the sidewalk.

You then look up at the sky, then an idea pops in your head. “I know what we’ll do.” you smiled. "Yeah?" He laughs, "What's your bright idea?" He bumps his shoulder into yours playfully, his hand squeezing yours.

You hummed, looking back at the sky “I’d say, we go up to a rooftop and watch the stars.” Dick smiles at that, his eyes gleaming at the idea. You could see his mind racing with thoughts. "Good idea. I know of the perfect spot."

The two of you began to walk again, this time, Dick taking the lead. He guided you through the various twists and turns of the downtown of Blüdhaven.

After some light parkour, the two of you were climbing up a fire escape and onto the rooftop of a building. The view of the city was impressive. The moon shone beautifully above the city, the stars scattered all across the night sky. It was a pretty view you had to admit, and you were glad the two of you could see it.

Dick stood beside you, his eyes scanning the stars and trying to find the planets. He glanced at you a moment later, and he said, “I'm glad I get to share moments like this with you.”

You softly smiled at him then leaned on his shoulder. You looked up the stars, admiring each constellation. “Do you want me to tell you about the stars?” He gave you a nod, "Absolutely. Please do."

And so you began to talk about the stars. You told him about the constellations and planets, Dick listened to each word as if they were gospel. The two of you sat there for a while, your head on his shoulder as you stargazed. The night was peaceful, and Dick couldn't have asked for a better date.

You leaned on him, enjoying the warmth he was giving you. His arm was wrapped around your shoulders, and it felt so nice and comforting.

He pointed out at the sky, "That star there, right next to the moon, do you see it?"

You looked out to where he was pointing and nodded "That's Sirius, the brightest star in the sky."

"Do you know why Sirius is so bright?" he asked softly.

You hummed "Well.. the ancient Greeks said it was a constellation of the dog. They believed that it was the guardian of the afterlife, and the protector of sailors."

He looked at you, his eyes shining like the stars in the sky. "Hmm, to me, it reminds me of you. Bright as the sun, and you're the light in my dark life."

You blushed at his words, your heart doing a little dance in your chest. "Dick," you scoffed, "That is the corniest thing I’ve heard you say.”

He chuckled and pressed a kiss to your temple, "It's all true though."

Jason

Jason had zero experience in the romance department. When he met you, he was absolutely whipped. The only thing he had was his Pride and Prejudice book and moral support from his family.

Jason had read the book so many times he had practically memorized it. He tried to emulate Mr. Darcy's aloof attitude, but he simply didn't have the same charm. He felt like a fool when he tried to act like a dashing gentleman. But there was one thing he knew. If Mr. Darcy could make a fool of himself to woo Elizabeth, he could do the same for you. He was willing to risk everything to be with you, to win your heart.

Honestly, he wanted his family out of this. But he was so miserable that they just had to step in. Dick and Steph helped fixing his appearance while Tim helped him with planning his date. Barbara thought this was ridiculous, be yourself she says.

Jason was absolutely terrified. Not about going on the date, he had no doubt about that. He was scared of making a fool in front of you. That you, a person so beautiful, so lovely, would ever think of him as anything less than he was.

When he asked you out, he was very surprised to hear you say yes.

He thought of several date ideas, most were pretty simple. Go for dinner, hit a bar. But none of it seemed good enough. He wanted to do something special, something that would make you never forget that day. In the end, he decided to go to the seaside.

In all honesty, it wasn’t really his thing. Jason would rather stay somewhere indoors, but he wanted you to be happy.

He bought you flowers, chocolate and a plush with your favorite animal. You weren’t expecting this from him obviously, he definitely wasn’t the type to give you these. Nevertheless, you accepted them. Jason wanted this date to go perfectly. Not only for your sake, but for his. He knew that if he messed it up, he'd never be able to recover from it.

But oh no.. The clouds started to go dark and droplets immediately fell from the sky. So now he was hiding under a gazebo with you. Not the perfect date he pictured.

He cursed under his breath. It wasn't just raining, but thunder, lightning, and strong winds too. It wasn't looking good. He looked up at the sky, trying to gauge if it was just a passing storm or if the forecast was really that bad.

"Well, this is great," he muttered sarcastically, trying to conceal his frustration. "I'm no meteorologist, but this looks like a long one."

“Hey.” your hands trail to his “It’s alright, it was very sweet for you to ask me out you know?” you smiled reassuringly.

He looked at you, his face softening at your words. Despite the weather, it was still a beautiful day in his view. Being with you was the real reward here, not the weather.

"I know, I just...wanted this to be perfect," he admitted with a shrug. "But you know what? This is pretty perfect, anyway. I get to spend time with you, which is what really matters, and we're both dry too."

He looked up at the ceiling of the gazebo, as if to silently criticize the weather itself for ruining his perfect day. He then turned his gaze back to you, his eyes softening.

“Let's wait it out,” he suggested. “We could make this work.”

The rain only got worse as time went by. The wind was becoming increasingly stronger, and the thunder was so loud that it was difficult to hear one another over the noise. Jason was growing frustrated - not with the storm, but with the fact that it was ruining his date. He had prepared for everything, but never in his wildest nightmare he could have imagined it would be like this.

“This is ridiculous,” he said, glaring up at the sky. “I spent so much time coming up with this perfect day and now it's all ruined.”

You couldn't help but laugh at how agitated he was becoming. “Come on, Jason, lighten up,” you said, grinning at him. “I'm having a great time.”

He gave you a confused look, not sure whether you were teasing him or not. “Seriously? This is what you call a great time?” he asked, gesturing to the storm around them.

“It could be worse,” you countered, shrugging. “Think about it - we can hang out all day without anyone bothering us. Plus, there’s something romantic about rain.” Jason still didn't seem convinced. “Rain isn't romantic,” he grumbled, frowning at you.

You sighed “Oh, you.” standing up from the gazebo, you looked down at his scowl “Do you want to dance with me?” He looked up at you, confused. “In this weather? You've got to be kidding me,” he replied. “I don't want to get wet.” He didn't feel up to making any innuendos with you right now, even if it was on his mind.

You only smiled at him “It’ll be fun, dancing in the rain is romantic I assure you.” you walked in the heavy rain “See, fun! Come join me.” He watched as you danced in the heavy downpour, the rain soaking your clothes and leaving you drenched.

“Alright then,” he said with a sigh, rolling his eyes. He stood up and walked over to you, letting the rain fall on him as well.

You took his hands in yours and started swaying with him to the tempo of the rain. Despite his initial reluctance, he soon began enjoying the moment. The rain added a certain charm to the dance, making it an intimate and memorable experience for the both of you.

“You were right,” he said, smiling at you. “This is actually kinda fun.”

He looked up at the sky, feeling the rain falling on his face. He never would have thought that a simple date could turn out so well, despite the bad weather. He felt more relaxed and more comfortable with you than he had ever felt with anyone else before.

He twirled you around, and you laughed as the rain continued to fall around you. In that moment, nothing else mattered except the two of you, dancing together in the pouring rain.

You were both soaked, but you didn't seem to care. You were a good dancer, Jason thought as you both moved in rhythm to the rain. The storm had brought out a side of him that he hadn't known was even there. He smiled as you twirled, feeling more alive than he had in months. It was like nothing else mattered except for this moment with you.

As he held you close, he realized that even in the worst of situations, he could always find a way to enjoy life. He didn't know what the future held, but he knew that as long as you were by his side.

Tim

Tim’s first date with you was in a mall. He wanted to go to the arcade with you and have some fun. As he prepares for you, he will often have high confidence. But when he approaches you, he often fiddles with his hands or nervously looks in another direction.

Tim has trouble decision making as well, should he buy you cupcakes or ice cream? Buy you clothes or are you just fine without shopping? He doesn’t know. The arcade was at the top floor of the building, he started to do the math in his head.

‘If we used an escalator, it’d be slower and the mall was a bit crowded today but walking around the mall could be good exercises and walking helps think a lot. Oh, but what if they don’t like long distances? We can always use those electronic stroller things… no it won’t work. The elevator would be the fastest way but it could be awkward- oh, forget it let’s just use the elevator!’

The elevator was fine, until suddenly it stopped. The lights went out. And it was now dark inside. The elevator was stuck between two levels. When Tim pressed the buttons, they didn't seem to work at all. You tried as well but no matter what the elevator won't budge.

Oh great.

Tim tried calling for help on his phone, but there's no service. At all. "We should’ve used the escalator.." Tim complains to himself. He sighed in frustration and then turned to look at you. "This was an awful first date, I’m sorry.” Tim groans as he sits on the floor.

“It’s fine,” You respond, smiling. The elevator was dark, but it wasn’t too dark. You sat beside him, trying to stay warm. You both remained close in the silence of the elevator.

You held his hand and looked at him “You don’t need to overthink too much Tim, it’s just me.” you whispered. Tim let out a soft sigh of relief, intertwining his fingers with yours. He gently squeezed your hand, offering some silent reassurance. "You're right. I just... I don't want to mess this up, you know? I really like you, and this date means a lot." He gazed into your eyes.

“I was hoping to impress you with this. But instead I just managed to get us stuck in an elevator. Now that's real skill." Tim let out a chuckle, trying to ease the tension with a bit of humor. He leaned back, resting his head against the elevator wall.

"So, I guess we have some time to kill now. Anything you want to talk about? Got any deep, philosophical questions on your mind? Maybe I can impress you with my brilliant intellect and detective skills." Tim grinned playfully. You chuckled at his sudden change of mood “Can I get a kiss detective?”

Tim's heart skipped a beat at your request, and a hint of a rosy blush crept across his cheeks. Without a moment's hesitation, he leaned in closer to you. It was in that perfect moment that the lights suddenly flickered back on, and the elevator began to move again. "Wow," Tim scoffed, “Talk about perfect timing.” he scowls.

You laughed as you quickly stole a kiss “There, is that better?”

Tim's expression melted into a warm smile as you stole a kiss. A subtle blush lingered on his cheeks. "Much better," he replied, his voice a soft murmur. The elevator hummed as it resumed its ascent, bringing you both back into the world above.

[nyashykyunnie]

˗ˏˋ Jinwoo x Isekaid! Artist! Reader ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ ˎˊ˗

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚𝕊𝕦𝕟𝕘 𝕁𝕚𝕟𝕨𝕠𝕠˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

・┆✦ Entry : 044 ✦ ┆・

[Tw: I think this fall under depictions of depression and panic attacks. Please, if you're not in the headspace, do not read this. ]

╰┈➤ ❝ [ My Muse] ¡! ❞

Isekaing to Solo Leveling is one thing, but living in this world is just... Way too brutal for your poor heart.

Why is that? Anxiety is a major enemy.

What do you mean everyone else is living normally not having little paranoid moments that lead to panic attacks with overtaking at the possibility of a gate opening somewhere near you and monsters would come out?

Sung Jinah's school wasn't even safe. How are you gonna live?

Anyway.

You have a job to do.

Even though you just wanna spend all of your time crying in the corner of your room and praying to god to protect you when technically you aren't even religious.

But what are you to do?

It's not like Sung Jinwoo will swoop in and save you from misery.

...Hahah, if only.

You are one of his more delulu fans, like every other girl in this country— You are a big fan.

Well, except the fact that you know far more things about Jinwoo since you came from a world where he is fiction.

The flex you have is that you know how awfully adorable that petty bastard is when he was still an E-ranker. Those Jinwoo simps will never know the fact that Jinwoo has the fluffiest and softest looking cheeks ever.

Not to mention, you have all of his powers memorized to even the titles those powers have. You can name a lot of his shadows.

Of course the easiest to name are Beru, Igris, Bellion, Kaisel, Tank,.... And the easiest,... One, two, three, four.... Yeah, you get it.

But why are you being so smug? As if you 're not the same fool who secretly buys Jinwoo polaroids. Coming from this country full of fangirls is a haven for you since there is quite... The plethora of Jinwoo trinkets.

And you, being a lovestruck fool, went all in and took "Take all my money" to the next level even though the man you're obsessing over is 10x more richer than you.

But ah, this isn't the time to fawn over your Jinwoo merch paradise.

You have work.

Thankfully enough, this world has given you mercy. Despite it preying on your paranoid self, it gave you the blessing of living the life you've always wanted.

And that is to be a freelance artist.

Not doing your average 9-5, crying about the lack of fame you receive that hinders the pathway to making a successful art career, not having to listen to family members berating your love for art as low as a drug abuse.

In this world, no one is going off about your craft, no one is belittling your passion to something akin to a crime.

Like it's just a pathetic hobby and there's no meaning to all the hard work you put in the past years improving your skills, there's no value to being able to draw squares and circles more impressive than others, there's nothing note worthy of being able to pick and choose colours— There's none of that.

To be honest, there was even lots of moments where you wanted to give up, where you realized maybe they're right.

Even if you had starved yourself just to save up for your art materials, even if you work hard micro-analyzing your artstyle, even if you spent hours studying the algorithms, even if you shed blood sweat and tears just for the glimmer of hope that maybe you can turn your art into something more— It's all just delusions.

Like how you hope to be one of those big artists who inspire other people to create their own pieces. Like how you secretly hope that maybe your artworks can bring a smile to anyone's face if they come across it. Like how you silently pray to every single star that may your wish come true.

You wanted to keep hoping, for the slim chance of having a single magnus opus that will instantly put you in the limelight— You wanted to keep having your hand outstretched to that tiny light.

But everyday, with each piece, you start to realize that your dreams are all for nothing.

You had been so focused on art that it's the only thing you have that defines who you are as a person and as an individual.

Art is what made you human.

Slowly, your innocent dreams molded itself into a twisted and vile poison that ate you from the inside out. Your love for creating backfired and now it's a blur if your passion stems from adoration or you just ran with it because it's the only thing that made you feel relevant in this world.

Maybe you should give up.

Even if there is a drastic improvement in your art with each piece, what good is it if it can't guarantee that career you oh so desperately want? The big artists say that you should make art for yourself, well yeah, they're right. But what if even if you do that it doesn't work?

Colour theory, shape language, line language, composition— All of those improved out of sheer love to learn. You've seen other people around you get careers out of it so it will happen to you?

Right?...

Right?

You're not a problematic artist, you don't make trouble, you don't make enemies, you don't participate in drama, you stay humble and eloquent.

Surely it will work... Right?...

Hahah.

In that world?

No it didn't.

It did not.

You died in your deathbed after being involved in a hit and run.

And after a long period of slumber, you have awoken in this world where somehow you are a renowned artist.

It felt shallow, really.

Suddenly having all of that in a snap of a finger through death?

Hah.

It felt like it mirrors Jinwoo's life. Except he had rightfully earned the flory of his powers.

Truthfully, you love him because of that.

What was it?

Ah yes.

"Because I was rock bottom, I longed for the highest peak."

That was the line that made you love him.

As someone who had no future in your art career, it was that line that made your heart yearn for him.

Two unfortunate souls who struggle in the same thing in different dimensions, except one managed to create that dream into reality.

Sure, you have the glory now. And although it made you so happy, it still felt so shallow because you didn't achieve this through hardwork. You just had to die.

You had to be dead.

It took dying to be given the mercy of having your dreams be granted.

And that just made you feel so... So awful.

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

With a canvas on one hand, your painting materials neatly arranged in a bag in the other hand— You take a deep breath and enter the party.

Brilliant golden lights twinkle above your head coming from the magnificent chandelier hanging above. Cameras flashing, the clinking of glasses as hunters and celebrities discussed amongst themselves dressed in luxurious outfits and blinging jewelry.

The sight made your stomach sink and a lump in your throat forming.

This is an entirely different world you knew from the lonely greys and blues.

You look around frantically, almost panicking at the overwhelming chatter and blinding lights.

"Ah, you're here" A voice snaps you out of it.

You turn to see your sponsor, Choi Jong-in flashing a polite and handsome smile. You bow your head politely.

"Please," Jong-in simply shakes his head, "No need to be so polite. I am pleased that you have arrived in time. Champagne?"

He extends a glass towards you and you shake your head, sheepishly saying "O-oh... I'm not really an alcohol enjoyer. I'm fine."

"Ah, I see" He nods apologetically before gesturing you to a clearer space.

Jong-in escorts you to a less crowded area of the ball, the lessened crowd and noise calming your accelerated heartbeat down.

"If there is anything you need, please feel free to call me or the waiters" He says kindly, "You are also free to eat food."

"Thank you, Mr. Choi" You bow politely.

Before he could even reply, Jong-in was called over by a beautiful blonde girl you knew all too well.

Cha Hae-in.

She's as lovely as she was in the manhwa panels, with that red dress and her neatly tied hair— She was a sight to behold.

But as soon as you see a tall man clad in black, you feel a distinct thump in your heart, a twisting kind of small pain that made you feel like it stopped beating along with the way your lungs stopped breathing— You knew who it was.

"A guest?..." He inquires, making your heart thump even harder at the sound of that deep voice you only heard through the speakers of your phone and laptop.

"Mr. Sung, I'm glad you could make it along with my vice master" Jong-in hums, "This is an artist I'm sponsoring, I thought it would be a good idea to commemorate this important event celebrating humanity's win against the gates"

"Ah, I see" Jinwoo's handsome grey eyes would sweep onto your anxious form who is fidgeting uncontrollably in her hands. "I'm Sung Jinwoo,"

He extends a hand, making you look up at him with an even nervous look. It took you a while to extend your hand, and the moment your palm touched his— You felt as of you're touching someone from a different species. Something too unreal and dovine.

You barely had even managed to speak your name out with how much of a nervous wreck you are. Shaking his hand didn't happen if it weren't for Jinwoo gently doing it and letting you pull your hand away.

Your palms may have been trembling, but now it's even more erratic as you step back, not meeting his gaze.

Thank gods Jong-in decided to start a conversation to pivot Jinwoo's attention away from you.

As you attempt to calm yourself with a persistent panic attack, you feel a soft tap on your hands.

"Thank you for coming, I-I hope you enjoy your time" Hae-in says in her hesitant voice.

And you, who cant mutter a single word after your very first encounter with Jinwoo— Only muster a polite nod at her as she turns away to join Jong-in and Jinwoo in their conversation.

You were on a trance for almost five minutes, before finally deciding to set up your easel and canvas. You took out two different mason jars and filling them up with water; the gouache paint you will be using as a medium; the ceramic palette you have been using for quite a while now; and finally gently arranging your brushes.

Jong-in didn't specify what you should be painting for this event. But decided to paint the stage. An hour into the event, Jinwoo would start giving his speech as he is the main hero of the war against the gates and monarchs—As well as the person this whole event is dedicated to.

You had to pause in your process of painting the canvas, just to give respect to Jinwoo.

Your idol.

Your role model.

The man of your dreams.

His words aren't even registering as you can't help but be lost in a trance as he continues with his speech. Unconsciously, your hand raised itself and started to paint carefully, your eyes fixated on the hunter as your hand moved with a mind on its own.

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

Jong-in was extremely worried for the artist he had hired, he could tell from earlier she was having a panic attack with the hesitance. And when Jinwoo came into the picture, it seemed to frighten her all the more. He quietly called for his secretary to add at least 40% more of the initial payment that was planned to compensate for the unintentional distress he had put her onto.

While Jinwoo was giving his speech, he couldn't help but check on her by glancing from the distance.

In that canvas, he saw the stage, and in that stage was Jinwoo.

The artist was carefully painting Jinwoo.

Delicate strokes despite her eyes not on the cloth and brush. She was just mindlessly moving her hand as she looks at Jinwoo.

"Ah... I see it now."

Jong-in quietly smiles to himself.

It wasn't that she was frightened of Jinwoo's intimidating presence. No way does someone scared of a person have that same intense look with such dilated pupils.

With a determined hum, Jong-in knew exactly what to do.

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

It had been three days since that event, and Jinwoo was attending to paperwork when he was informed of Jong-in's visit.

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with a bit of worry that his 'senior' might scold him for renting out gates in territory of Hunter's guild.

To his surprise, Jong-in entered carrying a rather large thing into his office.

"???" Jinwoo cocks up an eyebrow, silently inquiring Jong-in at what is the thing he brought in.

"Take a look, hunter Sung" Jong-in simply says and the hunter reluctantly stood up from his chair to approach the item his senior placed down.

When Jinwoo pulled off the protective cloth, he was met with a brilliant painting that felt like it was straight out of a renaissance era painting.

The red curtains were blood red and shaded softly. The wood is delicately painted, with even tiny specks that indicates the painter's exquisite attention to detail, but most importantly— His eyes were drawn to the middle, where a man stood center.

It was him.

His face was delicately painted, even his tousled black locks were intricately painted to imitate the way his strands behaved, his body language was painted in a relaxed but still managed to somehow translate the undertone of authority and power he held over the crowd that was purposely painted in a blurry manner to give more focus to him. Even the lighting of the stage was expertly imitated on the canvas.

The piece looked as if its goal was to put emphasis on his—the man who is standing in the golden limelight. As if it were trying to put him on a divine pedestal, to show him off as this some sort of god woth the painting.

"Who?..." Jinwoo finally manages to inquire.

"The artist chose you as her muse for the painting" Jong-in says, fixing his tie as he does so. "Quite the talent, no? Even us hunters who have quite the skill in the art of combat, are taken aback by such craft. It was as if she had magic on her very fingertips despite being just a civilian."

"Her muse," Jinwoo repeats, not knowing what to feel about it.

"It would be... Quite indecent of me to keep a portrait of a rival in my guild, no?" Jong-in coughs out, making Jinwoo awkwardly nod. "Consider it as a gift and a thank you for assisting my guild in jeju raid as well as your role in the war."

"I have quite the awards really, no need" He shakes his head.

"Yes," Jong-in glances back at the painting. "But I think that you, as the painter's muse, must see for yourself this piece created on your image."

"Mn...."

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

Jinwoo quite frankly grew curious of the little painter he met and made him the centerpiece of her painting. He was honestly worried at first, she was so small compared to him and she was trembling at the sight of him. It didn't help that he noticed how she grew more shaken after they exchanged pleasantries.

Maybe he had gripped her hand a little too much.

Beru on the other hand, was visibly very pleased at the painting as well as the other shadows who wont shut up about it.

Throughout his monotonous days and hours, Jinwoo would often think of the painter.

It feels... Weird to be in someone's painting.

It's unreal even.

But ah... By chance, he met that pleasant little painter again.

She was in the bookstore, picking up several heavy books. When he approached her, she was flustered and nearly dropped the books she was purchasing if it weren't for him assisting her.

Just like their first meeting, she was clearly bashful and anxious. So Jinwoo made space between them and made small talk.

Somehow, their small talks would develop into long and meaningful ones with the days passing of them having frequent encounters.

There is this tiny, tiny warmth in Jinwoo's heart whenever he finds himself in the presence of his painter.

His heart whom he thought had lost its capability to harbor affection— Is beating fast whenever he crosses paths with her.

There is... Something about her.

Her little habits, her never ending curiosity, her childish habits and her love for everything beautiful. Somehow, everything in her eyes has the potential to be a piece of artwork.

Jinwoo was never a creative soul, he's only ever creative at insults maybe.

So to see someone so dedicated to her own craft, to see someone so full of love for something... It's like peering into a different world he never thought was there.

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

Go Gunhee decided to visit Jinwoo, it was to thank the hunter again with coffee beans and two— Just to visit Jinwoo.

"Ah, hunter Sung," Gunhee smiles as the person he waited for appears. "I hope you don't mind, I just wanted to pop in"

"Not at all, director" Jinwoo smiles politely.

"That piece," The old man's gaze drifts to a painting hun by Jinwoo's side. "What a magnificent work of art. I heard Hunter Choi gifted it to you after the artist he hired decided to put you as the centerpiece. Truly such remarkable talent by a younger lady."

"Yes, hahah" Jinwoo awkwardly rubs his nape.as he serves Gunhee a cup of tea.

"My father told me that artists have a special kind of love" Gunhee hums, reminiscing. "He told me that having an artist love you is different. A writer glorifies you into pleasant words, a musician translates your beauty into compelling music and a painter immortalises all of you in a single painting. A blank canvas is a tool by painters that they use to communicate. All the ugliness of the world can be put into ink, and all the beauty into wonderful pops of pleasant colors"

He continues, "And through my years, this is one of the few most magnificent pieces I've ever seen that shows the painter's love for it's muse"

"Her muse," Jinwoo repeats it, "I've been told the same thing."

"A lovely feeling, no?" Gunhee chuckles, "To be loved by a person so full of love."

"...So that's what it means"

"..."

The old man's face wrinkles into a happier smile.

Young love, truly beautiful, isn't it?

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

"That colour is really pretty" You mutter absentmindedly glance at the flowing water underneath, as if trying to ingrain the memory and behaviour of it.

"Thinking of a new artwork, again?" Jinwoo asks, glancing down at the direction you were staring at. "I can't wait to see what you'll make."

"Your pieces are always so beautiful"

It felt as if something struck an arrow at your heart, you glance at Jinwoo— Completely frozen in state.

When he noticed the heavy silence, his eyes would befall on you before his mouth going a little agape.

You're crying.

"Did... I say something wrong?..." Jinwoo asks and you panic, immediately tearing your gaze away.

"No, no, no" You shake your head, hiding your shameful tears from Jinwoo.

Compliments with your art were never really foreign, but you, being the insecure sad soppy excuse of a human being would always downplay it most of the time.

You were never truly satisfied with yourself and anything you ever made. Mostly because you came from a household where everything is never enough.

Ultimately, that system has been fully ingrained into your body that it became your personality.

Colors are muddy, the lines aren't steady or too thick or thin, the anatomy is off, the composition isn't fluid and the harmony is all over the place.

You were always, always, critical of yourself.

Nothing is ever enough.

Your works aren't beautiful enough, and you thought they never will be.

But when Jinwoo told you your art was beautiful, it caused something to crack inside and burst open.

Maybe it's because you loved him so much. Maybe it's because he is the person you admire the most in your sorry, lonely life.

It was always Jinwoo who was in your mind whenever you had those bad episodes of just having silent mental breakdowns.

It's his image that became your most beloved saviour.

Perhaps you're sobbing because you're finally able to hear the words you've imagined he would during the times you daydreamed about him.

Or maybe... Your body reacted because you knew deep down that Jinwoo was never a liar.

That he didn't say those words out of empty praise, that he said your crafts is beautiful because they simply are.

In your broken, shattered heart a heavy yet soft warmth swelled. Swelling so much that you felt so overwhelmed and couldn't control your emotions.

That kind of validation just felt like it washed away all the doubts that plagued you for years.

As you cried uncontrollably, Jinwoo would instinctively reach his hand out and pull you in for a searing kiss. His tongue gently nudges your lips before shoving itself into it.

One flick.

Two flicks

Three flicks,...

Until you yourself cant even count it anymore.

He pulls back slowly, but still not far enough for you not to feel his hot breath fanning over your cheeks.

"I only said your paintings are beautiful and yet you are crying like this, sarang?" He rubs his nose against yours, "Just what happened to you that you're this emotional, hm? Did you not think what you make is stunning? Did you never once think that your pieces are captivating? Why are you crying like this? How hurt have you been that it feels like you're crying out this kind of sorrow I can't seem to understand?"

"Why does your sobs feel like you've been dealing with such loneliness that a simple sincere compliment breaks you to this extend?"

"Everything about you is beautiful. All of you is beautiful." Jinwoo says in that ever so gentle voice of his, "Never doubt that for even a single second."

꒰ 🪼 A/N: what started as another simple fluffy idea turned into something more... Personal :'DD. Sorry guys hahahahsheshdg. Idk when I will have the free time to make the second half of the cai bots yet but please look out for when I do. ꒱

ʚ(੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭ .｡✧･ﾟ: ~♡ — All stories written by kyunnie; translations, reposts, plagiarism are strictly forbidden.

[nadvs]

watch and learn (part seven)

pairing fratboy! rafe cameron x female reader

rating explicit 18+

content warning drug and alcohol use

summary it takes one conversation with your college dorm neighbor to know you won’t get along. rafe is loud, rude, and short-tempered. after he overhears you talking about a disappointing fling, he loses his confidence in his sexual abilities and suggests you start hooking up to both improve your skills in the bedroom. you can’t stand him, but it’s too good of an offer to turn down.

» masterlist

*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

The next morning, you sleep in, recovering from the party. Your head is still foggy as you scroll through your phone in bed, thinking about last night.

You spent a lot of time with Blake. He was nice and charming and all you did was talk and share innocent touches. He’s nothing but green flags.

Yet your mind kept reminding you of Rafe. And it kept replaying the sight of him kissing another girl.

Something between you two shifted the other day, when you dropped by after his dad’s visit. You agreed that you were friends. And then did something that friends definitely don’t do.

Then, of course, he took a few days to be a jerk. But last night, he mustered up a sorry for you, flirting with you again.

It’s almost like he’s leaving breadcrumbs, making you think he has feelings, with the possessiveness and the compliments and the looks he gives you. But time and time and time again, Rafe proves to you that he’s a douchebag who’s not looking for anything more than sex.

And neither are you, you remind yourself. Not with Rafe. He would break your heart if given the chance. And you’re not giving him the chance.

You see a text from Rafe from a couple of hours ago: you up?

You reply: i am now.

You open Instagram to see that Blake posted a story a few minutes ago. It’s a photo of a sign on the side of a building. He’s at a paintball range with his frat brothers. It must be another bonding event.

The text on the photo reads: let’s goooo red team.

You reply to the story: putting all my money on the red team.

He responds: I’ll win for you :)

Rafe has never played paintball before, but it couldn’t have come at a better time. His gun is loaded with blue pellets and he has Blake in his sights before the starting bell even rings.

This will be the best way to release his anger over the fact that he’s losing you. Well, other than getting naked with you and fucking until he can’t think straight. But you weren’t answering your phone this morning. So, this’ll do.

The field is vast under the cloudy sky, cluttered full of obstacles and barriers and embankments. When the game starts, Rafe has one goal and one goal only.

He hates how you were smiling at Blake last night. He hates how you touched his shoulder. How you laughed. How close you were.

Mere minutes into the game, he’s behind a colorfully splattered wall and finally finds Blake in his crosshairs. His finger presses down on the trigger over and over and over again, each pop loud and echoing, coating the front of Blake’s vest with bright blue drops of paint.

“Jesus, Rafe, I think you got him, man!” one of his teammates shouts with a laugh.

Even though one of his buddies on the red team nails Rafe in his arm a couple of times near the end of the round, the game ends in a blue team victory.

As the boys make their way back into the building, Blake shoves Rafe’s shoulder.

“The fuck was that, Cameron?” Blake asks, pointing to his vest, sheathed in blue. His smile is wide, but his tone is sharp. He’s trying to hide it, but he seems actually pissed off. Good.

“My bad, man,” Rafe half-chuckles, lifting his helmet off his head. “Got lost in the game. I love to win.”

The high from winning this stupid game is so intensely gratifying that Rafe wants to keep beating Blake in everything. Including in getting your attention.

When Rafe checks his phone as they leave the range, he sees you finally responded. He’s craving you now, but he’ll see you in a few hours at tonight’s party. And he wants Blake to see you with him.

He was stupid to think he could stay away from you. He’s going to see you as many times as you let him before your touches with Blake have more meaning behind them.

The “anything but clothes” party is slated to start at the Sigma Chi house in a few minutes. You and Liv decide to show up right on time to hang out with the guys and drink before the liquor runs out.

You made a stop at a party store off-campus to buy rolls of caution tape together, deciding to wrap the bright yellow nylon into haphazard tube tops and mini skirts, stuck together with clear packing tape. You’re careful so that the sticky tape is only on the caution tape, not directly touching any skin at all.

When you enter the house, you follow the noise in the kitchen. A group of frat boys are in the dining room, setting up the keg and putting out cups.

Blake and Rafe are standing with four other guys, talking as they set up.

Rafe should’ve put more effort into what he wore. He has a towel around his hips and when you walk in wearing next to nothing, he regrets it immediately. A boner would be way too fucking obvious.

Blake greets you with a side-hug and Rafe cracks his knuckles under the table.

“Hey, how was paintball?” you ask. “Did you win?”

“Lost and I’m wounded.” Blake’s wearing a plastic bag over his chest and another around his hips. He puts his hand over his sternum, the bag crinkling beneath his fingers.

“What the hell happened?” you laugh, placing your hand on his. He pretends to wince in pain when you touch him, making you laugh again. The sight makes Rafe scowl.

“Rafe went all Scarface on him,” Sam says. You look to Rafe, and at the same time, glass shatters in the kitchen behind you.

“Shit!” a guy shouts.

“So glad tomorrow’s thing is outside,” Blake mumbles. “This place is a mess and it’s only gonna get worse.”

“What’s tomorrow?” you ask.

“Family day,” Sam says. “We’re having a barbecue.”

“Do you guys have something going on every weekend?” Liv asks.

“Pretty much,” Blake in a bragging tone.

“And when do you study?” you say.

“During the week, fun police,” Blake mumbles with a playful smile. You hate the label and think back to a conversation you had with him over text about nicknames.

“Don’t call me that, babe,” you respond. Blake told you before that he loathes being called babe.

Rafe doesn’t know you’re saying it ironically. And he’s trying not to lose his mind. He looks down at his beer and takes another sip.

A moment passes and he doesn’t notice that Blake is trying to get his attention until he realizes seven pairs of eyes are on him.

“What?” Rafe asks.

“Who are you bringing tomorrow?” Blake repeats.

“I’m not coming.” Rafe can’t imagine even mentioning the event to anyone in his family.

“What? Why not?” Blake says. “I need to meet who raised you to be so fucking competitive.”

Rafe looks away the same way he did when you confronted his dad for yelling at him. It’s not exactly annoyance in his expression, like you’re used to seeing. It’s discomfort. Embarrassment.

You don’t want anyone to grill him. Not about his family. You can still hear the way his father snapped at him, asked what he was crying for.

“Sounds like you’re just mad that you’re such an easy target,” you say to Blake, primarily to take everyone’s eyes off of Rafe.

You earn a few jeers, heads turning back in your direction. Rafe’s eyes find yours and you glance at him to see a softened expression, the hard lines in his face suddenly gone.

“I’d like to see you try to play paintball,” Blake says.

“Yeah, you’re really selling it,” you respond sarcastically, snapping your gaze back to meet his.

“What other events do you guys have planned?” Liv asks.

As Blake goes into the schedule for the rest of the year - including a community service drive, a Sadie Hawkins formal, and a camping trip - Rafe can’t keep his eyes off of you.

He can’t forget how you stood up to his father, a total stranger, and told him to calm down. He can’t forget how happy your silly little gift made him.

Maybe you were just flirting with Blake, but he wonders if you purposely took the attention off of him, knowing what you know about his family.

You two are friends that have great sex, he knows that, but he’s staring at you like you’re more. You can be irritating and a tight-ass, but you’re kind and thoughtful, too.

Rafe looks away. These thoughts make him uneasy all over. He’s not a feelings kind of guy. And Blake is so obviously your type and Rafe is nothing like him.

He’s not stupid. Anything more than sex between you two would be ridiculous.

The house fills up with partygoers quickly, air thickening, music loud and conversations even louder.

Later on in the night, Rafe’s buzzed and standing by the keg, watching you dance with your friend. The way you roll your hips reminds him of how you move when you’re on top of him and he needs to force himself to look away before he gets hard. Again.

Eventually, he notices you head towards the back of the house alone and he takes the opportunity to talk to you.

When you leave the bathroom and head down the dark hallway back towards the party, you notice Rafe leaning by the wall, a beer bottle in his hand. There’s only a handful of people around, engaging in quiet, private conversation as the music throbs around you.

“Hey,” he says. He wishes he thought of something more clever to say, but he’s pretty close to being drunk.

It’s kind of sweet that he’s waiting here for you. But then you remind yourself he’s just horny.

“Hey,” you say, eyes flitting down his athletic body and to the navy blue towel sitting at his hips. “Pretty lazy of you to use a towel.”

“Nah, it’s smart,” he quips. “That tape is perfect for you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you say.

“You can read, can’t you?” Rafe simply says, his hand ghosting over the bold CAUTION on your chest. You look down at the way his long fingers just barely brush over your breasts, imagining the way they were massaging you earlier this week.

The reminder sends a swirl of warm passion in your core. You want him again. And again. And again.

“Are you trying to say I’m dangerous? I’m not the one attacking people during an innocent game of paintball.”

“I got hit, too, okay?” Rafe complains. He brings his right arm forward, showing you his flexed bicep.

“I don’t see anything,” you laugh.

“These red marks are turning into bruises,” he says, pointing to his skin. “I’ll need you to take care of me.”

“I think you’re just being a fuckboy,” you respond.

Rafe’s smirk is playful and inviting and you realize you’re only inches away from each other, eyes connected and smiles mirrored.

You want to see him naked again. Neither of you had any pointers last time you hooked up, but that doesn’t mean you’re done learning, right?

“I’ve never gotten a ‘you up?’ text at ten in the morning,” you say. Admittedly, you were a little dejected that he didn’t reply to your message earlier today.

“You woke up late,” Rafe says, eyebrows quirking up for a second. “When’d you even get home?”

In reality, he wants to know if you were with Blake. He didn’t see you at last night’s party after he made out with a girl just to unsuccessfully make you jealous. Maybe you messed around with Blake and stayed up late with him.

“I don’t remember,” you admit with a defeated laugh. “I think I need to cool it on the partying. You frat boys never stop. I can’t believe how many things you guys have going on.”

Rafe breathes a sardonic chuckle, looking down, and you’re immediately reminded of tomorrow’s event.

Just like that, the air between you shifts. You’re both thinking of the same thing. You’re painfully aware of it.

Silence settles between you and you nervously scratch your arm.

“I wouldn’t want to bring him, either,” you finally say. Rafe’s eyes meet yours. He instantly knows you’re talking about his father.

Now he’s sure you weren’t just carrying on conversation with Blake earlier. You purposely took the attention off of him. Because you’re friends. Friends help each other.

“Yeah,” is all Rafe can say.

“Did you…” you say softly. “Do you not have anyone else you’d want to come?”

Rafe thinks of his life back home. His father, who never shies away from expressing his disappointment. His step-mother, who he has no relationship with. Sarah, who’s the clear favorite. Wheezie, who Rafe actually likes and sort of misses, but wouldn’t be able to visit on her own.

“No,” he admits. “It’s… I don’t have that kind of family.”

“Must be why you’re into this whole frat thing,” you say. You can’t stop yourself from trying to understand his complexities.

Rafe didn’t think about it that way. But the sense of camaraderie he has with his frat brothers, except for one in particular, does give him a sense of belonging he’s been chasing forever. He didn’t even realize it until you said it.

But that’s what you do. You make him think and feel things he hasn’t before and it’s so uncomfortable and exciting at the same time.

“You’re…” Rafe tugs at his earlobe. “You’re a really nice person.”

“What?” You laugh in disbelief. Is he being sweet to you outside of the bedroom?

“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” he says. “When he asked me why I’m not going tomorrow, you changed the subject.”

He can’t say Blake’s name.

“Guilty,” you say. You settle into eye contact that’s unlike anything you two have shared before. Rafe huffs, wanting to force away the tension sitting in his chest.

“I think you’re into this whole frat thing, too, by the way,” he says. He leans even closer to you, blue eyes focused on your lips.

“Not at all,” you joke, shaking your head. “I hate you guys.”

“Really,” Rafe mutters, his tone low. “Even me?”

“Especially you.”

“You don’t remember what you said last time we fucked? When I asked if I could put it in?”

Your skin burns as you think back to the way he asked you if you were ready before burying into you.

“You must be thinking about another girl,” you say. He won’t even entertain the thought.

“You said please,” he rasps.

“Well, at least I have manners,” you reply, looking him in the eye as anticipation curls in your stomach, refusing to shy away.

“You gonna beg me for it again?”

“I did not beg,” you respond.

You want to tease him even more, tell him you thought you were experts now, so what’s the point of hooking up anymore? But you don’t need it to be instructional to have sex with him. He doesn’t seem to need it, either.

“Don’t tell me you’re still shy about liking it.” His smirk is taunting. This cracks you, a smile spreading on your face again, your eyes trailing down his bare chest.

“Maybe,” you tease. It’s a lie. You’re not shy at all anymore. The sense of shame you felt around sex before is gone. At least with Rafe, it has.

“How can you be shy when you’re wearing that?” Rafe asks. “Showing fucking everything.”

“You’re one to talk,” you say, nose crinkling. The way you cock your head as you gaze at his body, your lashes fluttering as you blink, makes his gut warm and his groin tighten. Wow. He really doesn’t even need to touch you to get hard.

“And don’t act like you don’t like my outfit,” you say, meeting his eyes again. You shock yourself with your forwardness. He looks pleasantly surprised, too.

You hear your name being shouted. Liv rushes towards you, hands pressed over her chest.

“My tape broke,” she laughs. “I almost flashed everyone.”

“Really?” you gasp. Rafe is annoyed that you got interrupted, but he finds that he really likes what caring for somebody looks like on you. Your eyes deepen. Your brows lower. Your guard is down. You’re stunning.

“We should’ve brought extra tape,” Liv says.

“We can borrow a shirt,” you suggest. “Let’s find Blake.”

Rafe is seething. Blake. Of fucking course.

You offer Rafe a tight smile before taking your friend’s hand and walking in front of her to shield her.

When you find Blake, he leads you and Liv upstairs to his room, scrambling through his dresser to find a shirt for Liv.

“I’m not gonna get kicked out for wearing clothes, am I? It’s against the rules,” Liv says.

“No, only ‘cause you’re friends with fun police over here,” Blake replies, smiling over his shoulder as he hands a black shirt to Liv. “Special privileges.”

“I told you not to call me that,” you say with a laugh. Liv pulls the shirt over her head.

“Thanks!” she calls as she walks out of the room, a grin on her face. You know she’s purposely leaving you alone with Blake.

You meet Blake’s eyes, standing in the middle of his quiet, private room.

“Study fort’s gone,” you notice, looking down at his bare floor.

“Oh. Yeah,” he says stiffly. It’s awkward between you and you’re not sure why. “You look…”

Blake doesn’t finish his sentence. You knew he was a bit on the shy side, but he’s actually nervous.

You would normally find it endearing. But because of the intoxicating way Rafe was talking to you downstairs, how he’s so unafraid of telling you how attracted he is to you, you feel tense around Blake for the first time.

Still, intrigue coarses through you. You like him. You want him to flirt with you and to touch you and to finally kiss you. But he’s still.

Rafe spots your friend in the crowd with a t-shirt on. And you’re not next to her. He pushes through people to stand beside Liv and ask her where you are.

“Upstairs with Blake,” Liv simply responds. Rafe glances up the staircase, lips twisting as he nods. He stalks away, storming through the house with no real idea of where to go.

He paces around for a few minutes. He wants to rush upstairs and hurt Blake. Badly. Without a paintball gun this time. The thought of you being up there in his room, of his hands on you, of him on top of you… It’s too much. He’s grinding his teeth so hard that it hurts.

Rafe has had enough. He heads back towards the front of the house, not sure what the hell he’ll do if he walks in on Blake on top of you, but before he can go upstairs, he sees you in the crowd, chatting with your friend.

“I left you alone up there for a reason,” Liv says quietly when you approach her.

“Oh, I’m aware,” you laugh. “But the vibe was weird, so I left. I think we were both nervous.”

After Blake couldn’t finish his sentence, you thanked him for helping your friend and split.

“Do you not like him?” Liv asks.

You do. But you think you like someone else, too. And it’s terrifying.

Rafe weaves through the crowds, approaching you, his fingers gently wrapping around your wrist. You watch him duck to speak into your ear.

“Leave with me,” he says so only you can hear him over the music. You look at Liv, who has a sly, knowing expression on her face.

“I can’t abandon my friend just to hook up with you,” you say to him. A painful pang of rejection twists inside him.

“But do you want to?” Rafe asks. He needs to be sure. What if your next words are that you’re with Blake now?

Your pulse is racing. The promise of another night with Rafe is electrifying.

“Yes,” you admit. He smiles to himself, pulling back to look at Liv.

“You gonna be okay if she leaves?” Rafe says, tilting his head towards you.

“Of course, if she wants to,” Liv replies with an amused laugh.

Rafe pulls you towards him, out of the crowd. And for once, he’s actually glad to see Blake, who’s standing by the keg with a few friends.

He wraps his arm around your waist, mumbling to you that he’s going to rip that stupid tape off of you, as he glares at Blake, who’s staring at you two with a disconcerted grimace.

He leads you out of the rowdy house, grip tight on you as if he could lose you again.

The second you’re in Rafe’s dorm room, his hands are on your ass, fingers dipping under the tape. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, kissing him heatedly as you stand by his bed.

You can smell his cologne and his shampoo as his tongue runs over yours.

“You know everyone was looking at you tonight, right?” he says between kisses.

“No,” you scoff. While he’s helped you gain some confidence, you can’t imagine thinking of yourself as the most desired girl in a room.

“I told you not to do that,” he says against your lips. You feel the nylon around your ass lift off your skin as he tugs it away, pulling apart the material, tape unsticking.

“Do what?” you mutter. He grips your ass, feeling the fabric of your underwear on his palms. You lower a hand to undo the knot keeping up the towel on him.

“You pretend like you’re not beautiful and it pisses me off,” he says. Beautiful. He said hot before. But not beautiful. He never used that word with you. “How hard do I have to fuck you for you to get it?”

“Rafe,” you gasp with a giggle.

“How hard?” he asks. “Until you can’t talk?”

His towel drops and he kisses your neck, tugging at the tape bound around your chest. You shift to wrap your hand around his length over his boxers, aching for the feeling of him inside of you.

Rafe loves that you touch him like this now, without any hesitation. He rips the tape off of your chest, his fingers burning.

While you wore panties just in case, you’re glad you went without a bra simply because of the way Rafe breathes when he looks down to see your bare chest.

He fondles your tits with eager, rough movements, squeezing as he clenches his jaw.

“Every guy was staring at you, but only I get to do this.” His lips are against your neck, breath hot.

You tense for a second. He shouldn’t say shit like this. His words are possessive and tender and way too fucking heavy.

But you push yourself out of your head, focusing on how you feel physically, forgetting the emotions that have slowly been tacking themselves onto you like the crumpled tape on the floor.

You dip your hand into his boxers, wrapping your hand around his girth. Rafe inhales sharply, squeezing his eyes shut as you stroke him slowly. You drag your hand to his tip, feeling the warm precum and spreading it with your thumb.

“Fuck,” he groans.

“You like that?” you whisper with a smile. It’s exciting talking like this. You were always quiet when hooking up with a guy, but Rafe has pushed you completely out of your shell.

“Get on my bed,” he says gruffly, pressing your hips back. You lie down, watching his cock spring out of his boxers when he tugs them off.

Rafe almost asks to skip the condom, but it feels too intimate. Too serious. And he’s sure you’d say no.

You pull your panties off as he rolls on the latex and gets on his knees, sinking onto the mattress, hands gripping your ankles. He shifts and rests your ankles on his broad shoulders, his hands skimming down your legs.

He drags a thumb over your wet clit, gazing down at you with yearning as he spreads your slick arousal over you. You moan at the sensation, realizing just how sensitive you are from how long it’s been and how much you missed him.

“You’re fucking soaked,” Rafe rasps. “Who got you like this, baby?”

“You did,” you reply. The words coming out of your mouth are so fucking soothing. He can’t think about anyone else doing this to you. Only him.

Rafe pulls his hand off of you to grip your thigh and holds his cock at its base with his other hand, tapping it over your middle. You look at him, eyes meeting in an exquisite, mutual longing.

“Say please,” he teases.

“You say please,” you reply, smirking. Rafe shakes his head in disbelief and awe and desire, his hair falling over his forehead.

He can’t wait. He guides himself into you, slipping in so easily, feeling just how drenched and tight and warm you are. He groans as you take him in with a deep breath, tilting to feel the curve of his cock.

“That’s so fucking nice,” he whispers, watching himself push into you. “Your pussy is so fucking nice.”

His fingers dig into your thigh as he pulls back and pushes in again. You throw your head back as he shoves himself into you, filling you completely, the pressure hard and incredible.

Rafe’s thumb is on your clit again, rubbing in circles as he thrusts, making you tremble. Your mouth is agape, your hands above your head as he pleasures you.

It’s such a phenomenal view to him. Pleasure written on your face, your tits bouncing, your chest heaving, your body jolting.

You feel your stomach tighten, the rising sensation making you moan. Rafe starts to go harder, rubbing faster, a smile curling on his lips as he watches you.

“I…” you breathe. “Fuck, I…”

“Can’t talk?” he rasps, amused. You bite your bottom lip and moan a giggle, willing yourself to look at him before he has to tell you to.

His gaze is piercing into you as you feel yourself dissolve into ecstasy, your body going numb before it heats with the most amazing feeling you’ve ever had.

Rafe feels you clenching around his cock and he leans over to get as deep into you as possible, your legs bending as his shoulders push you forward.

After you come down from your orgasm, he places his hand on your cheek, dipping his thumb into your mouth.

You stare at him as he drives into you and you wrap your lips around his thumb, tasting yourself. Rafe might just go crazy. You take him so much better than he’s ever had before.

He tightens and you watch the euphoria wash over his face, his brows furrowing and his lips parting. You love that you can do this to him, that a man so commanding and dominant and brash crumbles like this when he’s inside you.

He cums in hard pulses, hips bucking with every jerk, seeing stars. When he slowly pulls out, you close your eyes, sighing in pleasure.

Your palms rest over your eyes, feeling high off the feeling as you feel him shift off the mattress. When you catch your breath, you open your eyes to see Rafe offering you a towel.

“You have fun?” he asks. You can tell he’s trying to do the whole aftercare thing, but because it’s not genuine, you’d rather not play along.

It’s clear he wants you to leave with the way he’s holding out the towel, surely wishing you’d cover up and go. You’re not surprised. You sit up, taking the towel and wrapping it around your body.

“C-minus,” you say.

“What?”

“Kidding,” you laugh. You stand to leave and decide to let him deal with the mess of caution tape on his floor, desperate to be alone so you can pull yourself together.

You go so suddenly that Rafe watches his door shut with confusion. He thought you’d wipe yourself down with the towel he gave you, maybe sit a while with him.

He oddly wanted you to stay a little bit. He liked joking around with you earlier tonight. It was fun.

But you were so eager to go. Probably because Rafe is the kind of guy you fuck and forget, and Blake is the kind of guy you make love to and stick around for.

He knows that he’s in a competition he’ll eventually lose because he can’t offer you a relationship. You said yourself he’d be the worst boyfriend ever the night he told you not to cuddle him.

But he’ll happily take these nights with you for as long as possible. And he’ll keep fighting for as many as he can.

When you make it to your dorm, you sit on your bed, breathless. Just when you think the sex can’t get any better with Rafe, it does.

He almost disappointed you with his lack of emotion afterwards, but you’re glad you didn’t give him the power to. He’ll always let you down in that department. As long as you keep any feelings for him at bay, you know you’ll be fine.

After you feel a bit calmer, you check your phone to see five texts.

Liv: didn’t get a chance to tell you but rafe is down BAD for you

Liv: when i told him you were upstairs with blake he looked like he was about to kill someone

Liv: hope you have fun lol :)

Liv: i sure am… i made out with sam after you left… oops

Then you see a block of text in the next notification.

Blake: Gotta be honest. I wanted to kiss you when we were in my room but you make me really nervous haha. Can I take you on a date? A real one. Not just a study date lol. All good if you’re not into it. Let me know.

(part eight)

author’s note: thank you anon for this iconic idea!!

if you want notifications on when i post my fics, follow @xorafe-library and turn on notifications 💘

[pomefioredove]

also i just realised you said smth about vil prompts.. don't mind if i do talk about an idea that has been in my head for some time vil and someone who has trouble keeping up their skincare routine and tends to pick at their skin ESP IF THEY'RE IN POMEFIORE TOO since beauty.. skincare.. right its just something that has been tugging at me, you might enjoy it too ahaha (again, not a request !!)

TOO LATE I'm making this a request anyway (clearing out my inbox again) but headcanons and with pomfam cause I miss them

summary: reader who picks at their skin type of post: headcanons characters: vil, rook, epel additional info: romantic or platonic, reader is gender neutral, reader is not specified to be yuu, rook is rook

Epel is right there with you

if he wasn't being forced, he wouldn't be doing any of this at all

so he's always grateful when Vil goes after you and not him <3

in the beginning he'll say nothing if he sees you picking at your face

he gets it

he definitely misses the feeling of peeling skin off a sunburn (mm satisfying)

then he starts caring about you

and he figures that reminding you not to touch your face is a little easier than getting between you and Vil every time he chews you out

you two start doing your skincare together so you won't forget

somehow ends up with both of you improving

though... it's a long process

"Stop that. We'll both get in trouble for it, you hear?"

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

for a while, Vil is close to buying a spray bottle to spritz you with water when you misbehave

luckily, he's not an animal

...that would smudge your makeup

at least he believes that you're forgetful (as you are in other areas)

for a few weeks, he will personally come oversee you and Epel doing your nighttime routine to make sure you don't skip any steps or fall asleep with dirt on your face

any time he catches you picking, he just straight up grabs your wrist and pulls it away

eventually he just starts leaving notes in the bathroom for you

reminders and such

will hold your hand to prevent you from touching your face

does not care if you're embarrassed

"Stop fidgeting. There is nothing romantic about this, and even if there was, perhaps some embarrassment would do you good,"

(acts as if he's not totally in love with this)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Rook takes a gentle approach

he's always had a soft spot for you, and he knows you're not doing it on purpose!

he sees you picking, he snaps his fingers to get your attention

it's subtle and saves you the embarrassment

how sweet, right?

then he starts doing it for other things, too

slouching? elbows on the table? talking too loud or too quiet?

he snaps and you straighten yourself out

(which is often, since he's always got an eye on you)

it's not until Epel sees it happening and gives you a weird look that you realize Rook has effectively been training you like a pet

little freak

and the worst part is that it works

"Ah, je suis désolée, I meant no harm! It's only that you respond so beautifully to me,"

[evilwizard]

I do want to say, my views on AI “art” have changed somewhat. It was wrong of me to claim that it’s not wrong to use it in shitposts… there definitely is some degree of something problematic there.

Personally I feel like it’s one of those problems that’s best solved via lawmaking—specifically, AI generations shouldn’t be copywrite-able, and AI companies should be fined for art theft and “plagiarism”… even though it’s not directly plagiarism in the current legal sense. We definitely need ethical philosophers and lawmakers to spend some time defining exactly what is going on here.

But for civilians, using AI art is bad in the same nebulous sense that buying clothes from H&M or ordering stuff on Amazon is bad… it’s a very spread out, far away kind of badness, which makes it hard to quantify. And there’s no denying that in certain contexts, when applied in certain ways (with actual editing and artistic skill), AI can be a really interesting tool for artists and writers. Which again runs into the copywrite-ability thing. How much distance must be placed between the artist and the AI-generated inspiration in order to allow the artist to say “this work is fully mine?”

I can’t claim to know the answers to these issues. But I will say two things:

Ignoring AI shit isn’t going to make it go away. Our tumblr philosophy is wildly unpopular in the real world and most other places on the internet, and those who do start using AI are unfortunately gonna have a big leg up on those who don’t, especially as it gets better and better at avoiding human detection.

Treating AI as a fundamental, ontological evil is going to prevent us from having these deep conversations which are necessary for us—as a part of society—to figure out the ways to censure AI that are actually helpful to artists. We need strong unions making permanent deals now, we need laws in place that regulate AI use and the replacement of humans, and we need to get this technology out of the hands of huge megacorporations who want nothing more than to profit off our suffering.

I’ve seen the research. I knew AI was going to big years ago, and right now I know that it’s just going to get bigger. Nearly every job is in danger. We need to interact with this issue—sooner rather than later—or we risk losing all of our futures. And unfortunately, just as with many other things under capitalism, for the time being I think we have to allow some concessions. The issue is not 100% black or white. Certainly a dark, stormy grey of some sort.

But please don’t attack middle-aged cat-owners playing around with AI filters. Start a dialogue about the spectrum of morality present in every use of AI—from the good (recognizing cancer cells years in advance, finding awesome new metamaterials) to the bad (megacorporations replacing workers and stealing from artists) to the kinda ambiguous (shitposts, app filter that makes your dog look like a 16th century British royal for some reason).

And if you disagree with me, please don’t be hateful about it. I fully recognize that my current views might be wrong. I’m not a paragon of moral philosophy or anything. I’m just doing my best to live my life in a way that improves the world instead of detracting from it. That’s all any of us can do, in my opinion.

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Jack Howl - Room Relaxation Vignette

"Happy Birthday"

[Sports Field]

[tup, tup, tup]

Jack: Pant, pant… I could really feel the burn on those last 20 meters.

Jack: What's my time…? Oh, not bad. I'll have to remember this feeling for next time. Alright, guess it's time to stretch and head back to the dorm.

Riddle: Are you doing solo practice after your club activities once again? You sure are diligent, Jack.

Jack: Oh, Riddle-senpai. When you say "again" like that… did you already know that I always stay behind longer?

Riddle: Well, when the Equestrian Club ends our activities for the day and leave the stable for our respective dormitories, we do pass by the field.

Riddle: I've spotted you running by yourself many times before. Are you training for a meet of some kind?

Jack: Ah, actually, recently my times have been fairly stagnant, so I've been trying to adjust my running form.

Jack: Nothing I was doing was really working… But I think I've really started to figure out what I need.

Jack: For now, I plan on heading back to my dorm and, starting tomorrow, I'll focus on working on my newest running posture.

Riddle: A good decision. It would not do for you to injure yourself by overworking.

Riddle: Besides, a student's priority should be their studies. Passion is well and good, however you would do well to not neglect your studies.

Jack: No need to tell me twice. I don't plan on neglecting my practice nor my studies whatsoever.

Jack: I made it here to Night Raven College, after all. I'll put forth even more effort so I can achieve even more.

Jack: Even if it's the day before my birthday, I'll have to continue doing my best… No, I'll have to do even better than my best.

Riddle: Oh, is your birthday tomorrow?

Riddle: Then I'm sure there's much for you to prepare. It would be rude of me to continue to keep you, so I'll leave you now.

[Riddle walks off]

Jack: Eh…? Oh, sure. Thank you, Riddle-senpai.

Jack: …Did I just say out loud that it's my birthday tomorrow? I hope he doesn't think I'm excited about it, or anything…

Jack: Ughhhh. Nah, it's no good worrying about something that's already done! Time to stretch!

[Savanaclaw Dorm – Jack's Room]

Jack: Whew… I feel much better after a shower. Guess it's time to finally get to my homework.

[Savanaclaw Dorm – Jack's Room]

Jack: Guess that's enough of reviewing today's lessons. I gotta put my homework in my bag before I forget, too…

[Roommate A speaks up]

Jack: … Huh? You wanna copy my homework before I put it away? I didn't work on it to help you guys out, why would I show it to you, anyway?

[Roommate B talks back]

Jack: You don't know the answers? Well, that's your fault for not listening during class. Don't come begging me for scraps.

Jack: Ugh, look at 'em, all grumbling over something stupid. Anyway… I guess I just have "that" left to deal with before going to bed.

「Survey on Quality of Life Improvements for the Student Body」

Jack: So they're looking for campus life improvements, huh. Well, there's the fact that some can be irritating just because they're a year or two older…

Jack: But it's not like the academy can really do anything to help improve personal problems. So, I guess…

Jack: I know I'd like it if they could do something about the rule that freshmen must live 4 to a room.

Jack: It's stressful enough having to share a small room with someone else, let alone 3 other people.

Jack: I can't wait for next year. Sophomores live 2 to a room, so it should be way better than right now.

Jack: There'll be more space in the room then… And I'll be able to find more sunlight for my cacti as well.

Jack: Even though I was able to beat the others to the spot that would provide the most light back when I first got here…

Jack: It's still not enough. Compared to the rooms reserved for the upperclassmen, it's still not as bright here, so I have to take extra care of the little guys.

Jack: Cacti are just like humans in that they don't do well if they don't get enough sunlight.

Jack: …That reminds me of back home for some reason. When winter comes, I always see people here and there sunbathing.

Jack: As a kid, I thought they were just lazy, and couldn't figure out why they'd want to just lounge out under the sun…

Jack: When I learned that there were health-related reasons behind it, I was both surprised and impressed.

Jack: It's not like I've been lacking any chances to be out under the sun ever since I've come to Sage's Island…

Jack: But if I could have a room big enough to roll out a rug, it might not be so bad to lay out and sunbathe on it a bit.

Jack: Alright… I've finished filling out the survey, so I guess it's time to sleep.

[roommates chattering]

Jack: Hey! You guys are being way too loud. How long're you gonna be at it?

Jack: You all better go to sleep right at lights out tonight… 10PM is bedtime! Don't keep me awake!

Jack: …Yeah, like those guys'll listen to what I say.

Jack: I should go back to the survey and ask for a canopy bed… Or maybe a partition.

Jack: Sleep is important for me to build my muscles… So I can't have them keeping me up… Yaaawn…

[Savanaclaw Dorm – Jack's Room]

[alarm blaring]

Jack: …Mm, is it morning already? Welp, then. First things first after waking up…

Jack: There's no question about it. TIME TO REPLENISH QUICKLY WITH SOME PROTEIN!!

Jack: I need to gain back all the nutrients I lost while sleeping. I'll swing by the kitchen for a protein drink and then head towards the washroom.

[Savanaclaw Dorm – Washroom]

[splash, splash]

Jack: Whew… No one's awake at this time, so it's nice and quiet here.

Jack: …Man, no matter how I look at it, my hair is tousled into a real mess. This happens every morning, sure, but…

Jack: Since I have thicker hair, it's so hard to tame the bedhead. Ah, tsk, there's even some pillow marks on my ears.

Jack: Well, I guess I'll just start with wetting the roots of my hair and then use the dryer while pulling the strands back…

[blow-dries hair]

Jack: Once the unruly strands are tamed, I'll comb it… Good, it's more or less better now. If I don't do this first, it ends up taking longer in the end.

Jack: I've tried a bunch of different hair products, but I ended up liking this wax the best.

Jack: Hair gel might be better to keep the shape, but it gets too stiff and takes too long to wash out.

Jack: Only using wax means that my hairstyle starts to lose its hold around evening time, but all I need to do for that is to just fix it up in the afternoon.

Jack: Nice, that looks good. All that's left is to spray it a bit…

[sprays hair]

Jack: Normally I won't use it 'cause I don't like it to get on my ears, but I want to make sure I look spot on today of all days.

Jack: As for makeup… Nah, I'll go without, like usual. I'd like to look good, but I don't want to get all dolled up or anything.

Jack: I'll just use my normal sunscreen. Can't say I really like how it feels on my skin, though…

Jack: But I remember the first time I ever went skiing by myself and the pain I went through when I forgot to apply sunscreen.

Jack: The way I got burned by the sun reflecting on the snow and I had to live with the embarrassment of the goggles leaving that imprint on my face… Augh, I don't even want to think about it again.

Jack: But thanks to that, I finally understand why my parents wouldn't shut up about not forgetting to put on sunscreen.

Jack: Looks like there's a bunch I'm able to understand more as I grow up, like that whole sunbathing thing. Guess that's another reason why it's fun to grow older.

[Savanaclaw Dorm – Jack's Room]

Jack: Alright. Now that I look presentable, I think I'll stretch out my muscles to prep for morning practice.

Jack: Phew… This old chair they supplied the room with really comes in handy for stretching.

Jack: Right after we got grouped together, none of us wanted it so we kept trying to shove it onto each other, but that was just a pain to deal with, so I kept it…

Jack: It's hard, sturdy, and it doesn't wobble so easily. Plus, the size is just perfect for someone of my height.

Jack: Next, I'll step onto the seat and… I guess I'll look over my class notes while I stretch, as usual.

Jack: I think we were on this page of the textbook for Magical History…

Jack: "The following year, the ancient incantations that were inscribed on the cave walls were successfully deciphered. The gathered mages then attempted to speak the ancient incantations…"

[Roommate B complains]

Jack: …Huh, what, I'm too loud? My voice woke you up? Well, good timing, the sun's almost up. Get up, already!

[Main Street]

Jack: Urk, is that who I think it is over there…? …Good morning, Riddle-senpai.

Riddle: Good morning, Jack. Have you finished with morning practice already?

Riddle: Happy Birthday. That's all I came here to say.

Jack: …Of course it was about that. Sorry to be a bother about it. I didn't mean to let it slip yesterday…

Riddle: Heh, you're no bother. We may be of different dormitories, however it is the duty of us upperclassmen to support our underclassmen.

Riddle: You should continue to do your utmost. …Of course, I'm sure you don't need me to tell you that.

Jack: Yes, sir! I'll keep on improving!

Requested by @farfalla049.

[moonydustx]

I look better under you

Based on the song Snooze - Sza

Roronoa Zoro x F!Reader

Warnings: smut, mentions of scars, jealousy. Doesn't exactly follow plot canon.

Summary: After two years apart after the incident with Kuma in Sabaody, you and Zoro meet again.

A/N: I was thinking about doing some stories based on songs, especially in the future using one from Cowboy Carter for Ace because it makes so much sense to me. While that doesn't happen, we're left with Snooze, which is one of my favorites from Sza.

requests open | one piece masterlist

Long as you dreamin' 'bout me, ain't no problem

I don't got nobody, just with you right now

Tell the truth, I look better under you

I can't lose when I'm with you

How can I snooze and miss the moment?

You just too important

Nobody do body like you do

Your body itched when you saw a handful of greenish hair appearing on the horizon of the Sabaody archipelago. It was two long years without seeing each other, without talking, without the little escapades in the crow's nest where you spent hours tangled up in each other. Before you could prepare to talk to him, Sanji and Luffy also appeared in your field of vision, running in some direction you hadn't noticed yet.

"Let's go!" Luffy passed you who immediately started running to keep up with them.

"Finally a beautiful and real woman." Sanji's eyes practically threw hearts in your direction. "So beautiful, so fragrant, so..."

For a few seconds you thought Zoro was going to complain about Sanji, like they always did, but he remained quiet just as he didn't show any reaction when he saw you.

Your companions didn't know about the little escapades the two of you had and for a long time it was what made sense to you. Until your eyes witnessed Kuma erase Zoro's existence before your eyes, at least that's what you believed for a while.

"Isn't that the pretty girl from Thriller Bark?" Sanji caught your attention. A few meters away you recognized the pink hair and the gothic style.

The woman's face was almost glued to Zoro's as she yelled at him. Too close to be just a coincidence. "Why haven't you left here yet?" "I brought you here for nothing." Perhaps your vision was obstructed by the anxiety of being back - which now became a bitterness on your lips. Apparently the two years passed differently for him.

Ignoring the confused feelings, you and your companions ran towards the Sunny and before the navy even thought about reaching you, the ship was already sailing towards the next island.

"It's so good to have everyone back!" Nami hugged you tightly in a hug. "Come on, tell me what you were doing this whole time."

Islands with carnivorous plants, strange laboratories, giant birds, a castle with a certain girl with pink hair. Zoro was sitting next to you. As they listened to everyone talk, something about his posture seemed to show some discomfort in being there.

Everyone seemed to accumulate stories and adventures to tell and despite the small puddle of hurt that accumulated in you, you were happy to see your friends again.

"And you." Robin turned towards you. "What challenges have you encountered?"

"I went to a village that was being attacked by venomous insects. We had to keep shooting at them all the time and maybe that improved my aim." You took one of the small knives from your waistband and threw it past the small gap between Nami's neck and hair.

"Shown off." Zoro murmured next to you, attracting your attention for a brief second.

"Did the animals do this?" Usopp pointed to your arm.

Attracting everyone's eyes, you turned your arm, showing the scars that started on your fingers and went almost to the height of your shoulder.

"No." you smiled sympathetically as the shooter looked on attentively. "Let's just say not everyone on this island was nice or interested in the end of the demonic insects."

The others nodded and it didn't take long for them to engage in another story, paying attention to all the news. Even though you weren't looking in his direction, you could feel yourself being watched the entire time.

After a long conversation, everyone decided to explore Sunny. Review what they left behind, prepare for the next challenges. Before you could do the same, you felt an arm pulling you towards one of the rooms.

"What the hell is this." you saw Zoro in your field of vision. One of his hands closed the door and the other rested on the side of your head.

He tried again and saw you repeat the gesture. It took his brain a few seconds to process all the possibilities.

"It's been so long." he murmured, his face seeking the direction of your lips. Begrudgingly, you dodged his kiss. "What?"

"I understand." he started walking away. "Two years is too long, I understand that maybe you found someone else."

"I did this?" The tone of his voice was shrill and full of indignation. "Says the guy who was with the goth girl there. Did you enjoy your enchanting romance in an incredible castle?"

"Are you crazy?" Zoro analyzed you for a few seconds, seeing how safe it was to approach you. His hands found your chin and when you tried to move away from his touch, Zoro held on even tighter. "You know I had nothing to do with her. You know no one is like you."

Your own hands found his and went up to your face, relief was written on your face. Gently, one of your fingers traced the scar that closed his eye.

"Who made this?" you whispered, wanting to hold that little moment between the two of you.

"No one that matters now." He turned his face, kissing one of your hands. His gaze soon reached your immense scar. "About what you said outside, who was the bastard that hurt you?"

"No one that matters now." You smiled, enjoying his touch on your face. "You know I hate her, don't you?"

"Perona?"

"I wish I had killed that bitch in Thriller Bark!" you grumbled, earning a laugh from Zoro.

He wanted to kiss you, heavens he wanted to be able to take you there but he had missed hearing you too much and seeing your eyes shining in his direction. Everything else could wait.

"You only say that because she was playing with the ghosts and you."

"Exactly." your hands went down to the back of his head, pulling him closer. "I'd kill that bitch again just to think of her stealing what's mine."

You could feel Zoro's laughter almost on your skin, given the proximity. "So jealous" he murmured and before his lips stole yours, the two of you were interrupted when you were thrown from the door and the presence of a euphoric Luffy appeared.

"Let's eat! Sanji is going to make a huge feast for you and us." he pulled you by the shoulders. "Can you get your knife between Brook's ribs, say yes, please."

"Does he know you want to do this?" you asked him, taking advantage of Zoro's support to stand up.

"He said he'll accept it, if you let him see the color of your panties." Luffy spoke with a naturalness that brought laughter from you and a groan from the swordsman.

"He won't see, but..." you warned, tugging at the waistband of your pants. "It's pink, with white polka dots." Brook's scream outside indicated that he had heard the entire conversation and had probably combusted.

"Hit his head." Zoro grumbled, leaving the room before you.

A lot of thrown knives, a huge feast made by Sanji - and considering that Luffy ate more than half of it claiming he missed the food the cook made. You watched some of your friends retreat to your quarters.

"Has anyone seen Zoro?"

"He said he would be upstairs if anyone needed him." Chopper warned you and you thanked him, leaving him behind.

Knowing he would probably be alone, you walked up the stairs to the crow's nest and entered unceremoniously. Zoro was lying down, contemplating the ceiling.

"I thought it would take longer." He stood up, coming towards you.

"It's just that everyone is going to sleep, I think we can talk properly now." the words barely had space to leave your lips before Zoro reached you and crashed his lips into yours.

Your hands were against his chest and even though you wanted to move away to at least try to talk before finding out what happened during this time outside, Zoro's lips took yours in an intoxicating way. Honey, drinks and longing mixed in your mouths.

"We can talk later." he murmured, almost reading your thoughts. "I just miss you."

"Me too." your lips heaved as you felt his arms lift you so that your legs were wrapped around his.

Such a movement was made only so that Zoro could take you to the ground in a strange delicacy on his part. The green threads became your fingers' favorite path while his hands removed the few pieces of clothing that your body still had.

"No one that matters now?" he traced some scars that adorned your back and watched you twitch. "I'll still kill the bastard."

"This someone is no longer here for you to take revenge on." you took his lips as a distraction for your hands to slide over the shoulders hidden in the kimono.

"That's my girl."

Scars, bruises, nothing would take away the pleasure of Zoro's contemplation. The long two years didn't really seem that long until he saw you. How can you wait so long? How did he not go crazy and come back even if he swam to Sabaody?

"Hi greenie." You caught his attention by letting your hands caress his cheek. "Are you ok babe?"

"You are so beautiful." The words came out suddenly as if it were common for you to hear that every day.

If it were up to him alone, he would make a point of repeating that all night and for the rest of the next nights as well. Your eyes looking down at him asking for attention to your body, your legs closing against his body, small sighs as you felt him touch you. You underneath him was one of the best sights Zoro would have for the rest of his life.

His lips traced every contour of your skin. Every shiver was swallowed by a kiss, every shiver was trapped between his lips. The damp fabric of your panties didn't last long as a hindrance to the swordsman who turned you into tatters. It was like enjoying a feast after years of scarcity, drinking the divine honey that flowed from you.

"Still delicious." "I missed you so much."

Zoro couldn't contain a light laugh when he saw you cover your mouth with both hands, avoiding the screams that hit your body as you poured yourself onto his lips. Your waist took on a life of its own with the sensitivity of your pussy against his tongue.

Without any effort, Zoro turned you around and, handling you, placed your body on top of him, in a lotus position. His cock brought friction against your clitoris, your belly burning with pure anxiety and his hands made your hips move against him without even penetrating you. Your lips already hurt from the pressure you used to not let any noise escape.

"Let me hear you, please." One of his hands caught your hair, placing your head against the back of his neck. "Moan just for me baby. I need to hear you."

"Zoro, fuck, don't torture me. Just fuck me, please."

Hearing you beg was the closest thing a devil like him would get to heaven. Wrong, so wrong. Feeling your pussy contract with every inch he put in, that was paradise.

Despite feeling like you could explode at any moment, you moved slowly, not wanting the night to end. The grips against your ass, the eager hands pressing you against the base of his cock. Neither of them seemed to be able to last long.

The peak reached you first, your lips against the sweaty back of your neck, your fingers prickling the green strands begging for more and more, it was enough for Zoro to sink his teeth into your soft skin, containing his own moans and filling you up.

He lay down, still keeping himself inside you and allowing you to lay against his chest.

"You have new ones too." Your fingers traced some new scars.

"You don't like them?"

"Still beautiful, as always. Zo?"

" What do you need, sweet?"

"I know it wasn't our choice, but... Promise that if we get separated again, we'll find a way and find each other." Your eager eyes drew a sigh from the man, who pressed you even tighter against his embrace.

"This is the easiest promise I've ever made."

The sun began to rise when you could no longer keep your eyes open. With your body tied to Zoro's and covered by his kimono, without worrying if anyone would arrive, the two of you both took a snooze.

[velvetreds]

STFU — K. KOZUME

cws; swearing, writing lowkey gives stephen king at one point because i read like four novels in a row while writing this, misunderstandings, gn!reader i think

wc; 1667

"kenma."

he groaned.

"kenma."

"mm." his eyes fluttered open, and he was met with the — extremely fetching — sight of you hovering over him. you looked beautiful, as usual, even though you'd just woken up, and he cracked a small, sleepy smile. okay, he'd seen you. time to go back to sleep. but as soon as he closed his eyes, you poked his cheek to wake him up again.

"y/n, what the hell..."

"you have to wake up, you have practice!"

"fuck practice," he whined, burying his face in his pillow. the awesomest. sleepover of his entire life could not be ending like this. he heard you giggling behind him and groaned again. "i just wanna sleep!" he stopped talking, preparing to doze off again.

"is it too late to join a different club?"

"no," you told him forcefully. "and you're my best friend, so i'd love to let you sleep, but i can't exactly tell kuroo or the coach that, can i?"

and you're my best friend and i'm in love with you, but i can't exactly tell you that either, so we don't always get what we want, do we? he thought drowsily. or he thought he did, anyways, because the next thing he heard was your gasp — maybe a bit too loud, but it was there all the same, and shit, he must've said it out loud.

"what was that?" you asked him, and for a second he panicked.

kenma had never really been a fan of volleyball. it's nothing he hated, but he was sure he'd be perfectly fine without it too. and it was tiring. but he had learnt one thing from it — or maybe he'd known it all along, and it just helped him improve — and that one thing just happened to be bluffing. so he rolled over to stare at you blankly. "huh? I didn't say anything."

"okay," you said, but you weren't really sure he was telling the truth. sometime after you walked him to practice, he started avoiding you, and then you had to accept that yeah, he'd lied.

how could he accidentally confess his love to someone while half asleep? kenma had no idea; furthermore, he was haunted by the fear of other people finding out what he'd kept carefully hidden for over half a decade. he remembered being twelve and kuroo grinning at him so all-knowingly at him. i know what you are, he'd said. not aloud, but kenma had heard it clear as day, just as he noticed how kuroo's canines were glinting unnaturally in the sunlight, and seconds before getting hit squarely in the face with a volleyball because he'd looked away to stare at you. it had totally been worth it, though, he decided, when you came over to his house with a bag of candy and some cold soda.

he was struck with the sudden realisation that he's holding the exact same soda — completely identical, down to the flavour and the size of the bottle — in one hand as his fingers slowly grew numb from the cold when he saw you again, talking to kuroo as the two of you approached him. he was acutely aware of the condensation dripping down his fingers when kuroo yelled out to him, and he waved at the two of nervously with his free hand, trying to gauge your reaction. you waved back, and he was filled with a swirl of emotions, including but definitely not limited to relief.

you didn't find it suspicious when kuroo "had to go" somewhere barely two minutes into your conversations, but kenma did. said suspicions were further confirmed when kuroo — after making sure your back was turned — grinned at him wolfishly and mouthed "good luck" to him as he left.

almost immediately after kuroo disappeared, the atmosphere shifted before either of you even said anything. there was reproach in your gaze as you stared at him silently

(why are you ignoring me?)

there was an unspoken apology in his.

(i'm sorry so sorry i fucked up i didn't mean to this is all my fault)

drip

the two of you stood in silence.

drip

another drop of condensation hit the ground.

you glanced at your watch for the third time.

"do i... do you want me to walk you home?" he asked.

say no, you told yourself. give him the same treatment he gave you.

"yes," you said aloud. "i'd like that."

you had never been able to say no to him, after all.

the walk back to your house was warm and sticky, a textbook summer day if there ever was one. kenma had been looking forward to his stupid drink, but your reddened cheeks and the way your hair clung to your sweaty forehead made him pity you enough to wrench the cap off and hold the bottle out to you. you drank gratefully, and it appeared that you'd cooled down a bit afterwards. alongside your body temperature, the simmering tension between the two of you also went down considerably.

"kenma, will you come in for a bit?" you asked at your door, fingers still wrapped around the neck of the half-empty soda bottle. you weren't sure why you asked, exactly, but you did want to talk things out — losing kenma like this wasn't something you wanted in any way, and you'd lose kuroo by proxy too, resulting in you having a total of zero best friends.

"sure," he replied. to anyone else, his voice would've sounded the same as usual — monotonous, a little bored — but you knew better. he was nervous. for a moment, that made you happy in a weird, twisted sort of way.

he sat cross-legged on your bedroom floor, eyes glued to the switch in his hands as he played. however, today his attention was on you, instead, mind subconsciously following you around your room. hearing you shuffle into the bathroom, he relaxed, but only a little. for some reason, he was sure that your silence was much more terrifying than whatever you were planning to say to him.

when you came out, you looked refreshed, calmer. you padded to your bed, now in your pjs and the terrible fluffy slippers that kenma always despised — until today. how could he ever have hated them, he wondered, when they were so indisputably you?

you forced him into the bathroom next (no sweaty people allowed in my room!) along with some of his clothes he'd left at yours before. it wasn't anything new. all three of you — you, kenma, kuroo — had each other's stuff scattered all around your rooms. the three of you had had a very equal relationship — or so you'd thought. until that fateful day almost a fortnight ago, when kenma had mumbled out an accidental love confession while trying to skip out on practice. surely it wasn't an actual confession, you thought. there was no way he could possibly like someone like you, right?

yeah. exactly. it was an accident, and he felt bad for leading you on so he avoided you. but how could he have known? there was no way that kuroo told him, was there? a new wave of panic washed over you, and you couldn't help but jump in surprise as kenma accidentally opened the bathroom door with an unnecessary amount of extra force and re-entered your room.

"kenma," you sighed with relief. "i got scared for a sec."

"who else would it be?" he asked, a small, slow smile creeping across his face.

"no— i don't know..." you trailed off. before you could say anything else, kenma decided to speak.

"i'm sorry," he said.

"whahuh?" the two words had caught you completely off guard. you hadn't been expecting him to say a specific thing, but you hadn't expected him to apologise either. he bristled uncomfortably under your surprised deer-in-headlights stare.

"i've been avoiding you," he tried next. it was true; you both knew it by now. how were you even supposed to respond? everything you thought of seemed wrong for the situation. instead, you decided to ask a question in return.

"why'd you say you were in love with me?"

kenma cringed at your question, as if it caused him to feel some sort of physical discomfort. "because? i am?"

it came out as more of a question than a statement, and only served to confuse you more. "what?"

and then the words finally registered into your brain, and your face creased into a little frown — an adorable one, too, kenma thought, but he had to remind himself to not get carried away right now. "no, that's impossible. who put you up to this, kuroo?"

a pained grimace crossed his face. "what? no. besides, kuro would never do that."

"then?" you demanded. no response. the two of you stayed silent, you sitting on your bed, and him at the other end of the room.

"um, i was twelve." kenma was the first to break the tensed silence, hating the sound of his own voice.

"when i first liked you, i guess," he added as an afterthought.

"no." you sat up straighter, eyes flicking to the calendar, where a date was circled in bright red marker. beside it, there was an extremely artistic rendition of what you could only guess to be a pudding, done by none other than kuroo. the marked date was kenma's eighteenth birthday. "that's—"

"a long time, i know," replied kenma resignedly. "kuro's told me enough, you don't have to make it worse."

"but i—"

"i know you don't reciprocate, and i'm not asking you to. all i want is for you to forget this ever—"

"kenma, shut the fuck up and let me speak!" you shrieked, tired of his delusional rambling. he flinched at the sound of your voice, but obeyed you all the same.

"i love you too, okay? so stop being stupid!"

kenma blinked in surprise. "huh?"

"didn't see that coming, did you?" you slid off your bed, grinning at him triumphantly.

i dont remember writing this or the process or anything at all. help :3 almost done with the screenshots for unreq lvrs org btw!!!!

[theabigailthorn]

Hey I made a post a few days ago and someone referred me to you so I’m here to ask for advice and guidance because I’ve been in acting for years and it’s my life passion (stage acting specifically) but I’ve realized this year that I am a trans woman and I don’t know what to do about it because I feel like there are next to no opportunities for me in the community if I transition, especially when it comes to musicals and really anything during early transition. I’ve just started college and feel like now is the time to start pushing for hormones and whatnot if I’m going to transition but I don’t know if I should because I feel like there won’t be a place for me in the career I want anymore. I’m at a point where I could change career paths but I don’t really have anything else I want to do I’ve always just loved acting. So anyways I don’t know what to do and I’m kind of asking anyone for help who might listen or have valuable insights if you read this thank you for your time<3

Mm, this is a tricky one. Are you in Britain? If so then I agree that opportunities are thin on the ground, even more so than for cis people in the industry. I also don't think that's likely to improve quickly. Apart from a dearth of jobs, it helps to be realistic about the risks. I've had people in Britain tell me they straight up won't work with trans people, which is illegal but there's nothing you can do about it. I've had chats with other trans actors who feel there's a hard ceiling in Britain on what you're allowed to achieve, and it's a lot lower for us than it is for cis actors.

The British acting industry also has a chaser problem. One of the consequences of the widespread dehumanisation of trans people in this country is sexual abusers find we make good targets - we're already systemically vulnerable and many people don't care what happens to us. I've seen talented trans actors drop out or contemplate dropping out because they were sexually assaulted by a writer or director. A lot of cishet people still find it unspeakable that straight men prey on trans girls. As a purely hypothetical example, let's say there was a man with a history of being very creepy to women, especially young actresses, who went around sleeping with trans women in exchange for empty promises of work, and who also assaulted trans women at auditions for his big project, who everyone in the British entertainment trans community knows is a creep, who then went on to win a major award - wouldn't THAT just make you want to scromit?! 🙃 Purely hypothetical of course. This elite consensus that trans people are 'violable' also extends to less horrific but still awful things like cis people stealing our work, which isn't hypothetical and did in fact happen directly to me.

If you're in the USA then I think there's cause for optimism, depending a bit on what happens in November.

On the other hand, something they told me at drama school is "In order to have a career you must be two things: 1) Unique, and 2) Good to work with." So perhaps your transness will be your unique selling point! There's really no way to know until you try. And it wouldn't restrict you from making your own work either: look at people like Piss Carnation, who are doing well in fringe theatre! I remember having the same feelings about my own transition: I thought it would be the end of my career. So far the opposite has proven true, which is lovely! There's a lot of luck and privilege involved in that outcome though.

For me, acting is a calling - it's the closest thing I have to spirituality - I couldn't not do it.

[himezoro]

HI, i’m just soo in love with the way you portray zoro so i was thinking about a request (only if u want to, ofcc)

imagine reader having feelings for zoro and be reciprocated (but reader still doesn’t know bc zoro’s not the best at expressing feelings) they’re in wano and with the way hiyori treats zoro reader thinks zoro likes hiyori so reader puts some distance between them and zoro and gets closer to law (bc i think they’re kinda similar up to some point) AND ZORO NOTICES IT.

that’s it for my request, kinda specific lol, HAVE A NICE DAY and feel free to take as much time as you need if you decide to give it a go <3

i’m so sorry for the wait, but istg I really wanted to give it a go as you said!! <3 the reader is set to be the crew’s strategist/scholar, just like in this one shot (though this request is not meant to be the following of the later!). the events I’m describing are not 100% accurate with the exact way wano happened (in terms of strategy meetings etc etc) but I felt more comfortable this way!! i didn't know if you wanted a good or bad ending, so i went for the first option to compensate with the long wait :( i hope you enjoy it <3

wc: 1.7 ish

stolen times

Saying you only had yourself to blame and your sole eyes to cry, was an understatement.

As the crew’s strategist, you offered to split at Zou in order for everyone to attend the two issues at end: saving Sanji, and the people of Wano. Because of your valuable knowledge and abilities, you stayed alongside Law, Robin, Franky, and Zoro, while the rest of the crew left for Whole Cake island. Considering the matter at hand, everyone had to stick to their role, even if it meant pretending not to know one another.

Even if it meant pretending not to know Roronoa Zoro.

Saying you knew Roronoa Zoro was also an understatement. After all the time you spent alongside the swordsman, it felt like you understood him pretty well, without as much as a word. You understood his thrive to perfect his craft, his dedication, his patience regarding improvement, his need for meditation and peace, his oath. You knew his favorite mug to drink from, the way he likes his rice, his favorite sleeping position. You could hear the laughters he would let while talking to Luffy, see the protective hold he would have on Chopper while walking, see the flex of his strong built, the blink of his dark eye, the bite on his lower lip.

Everything from Roronoa Zoro was framed in the back of your eye. You loved, admired the swordsman. Your relationship with him was pleasant, even though it lacked the romance you so craved for. He would often stay by your side while you worked in your office claiming it was a quiet space and ask if you ate before working, sit next to you during meetings and meals, lay a hand on your waist when walking down the dock, and always, always, look your way before getting into a fight with an enemy. Other than that, nothing was truly shared between the two of you, and because of Zoro’s silence regarding his feelings, your mind never allowed itself to wander through the possibilities of his heart, while the later would try its best concealing your desires.

So pretending not to know about the way another woman was treating him and tending to his needs was torture. And none of this would have happened if you had ruled for Zoro to go to Whole Cake. Which is why you deeply cursed yourself, even though it was for a greater cause.

Time seemed long until you all reunited at Wano and start planning for the assault on Kaido. So when you did reunite with everyone, your jaw almost dropped to the floor when Brook mentioned walking in on Hiyori sleeping on top of Zoro. Pretending not to care was harder than pretending not to know, so you decided to ignore the green-haired male and stay focused on your task. Even if it meant not listening to the drums of your heart and its song.

Which led to raise confusion in Zoro’s mind. He was not explicit with words, but weren’t his gestures enough? Did you not understand him like he thought you did?

He would be lying if he said he did not mind your distant attitude. He would even go as far as saying that he felt bothered by it, especially after spending quite some time apart pretending not to know one another. He was surprised to not see your usual smile when you looked at him, and not have you saving him a spot next to your figure.

Instead, there was Trafalgar Law.

And it seemed you enjoyed his company. He could see the two of you talking intently and the way he would lower his head so he could hear you more amongst the ruckus. He could see the way his grey eyes would pierce at your features, like a hawk. Hell, he even saw how Law casually laid a hand on your arm when you got up the table to wash your hands.

Zoro clicked his tongue and threw daggers at Law with his one functioning eye, wishing his eye could kill.

When the reunion ended and everyone started leaving to their room, the swordsman could not help himself but bump into you on his way, which you could not possibly ignore. Your eyes met before you averted your gaze and started walking again, which he prevented by standing your way.

And yet, he did not let out a single word. Or at least, not a single one he wished to say.

“Enjoying the alliance I see.”

You scoffed, your pride taking advantage.

“So do you, Roronoa”, you looked down at Enma with an arched brow, “Nice sword you have here.”

“Thanks, Hiyori gave it to me.” he answered, not noticing the ice in your tone, or maybe ignoring it for how warm he felt hearing your voice, even if it lacked its usual honey.

Hearing the name you resented triggered your jealousy. You simply nodded and formed an “oh” with your lips, its shape taking his breath away. It took him a lot of strength not to plant a kiss on your pout, but before he could even argue, someone called you, interrupting his train of thought.

“(Y/N)-ya, I need your input on the number of fleets for the assault before we head out.” Law said from behind Zoro, which prevented the doctor from seeing the grim look on the swordsman’s face.

“Already on first name basis with the Doctor huh?” Zoro said, clicking his tongue in the process.

Just like you with Hiyori, you wished to say. You wanted to shake him off, ask him what the matter was if Law used your first name. You wanted him to tell you he liked you and not Hiyori, and him to throw his new sword away. You knew these were unfair feelings, and probably a little mean. If Zoro had found solace in the kindness of Hiyori and the beauty of Wano, then there was nothing for you to do, right?

With these invading thoughts in mind, you simply sighed and offered him a small, sad smile before joining Law in his quarters.

“I’ll see you in three days for the assault. Please train well, everyone is counting on you.”

Seeing you walk past him to join Law hurt him more than he wished to admit. He did not turn around to watch you walk away, swallowing whole. He waited a second before walking away as well, regrouping with Hiyori.

// the festivities after the assault //

When Kaido was defeated after much efforts, the Mugiwara and the alliance craved for a celebration. Everyone was reunited on the Sunny amongst sake, flowers, food, music and laughters.

You had your back resting on the railing, enjoying the breeze in your hair with a cup of your favorite drink in your hand, looking at the rejoice faces around you. Of course, your eyes followed the trail of Zoro, and the fact that the swordsman was still sitting with Hyori.

Sighing, you felt the presence of Law getting closer to yours. He stood beside you, his eyes looking in the same direction as yours.

“I have to admit (Y/N)-ya, you remarkably led the battlefield.”

”Because you doubted this alliance? Here I thought we were able of performing miracles.” you playfully added using his phrases, slightly shoving the Doctor in the process. Trafalgar Law felt himself smirking, not bothering to answer your gentle attack, surprisingly, simply enjoying your presence.

During the course of this alliance, you had gotten closer with the Doctor. His quietness and charisma was similar to Zoro’s, even though he was not as large as the green-haired. Law found himself enjoying talking to you, especially in this setting. He thought you were intelligent and committed to your work, dedicated to saving lives with the best plans, just like he dedicated his life as a doctor to save others. You could see how he grew accustomed to the crew’s nonchalant antics, and safe around you all. Even you were surprised that he did not betray Luffy’s trust, since you were part of the ones that doubted Luffy’s decision.

But getting closer to Law, even as amicably as your relationship with him was, did not go unnoticed, especially by the swordsman himself. Three days ago, he felt a gap between the two of you, which he was not used to. Him, who was so used to stay by your side when you stayed on the railing to lovingly keep an eye on everyone. Him, who was so used to enjoying your presence and your scent. Him, that was now staring at you and Law amidst the laughters of his friends, ignoring Hiyori beside him.

Right now, he had two options at hand. Either closing the distance, or risking losing you to another world.

“Go talk to her.” he heard Hiyori’s voice beside him speak, which cut his train of thought.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I feel like I got to know you enough to know that (Y/N)-san holds a dear place to your heart. Pardon me if I am wrong, though, but she may not be aware of your feelings.”

Zoro sighed and did not find the words to answer Hiyori. Instead, he kept his eye on you all along. You were so beautiful, glorious.

When Law left to get you another drink, Zoro took this opportunity to get up and walk to you, his presence getting more and more overpowering as he got closer to you. As he got beside you, you did not dare to move, feeling a pull.

There he stayed beside you, enjoying your presence as he should. The air blowing in your hair danced its way to his heart again, a dusty shade of pink coloring his features. On your hand, it felt hard to talk, a mix of sadness, desire, pride and guilt creeping in your heart.

The swordsman crossed his arm as he kept his built back onto the railing, finally uttering the words he wished to say, closing his one eye.

“You were missed, you better know that.”

And all he heard was your scoff and laugh at his subtle yet commanding hint.

“What’s making ya laugh, woman?” he turned to you, opening his eye, basking in your glory.

“You are, Zoro. You are clearly implying that you missed my presence, while you’re here with your girlfriend! It’s preposterous, even for you.” You said, trying to calm your laughter, clearly a defense mechanism.

“Huh?! Are you insane?! Who are you talking about?” he asked, dumbfounded with a bit of irritation.

“Hiyori, who else? I wish the two of you all the happiness in the world. But you should not imply things you either do not mean or should not mean in a relationship.”

“What relationship are you even talking about for God’s sake? Are you high? Drunk?”

“Stop lying to me! I understand you have boundaries and secrets and all, but I saw how the two of you are acting! And Brook even told me you slept together! So please, for the sake of my heart, Zoro : do not say words you should not say when you are involved with someone else.”

You let out a huge sigh at the end of your speech, trying your best to keep your composure. Zoro stared at you, quite confused at your words. But amidst them all, Zoro remembered how he understood you like no one could. And in spite of your ludicrous accusations, Zoro knew better. Regardless of him knowing better, his stubbornness got the best of him at that moment.

“You’re one to talk, with Tra-guy sticking to you. He’s been all over you, ready to steal you away from me and the crew.”

“What are you even talking about? I am not planning on leaving you and the crew, and Law is just a friend. Surely, he is not interested in stealing me away on his submarine. Don’t be preposterous.”

“Only an idiot wouldn’t want to steal you away if they could.”

Your eyes met his for a moment, and it felt obvious. Natural. Before Law could come back with the drink you wanted, you offered him a small smile, set on cutting the tension.

“So, are you dating Hiyori?”

“I thought it was clear that I’m not interested in dating her.” he replied, which made you look at him with an arched brow.

“Why are you looking at me like that? Isn’t it obvious?”

“Just as obvious as your probable feelings for me, if you want my opinion.”

Zoro sighed, blaming himself for not being able to normally express his feelings to you, worried, that someone like Law could.

“How can I make my feelings clearer then?” he genuinely asked, feeling Law coming your way.

“You could start by getting me a drink?” you suggested with a knowing smile as Law arrived in front of the two of you.

Needless to say, Zoro forcefully took the drink from the other captain’s hands to hand it to you, with a smirk on his lips.

“Ain’t nobody stealing my girl here, Tra-guy.” he muttered to his “rival”, leaving Law confused and you laughing.

From that moment on, the distance finally closed and Zoro felt exactly where he belonged: right by your side.