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chuluoyi · 7 months

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MARRIED ON PURPOSE

- gojo satoru x reader

"for one, i can show you incredible things!" jujutsu, madness, heaven, sin. the strongest sorcerer is sure to show you all of that during the whole duration of your six-month marriage contract.

genre: marriage of convenience, enemies to lovers, crack, fluff, slight satosugu angst/comfort, kamo!reader, very suggestive. gojo clan is portrayed as very traditional, meanwhile kamo clan is rather unpleasant here

note: the unholy amount of times i've edited this story *sigh* but okay i must drop it here or else i'm going to keep editing it and losing my mind. despite my misgivings and all, i really had fun writing this and i hope you enjoy it! wc. 5k !

a part of 1K MILESTONE EVENT

general masterlist

Some would say... marrying Gojo Satoru would be living the dream.

“Don't look that sour now, wife.”

“…sigh.”

A playful nudge at your side, a lighthearted voice— “You're going to make them question our veeery happy marriage, you know… We don't want that now, do we?”

But to you, it was more like nightmare dressed in a daydream.

It was peak comedy because why would you put marrying Gojo Satoru in your life plans? He was incorrigible, a child trapped in a man's body, and there was also the very fact that you hate him. His only redeeming trait was being born in the esteemed Gojo clan, and now held the title of the strongest.

You know you must have accumulated karma, but out of everything else, why must you end up in this predicament?

Hailing from the great clans of jujutsu society, both of you know well that marriage is the essence to make the clan greater. And when it involves the big three clans, its importance amplifies even further.

It was just that you two were too rebellious to follow it through, for one reason or another. Everyone knows Gojo Satoru was faithless to any woman, and you were not exactly thrilled with the idea of marriage as a whole.

He was the one who came to you, proposing this insane idea of a temporary marriage.

"Look at it this way," Satoru said with a wry grin, contrasting your puzzled frown on that fateful afternoon. "It's either me or Zen'in Naoya for you, isn't it? It's so clear which is the better man."

That was what grated you the most. You would be damned if you married the misogynist.

"What do you get from this arrangement, really?" you questioned begrudgingly.

His name would give you security, stop the harassment from your clan, and maybe even a better life, but you didn't quite get what he'd get from the offer he willingly extended to you.

Satoru flippantly shrugged. "Nah, you are not exactly my type, but you're still far better than the boring puppet my family have considered to be my wife."

"Who?"

"Don't remember her name. All she goes on about is that she'll be the good wife and mother of my child. Ew."

Seven hells. You scowled. Gojo Satoru and his penchant for chasing the thrill. Boring women would kill him before an actual curse would.

"And hey, for one," he shot you a smirk, visibly smug. "I can show you incredible things!"

"That's not the point! Gojo, do you even realize—" your voice rose, pulsating with righteous fury, "—how serious all of this is? My life, your life! We're going to be stuck—together!"

"Six months," he blurted, tilting his head slightly. His sunglasses slipped down just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his sparkling eyes. "It's enough time to work through our shits, and by then if you have enough, we're through."

At that time, it seemed feasible. Both of you tolerating each other to avoid a much worse match.

. . .

BACK TO PRESENT—barely a week ever since you were paraded around as his wife, now you and Satoru were stiffly poised in the studio in your formal garbs, capturing your official wedding photos.

At that time, it seemed feasible, but now, it felt like a chore, as you realized that conversing with him either spiked your blood pressure so much that you wouldn't even be surprised if you ended up with hypertension or completely sapped your energy that you were left exhausted.

"Come on, show a smiiile," Satoru said in a sing-song voice, gesturing toward the camera as it flashed for the pictures. You were beyond appalled, shooting a glare in his direction.

"I am smiling, Gojo."

"Liar. You're pouting, wifey~"

Sigh… this really is going to be one hella of a ride, huh?

MONTH ONE, and you found out that Gojo Satoru is apparently as mad as people made him out to be.

"You've got to be kidding me!" you fumed, right after he hauled you into one of the rooms in his grand, traditional estate. Your glare pierced through him, a blood vessel ready to burst. "We never agreed on ‘consummating’ the marriage!"

You wrote him a goddamn contract. And the three conditions of this chaotic marriage are: one, it would only last six months; two, no personal feelings involved; and three, nothing borderline disturbing.

And this, you concluded, was the height of what could be called as disturbing.

"We will not," Satoru replied with a hint of disdain, grimacing, as if the notion didn't sit well with him either. The audacity! "We're just going to make it as if we are—"

"And why?! Why should I do that?!"

"Why else? Because my old fart believes that we indeed haven't done so."

"Then it's your fault? For failing to convince him? Why turn it into my problem!"

"Because, dear wife," he drawled, his tone taunting on the final note. "Now we're on the same page, in case you have forgotten."

Great clans and their hollow expectations spare no one, not even Gojo Satoru. They place importance in the most banal things, such as the continuity of sacred bloodlines and such.

The only alternative wasn't appealing either. Should you be found out that you married only to divorce... sigh, you didn't even want to know how big of a scandal it would be. One thing was certain: your clan would chop you to shreds.

You really had no choice, huh?

"Five minutes," you warned, glaring at him. "Make it loud. Make it so that no one wouldn't question this anymore."

Oh and sure he would. As Satoru pulled that shit-eating grin, you were in for another ride. You waited out until several maids were nearby, left the wooden door ajar, and began the show—

His hands wrapped around your waist—the feeling was peculiar, but you ignored it—and you let him pull you near that open door. He snuggled his face on your neck—his hair tickling you in the process, but you ignored that peculiarity again—as he started making suggestive noises. "Mm, you're so pretty, darling."

You could hear those maids gasp in surprise. And to add the flavor, you faked a moan.

This is... kinda fun? A twisted part of you suddenly found satisfaction in fooling the maids. A smile tugged at your lips as you shoved him away, and Satoru eyed you in surprise and irritation.

"Husband, you're... insatiable," you worded languidly, and he immediately caught on your act, grinning. "Anyone can walk by, you know."

"Oh? But that's the point." Satoru's bright blue eyes twinkled with utter mischief, and even you couldn't deny the exhilarating rush. "I want them to know."

And suddenly you got this very brilliant idea. You swiftly moved past him and sent the books and trinkets on his desk flying to the floor, causing questionable noises.

"Oh my!" a girlish voice exclaimed.

"The master! And the lady!"

Satoru shook his head, thoroughly entertained. And you rolled your eyes. Those nosy maids would finally have enough now, and this charade would end—

"What's happening here?"

The old fart. Both you and Satoru grunted in unison. You really thought you would leave it up to the maids to spread the word, but then you were taken by surprise when he wrapped his hands around you and flung the door open, slamming you against it—and damn it hurt!—offering everyone a front-row seat to your charade.

The maids squealed. His grandfather raised a righteous, demanding eyebrow. You wanted to scream.

"Hey, gramps," he greeted jovially, breathless, his grip on you tightening and you felt heat radiating from his palm. "Ah, sorry, opened it by accident—the wife here is feisty, you see."

Your veins felt ready to burst. Was this a part of his plan all along? How would you show your face before your grandfather-in-law now that he had seen this... atrocity?!

"So, yeah, we'll resume our business!" Satoru, the idiot, said it as if it was the most normal thing in the world. "See ya!"

With that the door slammed shut, but oh no, it was not the end.

"Mmmph!?" you protested, unintentionally loud and eyes widening in alarm when Satoru muffled your mouth with his hand.

The rotten bastard! You found it nearly impossible to breathe, shooting daggers at him. "Mmmrgh! Mmmrrgh!"

"Oh... so that boy really does it huh," you heard the elder mutter in thoughtful manner from outside—and you were in disbelief at how trusting he was—before rounding the stunned maids and barked, "What are all you doing here? Go!"

You nearly sagged with relief when Satoru loosened his grip slightly, allowing you to breathe, as his meddlesome grandpa finally stalked away. Done. This horrible act was over! But wait, why did he still had his hand on your mouth?

"That went splendidly!" he snickered, appearing rather pleased with what had unfolded. "Now, if only we work together like this more often—"

This is… my life now, you lamented the reality. The feeling of his calloused hand on you made you feel things, honestly speaking, but another emotion—and impulse—currently overpowered that.

Seething with resentment, you fiercely chomped down on his hand hard, causing him to swear and pull his hand out of you.

"You—you devil! You bit me!"

"Serves you right!"

Okay, he was bad. He was insufferable. But to be frank, sometimes it wasn't all chaos.

And what's more, by MONTH TWO, you realized that being married to Gojo Satoru also comes with several perks.

"Miss, please, you're trespassing—"

You looked at the police with the haughtiest look you could muster, unamused. "Don't you know who I am?"

"No, but it shouldn't—"

"I'm that man's wife," you declared regally, motioning towards a certain tall shuttlecock a few meters away. "Is that not clear enough for you?"

For one, no one can look down on you anymore, because should they try, you have the power to raise your chin high and declare yourself as the wife of the infamous sorcerer. The very moment you did, that nosy police stopped yapping, and let you through.

The cursed boy, Yuta and his classmate had just been trapped inside a barrier a curse user pulled down, and you were assigned to look into this case by the headquarters. As much as it boggled you—because certainly, the strongest sorcerer was enough to investigate this—you still had to do your job.

“What is this?” you asked Satoru, who was observing something far beyond what your measly ordinary eyes could see. “What happened here?”

He turned to you, all with bandaged eyes. “Hmm? Oh, you’re here too?”

“Don't act surprised. Answer my question, Gojo.”

"You’re too uptight, wifey," Satoru's lips curved upwards playfully. He had taken to addressing you with pet names as of late, if anything, only to get a rise out of you. "Isn't it the time for you to start calling me by my given name?"

You let out a weary exhale, exasperated. "I'm serious, did you find anything? Who is behind this?"

"Nah, nothing for you to worry about," Satoru waved his hand dismissively, grinning. "More importantly! Let's head back and have dinner! My treat!"

You weren't that oblivious. You noticed things too.

"What do you want tonight? Sukiyaki? Sushi?" he hummed nonchalantly. "Or shabu-shabu?"

You gave him the stink eye. "Is that all you think about? Food?"

"As a responsible husband, it's my duty to feed my wife, no?"

"News flash: temporary wife."

"But still my wife, regardless. I overheard you earlier. Being Mrs. Gojo is convenient, yeah?"

You ignored how a part of your jolted at the emphasis he placed on that word, grunting. "Nah, it's meh."

Call it a feeling or hypothesis. It was similar to how he treated his students. He always said the dumbest things, but it actually served to make them feel at ease.

Then it occurred to you, could this be actually his attempt to change the subject?

"You can't cheat your way out of this." You shot him a pointed look. "You know something. Tell me."

"Hmmm? And what would I get in return?"

"Don't make this difficult. I'm on this assignment too!"

"Nah, if you call me by my name, I might consider it."

Hah. You should really read a parenting book one of these days. Taking on your husband was more or less the same as facing a kid.

"Satoru," you tested, the name rolling out of your lips far easier than you thought. Somehow, using his given name felt like some sort of a leap of faith.

He stopped right in his tracks, turning to you. His glossy lips quirked into a meaningful smile, and you felt funny.

"Wasn't that difficult, was it?" he winked, and you covered the strange heat creeping onto your face by rolling your eyes and huffed.

Needless to say, he still didn't tell you even a clue. You finally gave up, thinking that if he insisted on not disclosing it, then so be it. You trusted him on this, even as he turned your help away, and you hated admitting it, because, well…

You’d trust him with your life. He knows how to handle this better than anyone.

Being a a woman in Kamo clan is, in fact, not any better than in Zen'in—you're regarded more as a commodity than a human being.

"When will you bear the child of the bearer of Six Eyes?" in your father's eyes, you were but a tool to tie the Gojo at his hip, and your worth probably wasn't even twice of Noritoshi's. You had known he would ask this when he summoned you to Kamo ancestral home, and you weren't that naive—you had asked Satoru to join you too. But your father had insisted him to stay at the foyer, while he dragged you into his chamber.

Just because you had seen it coming didn’t mean you liked it. "Is that all? Do you really make me come here just to ask me that?"

And what came next was like a crack of thunder.

"How insolent!"

You shuddered, hating how his voice still had control over you. You wanted to stay deviant, but you couldn't keep yourself from shaking. You thought you would have to endure this shit just like you did before, until—

"Now, now... That's my wife you're talking to. I'd watch your words, if I were you."

You had never whipped your head so fast.

There stood Gojo Satoru, your husband, in all his glory. He was smiling but it was clear that he was displeased, evident from his cutting remark, and most notably, how he had unveiled his striking cerulean eyes for all to see. Truth to be told, you didn't expect him to barge in here at all.

"Gojo-sama," your father bowed his head, displaying utter respect towards him, contrasting the blatant disrespect he showed towards you just now. Satoru paid him no heed, as took big strides towards you and seized your arm, prompting you to rise to your feet.

"What is this? Why are you yelling at her?" His voice lacked its usual hint of amusement or teasing, sending a chill down your spine.

"Gojo-sama, I apologize for my tone towards my daughter earlier. I was just trying to educate—"

“My wife. She is my wife now, and it would do you better to remember that,” Satoru asserted firmly, putting emphasis in the way he addressed you, his gaze hardening. "She is an adult. There's nothing left for you to educate her." Pausing, he added, "And the way I saw it, you were just unnecessarily rude."

"Gojo-sama, there were just certain things in our clan that—"

"Please, don't call on us again," Satoru interjected decisively with a light yet firm voice. You could swear your heart was somersaulting at the sight of him staring down your natural enemy. "I'm sure you're aware, but your daughter bears my name now, and she will get the respect she is due. I will have a word with anyone who fails to treat her accordingly."

Somehow or another, Satoru whisked you away from that hellhole, your hand tightly clasped in his. Your relieved sigh didn't go unnoticed by him, as he looked back to you.

"Have you gone soft?" he teased, eyeing you with a playful snort. "Did you forget who your husband is? You've got nothing to fear. Not even him."

"Thank you," you murmured. Your heart was still pounding and your mind blanked, rendering you unable to engage in your usual banters.

His clear blue eyes widened a touch, blinking at your display of vulnerability, Then, he wore the most innocent expression, even sporting a silly smirk—the hardness from earlier gone. "I was really cool, huh? Totally made you swoon I bet."

And in MONTH THREE, you realized, as he laced his fingers with yours, as his laughter filled the air, as calmness swelled on your chest, and as you loudly snorted at his remark, that—

You felt warm, so warm, in fact, and maybe—

"Pfft, you wish."

—maybe... being with him isn't so bad after all.

MONTH FOUR, and you finally found out that it was Geto Suguru.

Everyone knew that your husband and the criminal used to be the best of friends. You saw them during your high school days, and heck, you used to think that Geto was the better man.

You could only imagine what he must feel.

. . .

When he got back to your shared house after the whole ordeal—after he ended his best friend with his own hands, Satoru honestly didn't expect that you would be waiting for him.

"You okay?" you asked him, brows furrowed in concern. It was probably one of the very few times you had displayed emotions other than contempt towards him.

It felt strange because he was used to your jabs, and he was not sure what sort of expression he should pull now, because truthfully, now he felt empty. Blank. All he comprehended was that he had killed Suguru, that he was gone, and that was something he must do.

It would be just like any other day if hadn't just committed a murder. On someone he held dear.

"Of course, who do you think I am?" Satoru swiftly replied, sounding smug—or at least tried to. "I'm the strongest. I’m unscat—"

"No, not that." You frowned, meeting his gaze squarely. "After everything."

Satoru struggled to choose how he should react, partly because most of his energy had gone after walking Yuta back and reassuring him earlier, and by default, the two of you should be hellbent on hating each other and wishing for this contract to end soon.

"Aww, are you worried about me?" he quipped with a touch of sarcasm just because he had to, to show you that it wasn't enough to ruffle him.

Because he is still the strongest, even when alone. Especially when he is alone.

You let out a sigh, looking away. "Can't I?"

"Whoa, that's sweet of—"

"Don't fool yourself," you stated in straight-laced manner, meeting his gaze with a composed expression. "You're not okay. You might be Gojo Satoru, but no one will be after doing what you just did."

You might be Gojo Satoru, but no one will be after doing what you just did.

Despite himself, his smile fell, and his chest burns. What is this? Were you sympathizing with him?

Does that mean that you don't see him as the entity... that was the strongest?

Before now, Satoru remembered you as the most uncooperative Kyoto girl he had ever met. Your first meeting in high school sealed your fate as the two of you could hardly get along. You didn't mince words, you didn't take shit from anyone else—heck, sometimes when he thought of you, what came up to mind was an impenetrable diamond.

Which was why he chose you. You were someone he could trust. You were pretty in the eyes and certainly wouldn't bore him either. His reasons were purely based on logic. And after four months with you, Satoru came to a conclusion that you indeed fulfilled all his expectations, if not more.

And he felt comfortable, or dare he say, secure even. He felt like he had gained a friend, who could see past his bravado and wouldn't judge him for it.

"You're..." you sighed, casting a sympathetic glance at him, your forehead slightly creased. At that moment, Satoru couldn't help but think you were incredibly endearing, fretting over him. "...an idiot."

"Heh." I really am, aren't I?

"I never knew him well..." you chose your words carefully, hesitant. "Did you try to convince him, before this?"

He barked a bitter laugh. "I did, we even made a scene in front of freaking KFC," he remarked with a scoff. "He didn't listen to me, until the very end."

You wanted to tell him “You have done everything you could” but the words faltered on your tongue. You couldn't bring yourself to say it when you saw the faint quiver of his lips, the slump of his shoulders—the very sight of a boy grieving the loss of his friend.

Your heart pricked too, somehow, seeing that expression on him. And you once again realized that your silly, exalted husband was just as human as anyone else who made him think he wasn’t.

"And you know what he said in the end?" Satoru's tone was flippant, as if asking the most normal thing around, but carried a trace of grief, evident in the slight drop in his tone if you squinted. "He said he didn't regret it, not even a bit."

"I'm sorry," was all you could manage.

Satoru's smile was lopsided. Now that he had finally accepted it, something inside him finally bleeds, and it freaking hurts. The pain gripped his chest like a swirling inferno.

But then, you boldly clasped his hand in yours, gently tracing soothing circles on its back.

"What?" he peered at you, feeling a ghost of a smile forming.

"Consider this emotional support."

And he chuckled softly. Despite the lingering ache, despite the gloom he was sure he would carry for the rest of his life, he felt the pain was more bearable with you by his side, somewhat.

How?

You blamed it on the alcohol, because it was MONTH FIVE and you were kissing Gojo Satoru, daringly.

"We shouldn't be doing this," you rasped between kisses, breathless, as your own sinful hands plucked the buttons off his shirt. The intoxication might have played a part, but the intense heat coursing through you made it hard to think straight.

Satoru crashed his lips against yours again, consumed by blind lust. "Yeah, we shouldn't," he replied in a rush. His breath was hot as he trailed his lips down your jaw and neck next, savoring the softness of your skin.

You two had attended a banquet for the elite, and you were unbelievably beautiful. Standing by his side as his wife, you drew admiring glances, with everyone marveling at what a remarkable couple you made. The Gojo heir who was born with the legendary Limitless and the Kamo heiress, as lovely as her clan's name was powerful.

His deft hands roamed the curves of your body, exploring every inch of you. The warmth of his hands tickled something inside you as you closed your eyes to sink into this very moment. Next you knew, his bare body was against yours and you were stripped out of your evening dress.

Lust flickered in his honored eyes, as he took in the sight of you in your undergarments.

"You're really pretty, you know," he whispered. The intensity with which his eyes scanned your form made you nearly squirm. "Shame we don't always get along."

"You're one to talk," you retorted, a hint of exasperation in your tone, as you willed all other thoughts away. Thoughts like what comes after this. Thoughts like—

Is it heaven or sin, if you feel both at once?

His thumb tenderly caressed your plush lips, a hint of a smirk on his beautiful face.

He has long been thinking about your body. He was but a man, after all. He just didn't expect that you wanted this too.

There was always this tension, only this time, neither of you could hold it back anymore. Perhaps it was impulse—hell, most certainly it is, but there was another thing, something more that even Gojo Satoru still didn't dare to say out loud.

"Eager, are we?" he taunted when you leaned in, yearning for the touch of his lips on yours again.

You huffed. “Shut up and kiss me.”

A rush of heat flooded your cheeks at the slip of those words. You were about to rectify it, taken aback by your own boldness, but then he drew you close, silencing any further protest with a gentle hush—

"Too late, sweetheart," his husky voice entered your ears, lips curling into the most wicked smile, and you were in a trance. And Satoru was once again convinced, that choosing you as his wife was the rightest thing there was.

If the two of you went with this, then there would be consequences. Things would become more complicated, harder to sort out.

But, he decided, as he captured your lips in another heated kiss, everything else can wait.

MONTH SIX, and you were dreading the day of your divorce.

You brought this upon yourself. Whenever you reminisced about that night, you wanted to smack yourself in the face and bang your head against the nearest wall.

This marriage has a time limit. And you were doing it out of convenience in the first place.

You weren't supposed to… goddammit—fall in love with him.

But what's done is done, there is no going back in time. Awkward exchanges and lingering stares had been gnawing at your insides these days, and you were sure Satoru too must have noticed them too. You two used to be more relaxed with each other, and he'd even flirt with you, but weeks ever since that night of drunken passion, you almost reverted back to your high school personas—ignoring each other.

This was tough. You didn't like this. And more than that, you were faced with a more pressuring matter...

Gojo Satoru, with everything he possessed, could have had any woman he wanted. This arrangement with you was temporary in the first place, soon he would forget you and flit to the next woman.

The thought made your heart ache, because you had involuntarily gave your heart away to him. Siiigh… What a predicament you put yourself into, huh?

With just a month left together, maybe you should just make the best of it.

. . .

If you thought that things were any better with Satoru, then you were sorely wrong because he too, was debating with himself often nowadays.

Days spent with you were fun and fulfilling. You irked expression somehow had made its mark in his heart. You were pretty, fit to be by his side publicly and preferably, behind the closed doors. With you, he didn't feel the need to carry this facade of being strong—he could be a clown tripping over his own trap and you would amuse him with your deadpan expression.

And ever since that night, he was constantly reminded by how soft your skin was against his. It almost drove him crazy now that he was deprived of it.

How was it the last month already? He wasn't ready to let you go yet.

When he got back home later after his class ended and found you in the dinner table setting the food, all he could muster was, "Hey. Haven't eaten?"

You whirled around to face him in surprise. "Oh... you're back. Just about to. Want to join me?"

Of course he would. And yet as the two of you sat down, it was so painfully awkward Satoru felt like he was dying inside.

Why couldn't he pull off a smart line or two? Where did his suaveness go? He was smoother than this, surely, with his colorful history. One night of passion was supposed to enhance the relationship, not to derail it. What happened to you both?

The salt was near his side when you reached to grab it and bumped into his hand. "Uh-oh."

Turning towards you, he found your spooked expression and your adorable eyes widening in surprise. "S-sorry..."

It was just freaking salt! Salt! Why on earth were you apologizing?!

Enough, he thought. This utter madness of being jumpy with each other. He'd start from his side.

Does he want you to keep being his wife even after all this ends? Yes.

Why? All reasons already listed above.

Does this mean he likes you? Apparently and supposedly, yes. Because if it isn't then he doesn't know what this funny feeling driving him mad is.

With that sorted out, then he only had one more thing to confirm. He put down his spoon and crossed his arms together. "Tell me the truth. Do you like living with me?"

His question obviously took you by surprise. "Huh? What brought this on?"

"Just give me an answer."

"You're so pushy," you grumbled, lips pursed, and he felt like you were finally back to your usual dynamics somewhat. Good.

"Sooo, the verdict? Do you enjoy being with me or not?"

Because to him, it was a resounding yes and more.

Ignoring the warmth that surged to your cheeks, you rolled your eyes. "Surprisingly, not bad, yeah," you admitted, mustering the courage to meet his gaze. "You're annoying, an idiot, a bit crazy—"

"Hey!"

"—but eventually you're still... manageable," you added, feeling your face truly start to sizzle. But covered it up by looking down and playing with your fingers as you still had more to go on. "What I want to say is... I'm glad that I agreed to this—with you—because I can’t imagine it with anyone else."

An unfamiliar tingling emotion rushed to his chest as his face too started to heat up, letting your words sink in. Is he blushing? Oh God. He sure is. And so did he feel hella giddy.

Then it’s sealed.

Suddenly he procured a piece of paper from his work uniform and showed it to you. You first saw his lazily scrawled signature before it dawned on you.

The contract. You almost forgot that you made him sign that looming piece of paper. You were almost dismayed, thinking that he would end this right then and there, but then—

“Well, then… I suppose we no longer need this.”

Riiip~

Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets when Gojo Satoru tore out your contract right in front of your face, the most brilliant of his devilish grin adorned his handsome face, as he took of his blindfold to see you far clearly than ever. Heavens, you are cute, he thought.

“Soooo~ seems like you’re stuck with me from now on!”

You gaped, awestruck at the blatant meaning of it all, feeling how your heartbeat started to pick up the pace, when he pulled the rag out of your feet once more by tilting his head to the side, looking at you with a winning smile.

“Let’s start over! What did they say again? Ah, yeah. Here’s to the first day of our lives!”

5K notes · View notes

ode2rin · 2 months

Text

1 | ANYONE BUT YOU .ೃ

summary. as lines get blurred, hearts get flustered, and a scheme ensues, your brother's best friend suddenly seems way more interesting than he used to be.

💭 masterlist | next part

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can go with you anymore.”

Your ears were ringing.

After the words hung over the line, a heavy silence descended, punctuated only by the dull thud of your heartbeat echoing in your ears. The phone line seemed to distort, and the world beyond reduced to a distant murmur as a disorienting ringing filled your ears. Yet, despite the shock rippling through, you managed to maintain a facade.

“Ah, I see. It’s no problem. See you around!” Your chirped voice made you cringe internally, but it was a better front than sounding like a defeated kid whose mom said no over a piece of candy at a grocery store.

Before he could say anything else, you clicked the end button faster than he could spew some tacky excuse. Throwing your phone to the side, you settled onto your bed, lying on your back, staring at the uninteresting ceiling of your room.

Sure, it was no problem at all— the music festival was just six hours away, and your date had just canceled on you over the phone. It’s no big deal facing your college blockmates without a companion as initially planned, and it’s totally not a problem that you will most likely be a third– hell, a seventh wheel, actually, and have them talk behind your back – speculating about why you're going alone or if you were just making it up that you had someone to bring.

Yes, it’s not a fucking problem at all.

You don’t even like the artist lineup, anyway (maybe you’re mildly interested with one band that’s attending). You wouldn’t bother if you weren’t just a sophomore still trying to find a group of friends you can call your own. It's embarrassing enough that freshmen even had it better than you. It’s not a race, for sure, but in college– the truth lies blatant that support systems help. A lesson you learned the hardest way.

“Y/N? Are you in there?” Three soft knocks on your door and a muffled voice, surely coming from your older brother, interrupted your pity party.

“Yes. Come in,” you confirmed. The door creaked open, revealing a mop of magenta hair leaning over your door frame.

“There’s food downstairs. We ordered your favorite.”

“We?”

“Kaiser is downstairs.”

Of course, he is.

Your brother’s best friend must have really taken it to heart when your mom told him he can treat your family as his own. Too deep into his heart, if you could comment. You see him around the house more than you see your parents, and if that wasn’t tiresome enough, he’s literally a damn superstar in your university. Every corner, every room, in halls and library, everyone can’t seem to be over his name like a broken record.

You wouldn’t be this annoyed, hostile even, if said man was just as nice as your brother. But instead, he was far by the most obnoxious, foul-mouthed, arrogant prick you’ve ever known. Alexis should have never kicked some ball with that conceited oaf a decade ago. Life would have been so much better. But no— reality is, the bane of your existence in the form of blonde hair and sharp blue eyes, is in your house’s kitchen, probably gulping down your favorite drinks in the fridge.

If you can’t seem to have friends, your older brother seems to be goddamn bad at picking his.

“Hey, dollface. Missed me?” Speak of the damn devil and he shall appear.

The first thing you’re met with after coming down is a sight of Michael Kaiser, sitting high and comfortably on one of the counter’s bar stools. Your gaze trails down to his hand where you see a peek of his crown tattoo— and would you look at that? He’s holding a can of your Coke Zero.

“Oh, so that’s why my life was going sideways again,” you feigned a sigh in disappointment, making sure it was loud enough for him to hear, “because you’re back.”

In your unwanted years of knowing this guy, you’ve soon realized that none of your words, no matter how sharp or snarky they get, would ever faze him. Evidence would be how he just openly chuckled at your remark. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I missed you and your smart mouth, too. Don’t worry.”

“Trust me, worry is not in the list of emotions I would ever feel for you.”

“Well, does attraction make it to the list?”

Years ago, perhaps it would have. Not that he needs to know—no chance. Your silly childhood crush on him was your deepest, darkest mistake. You might be overdramatic, but this was Michael Kaiser, and god, you would rather get caught having feelings for anyone but him.

Rolling your eyes at him, you sneer, “You wish.”

“Oh, trust me, I do wish,” he mocks your tone.

“Fuck off.”

“That won’t get rid of me, I’m afraid,” he shrugs before winking at you. You shook your head in annoyance.

You took the seat across from him and settled. You were about to lean to reach the box of pizza at the other end of the countertop, when Kaiser reached for it first and placed it in front of you.

You turned to look at him, half expecting a smirk or yet another wink from the blonde, but instead, he was preoccupied browsing on his phone as if his body moved on its own to attend to you.

You shrugged off the weird occurrence and turned all attention to the pizza and its heavenly scent sipping through the gaps of its box, just in time for Alexis to take the seat next to his best friend. You drowned the noise of their conversation as they started talking about last away games.

Your brother and Kaiser had been the most valuable players of your university’s soccer team for as long as you’ve remembered. They were two years older, so by the time you entered university, they were already making big names in the field. Rumors had it that there were already offers lining up at their feet.

If you come to think of it, it wouldn’t be this hard making friends if you would just be vocal about being Alexis Ness’ younger sibling, but the limelight and pretentious popularity it came with was something you wouldn’t wish upon yourself. You wanted real and genuine friends, not people who wanted to be around you because it was a step closer to your brother and his best friend.

Like earlier, Alexis’ voice came reaching your eardrums, snapping you out of your thoughts. After hearing what he had to ask, though, you wished you had a way to physically block out his words.

“Are you not going to get ready for the festival?” your brother asked, meanwhile, his dear friend seemed to take great interest in what you’re about to say as both of them peered over you.

“Not going anymore,” you said, as nonchalant as you could to play pretend.

“Why? You’ve been looking forward to it the whole week.”

Heat crept into your ears and cheeks as embarrassment filled you. Sure, you might not be prancing around being all excited about it, but if your brother was able to notice it, your enthusiasm must have been evident then. God, you felt like an utter fool now.

“It got canceled,” you looked away from them.

Alexis looked at you with furrowed brows, “What do you mean? It’s not–”

“My date canceled on me. I’m not going anymore to save face and not make a fool out of myself. There, happy?” you snapped.

Before you could even feel the guilt from bursting out unprovoked to your brother, you swiftly got up from the stool heading back to your room, leaving the two of them in the kitchen looking concerned contrarily. One with worried eyes glancing at your room hesitantly, and the other one with a clenched jaw and narrowed eyes.

It seemed everyone was testing your patience today, as for the second time, your ears rang—not from a last-minute cancellation this time, but from the persistent sound of your ringing phone.

Your heavy eyes fluttered open, weighed down by the sleep from your ignoring-the-world nap after the exchange with your supposed date and your brother. Disoriented and groggy, you reached out, fingers fumbling to check the caller deserving of your unrelenting fury.

Kaiser, the screen read, and suddenly, the urge to throw your phone at the nearest wall almost overwhelmed your senses.

But you answered the call anyway, because logic says that he was still your brother’s closest, and sometimes, that warranted a call that might be about him.

“I swear to god this better be important–”

“Get ready,” he interrupted.

“What?”

“Look out your window.”

Groaning, you rose to your feet, moving your drapes aside to see what awaited outside.

Outside your house’s gates, a midnight blue sports car, all too familiar, was parked across the driveway. Its owner leaned lazily over its door, one hand in his pocket while the other held his phone pressed to his ear, looking right back at you with that shit-eating grin.

“What the hell are you on?” you muttered into the phone.

You instantly closed the drapes after meeting eyes with him.

It’s infuriating—He’s infuriating. But damn, does he look good when he smiles like that. And it’s not helping your case that he was clad in loose-fitting denim pants and a black shirt, sufficiently showcasing both his tattoo and his lean yet toned build.

It’s sorcery how he makes simple and ordinary clothing look like it was screaming high-end and luxury. Only he can do that, you admit.

“As I said, get ready,” he repeated over the phone, “We only have less than two hours before your music festival or something starts.”

He’s taking me to it? “Why?”

Only one word in response, yet the two of you understood what you’re pertaining to. Silence filled the line for a moment before you heard a subtle click of his tongue.

“Because you look ugly when you sulk,” and he hung up.

You should be irritated at him hanging up abruptly and calling you ugly, but for some reason you don’t know, it puts a smile on your face.

The first one today.

Kaiser wishes he had a bigger car— which one would deem ridiculous, given that his car could easily match the price of two or even three minivans.

But if it meant having you sit not so close that your scent infiltrates his senses beyond his sound judgment, he’d gladly trade his lambo for a minivan any day.

You were intoxicating— not akin to the grip of liquor, because it would be inadequate in comparison. But rather intoxicating in the same way as the irresistible magnetism that beckons a madman to its vices.

And he must be really mad because you weren’t even sitting shoulder-to-shoulder close to him. You’re sitting comfortably at the passenger seat, a good distance in between, and yet he acts like a raging teenager who got locked up with his crush in the utility room. It is absolutely embarrassing, even for someone like him.

“Did Alexis ask you to do this?” you suddenly inquired, your gaze fixed on your side of the car.

Thank heavens you broke the silence first, because who knows what ungodly phrases he would come up with in an attempt of small talk with you?

“No. Though I bet he would have taken you himself,” he snorted, of course your brother would, “If our coach weren’t so pissed at him these days.”

Ah, so that explained why you hadn't seen Alexis around the house before hopping into Kaiser's car.

Momentarily, you turned to him. It was so swift that he might have missed it if he wasn’t so hyper aware of your every move in this damn confined space. “Is he in trouble?” you inquired to the blonde, your voice concerned and hesitant.

“Nothing you have to worry about, doll.”

“Stop with the nicknames,” you hissed, attempting to intimidate.

Unfazed, he countered with a cheeky “Make me,” under his breath. His smirk practically audible, even without you glancing his way.

Silence overtook between the two of you once more. You fixated on the road ahead, noting the nearing destination as the glow of the festival stage lights peeked into view.

It’s your chance— your chance to release the words that have lingered at the edge of your tongue since he urged you to get ready almost an hour ago. You stole a glance at the man driving beside you. His eyes focused on the road, his left hand steady on the steering wheel while his timepiece-adorned hand rested comfortably on the gearshift. In another frame of mind, you might have found yourself lost in the rhythm of his long, slender fingers tapping against it. You snapped out of it before he could point it out.

You stole one last glance before turning away to whisper, “Thank you… Kaiser.”

Instead of saying welcome like a polite person would, your companion would of course, choose to say something as, “You owe me something now.”

Of course, you thought. Mentally rolling your eyes, you ask, resigning to his antics, “What do you want?”

“Call me by my name.”

“Did you not hear? I said, thank you Kai–”

“The one you used to call me.”

Mikka.

It was a silly nickname you gave him– back when Alexis first brought him home for snacks nearly ten years ago. He and Alexis were eleven, and you were barely nine.

You remembered the blonde kid, all sweaty in his mud-stained clothes, clutching a worn-out ball by his hip, his gaze fixed on you with curiosity. “This is Kaiser,” your brother introduced, but the blonde stranger approached you, extending his hand.

“I’m Michael.”

“That’s… long.”

“What?”

“Your name– it’s long,” you echoed, looking up at him, “can I call you ‘Mikka’?”

“What?” Kaiser’s deep voice sliced through your reminiscence. “You had no problem calling me that before,” he pointed out.

“That’s before you beat up the boy you knew I like,” you scoffed at him, a familiar pettiness clouding your mind.

He chuckled at your retort, seemingly lost in his own memories. “Beat him up on the soccer field, you mean,” he corrected, though he wouldn’t particularly mind if it were an actual fight.

“Same thing.”

“Oh, come on! It was highschool!”

“Your point?” you countered.

“He was a snotface, anyway.” he rationalized.

“He was nice to me!”

“I suggest you rather get a dog instead— if nice is all you need. I heard dogs are fun to be around,” he sneered, “What do you think of pomeranians?”

You brushed off his question, preferring the depths of silence over the hypothetical responsibility of tending to a pup that bore more than a passing resemblance to him, both in appearance and, perhaps, in demeanor.

“I knew agreeing to come here with you was a mistake,” you sighed, exasperation lacing your words.

Surprisingly, Kaiser offered no retort. Taking his silence as a cue for your own, you settled into quietness, hoping for a peaceful remainder of the drive. Minutes drifted by until Kaiser broke the stillness with a whisper loud enough for you to catch.

“He was a slimy jerk,” he began, pausing as if hinting his careful choice of words, “and he was nice to you because he was trying to get into your pants.”

“How did you know?” you asked, meek and shy, fumbling with your fingers in your lap. Seeking love advice and opinions from none other than the mighty Kaiser seemed absurd, but maybe, wisdom might sometimes fare well with age.

“Trust me when I say I know how boys can be,” he scoffed, a displeased furrow settling in his brows. “He wasn't the gentleman you thought he was.”

“And you? Are you a gentleman?”

Before you could stop your thoughts from escaping your rebellious mouth, the words spilled out like water through a breached dam. The lack of response from him compelled you to chew on your lip and fix your gaze on the road, refusing to spare even a glance his way, despite feeling his stare burning into the side of your face.

Meanwhile, Kaiser was aware he might be staring too long at your side for someone controlling a vehicle, but he couldn't help it. Not when you caught him off guard with a simple question, and especially not when you were trying so hard to avoid looking at him, your discomfort palpable in the air. You looked so cute—it made his mouth twitch.

Staring ahead at the road, he contemplated your question, needing no more than a minute to reach his conclusion.

When a man looks at his best friend's younger sibling in a way he shouldn’t, he’s not deserving of the title “gentleman.”

He was far from it, he concluded. With one last glance thrown your way before bringing the car to a full stop, he muttered in an uncharacteristically soft tone.

“Especially not one, doll.”

“Y/N! Over here!” a familiar voice cut through the cacophony, prompting you to scan the crowd until you finally spotted them.

Relief flooded over you at the sight of a familiar face amidst the crowd. Checking your phone had proven to be a wise decision; otherwise, you might have spent the night searching aimlessly through the vast expanse of the venue.

The venue stretched out before you was a kaleidoscope of sights and sounds that danced upon the senses. Laughter and chatter mingled with applause and the occasional roar of approval as performers graced the stage.

Everywhere you looked there was movement and so much life. Yet amidst the bustling crowd and pulsating music, one figure occupied your thoughts more than anything else.

Kaiser's towering 6-foot frame loomed behind you, his broad shoulders carving a path of confidence through the crowd. He stood behind you like an immovable rock amidst a rushing river. And if your senses weren't deceiving you, you swore you felt the occasional brush of his hand against the small of your back, gently guiding you forward.

He was so close behind you that his breath on your nape soaked into your skin like ointment— warm to the touch, yet icy on your spine.

“Where's your date?” one of your blockmates inquired after the initial pleasantries were exchanged.

The question lingered, and suddenly, all eyes were on you. Mentally counting heads, you realized you were really on track to be the seventh wheel if you attended without a companion. Speaking of companions— you turned behind you with the intention of introducing Kaiser (not that they didn’t know him already), but your intention faltered when you noticed the scowl on his face.

“I’m the date, if you couldn’t tell,” he interjected.

From his vantage point, he observed the widening of your eyes at his declaration. Yet, when he didn’t hear any immediate retaliation from you, he flashed you— and everyone else watching— a lopsided smirk. He sensed your blockmates’ curiosity lingering, some perhaps wondering if he was truly dating you. But none of them dared to probe further—maybe because he wasn't exactly the approachable type.

After a few murmurs of ‘oh’ and ‘really’ from your blockmates, they returned their attention to the stage, where the next performer was beginning their pre-performance monologue.

You, on the other hand, look like you were out for his blood from how you’re glaring at him. “Are you out of your mind?” you hissed under your breath, just loud enough for him to hear.

Yes. Perhaps he was. Irrationality had seized him upon hearing the question. After all, he was there with you, visible for all to see. Did they not see him? Did he look like a fucking chair to those people? Common sense must be a luxury these days, given its absence in this situation.

Yet, a small voice of reason within him attempted to intervene, suggesting that the question might have stemmed from genuine curiosity.

As his best friend's younger sibling, seeing the two of you together wasn't an unusual occurrence for those who attend the same university. They likely concluded that your presence with him at the music festival was simply a matter of normal friendship (which it was, but they don’t have to know that, nor does he desire for these extras to reduce it to just that).

“I’m helping you save face like you said earlier,” he tells you, still wearing that annoying smirk.

“How does telling them you’re my date help me save face?” If anything, you'd be hiding on campus after his stunt. You could only hope words won’t travel fast.

“Would you rather I tell them I'm chaperoning you because some jerk canceled on you?”

Your words stalled at the base of your throat, unable to counter his remark. That shut you up, much to your chagrin. He was right.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought,” he quipped, grinning at your silence. “Come closer, there’s a lot of people.”

You huffed in irritation and decided to ignore him behind you, determined to make the most of your experience here. You’d let this slide for now. After all, he was here because of you.

But it wasn’t too long before you realized that ignoring him would be as futile as trying to pluck roses without being pricked by the thorns. You knew very well that this man thrives in getting under people’s skin.

“You should be flattered.”

Genuinely appalled, you ask, “I’m sorry?”

“Accepted.”

If it wasn’t night time and the blaring lights were replaced by the sun, he could have seen the twitch that your eye did at his retort.

At this point, murder is a tempting option. Sure, he’s taller and much bigger in physique terms, but you have the rage for it. Just one more insufferable antic—one more word— from this man and the whole university will be mourning their star player’s demise first thing tomorrow morning.

You took a deep breath to calm your murderous nerves, “Is that so? What part of telling people— oh wait, our schoolmates who are probably whispering behind our backs— that you’re my date, is flattering to you?”

The asshole had the audacity to shrug, “Calling me yours was.”

“Well then, you should be flattered. Not me.”

“You don’t know how flattered I am to be yours,” he mused.

If you didn’t know any better, his attempt at flirting might have sent warmth to your cheeks. But this was Kaiser— no one can tell when he’s being serious or just being his usual menace self talking shit like he’s employed to do so. Good thing you had better plans than spend it on his guessing games.

Just when you’re about to berate him once more, words halted on your throat because of a sight you least expected to see.

Han— the guy you’ve been talking to for almost a month now. The same guy who was your supposed date, to be more specific.

“What? Cat got your tongue, doll?”

If cats come in the form of a familiar man who’s a few good meters away, clearly having the time of his life dancing with someone, and clearly showing no signs of unavailability to go to a music festival he asked you to, then yes, it got your tongue.

You stayed silent far too long for Kaiser’s patience. Your lack of snarky clapbacks were starting to unsettle him more than he would allow. Shifting closer to you, he followed your line of sight to see what got you stunned in silence.

Recognizing what, or rather who, got your attention, he turns to you, his voice coming out too indignant, “Do you know that guy?”

“Do you?” you counter, picking up on his tone being all too casual as if they’re acquainted.

“He’s last week’s opposing team’s goalkeeper,” or was it ‘striker’? He couldn’t recall, so he’s more or less incompetent to him. One thing he remembers, however, “and he hates me.”

You threw him a glance, “Not surprised.”

“And do I give a fuck,” he shook his head, “Why do you keep looking at him?” Don’t fucking tell me.

Your answer wasn’t any better to what he was starting to imagine, “He was… supposed to be my date to this music festival,” you mumbled, looking down at your feet.

You didn’t want to see the look on Kaiser’s face, fearing you might see pity, and so you nailed your gaze to the ground. Totally oblivious of the man peering over you rather softly.

“Why can’t he then?” he asks, voice an octave lower.

“He said they had late notice training, so he can’t come.”

“Well, that better be his fucking ghost yapping with a brunette then,” he scoffs, looking straight to the lying man who canceled on you.

Sick of his face and sloppy dance moves, Kaiser turned his gaze back at you, only to be filled with rage because of it.

You look sad— and it made his blood boil. Not towards you, but for you.

“Y’know what? Let’s go there,” he urged, head pointing at where Han was.

Is he fucking crazy? You immediately shook your head at his scandalous suggestion. You might be feeling a little betrayed and angry, but rationality still had its hold on you— and it’s saying to not let Kaiser go with his idea.

Instead, you tug on his forearm, eyes still on the floor before looking up at him, “Can we leave, please?”

Kaiser was taken aback by your sudden meekness. He wasn’t used to this— to you, being all deflated and zoned out. He was used to your deadpan expressions and your eyes that seem to roll every time he utters a single word. He was used to you being, dare he say, feisty.

And he would rather have you stay like that all day long, even when he’s the receiving end of it.

But this? You, saying please to him, of all people? He doesn’t like it.

If this is how he gets to make you say please, then he doesn’t want it. Fuck that, and fuck that guy. How dare he.

Kaiser didn’t say anything back at your request, but you felt big calloused hands grasp on your hand still resting on his forearm. The next thing you knew, you were walking with him, shoulder-to-shoulder while his other hand was on yours guiding you to walk out of the scene.

“If I see one—just one drop of tear, I swear I am turning this damn car around.”

Your thoughts abruptly halted at the sound of Kaiser’s threat—his ultimatum, rather. It sounded more like a promise than a threat, and you knew this man well enough to understand that he never ate his words.

You shot him a glance and snickered. There was no way in high hell you’d ever cry in the same space where he was. It was the last thing you’d ever do, even if it meant convincing yourself that what you saw earlier was just a mere look-alike of Han.

“It's nothing. We aren’t even a thing,” you dismissed, your voice flat.

“But you thought you could be,” he countered, and damn if he wasn't right. “How do you even know him?”

“We're kind of talking, well, sort of—”

“Kind of? Sort of?” he scoffed.

“God—it's like a talking stage or something casual, Kaiser! There, got it?”

“That's not exclusive,” he remarked, adding insult to injury.

Irritation bubbled in your throat as his interrogation continued. But even before you could unleash your venom, you caught yourself. He was right. And while this man had never brought you good, it wasn't fair to make him the target of your bad.

“Yeah, it's not,” you admitted, a dry, humorless laugh escaping you. You recalled the brunette he danced with earlier. “I wasn't exclusive material for his reputation, I guess.”

What reputation? “That’s bullshit.” He gritted his teeth, his hand itching towards the steering wheel, clearly tempted to turn back to the festival.

“You said it yourself, he’s an athlete,” you pointed out, “You people never like to go exclusive with someone.”

“You people? Oh, please. Do not insult me by comparing me to the likes of him.”

The sass in his voice drew a chuckle from you. It was amusing how he said it with genuine horror, as if the mere idea of being associated with Han was an insult. “Why? Are you telling me you can commit to someone exclusively?”

“Someone like who? You?” He met your gaze briefly, “Absolutely.”

What the hell. “Stop messing around,” you snorted, effectively ending the conversation.

He was playing a dangerous game, saying that to you. Did he even realize what it did? Did he hear your stupid heart hammering in your chest? It was too loud, too obvious, a frantic drum solo against your ribs.

And the realization settled— he made your heart flutter.

His words, so simple, so casually tossed out, had landed like a bomb, sending shrapnel through your carefully constructed walls.

Michael Kaiser, of all people, made your heart flutter.

Suddenly, the air felt thin, the car an echo chamber amplifying the frantic rhythm of your traitorous heart. You knew you should scoff, dismiss it as another one of his infuriating jabs, but the truth was like a hot coal lodged in your throat.

“I’m not though,” he countered, eyes steady on the familiar road ahead. He sounded serious– too serious.

As you were about to retort back, the car lurched to a stop, announcing your arrival. You glanced out the window, the familiar sight of your house doing little to ease the tension that had coiled tight in your stomach.

“We’re here,” Kaiser announced, his voice a low rumble.

Hurried and flustered by the unexpected shift in the conversation, your clammy hands fumbled with the buckle, the metal cold and unyielding against your sweaty palms. You tugged, then tugged again, frustration building with each failed attempt.

“Easy, doll.”

Before you could protest, a large hand swooped in, effortlessly unlatching the buckle with a practiced flick. The sudden proximity sent a jolt through you, making your breath hitch. You met his gaze, his eyes a blazing blue as he held your stare for a beat too long before turning away.

Taking a deep breath, you composed yourself. You reached for the door handle, pushing it open and stepping out onto the familiar pavement. Before slamming the door shut, you paused, turning back to Kaiser with a newfound resolve.

Crouching down to meet his gaze, you surprised yourself with the words that tumbled out. “Be careful on your way home and,” you paused, “Thank you... Mikka.”

The nickname slipped out before you could stop it, leaving a blush blooming across your cheeks.

Before Kaiser could react, you slammed the door shut, the sound echoing in the quiet street.

Mikka. He repeats your words in his mind.

He watched you disappear into your house, a slow grin spreading across his face. Only when you were safely inside did he start the car, the image of your flustered face lingering in his mind.

Damn it, doll.

Meanwhile, you hurried to your room, clutching your chest where your heart still hammered a frantic rhythm.

Why did I call him that? you asked yourself.

The use of his nickname, a name you rarely uttered now, was a stark reminder that the two of you weren’t as close as you were younger.

It’s not a big deal, you tried to reason with yourself. He literally said you owed it to him, and calling it quits would be in the form of a stupid nickname. It doesn’t mean anything. Right— you were just returning a favor.

Your obvious self-deception was interrupted by the incessant buzzing of your phone, tossed carelessly on the bed. Picking up your phone, you opened one of the notifications, your breath catching in your throat.

It was a post on your university's gossip page, and there, plastered on the screen, was a picture of you and Kaiser.

The image froze a moment in time, capturing him standing protectively behind you, his arms caging you against a barricade. Panic clawed at your throat. This picture, out in the open, could be misconstrued in so many ways.

What were people going to think? Who took this photo, anyway?

Your eyes darted down the comment section, scrolling through a sea of unimaginable speculations, desperately searching for clues about the culprit.

Just then, a knock on the door startled you.

“Y/N? Can I talk to you?”

It was your brother— and his voice suggested he needed answers too.

Shit.

note. first mini series lmao xD will add cw as i go!

#☁️ my ode to you #michael kaiser x reader #blue lock x reader #kaiser x reader #blue lock imagines #michael kaiser imagines #kaiser imagines #michael kaiser x y/n #michael kaiser x you #bllk x y/n #bllk x you #bllk x reader #blue lock x y/n #blue lock x you #michael kaiser #blue lock fluff #first milestone event!#writing: 004

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avis-writeshq · 3 months

Note

Hi! Can I request track one? :)

Spencer Reid being so shy to ask Fem! Reader out so Morgan flirts with them to push him to do it?:(

pairing: early seasons!spencer reid x bau!fem!reader genre: friends to lovers warnings: not proof read :( a/n: thank you for requesting lovely <3 wc: 700

Spencer isn’t entirely sure why he’s so upset. He’s got his lips drawn to a pout and his eyes are set on the computer in front of him. He chalks it up to the fact that his contact lenses have been drying out. That must be it.

“Stare any harder and you’ll break the screen.”

You’re giggling at his unhappiness, but he doesn’t feel an ounce of annoyance. In moments you’re placing a steaming cup of tea onto his desk with a tiny pitcher of milk, before swiping a few of his files off his pile.

“You don’t–”

“Hush, Spencer. You probably have filled more overtime hours in the past week than I have in the last four years. Let me take these off of you, okay?” You smile at him before leaning down to murmur into his ear, “They’re probably Morgan’s anyway, so don’t worry about it.”

Spencer flushes, his cheeks warming to a pretty pink at your closeness and he can smell your vanilla perfume. Every thought in his brain vanishes and he’s pretty sure that he won’t be able to think for the next hour or so. His mouth opens and closes like a broken hinge and you walk away to sit at your own desk.

“When’s the wedding?” Derek asks through a snicker, reaching a hand out and ruffling Spencer’s already unkempt hair.

“Wh– stop,” Spencer manages weakly, pushing his bangs out of the way and huffing. “Keep your voice down.”

“Didn’t you say that you wanted to ask her to see that Russian film festival or something?” Derek asks, unrelenting. He gestures to the two tickets poking out of one of Spencer’s book. “You already bought them?”

“I won them,” he corrects, scowling. “Stop laughing!”

“Dude, you have to ask her out,” Derek tries again. “Kid, I’m serious. A girl like that isn’t going to wait around forever.”

Spencer’s annoyance is quick to dissipate into flusteredness, and he avoids his friend’s gaze. “She shouldn’t have to.”

“Come on, don’t beat yourself up. Just go talk to her.”

His efforts are in vain as Spencer huffs again and turns back to his paperwork. Morgan shrugs, flexing his arms. It’s far too early to be dealing with Spencer’s shyness and pining. Morgan watches as he sneaks yet another look in your direction, and it takes a lot in him to not throw the two of you together. Emily keeps reminding him to be patient. Penelope keeps informing him that ‘they’ll get together in their own time’. Hotch would spare him a stern look.

They’re not in the room, though.

“Hey, pretty girl.”

Morgan’s call out is enough for you to raise your head and for Spencer’s face to morph into look of genuine betrayal. He’s frantically moving his hand across his neck as a very obvious sign to cut it out. Morgan pays him no mind.

“What’s up?” You ask brightly, finishing your sentence before turning to look at him. “Did you need something?”

“You’re looking particularly gorgeous today, you know that?” Derek wears a lazy smirk as he looks at you up and down, and you only manage to laugh.

“Ha ha.” You roll your eyes, glancing briefly at Spencer who could have been mistaken for a cherry. “What are you playing at, Morgan?”

The man claps his hands together, rubbing his palms. “Are you free tomorrow night? I’ve got a bottle of wine that has our names on it.”

Spencer looks aghast. He recalls the information on the tickets he had won, and– tomorrow night. That’s when the film festival is happening.

“She doesn’t drink,” Spencer butts in before you can respond, snatching the tickets from the inside of his book and getting up from his seat to make his way over to you. “I was um– I’ve got these tickets for a film festival tomorrow. It’s in Russian, but I can whisper the translations to you so you understand. You don’t– you don’t have to go. I know it might not be your thing–”

“I’d love to go, Spence.” You smile at him, plucking one of the tickets from his hands. “A whole evening with you? Who wouldn’t enjoy that? Sorry, Derek.”

Derek raises his hands in surrender, and when you aren’t looking, shoots Spencer a thumbs up. Penelope would be proud.

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daisynik7 · 8 months

Note

“Earned it” by The Weeknd for Levi Ackerman- Smut + Fluff

thank you

Earned It

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x f!reader

Rating: Explicit – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: ~7.0k

cw: yakuza au, modern setting au, adult themes, gang-related violence, mentions of blood, explicit language, fluff, smut – fingering, cunnilingus, PIV sex (doggy style), cream pie, unprotected sex

Summary: Levi is the current leader of a Yakuza organization called the Ackerman Clan. Fearless, ruthless, cold-blooded. Your deadbeat father owes a debt to his Uncle Kenny after borrowing a sum of money to gamble on horse races many years ago, a debt that hasn’t been forgotten. He has since abandoned you and one day, the Ackerman Clan tracks you down, claiming that you are now the owner of this debt. Without the means to pay for it out of pocket, Levi employs you to be his personal housekeeper until you’ve earned the money to pay it off.

Author’s Note: Wow okay my first Levi fic EVER and I totally got carried away! I had so much fun writing this one, so I hope the rest of you enjoy it! Thanks for the request for the y2k karaoke party! This gave me the perfect excuse to finally write for Levi. MDNI divider credit to @/cafekitsune. Thank you for reading! Tagging @crazychaoticizzy!

It's an average Wednesday when you receive a call from your mother in the middle of your workday. She usually doesn’t call unless it’s important, so you answer, already nervous for what she’s about to tell you. “Mom? Are you okay?”

Her tone is somber. “Honey, please come home. Now.” You can hear other people speaking in the background, alarm bells immediately ringing in your head. It’s been you and your mother alone for the past decade now, abandoned by your father before your high school graduation. You have no idea who would be in your home at this time. Freaking out, you ask, “What’s going on? What’s happening?!”

Before she can respond, there’s shuffling, then a man you don’t recognize on the other line. “You should listen to your mother.” His voice is cold, terse, sinister. It sends a chill down your spine.

Immediately, you excuse yourself from work, briefly describing a family emergency to your boss. You hop on the closest train, jittering in your seat, sweating bullets, stomach tight with anxiety. All you need to know is that your mom is safe. As soon as you’re out of the station, you remove the heels off your feet to run home. When you arrive, you notice a black car with tinted windows parked in the driveway and the front door already swung open. Winded and out of breath, you double over with the impulse to vomit, already expecting the worse. You swallow down the urge, collecting yourself, and walk inside.

You’re met by three strangers: two men and a woman. She looks young, gaze cold on yours, studying you carefully. The taller of the men is significantly older, hunched over, lanky, with a cigarette between his crooked smile. The other is short, but his domineering presence seems to overwhelm the rest of them. The cold gaze, the stagnant frown, the tightness in his brows. There’s an aura to him that shows he’s not one to be messed with. Before you can even confirm, you know that this man is the one who spoke to you earlier on the phone. Their leader.

Your mom is seated on the couch, cowering in fear when she calls out to you. “Honey!”

You step towards them, wanting to approach her, but you’re stopped by the woman, staring daggers at you, her hand concealed inside her jacket, ready to attack if necessary. It’s a warning: Don’t come any closer or else. “Mikasa, relax. She ain’t even armed,” the older man says. He points to her, winking at you. “Sorry about my niece; she’s got some anger issues. Runs in the family, actually.”

Without removing her gaze from you, she mutters, “Shut up, Kenny.”

He laughs, puffs of smoke escaping his mouth. He removes the cigarette, tapping the ashes onto the hardwood floor of your living room before stepping closer towards you. “I should be the one upset here.” His eyes scan your figure up and down, smirking. “Right, Levi?”

You shiver from his wicked expression, glancing at your mother who stares wide-eyed at you in a panic. “What’s the meaning of this?” you ask shakily.

The shorter man, apparently named Levi, comes forward, glaring at you. “You owe the Ackerman Clan money. Two million yen with all the interest that’s been accruing for the past ten years.”

“We never borrowed money from you!” you argue.

“You didn’t. But your father did,” Kenny interjects. “The dumbass didn’t know how to gamble on the right horse. Lost each race and came crawling back to me for more and more money. I gave him two years to pay me back without interest, but I suppose he ran off on you and your poor mother before he could pay it. Now, it’s way past due. I need my money back.”

That no-good, deadbeat father of yours. Of course he’s the one behind this. He’s always had a gambling addiction, ever since you were little. Borrowed money left and right from distant relatives, friends, coworkers, and apparently strangers. You thought he’d at least have the decency to pay them off on the occasions he actually scored big, but who are you kidding? All he spent his winnings on was more booze to drown out the fact that he never cared or provided for his family. You shake your head, tears welling in your eyes. “You should be asking him for the money, not us.”

Levi’s eyes narrow. “You don’t think we already tried looking for him? We can’t find him. He’s gone. Someone else has to be responsible for it now. And that means his wife and his kid. You.”

“We don’t have that kind of money just laying around,” you say, hoping that somehow, this Yakuza gang is nice enough to forgive the debt.

Kenny barks a laugh. “Well, you’re shit out of luck then, huh? Just like your lousy father.”

You wince at his harsh words, simultaneously agreeing with him. Levi sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “If you can’t pay off this debt within the next three months, we’ll be forced to take more severe action.”

“What do you mean?” you stutter. A variety of cruel punishments flash through your head, causing your knees to wobble in fear, though you manage to stay upright.

“You don’t want to find out,” he threatens with a dark look.

You swallow loudly, unable to hide your dread any longer. Crying, you fall to your knees in a begging position, peering up at Levi with weepy eyes. “Please. I’ll do anything. Just don’t hurt my mom. Leave her out of this.”

Your mother sobs into her hands, your name muffled against her palms. Even through your blurred vision, you notice Levi’s expression waver just the slightest.

“Maybe she can work for you,” Mikasa suggests. Her tone has changed to one of sympathy, unexpectedly considering her intimidating demeanor moments ago.

Levi scoffs. “And what would she do for me? I doubt she can fight.”

There’s a pause as you watch them contemplate your fate. Kenny is the first one to offer an answer. “Housekeeper. She can be your housekeeper!”

Levi grimaces at the suggestion. “Excuse me?”

Kenny walks towards him, ruffling his nephew’s hair, much to his dismay. Levi swats him away, scowling as his uncle explains, “You spend so much goddamn time cleaning your own house, it’s about time you hire someone to do it for you. You’re the leader of the Ackerman Clan now. Time is money. You can’t be wasting it dusting when you can just make someone else do it for you.” He squats, legs spread wide, meeting you face-to-face. “Can you clean?”

You wipe away the tears streaming down your face, nodding.

“Can you cook?”

You nod again, more confidently this time.

He slaps his knee. “Well, there you go! Looks like we found the solution. You’re hired. Levi will pay you at the end of each day. Your wages after three months should be enough to cover the debt you owe me. If you work overtime, you’ll earn extra cash. Sound good?” He sticks his hand out, waiting for you to shake on it.

Three months of housekeeping and cooking for the leader of a Yakuza gang, who already looks like he despises you? It’s either that or whatever punishment he originally has in mind, which sounds much more painful and ominous.

Before you agree, you ask, “What about my regular job?”

He strokes his chin, thinking. “Damn, forgot about that. Well, Little Levi here can compensate you for that as well. You’ll have to quit it in the meantime, but this gig is much better, don’t cha think?”

Levi raises his voice, angry now. “Don’t I get a say in this?! Who said I have the money to pay her?!”

Kenny waves him off, smirking. “You don’t drink, you don’t gamble, and you don’t fuck. So what else are you doing with all that money?”

At this, Levi gapes at his uncle, blushing. “I’m the fucking captain here, aren’t I? I won’t allow this.”

Kenny rolls his eyes, standing up to stretch his back. “Fine. Got a better idea? We don’t have all fucking day to argue about this, you know.”

After a few more disgruntled huffs from Levi without any other real suggestions, you are officially hired as Levi Ackerman’s housekeeper.

~~~

Levi doesn’t need a fucking housekeeper. He’s the cleanest goddamn person in this entire godforsaken planet. Sure, he spends at least two hours at the start of his morning doing household chores to ensure that everything in his home is spick and span. But what’s so wrong about that? It’s the only solace he finds in this cruel world. The only aspect of his life that he can control.

So, when his new hire arrives to his house seven o’clock sharp the very next day, Levi’s already in a bad mood. And when she smiles brightly at him, greeting him, “Good morning!” in an all-too-cheery voice that drips with enthusiasm and spirit despite the shitty situation she’s in, he can’t help but become even more irritated. She can’t possibly be excited about this. It’s all a façade, an act. Fake. He’s seen it before, from so-called friends, family members, strangers on the street. People only connect with him if there’s something to gain from it. And in this case, the money to pay her father’s debt is her end-goal, and nothing else. He reminds himself that she’s not here for him. No one ever is.

He doesn’t respond to her, turning on his heel to lead her inside. Without saying so, she removes her shoes, tucking them into an empty slot on the shoe rack, following him. Unfortunately, Kenny’s been here since half an hour ago, taking his usual breakfast: a cup of black coffee and a frozen waffle, toasted until lukewarm. And of course, there’s already crumbs on the table, but Levi ignores it, knowing that she’s responsible for this mess now, not him.

“Morning,” Kenny drawls, raising his mug to her. She waves, still nervous around them, naturally, but her smile stays on.

Levi hands her a sheet of paper, typed out with proper instructions. “Everything you need to know is on here. Unless you’re illiterate and can’t read, I won’t need to explain anything to you, right?”

She scans the document quickly, shaking her head at the end. “Seems simple enough.”

“My nephew here likes things spotless,” Kenny adds, spit flying out of his mouth as he chews the rest of his breakfast. “Total clean freak and perfectionist. He’ll be on your ass about a simple speck of dust.”

“It’s not clean if there’s still dust,” he emphasizes.

Her attention goes to the fridge. “What about meals? What do you like to eat?”

“I’m not picky. I usually don’t eat breakfast and lunch is brought to me at the office. So dinner is the only meal you have to cook. Like I said, I’m not picky. But it better not be instant ramen or something. I’m not paying you to feed me that processed shit.” Truthfully, he already eats that junk for lunch, often opting for fast food because it’s quick and easy while he’s out on a job. But what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. He shoots a glare at his uncle when he notices him snickering to himself, clearly aware of his less-than-ideal diet.

After a brief tour of the house, not including his bedroom, which will remain off limits, him and Kenny leave to start the day. Levi is reluctant at first, unsure if she can live up to his high standards of tidiness, but even he can admit that it’s more productive when he arrives to their headquarters on time.

The day goes by smoothly; the extra two hours that Levi gains by entrusting another person to his usual morning ritual proves to be beneficial for both him and his gang. They are able to add an extra stop to their daily rounds, collecting owed money from sleezy businesses and seedy underground organizations. They only resort to violence once, with Levi squeezing a man’s head between his shoe and the pavement until he coughs up the dough. In his eyes, today was a good day.

Kenny drops him off back home around eight when it’s already dark out. The lights are on, glowing through the shaded windows. He digs into his pocket for the keys, retrieving them to unlock the door, his nostrils immediately hit with a sensational aroma wafting from the kitchen. Sliding out of his shoes, he steps further inside, following the scent.

She’s leaning over the stove, steam puffing from whatever pan she’s cooking in. He drops his keys on the counter, clearing his throat to make his presence known.

“Hello, Mr. Ackerman,” she says, turning to face him. “Perfect timing. Dinner is just about ready. I’ll serve it to you now.”

He slides a chair out from the dining table, taking a seat, watching as she moves around the kitchen. She scoops white rice into a bowl, then the food onto a plate, setting it front of him. It looks delicious; glazed meat scattered with a variety of fresh vegetables. “It’s chicken stir fry,” she explains. “It isn’t gourmet or anything, but it’s hearty and filling. I hope you like it.”

He remains silent, holding a piece of broccoli at the end of his chopstick, blowing on it before putting it in his mouth. The sauce is savory, pairing well with the typically bland vegetable. He digs into the chicken, enjoying how juicy and flavorful it is. It’s nothing he hasn’t had before, but still; it’s tasty.

She stands beside him, watching him eat with a small grin on her face. “What would you like to drink?”

He swallows, replying, “I like tea. Hot tea. Decaf.”

“On it,” she says, heading back into the kitchen, filling a kettle with water to heat on the stove. Within ten minutes, she returns with a cup in one hand, the kettle in the other, pouring him freshly brewed tea.

It’s quiet, Levi eating peacefully while she continues to observe him. He’s not quite sure what to say; do they make small talk? Does he compliment her cooking? How do people engage with others during a time like this?

Her stomach growls loudly, which he immediately notices. He raises a brow at her, pointing his chopsticks towards the kitchen. “You should eat too. If you’re hungry.”

“Is that alright?”

He nods, looking down at his plate. “It’s better than watching me eat while you’re starving, right?”

She laughs, going back into the kitchen once again. “Yes, of course.” She comes back, sitting across from him to start eating. Not knowing what else to discuss over dinner, Levi asks her about the chores she should have accomplished today, to which she reports back in detail. It sounds as if she went through eat item on the list, though the true test will be when he inspects it himself. Their conversation flows well; he usually hates conversing with people when it isn’t necessary. He can’t remember the last time he shared a homecooked meal with someone else. He’s always at home after work, alone. Mikasa is too busy with her own family, and Levi can hardly stand his uncle’s presence to begin with, so he always preferred being alone.

This, however, this he doesn’t mind. Surprisingly.

Before he gets too comfortable with the idea, he reminds himself once more that this is simply the deal they agreed to. There’s no room for sentimentality. She’s here because she was forced into this role, not because she wants to be here. This is business. This is temporary.

And with that in mind, Levi strengthens the integrity of the walls he barricades around him, determined not to let anyone but himself in.

~~~

Your first month of employment go by as smoothly as you hope it would be, given your circumstances. Every day, you arrive at Levi’s house seven in the morning on the dot, greeting him with a smile. You figured it wouldn’t do you any good to show your fear of the Yakuza in front of the leader himself. And, in all honestly, you weren’t actually that scared of him. While he’s cold and blunt most of the time, he hasn’t done anything to frighten you yet, aside from your initial meeting. It helps that you only see him for a few minutes in the morning when he lets you in, and at most an hour at the end of the day, when you share dinner together. Before you leave, he hands you an envelope with your day’s wages, and that’s that. Based on the lack of criticism, you assume that you’re doing a good enough job.

On the second month, you begin to make lunches for him in addition to your usual routine. Uncle Kenny had mentioned several times in secret that Levi eats fast food because of the convenience. Sometimes, he skips a meal all together when they’re especially busy.

When you arrive to his home, you greet him with your usual smile, while he gives you a curt nod, avoiding your gaze. He shouts behind him, “Kenny, let’s go!”

Before he walks out the door, you stop him, saying, “Oh, Mr. Ackerman! Before you leave, I prepared lunch for you.”

He whips around to face you, eyes narrowed as if you just insulted him. “What?”

Nervous now, you stammer, “I made you lunch. I heard that sometimes you skip meals, so I thought – ”

He steps towards you, glaring, not letting you finish. “This isn’t part of the list. I don’t need it. I don’t want it.” He turns on his heel, leaving you stunned as he heads for the car, slamming the door shut.

You scurry into the kitchen, face hot, reeling over his unpleasant reaction to your simple gesture. Kenny leans back in his chair, feet up on the table, chugging the rest of his coffee. “Morning.”

“Hi Kenny.” You wash your hands at the sink, processing what just happened, growing increasingly upset.

Kenny gets up, sliding his used mug beside you. “Thanks, darling.” Not wanting to waste your efforts, you call out to him, opening the fridge to retrieve the bento you prepared, handing it to him.

“What’s this?” he asks, smirking.

“I made it for Mr. Ackerman, but he doesn’t want it. I don’t want it to go to waste,” you explain.

He smiles, genuinely grateful, the expression you were mistakenly expecting from Levi. “Thank you. Take care.”

When he’s gone, you take a minute in the kitchen to relax, reminding yourself to stick to the list and not do anything extra just because you think he’d appreciate it. You’ve leaned your lesson based on today: Mr. Ackerman doesn’t appreciate anything or anyone. And you won’t be an exception.

~~~

Levi sulks silently in the car with his arms crossed over his chest, staring out the window while Kenny drives them to HQ. He’s replaying the interaction from earlier, recalling the hurt look in her eyes as he spat those harsh words to her. He’s an idiot. All he could have said was no thank you. He shouldn’t have berated her for doing something nice for him. At the same time, he didn’t want to appear vulnerable, like he needed her to do it for him. He doesn’t need her pity. He doesn’t need anyone to take care of him.

He catches Kenny shooting glances at him, but doesn’t say anything, knowing better than to rile his nephew up when he’s in one of these moods. They make it to headquarters as normal, and Levi goes about the day, almost forgetting about the incident. Almost.

Around noon, Kenny drives Levi and two of his henchmen across town to collect money from a client who’s been skipping out on payments recently. Levi doesn’t expect to resort to violence, so he stays inside the car while the two muscles go out and fulfill their orders. Kenny reclines, reaching his long arm towards the backseat, retrieving a small bento box. “Grub time.”

Levi scowls. “What are you doing?”

“Eating lunch, what do you think?” He uncovers it, licking his lips as his picks up a tamago sando from inside. It looks delicious, from the soft bread to the golden yellow filling. Levi’s stomach growls as he stares at his uncle bite into it. “Damn, that’s good!”

“Where did you get that?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

He shrugs, engulfing the rest of the sandwich into his mouth. “Your housekeeper. Said you didn’t want it, so she gave it to me instead. Shit, that’s good!”

Levi huffs through his teeth, annoyed, but also very hungry. He snatches it from his uncle’s lap, inspecting it himself. Kenny doesn’t protest, only chuckles, licking his fingers. It’s truly an enticing sight, much better than the typical burger and fries he’s used to. He picks it up delicately, relishing how pillowy the bread is between his fingers. It’s devoured quickly, and Levi regrets watching his uncle eat part it, hoping he had it all for himself. In the bottom layer of the bento box are baby carrots and sliced cucumbers, which Levi munches on until his crew comes back, knuckles a bit bloodied and a stack of cash in their hands.

At night, Levi enters the door, a pang of guilt in his chest. He doesn’t plan to mention it; he’d rather forget and move on, pretend it never even happened. Tonight’s dinner is yakisoba, a meal she has since perfected since starting a month ago. She serves it to him, pouring hot tea into his mug, then takes her usual spot, her expression neutral. She reports on each task she completed today, starting with the kitchen, where she cleans up whatever disgusting mess Kenny leaves at the table. She scrubs the counters until they’re sparkling, mops the floors, reorganizes the refrigerator, unloads the dishwasher from the night before. Next is the living room, where she vacuums the carpets, dusts all the drawers, wipes each and every appliance with a specialized solution to prevent streaks. Then It’s laundry, and she never mentions the splatters of blood that are sometimes on his dress shirts depending on what kind of day it is. She uses the exact method he uses to wash them until they look good as new, as if he isn’t part of the gang life.

She finishes her list, looking at Levi, waiting for his nod of approval, which he gives. She’s done a decent job so far; in fact, his home looks just as tidy as it did when he spent two hours each morning doing it himself. He stares down at his plate, eating the rest of his noodles in silence.

“Mr. Ackerman?”

His jaw clenches at the sound of his name, anticipating whatever she’s about to say. Without looking up, he mutters, “What?”

She clears his throat nervously. “Earlier today, about lunch. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep my boundaries. I hope you can forgive me.”

He senses her gaze on him, but he’s too embarrassed to meet it, slurping the rest of his food without responding. She doesn’t say anything else, leaving it at that. When he’s done, she gathers the dirty dishes and loads them into the dishwasher, starting the cycle. Levi goes into his room, stuffing her payment for today in an envelope, staring at his reflection in the mirror. Just say it. Don’t be an asshole. She doesn’t deserve it.

She waits for him at the doorway, coat and shoes on, ready to leave. He hands her the money, keeping his grip on it when she accepts it. “You don’t have to apologize. I ate it, and it was delicious. So…thank you.” He looks at her this time, wanting to convey to her that he truly means it.

Her eyes widen, clearly surprised by his sudden change in demeanor. He’s surprised himself; he just couldn’t let her leave thinking she didn’t anything wrong. “I’m sorry,” he adds. “For the way I reacted. I’m not used to people doing things like that for me.” He knows she doesn’t need an explanation from him, but he tells her anyways.

She smiles. “It’s okay. I’m happy to do it. I prepared another one for tomorrow.”

Nodding, he lets go, watching her slide the envelope into her bag. “Goodnight, Mr. Ackerman.”

He opens the door for her. “Levi. You can call me Levi. It makes me feel old when you call me that. We’re around the same age, right?”

She giggles, making his chest swell. “Right. Well then, goodnight Levi.”

He waits until she disappears into the distance, heading to the nearby train station. With the door shut, he leans against it, sighing heavily, his heart beating rapidly.

This is bad.

~~~

On the third month of working as a housekeeper and cook for Levi Ackerman, something extraordinary happens.

You’ve gotten more cordial with each other in the past few weeks, ever since you began making lunches for him on a regular basis. You know he isn’t picky when it comes to food, but you’ve noticed subtle differences when he thanks you for the meal, which he always does now. If it ends in a simple thanks, you know that it was ordinary. If he adds in a compliment, you know that he really likes it. So, you cook more of the foods that he particularly enjoys.

You’re still getting used to calling him by his first name. It still sounds foreign out of your mouth, almost like a treasured word you’re only supposed to say on special occasions. You still mostly call him Mr. Ackerman, though he doesn’t seem to mind.

Other than what you see of him in the mornings and nights, you have no idea what Levi gets up to the rest of his day. It’s an unwritten part of the deal; you keep your private life to yourselves. And, knowing he’s in the Yakuza, maybe it’s better you don’t know.

Tonight, you finish cooking dinner before Levi comes home. You cover the pan, keeping the oyakodon you prepared warm until he arrives, all the plates set up on the counter, ready for him. You sit in your usual chair, checking the clock: 8:30 PM, thirty minutes past his usual time. By nine, you start to worry. And by ten, your finger hovers over his contact information on your phone, tempted to call him, to make sure he’s okay. You debate with yourself for several minutes if you should go through with it. You were given this number only to use for emergencies. Would this be considered one? Surely, he has an entire team of people who look after him, being the leader and all. Why would he need you, his lowly housekeeper, looking out for him?

Deep down, it’s because you care. You care about him. You want him to be happy. And it’s not because he pays you at the end of the day. It’s because you truly, genuinely believe he deserves it. Even in the short time that you’ve known him, it’s plain to see how miserable he is in this life of crime. Dead eyes, permanent frown on his face, tense muscles from having no moment throughout his day to relax. No one, not even a Yakuza leader himself, deserves to be under this much stress.

You’re about ready to dial his number when you hear the distinct jingle of keys from the front door. Levi walks in, hunched over with his jacket tossed over his shoulder, big splotches of blood painted on his shirt. You can see it clearly even from the end of the hallway. He doesn’t greet you, doesn’t look at you, as he drags his feet into the living to plop himself onto the couch, sighing.

“Mr. Ackerman?” you call out, trembling. You’ve never seen him like this before. Is he injured? Or is he the one who did the injuring? Does it matter to you what the answer is? All you know is that you’re concerned about him and you want to be by his side.

~~~

Levi hears her but doesn’t respond. He sinks deeper into the couch, eyes shut, hoping she ignores him, not wanting her to see him in this sorry state. He listens to the sound of her footsteps approaching closer, then feels her sit beside him. With one eye open, he peeks at her, surprised to see her staring at him with genuine concern, a steaming mug of tea in her hands. “Mr. Ackerman,” she repeats.

“What do you want?” he asks tersely. He doesn’t mean for it to come out rudely. Or maybe he does to push her away. He doesn’t want her to witness this vulnerability, this weakness.

“I brought you some tea,” she answers quietly.

Before he can spit out an argument about how the caffeine will prevent him from sleeping, she adds, “It’s decaf, of course.”

He’s speechless for a moment, unable to come up with a smart response. His heart beats against his chest and he’s not sure what’s happening to him. Is he going into cardiac arrest? Or is this something different? Something good? Too exhausted to maintain the same frigid persona he puts up for her, he relaxes, reaching for her hands to grab the handle of the mug. He grazes her fingers wrapped around the ceramic, lingering for a second longer, then brings it to his lips, blowing air across the surface before taking a sip. It’s hot down his throat, filling his tired body with warmth and comfort.

He peeks at her once more, focusing on the gentle smile on her lips. “What are you so happy about?” he asks, taking another sip.

She looks down at her lap, shy now that she’s been called out. “I’m just happy you’re back in one piece.”

He scoffs, displaying his bruised and stained knuckles. “You call this one piece?”

She stares at his hands with terror or fascination, maybe even both. Levi can’t tell. All he knows is that she isn’t flinching away from him like he’s some monster; she leans closer, inspecting it carefully. “Hold on,” she says, standing up to retreat back into the kitchen.

Levi rests his head against the couch, stomach grumbling with hunger. He hasn’t eaten since lunch, and beating the shit out of people takes a toll on him. But the job is done and now he’s home. And for the first time, he realizes how grateful he is not to be alone.

Minutes later, she returns with a tray, carrying a steaming bowl of oyakodon and two warm towels beside it. She sets it next to him on the couch, kneeling on the floor in front of him, beside his knees. He gulps, suddenly aware at how compromising this position may seem. Though, he doesn’t mind it. He slowly reaches over to grab hold on the chopsticks, digging into the bowl of food to take a bite. It’s warm and soothing in his mouth, exactly what he needed.

“May I?” She peers up at him, pointing to his other hand, holding the damp towel.

He’s hesitant at first, aware that she’ll be touching him. This is definitely crossing a line, right? However, the thought of being pampered in this moment when he’s so fucking tired is too enticing to refuse. He stretches his arms out, offering his fist to her. She surrounds him in the soft fabric, rubbing gently between his knuckles, wiping away all the grime from tonight’s violence. His skin is on fire from her indirect touch and he can’t help but wonder what effect she could have on his body if she were actually touching him.

Skin in pristine condition, despite the temporary bruises, she switches to the other hand once he’s finished with his meal. He watches her in silence, holding back a moan, embarrassed at how much he’s enjoying this. She finishes him off with the second towel, the clean one, giving both hands a little massage. “Is that better?”

He nods, muttering a tired, “Thank you.”

She smiles, gaze flickering to the stains on his shirt. “I can wash this for you tomorrow. Just leave it in the laundry room.”

He nods again, unsure what else to say. She gets up, carrying the empty bowl and soiled towels back into the kitchen to clean up. It’s almost eleven now when Levi flips his wrist to check the time on his watch. Trains stop running by midnight, so he shouldn’t keep her here any longer. “You should head home now. It’s late,” he says, loud enough for her to hear. He stands up, slightly limping towards his bedroom to give her the payment. He slides an extra couple of bills to compensate for working overtime. Noticing how horrid he looks with blood all over him, he strips out of his shirt, thankful none of it seeped directly onto his skin. Without thinking, he rushes towards the front door, where she waits for him in her coat and shoes.

He hands her the money. “I’m giving you a small bonus today, just in case you’re wondering why there’s more in there.”

She glances at his chiseled abs before looking down at her feet. Heat rushes into his cheeks, finally aware that he’s shirtless in front of his housekeeper. This is definitely crossing a line.

“It’s okay, I don’t want the extra money,” she says.

“Take it. You’ve earned it,” he insists.

“I didn’t do it for that. I did it because I care about you. I want to - ” She gazes at him, swallowing hard, afraid to finish her thought.

There’s a flutter in his stomach as he steps closer to her, eager to hear it. “What?”

“I want to take care of you, Mr. Ackerman.”

It happens so fast that as soon as he realizes it, his lips are already on hers, kissing her passionately. His immediate reaction is to stop because he’s sure this isn’t what she intended. But when she places her hands on his chest, clinging to his bare skin to deepen the kiss, he can’t resist.

~~~

Clothes are discarded on the way to his bedroom. By the time you’re lying flat on his mattress, you’re both completely naked, him on top of you, caging you between his muscular arms. He kisses your figure, from your neck trailing down to your chest, his lips puckered at your nipple, sucking on it until it’s taut in his mouth. One hand travels along the curve of your hips, then the plush of your inner thigh, until he’s pressed to your throbbing clit. “Can I touch you here?” he asks, his voice low and trembling.

“Yes,” you breathe out, completely enraptured by him.

He flicks your bud with his middle finger, tapping on it until it’s puffy against him. He glides down to your wet slit, collecting your arousal to smear onto your clit, rubbing it faster. Pleasure courses through you as you whine into his mouth, kissing him sloppily. Soon, he slips inside you, pumping two of his fingers in and out of your pussy. You squirm for him, so close to your climax.

“You like my fingers inside this fucking cunt, huh?” he growls into your ear. He pulls out, stroking your clit with his wet digits. “How about here? You like them on your little clit too, right pretty girl?”

Your tongue lolls out of your mouth, eyes glazed over in a daze. “Yes, Mr. Ackerman. Fuck.”

“Levi,” he grunts, circling your bud. “I told you to call me Levi.” He slips back in, pummeling your pussy while his thumb taps on your swollen core.

You grab the bedsheets beneath you, clenching it between your fists, bucking your hips towards him, approaching your orgasm. “Coming,” you manage to whimper, unraveling. He slows his pace, riding it out with you until you relax in his hold, spent and blissed out.

There’s a wild look in his eyes, animalistic almost. He removes himself from you, bringing his wet fingers to your mouth, inching them past your lips. “Taste yourself for me.”

You obey, opening wide for him to swipe your own cum across your tongue. He sticks it further down your throat while you surround him, sucking your slick off. His erection is hard against you, begging for attention. You slide your hand between his thighs, palming at his stiff cock, twitching at your touch.

“Fuck,” he swears under his breath. You start stroking him, his cock hot and pulsating in your fist. He bucks into your grasp, moaning as you rub your thumb over his glossy tip, making him shudder. “You’re driving me fucking crazy, fuck. Get on top of me. Please. Need to taste you.”

You obey, readjusting yourself to straddle his face, lowering yourself carefully until your pressed to his open mouth. “Just enjoy it, sweetheart. You’ve earned it,” he says before lapping you up greedily. You ride his face, dragging your pussy lips across his flattened tongue, moaning when he puckers around you, suckling on your swelling bud. He’s sloppy and noisy, exactly how you like it. You find yourself unraveling quickly above him, convinced you can come just like this, without him entering you at all. He senses this, grabbing firmly to your ass cheeks, guiding you to rock against him faster. “That’s it, princess. Come for me,” he muffles against your skin, slurping at your leaking cunt. No longer able to resist, you moan loudly, reaching your climax, gushing all over his face. He smacks your ass, licking off every drop of your arousal before removing himself from you. “I need to be inside you. Need to fuck this pretty pussy right fucking now.”

All control lost, you whine, “Fuck me, Levi. Fuck me, please.”

He positions himself behind you, dragging your bottom towards him, rubbing his erection between your ass cheeks. “Think you’ve earned this cock? Think you deserve it?”

You nod frantically. “Yes. I’ve been so good.”

He chuckles, guiding himself inside you, stretching you out slowly as he inches his way deeper. “You’re right. You’ve been very good. You are good. So fucking good to me.” He pounds into you, fucking your sweet spot, chasing that high you’re both so desperate to reach. After a few more thrusts, your pussy squeezes around him, coming once more. He follows with his own orgasm, shooting his load inside you, filling you up with his cum.

He pulls out, rolling beside you, breathing heavily. You turn to your side, facing him, your senses gradually returning. He glances at you and breaks into a smile, the first you’ve ever seen from him. “Don’t look at me like that.”

You grin, scooting closer to nuzzle your nose with his. “Like what?”

His eyes gaze into yours, flickering down your lips. “Like you want to kiss me.”

You inch closer. “Why is that so bad?”

“Because I won’t be able to stop,” he whispers, closing the gap, kissing you.

~~~

On her last day, Levi leaves her final payment on the top of his dresser. It’s next to a thicker envelope that she’s collected the entirety of her father’s debt in, ready to hand over to Kenny first thing in the morning. She could have paid it off sooner, a week sooner, to be exact. But she decides to finish the remainder of the month employed as Levi’s housekeeper. She doesn’t explain why, and he doesn’t ask.

They snuggle together in his bed, ready to sleep after fucking each other stupid just minutes earlier. This is another added part of their routine. Sometimes, she leaves to check in on her mother back home. Other times, she stays the night, which Levi prefers, though he won’t admit it out loud. It’s the best sleep he’s gotten in years.

He can tell she’s on the verge of sleep by the way her eyes flutter closed and how her head falls into his chest, relaxed. His mind is racing with thoughts, so he’s wide awake, wondering what tomorrow will hold. Will she say goodbye to him forever? Is this really over? What will he do when she’s gone?

He realizes his true feelings for her almost immediately after they begin sleeping together. He’s never relinquished control to anyone else before. But for him, giving it to her was easy. Maybe because he knew he could trust her. Though, now with her employment coming to an end, he’s not so sure what to think.

“Levi?” Her soft voice surprises him.

“Hey,” he whispers. “Go back to sleep.”

She tips her chin up, peering at him. “Not yet. I want to say something to you.”

He stares at her, confused and anxious, listening. “I care about you, Levi. I don’t want this to stop just because whatever arrangement we had before is over.”

He swallows hard, trying to maintain a neutral expression as his heart races with joy. “So, what then? Do you want to keep being my housekeeper? I already feel weird paying you because of what we do.”

She giggles, shaking her head. “I don’t want to be your housekeeper. I want to be your girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?”

“Yes, Levi. Your girlfriend,” she reiterates, smiling.

He lets out a small laugh. “That sounds so normal.”

She cups his face, squeezing his cheeks. “Well, maybe Mr. Ackerman deserves a little something normal for once.”

He chuckles, nuzzling into her touch. “So, how is this going to work, then? You being my girlfriend.”

“Well, I’ll get my old job back. And in the meantime, I can move in here so I can still do all the cooking and cleaning.”

“No,” he interjects. “Together. We’ll cook and clean together. Like a normal couple.”

She beams at him. “Alright. Together it is, then.”

He allows himself to smile completely now, pressing his forehead to hers. “Can it really be this simple?”

“I think it can,” she replies. “It’s worth a shot, right?”

For most of his life, Levi has never had it easy. Thirty years later, he finally has a chance at something normal, something good. Does he deserve it? With her by his side, holding his hand so lovingly in hers, he actually believes it. “Yeah. You’re absolutely right.”

#levi ackerman #levi x reader #levi aot #levi x you #levi smut #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman smut #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman fluff #levi ackerman x female reader #aot smut #attack on titan smut #aot x reader #aot fluff #attack on titan x reader #y2k karaoke party #milestone event

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bloompompom · 2 months

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*not exclusive to boys obviously ;)

I've had this idea spinning in my head for a while now and figured what better way to get some creative energy flowing and bring everyone together than a writing collab!? And there's nothing sillier and more fun than a classic rom-com, so why not add our favorite fictional characters to the mix? ♡

Interested in joining? All you have to do is come to my inbox with the rom-com you'll be pulling inspiration from and your fictional character of choice. Example: Sweet Home Alabama x Eren Jaeger.

♡ Reader-insert/OC writing event with no word limit!

♡ SFW/NSFW submissions are allowed, but you must be 18+ and have your age easily accessible on your blog to participate.

♡ This collaboration is open to any fandom.

♡ Character/movie repeats are totally okay, though it is preferred to not have the same exact pairing twice!

♡ Works must be appropriately tagged. Please use the tag #romcomcollab and be sure to tag me so I can update the master list and share your talent!

♡ No deadlines. I'm bad with deadlines so why would I subject you to that?

Currently on-going! This section will be updated as submissions come in.

ATTACK ON TITAN

♡ eren jaeger x she's out of my league - @usuibu

♡ eren jaeger x sweet home alabama - @bloompompom

♡ eren jaeger x the princess dairies - @grandmatilly

♡ jean kirstein x pride and prejudice - @smashboxgirl26

♡ levi ackerman x anastasia - @a-fullmetal-heart

♡ levi ackerman x austenland - @s1llage

♡ levi ackerman x mr. and mrs. smith - @shayewrites

♡ reiner braun x notting hill - @marleysfinest

♡ zeke jaeger x it happened one night - @pisspope

DEMON SLAYER

♡ rengoku kyojuro x the princess bride - @forest-hashira

GENSHIN IMPACT

♡ childe x john tucker must die - @zorosdimples

HAIKYUU

♡ miya atsumu x 10 things i hate about you - @heavenlyakin

♡ miya atsumu x she’s all that - @bungalowbear

♡ osamu miya x notting hill - @neiptune

JUJUTSU KAISEN

♡ choso kamo x 13 going on 30 - @forest-hashira

♡ nanami kento x crazy rich asians - @mitsuristoleme

♡ nanami kento x the proposal - @sugojosgf

♡ nanami kento x sabrina - @threadbaresweater

♡ nanami kento x upgraded - @loves4ge

♡ ryomen sukuna x about time - @skunabby

♡ ryomen sukuna x life as we know it - @brainrotfm

♡ ryomen sukuna x just like heaven - @vagabond-umlaut

♡ satoru gojo x anyone but you - @sellenite

♡ satoru gojo x how to lose a guy in 10 days - @ghostbeam

♡ satoru gojo x just like heaven - @stellamancer

♡ satoru gojo x pretty woman - @aikatoru

♡ satoru gojo x uptown girls - @strawberrystepmom

♡ satoru gojo x when harry met sally - @eijirhoe

♡ satoru gojo x you've got mail - @aikatoru

♡ suguru geto x the princess diaries 2 - @forest-hashira

♡ toji fushiguro x 10 things i hate about you - @anathemaspeaks

♡ toji fushiguro x seeb wa ana aseeb - @tojancy

♡ yuuji itadori x 10 things i hate about you - @zorosdimples

♡ yuuta okkotsu x just my luck - @yutaleks

KAIJU NO.8

♡ hoshina soshiro x the proposal - @mangostarjam

MY HERO ACADEMIA

♡ denki kaminari x anyone but you - @dearbraus

♡ eijiro kirishima x footloose - @enterdivinity

♡ katsuki bakugo x love is war - @bkgpackets

♡ katsuki bakugo x 50 first dates - @zanarkandskylines

♡ shoto todoroki x ella enchanted - @shiggybrainr0t

TWISTED WONDERLAND

♡ trey clover x the wedding singer - @twstinginthewind

#writing collab #milestone event #romcomcollab #romcomcollab master list #aot x reader #jjk x reader #mha x reader #haikyuu x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #genshin impact x reader

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jinnie-ret · 5 months

Text

perfect night

poly!stray kids x idol!reader

genre: fluff

content warnings: none

word count: 1k

requested: @whoswony

summary: in which stray kids are watching the opening show of their girlfriend's tour, sonder, and they come to realise a song is dedicated purely to them

1K FOLLOWERS PLAYLIST 💚🖤

MAIN MASTERLIST

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Oh how smug you felt, that a song you had written that was purely dedicated to your boys, could still be released and put onto your latest album, Sonder. Truth be told, it was masked as a song to all your 'girls' out there, about spending time with them being your most favourite thing in the world, and not needing anything else. That was how it actually made it onto the album. But you knew who you really wrote it for.

You wrote the song for Chan, who dedicated his life to protecting each of his partners and prioritising them over himself.

For Minho, who willingly let you read him like a book and get to know him because he wasn't scared of opening up to you.

For Changbin, who often indulged in late night deep conversations with you, whether they were trivial matters that you spiraled deeply into, or more serious ones that helped each of you lift the weight off of your shoulders.

For Hyunjin, whose dramatic antics yet romantic attitude always made you swoon, no matter how goofy he would suddenly become.

You wrote it for Jisung, who always managed to keep you on your toes, whether it be from him bursting into song, his sleep clinginess or his rambles about his new favourite anime that inspired him to write a song or two.

For Felix, who was your constant source of happiness, smiles radiating sunshine and reflecting his light across your shadows, forever brightening your day.

For Seungmin, your cheeky yet very emotionally intelligent partner in crime who helped you stay rational in times when all you could see was doom and gloom.

And finally for Jeongin, who always insisted his admiration for you, was levels above your own for him, because he couldn't believe that it was possible for anyone to be more adored in this world than you.

They were all you needed. And you couldn't wait to show them that, and finally be able to express that to them through the other thing you all loved - music.

-★-★-★-★-★-

Gorgeous yet eery piano notes echoed across the walls of the stadium as you made your entrance, like you were a mystical being that your fans laid their eyes upon.

"She's so hot," Jeongin sighed as he leant across the railings.

"Real," Hyunjin nodded, tongue grazing his upper lip.

"Stop perving on our girlfriend," Seungmin sighed and whacked them on the backs of their heads.

Your boyfriends were sat on an upper tier of the seating in the stadium, safely away from fans and any possible suspicions to why they were there. Luckily, if that case was ever made, fans would be sure to defend you, knowing that you and Jeongin were friends at SOPA.

If only they knew that the two of you were way more than friends. As well as his seven other band members.

Suddenly a new track they hadn't heard started playing, some calming guitar sounding out before a drum track starting kicking in and their girlfriend's poppy voice blended perfectly with the music.

"Come and take a ride with me, I got a credit card and some good company..."

"Wait, that's about us, right?" Chan's eyes widened and a big grin appeared on his face.

"She literally said her girlies," Minho said bluntly, making Chan laugh.

"We're sort of the girlies," Han shrugged.

"Yeah Jisung you do give baby girl energy to be fair," Felix laughed.

"So does Binnie," Jisung added on, smiling as their girl performed.

The fun, light-hearted choreography made you shine with your bright energy.

"I feel so proud, wahhh," Changbin held his hand over his heart, bopping along to the music much like his other boyfriends.

"Quick, let's head backstage!" Felix pushed his other boyfriends forwards down the stairs in pure excitement as the concert came to an end.

-★-★-★-★-★-

Stretched out on the sofa in your dressing room, sipping from some water, you nearly choked on your mouthful as the door burst open with eight men pouring through.

"You were so good!"

"That song was about us right?!"

"Right?!"

You giggled as you were quite literally smothered in their love, kisses being peppered across your face, your neck, your hands, swallowed up in the arms of your boyfriends.

"Yah! What if I was getting changed?" you gasped playfully as you pushed them all away.

"I wouldn't be complaining," Hyunjin smirked before getting a neck slap from Minho.

"Hey!"

And on they went playfully fighting as Chan gave you one of his hoodies he brought with him, just for you.

"Thanks love," you smiled fondly, pulling the fluffy black hoodie over your head as Jeongin tugged you into his arms.

"You really wrote a song about us?" Felix grabbed your hands to gain your attention.

"How could you tell?" you pushed your lips together, trying not to let any words spill out straight away. You'd keep them guessing just that bit longer, that was your game.

"Credit card and some good company? You literally said that to us one time," Seungmin shrugged knowingly, with shake of his head to get the hair out of his face. He had been growing it longer recently - no objections from you.

"That could just be about my friends," you feigned ignorance.

"Nah!"

"No way!"

"Hey I have friends!" you stood up, folding your arms and detesting their claims.

"We know you do, we know love," Changbin back hugged you tightly.

"But you also have us, hmm?" Minho smirked, tickling under your chin like you were one of his cats.

"And we're way better company!" Han declared, from his spot sat on top of Jeongin as he teased the younger and cooed like you all normally did with the maknae.

"I think Jeongin would disagree," you said dryly.

"I would!" the fox boy choked out, nearly sounding suffocated with distraught as he wrestled the older boy off of him.

"But you wouldn't, would you? Don't deny it, that song was for us," Seungmin pointed out.

"Mmm, sure, whatever you want to believe," you looked down at your feet shyly, knowing there was no turning back from here. They had caught you out. But you didn't mind anymore, you were happy because they were too.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

tagged: @skz-streamer @kiraisastay @hannahhbahng @kpopmenace143 @sakufilms @kai-lee08 @arloo00 @dunno-wut-to-do @splat00z @cheesemonky @his-angell @turtledove824 @2minstan @royal-shinigami @yangbbokari @skzoologist @crabrangoongirl25 @atinyniki @writingforstraykids @minholing @lilmisssona @astraysimp @j-one25

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thepeacefulgarden · 1 year

Text

#you matter #milestones #life events #healing #recovery #trauma #childfree #career #family #relationships

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churipu · 5 months

Text

( OO2 ) ★ dude (romantically) , gojo satoru

featuring. gojo satoru x reader

warnings. cursing, 2006 highschool era, one sided enemies to lovers (alias u hate him bcs of "reasons", and u think he hates him too), gojo being such a fucking tease i love hate him so much, a lot of cringe and weird pet names from gojo bcs he's kind of a little shit, you being mean to him and you make him sad (but you'll make up dwdw, i don't need angst rn), um...kissing (yhyh u guys kissed, so what >:() // wc: 4.0k

ENTRY ( OO2 ) OF THE "INTO THE IPINVERSE" MILESTONE

"i hate you." "say that again?"

tags: @sad-darksoul, @sweeneyblue1, @idkuluka, @colorful-happy-shit

there are a lot of moments that you hate in life, but with all due respect, meeting gojo satoru has got to be at the top of your fucking list.

white hair, blue eyes deeper than the ocean. god, why does he have to be so pretty? why couldn't he be born with no hair and no eyes at all? because that, that would make it easier to hate him completely — yes, you're implying that he's physically attractive.

"hey, apple pie," gojo sings out, slinging an arm over your shoulder, "i missed you."

you pushed him away harshly, "don't call me that, gojo. and i don't fucking miss you," a strained whine escaped his throat as he feel the distance in between you both widen at your push.

"come on, sugar bear."

"jesus christ, stop calling me those fucking nicknames." you seethe out at him, standing up to walk away — escaping this hell, escaping gojo satoru and whatever tricks he had up in his sleeve.

"i know you like them," gojo sings out, skipping to catch up with you. shoving both of his hands inside his pockets, "come on, annoyed acrylic nail."

you stopped for a bit, amazed at the nickname. so amazed that you almost actually pulled out a laugh card at him — god, he's insufferable, "what the fuck was that nickname?"

"you kiss your mother with that mouth?" gojo asks, leaning down a bit to put his ugly face up close to yours. frankly, it's frustrating because he's an absolute beauty, what a prick.

"my mother's dead."

gojo widened his eyes a tad bit, "my god — pumpkin, it was just a saying." he sighs, scratching his nape awkwardly, "sorry for your loss."

you rolled your eyes, continuing your aimless walk. the sole point of this walk was to avoid the male, yet here he was, walking alongside you. silently. as you turned corners after corners, he trailed behind you, turning the same corners after corners.

"can you," i look at him, "leave me alone? why the hell are you following me?"

gojo shrugs, "no reason. can't i do that now?" you shook your head, "and why not?"

"this is — stalking. an act of following me around, i feel intimidated. do you want me to file a report, huh? huh?" gojo chuckles at your ramble, finding you quite adorable; in his eyes, you were like this small creature, trying to be intimidating.

"definitely not." he chuckled, "come on, chatterbox. you should let me take you out sometimes, what d'ya' think? sounds good?"

"no. just — don't talk to me, don't look at me, don't even breathe the same air as i am," you muttered out, flipping your middle finger at the male out of annoyance making him guffaw.

his slender fingers grabbed your hand, pushing it down gently, "are you implying that i should die?" his voice came out cheeky and teasing.

"yes."

he rolled his eyes, "you're gonna miss me when i do actually die, bet you'll cry and say y'miss me." the male laid his hand on top of your head — patting it lightly, "come on, bonbon. let me take you out, for food, for smoothies, for desserts. anything you want, i'll give it to you."

you heaved out a sigh, "gojo, no — just, no. and leave me alone."

the male eyes you, "you hang out just fine with suguru. all sunshine and rainbows, why d' you not give me the same treatment, huh?" he questions, almost offended at the thought of both you and suguru laughing and joking in front of him.

"'cause you're not him, obviously."

gojo furrowed his brows, expression filled with frustration, "what does that even mean? what's so different about suguru and i? he's a good guy, but 'm a good guy too. right?" he asks, voice low and meek.

"just — shut up, alright? leave me alone."

this time, the male complied; refusing to trail your figure as you disappeared around the corner. his eyes following you until you were gone, chewing on his lip in annoyance.

he didn't understand you, in his eyes you were like a lost cause. and it perturbed him, his peace, his life. the male is dying to know whatever the hell he'd done wrong to make you hate him so much, whether it being his constant nickname for you or was it because of the fact that he's always there to make fun of you?

gojo wouldn't be this bothered if you were like this to everyone. however — the fact is that you're only like this to him. and why? he didn't know.

and he hates it.

very helpful google.

the teen boy threw his head back, sighing out loudly — a few hours since that conversation with you and he still hasn't been able to get you out of his mind.

"what'cha doing?" a shadow peered over him, the white haired male fluttered his eyes open slowly; the afternoon sun gracing his face as he tries to make out who the person above him was.

"nothing," he muffled out, looking to the side — geto chuckled, jumping over the male's head before taking a seat next to him, "did you just jump over my head?"

"mhm," geto hums, "so? is it about y/n?"

gojo looks at his friend, "was it that obvious?" geto chuckled, nodding his head mutely, "try to think about it — as far as we've known each other, what the hell have i ever done wrong to them? i'm so lost."

"who knows? maybe they like you."

gojo rolled his eyes, "who in their right mind, would act like that to the person they like? that's just stupid." geto chuckled.

"people like y/n obviously."

the white haired male huffs out in defeat, "is it because of the weird nicknames? in my opinion, they're really cute. i mean — pumpkin, sugar bear, apple pie? you'd like to call your partner that too, right?" he babbles out, still in trance, wondering what he ever did wrong to you.

geto spared a glance at his friend, "no, that's stupid. it's pretty cringe," he honestly informed.

gojo's jaw tightened in response as he stared at his friend in betrayal, his lips parted as he wanted to deliver something — but the blue eyed male slowly shuts his mouth, pondering for a bit before delivering his comment, "okay, you're partly right. but i enjoy calling them that. they're cute, and my nicknames are cute." he pouted, his glasses slipping down a bit.

"annoyed acrylic nail? really? you can do better than that, satoru."

gojo's head snapped towards geto, "how'd you know about that one?" he narrowed his eyes.

"y/n, who else?"

"traitor. and mind you, i got that from a quiz i was playing on the internet."

geto tittered out in pure amusement, "they were just telling me about what happened," he explained, "and boy, was it interesting to say the least."

"what'd they say about me?" gojo asks, his voice soft. almost scared to question his friend, scared to hear about how you'd describe him — despite being this, "calm", "coolheaded" man he portrays, when it comes to you, it felt like judgement day.

"oh, nothing much," geto uttered out calmly, "how they can't stand you sometimes and how you maunder out the oddest nicknames on earth — oh, and how they find you physically attractive." geto finds himself whispering the last part.

geto was one to say the truth about these kind of things. except, he's now being a little cupid, alias . . . you never told geto that gojo is physically attractive. but the first two comments were the absolute truth.

"they did?" how cute.

geto nods his head mutely, "maybe you should go meet them, they were pretty intent on describing you as quote unquote, the most attractive boy they have ever met," the lie rolled over his tongue smoothly that gojo couldn't help but to grin widely.

"tell me about it, suguru. please, please?"

geto was most delighted to do so. the male enjoying this banter more than anything — if he wanted one result, it was to get you and gojo together. frankly, he finds it quite the mediocrity that you and gojo aren't in an established relationship as of now.

"they were saying how you have these pretty blue eyes that they'd love to look at every hour," geto started, "and how they actually don't mind some of your nicknames — like, sugar bear. they find it endearing."

little bastard. gojo was smiling like a fool right now, his long legs crossed happily as he sighed out in content, "i fucking knew it."

"well, what're you waiting for?"

gojo hops up, peering down at geto who was still seated, "i owe you one, suguru," geto chuckled, shaking his head.

oh, he owed me more than one. geto thinks to himself, waving his friend goodbye.

"hey, sugar bear." gojo confidently approached you, crossing his arms with a knowing smirk on his face, "i missed you."

groaning out in response, you covered your ears with the palm of your hands; not wanting to engage in the conversation right as it started. gojo chuckles softly, circling his fingers around your wrists, pulling them away from your ears, "come on, why're you always so mean to me?"

"you get on my fucking nerves. asswipe." you muttered out, pulling your wrists away, "and don't touch me."

gojo winced, "ouch. so, heard from someone that you called me attractive, huh?" his eyebrows danced up and down in delight, as if he was mocking you.

you arched your brow in confusion, because for all you know. one, you never said that to anyone. two, even if you did find him attractive, you didn't remember ever telling that to just anyone — hell, you don't remember telling anyone about it either.

"excuse you?" gojo gave you a lop-sided grin.

"so? why're you keeping up with the attitude?" he whispers out, shaking his head.

"gojo, what the fuck? who did you hear that from?" you interrogated the male, one of your hand resting on your hips, "whoever the fuck gave you that information is making shit up — no, i don't find you attractive."

the male rolled his eyes at your stubborn demeanor. well, you weren't particularly stubborn; you were partly framed at this point since you don't remember ever saying that to anyone.

"come on, why'd you have to lie to me? it's not like 'm gonna be angry or anything," you sent a sharp glare at him, because he is wrong for saying that — you made it clear you never expressed that forbidden thought to anyone. so why was he saying this to you?

"gojo—"

"why do you call suguru by his first name but me by my surname?" gojo cuts you off.

"gojo, listen—"

before you could say anything else, the male confidently hushes you down, yet again cutting your words off. and if there's anything else you hated more than gojo satoru, it's being interrupted while you were talking.

"gojo, respectfully, shut the fuck up." you scowled at him, and that indeed managed to shut him up almost immediately — the glare you had in your eyes signifying that you were actually serious. gojo can't help but to swallow the non-existent lump in his throat at the sight.

"i never said anything about you being attractive, and whoever the fuck said that to you is a pathological liar. this is getting tiring," you slowly, and calmly tell him. way too calmly for his liking, "you're bothering me. so with all due respect, can you like . . . maybe, leave me the fuck alone and never talk to me unless it's mission related. it's fucking annoying."

gojo was silent. he was clueless of how to react, a part of him wanted to get angry, he has so much questions to ask you. but another part of him just wanted to lay down low and walk away. and gojo went after the latter.

his stomach churned as he processed your words silently, his smile dropping, and his gaze softened. the male inhaled sharply before nodding his head, "okay, sorry."

and he turned his heels, slowly walking away out of your sight — you stared at his back, watching him walk further and further.

letting a string of curses escape your lips, you felt the urge to reach out to the male. call out to his name. say you were sorry and how you didn't mean that — god, sometimes you think it was you that should respectfully shut the fuck up.

" . . . goj—" you shook your head, deciding to just stay silent for now. for now.

this wasn't the first time you've told him off; and he always comes back the next day, so gojo would probably be the same old him tomorrow, right?

wrong.

gojo was dead set on what he was doing, avoiding you. and damn, he was pretty good at it — that it pisses you off. because why isn't he calling you those weird nicknames? why isn't he trailing after you anymore? why isn't he talking to you? why isn't he batting an eyelash at you? one week and still going strong.

"heartbreak problems?" geto appears beside you, taking a seat next to you, whistling out loudly, "over satoru? that's a first."

you wanted to retort back to the male, but honestly, there isn't any point to it. so you actually bobbed your head, "guess so," you muttered out lowly, balling your fists.

"what happened?"

his question made you side eye him, you were pretty sure gojo would've told him by now — after all, they're quite the pair at school. so this was an honest surprise, "shit happened. i said things that i obviously didn't mean, and now i'm suffering the consequences of my own actions, fairly enough, it fucking sucks."

"so, you're openly admitting to me that you do like him?" geto questioned softly, his eyes traveling to the ceiling of the classroom, "satoru? the one you shit-talk about every single day?"

you grunted, "jus' because i shit-talk him. doesn't mean i hate him," geto blinked feverishly before laughing out, "the hell are you laughing at, asswipe?"

"i told him you found him attractive. but i guess things didn't go as i expected," geto spouts out the truth, his laugh dying down slowly into a small smile, "what did'ya say to him?"

"thought you'd know by now, and that was you? fuck." you murmur out, "i told him to leave me alone and never talk to me unless it's mission related. i said it was annoying— that he was annoying."

geto hums out, "why're you always so angry towards him anyways?"

good question. why?

"that's . . . none of your concern, suguru." you ended up shutting down his question, chewing your lips in pure annoyance.

the male raises his hands up, "right. it's not mine — but it is satoru's, you should talk to him," he advices, "he's been miserable, trust me."

"he looks like he's doing fine, and doesn't he like . . . hate me?" geto raises a brow in disbelief, wondering if you were just plain dumb or too oblivious — or both. the male shakes his head, "oh. i thought he would by now."

"y'think he would do all that thing to you when he hates you?"

"well, it's him so it wouldn't be surprising. really." you chuckled out hoarsely, "and are you really giving me advice right now? because i can't fucking believe i'm actually getting an advice from you out of all people."

"that offended me." he smiled.

"well, sorry. i've never taken you for the advice giver type of person, so? is it really my fault?" you questioned, making the male roll his eyes in response.

"you have a man to chase, why are you still talking to me?"

right. you did, "bye suguru, i owe you one."

geto sighs out, remembering the same words that gojo had said to him a week before — and how the tables have turned. he was thoroughly enjoying this all.

"gojo."

the male stopped when heard your voice. your sweet, loving voice. oh how he missed it — your voice, your glare, you. finally sparing his first glance at you after a week.

it was hard. he's miserable. he wanted to approach you, he wanted to call you the nicknames he'd searched on google before morning comes, he wanted to talk to you even if it ended up on you scolding him with very nice words, he wanted to see you. gojo just wanted to see you.

the white haired male has never felt so miserable in his life. this was the farthest he has ever been from you, and it was honestly killing him inside.

"what?" he asks, wondering if he had done yet again, something to make you approach him first like such. because one thing he was confident in is that, you, y/n l/n, would never approach him for anything besides missions or . . . anger, "what did i do wrong this time? i didn't talk to you like you told me to. so?"

"you're fucking unbearable." you muttered out, fists balling tightly — very much angry at him, and at yourself.

gojo raises a brow, "i'm unbearable? what makes you think you can come up to me and tell me that?" he asks you, his voice soft, and a ghast of his blue eyes reflecting behind the dark lenses of his glasses.

"god, i hate you so much."

no, no, no. it wasn't supposed to go this way, you weren't supposed to say that you hated him — and the way gojo furrowed his brows at your statement made your heart drop. why couldn't you just mutter out the word "sorry" and everything would be back to normal.

when people tell you that, "sorry", "thank you", and "please" are the hardest words to say. you didn't take it literally — but now that you were in a position to say one of them, you could finally agree on it. why was it so hard to mutter out a five letter word?

"okay, you made it clear last week. what else do y'want me to say?" he muffled out lightly.

"i hate you." you repeated, "so fucking much."

gojo shakes his head, prompting to ignore you. he turned his heels and began to step away from you. he didn't need anymore hurtful words from you; from someone he deeply has feelings for, "don't fucking walk away," he heard you speak.

"don't . . . walk away." your voice dropped down a tone, "please."

the male hesitated, but he stopped walking in the end. gojo had only stepped away a few times and he couldn't fucking stand it, the way you called out to him — lord, if this hasn't been so serious. he swore he would be running to you right now, how he wanted to have you in his arms right now, even if it ended up with you pushing him away. he would take the chance.

it was better than having to ignore you like this.

"what?" he breathes out again, this time a little curious to what you had to say.

you blinked, parting your lips to say something, but nothing would come out. a few seconds passed, and your lips are still parted. and you were starting to grow desperate, desperate to say something — anything at this point. anything to make the male stay, to stop him from walking away.

"y/n . . . i don't have time for this." he mutters out, trying to keep his act up, even if he was fighting back the urge to just drop everything and run to you.

"no, wait. gojo— satoru." it took one specific word to roll over your tongue, and his heart was racing rapidly. his cerulean eyes intently looking at you from behind the dark lenses, "please, i . . . i'm sorry. i'm so sorry, so please don't walk away from me. don't do that again."

gojo felt his heart began to pound. the male stood there, his breathing growing rapid, "i didn't mean what i said to you — it was my fault. i'm fucking miserable, satoru. i don't know what to do," you tell him, voice lacing in desperateness, "i fucking hate you for this. i swear to god, it's disgusting . . . the feelings. i've never felt like this before and i hate it. i think about you all damn time, i hate you because why the fuck am i feeling like this? i can't stop, satoru."

the male parted his lips to respond, but you cut him off, continuing your words. groggily fiddling with your uniform, brows furrowed, eyes glassy, you continued, "so don't fucking walk away from me. don't fucking ignore me, please."

it took gojo no time to stride over to you, "fuck. do you know how fucking miserable i was for one. whole. week? do you think i wanted to ignore you? to not look at you?" his large hands cupped both side of your face, "i was fucking miserable, y/n. i just wanted you to know how much i fucking missed you. one day," he raises up a finger, "one day felt like a whole year, i can't stand it much longer. so, please — don't push me away anymore."

you look up at him, lips slightly parted, "i hate you."

gojo tilted your face up to him, "say that again?"

his fingers traveled down, brushing the skin of your neck vividly. even with his glasses on, you could see his eyes perfectly — and how they gleamed brightly. gojo smiles lightly, using his other hand to grab your right hand, placing your palm on top of his chest. where his heart was. the constant rapid thuds that you could feel against his chest made your heart flutter.

"god, i fucking love you," he breathes out, drawing your face towards his, his lips inclining towards yours — and your mouths fell together, a few seconds passed and gojo pulled back slightly, his lips parted, "i fucking love you, y/n," he whispers softly, capturing your lips into another kiss.

the hand you had on his chest lightly crumpled against his uniform, holding the male in place as you yearned more of the taste of his lips. it was vague, but you could taste strawberries — and . . . cream cheese. pulling away, you stared at him, "dude."

gojo arches a brow, etching your fingers off of his uniform. lacing them together with his — like a perfect puzzle piece, it was like his hand was meant for yours, and yours for his, "what did you say?"

clearing your throat, you said, "dude, but romantically."

the male chuckles, "you ruined our kiss and our moment, for that?" he pressed a kiss onto the tip of your nose, maintaining eye contact, "d'you know how long i've been wanting to do that? to kiss you?"

you shook your head, "no, but did you eat something with strawberries? and cream cheese? i could taste it."

gojo blinks, "oh, yeah. i had some daifuku," he replies, scratching his nape sheepishly, "why did you have to bring that up now, couldn't it wait until later?"

"dude." he looks at you in disbelief.

"but romantically, again." you added, and gojo smiles, "i can't help it — i don't know what to say."

"i do," he pressed a kiss into the hollow of your forehead, "date me. i promise i'll treat you well. i won't call you those nicknames anymore, just — i just need you to be close to me."

"what if i said no?"

"after that kiss?" he pulls away from you.

"kidding, dude."

the male whines, "stop calling me dude," he said, "can't you call me something else? baby? honey? darling? cutie? handsome? none of that?" he asks out.

"dude is pretty romantic." you rolled your eyes, "do you ever hear me calling anyone else with dude?"

he shook his head, "you never call anyone with a nickname anyways." gojo grumbled under his breath, looking away, "fine, what do you prefer? i don't do well with — nicknames."

"i like the sound of baby, or handsome. i am handsome, right? right?" you rolled your eyes, but gave out a subtle nod, "i knew it, you did find me attractive after all."

"shut up or i'm sticking with dude."

"no," he brushes his lips against your cheek, "i'm baby now. and you — you're sugar bear, pumpkin, apple pie, annoyed acrylic nail, and more to come."

"didn't you say you won't call me those nicknames anymore?" you questioned him with a light smile.

"uh . . . no, you heard wrong."

"okay, dude." you chuckled.

"y/n!" he whines.

#𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #fluff #jjk #jjk fluff #gojo satoru #gojo fluff #gojo satoru x reader #satoru #1K MILESTONE #1K MILESTONE EVENT #gojo #i love him so much im gonna cry #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x reader #satoru x reader

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fanaticsnail · 10 days

Note

law for kissing booth please 👉👈

(or shachi if he's already got a ton of requests, or if your heart feels this would be a better read, dealer's choice!<3)

The Kissing Booth - Law for Bby-Deerling

Word Count: 1,400+ (They are meant to be drabble length, I got carried away)

Notes: This was the first request for Law in the kissing booth, and I seriously hope I have done your boy some justice. It was meant to be a little drabble, but I wanted to capture a little bit of longing in there for him. Come get a kiss from your main man, Deerling!

Sitting patiently on your wooden stool, you heard several strings of barked laughter off ahead. Lulling your head to the side, you furrow your brows in an attempt to pick up on the hushed conversation between them. Loud cackles, soft chuckles and jokes both crude in nature, and quite hilarious prompted you to giggle along with them.

“It’s two per ride for the ferris wheel,” a more feminine voice chirped out enthusiastically, “What do you say, Bepo? Want to join me for a loop?” A joyful yell of glee sounded more akin to an emphatic roar joined the chorus, along with two other voices arguing alongside.

“Oi, no fair, Ikkaku!” a nasally voice called out, followed by a deeper baritone thereafter of, “Yeah, that means one of us will have to sit out!” More arguing insured, a soft, kind voice interrupting and saying: “I’m happy to miss out, Ikkaku. I’m likely a bit too big to ride, anyway.”

You tried to drown out the arguing, softly tapping your knees and focussing on the different sounds, smells and the soft feeling of warm wind falling against your skin from the ocean shore. The blindfold was a strange comfort to you, the warmth of the silky material feeling at home over your eyes and almost welcome the longer you wore it.

“No, Bepo. You go on ahead. I’ll sit out this round,” another gruff voice spoke lower, and far more even-toned informed them. No further arguments occurred, the sound of laughter and gratitude flew away from your vacinity.

Softly angling your face away from the booth, you drew your hands up to begin toying with the edged hem of the eye shield against your face, adjusting it so the material lay flush with your skin as to remain more comfortable beneath the shroud. You shook your head, adjusting your hair before sitting upright and waiting for your next guest to approach the booth.

As if on queue, a soft rustle of paper pressed itself into the jar beside you as the guest presented their Berry offering to your humble booth. You smiled inquisitively, turning towards where you suspected the guest was to be.

“This seat taken?” The deep voice from earlier asked you politely, “I just need to sit down for a bit, and all the other seats around seem to be otherwise occupied.” You nod with an empathetic smile, gesturing to the general vicinity to where the wooden stool was placed in front of you.

“It's all yours. I noticed a bit of a lull in the crowd, you’re welcome to stay as long as you like,” you shrugged, relaxing into your chair and enjoying the laughter from the various rides and booths surrounding.

Music began to play on the grand stage, soft finger plucking of a familiar melody painted the air with its mastery. A vocalist, bassist and drummer joined in on the chorus, singing their hearts out to create melodies and harmonies within the grounds. Both of you sitting in front of one another seemed to both have a similar idea, humming along to the tune and both smiling at one another when you caught the other singing.

“You been here long?” the guest asked you after the song concluded, prompting you to think about the duration of your volunteering position in the booth.

“You know, I’m not entirely sure,” you laugh through your nose as your smile turns shy, “As soon as the blindfold went on, it’s like everything became too long and too little all at once.” You offer him a slight shrug, turning away and listening to the drums begin to click in the next tune.

“I hear that. That’s how most of my time ends up nowadays, sans blindfold of course,” he offered you the same dry laugh through his nose, causing your attention to fall back to him. “My crew, they just know how to test me sometimes. Doesn’t mean I love them any less.” You nod attentively to his confession, reaching forward and gesturing for him to take your hand.

“Aren’t friends marvelous?” you giggle at him, squeezing his hand once he placed his within your grip, “That’s how I came into volunteering for this mess: friendship. The things we do for the people we love.” He returned your gesture, almost apprehensive in the way he squeezed your hand in turn.

“Speaking of, they're likely to return back in a moment,” he uttered in a voice just above a whisper, “So, do you mind if I…?” You lulled your head to the side and smiled at him curiously.

“If you…?” you asked in return, gasping in a shocked breath as you felt cool fingertips brush your hair away from your face, prompting you to gasp out a soft, "Oh!" You felt his lips hovering over yours, his breath meeting with your skin and the temperature of his face elevating your own to flush your cheeks with.

“I thought,” his lips whispered and caressed your skin with a gentleness you didn't anticipate, “Since I'm already here, you know?” His lips tingled against yours, the tangible heat falling from them the closer he inched forward. He hesitated, holding his face an eyelash’s width away from your lips, “If that's okay with you, I mean.”

Nodding gently, you lean forward and close the final distance between you, and claim his lips beneath yours in a soft kiss. Wasting no time, your guest cards his fingers over your scalp and draws your face closer to his to deepen the embrace you're sharing together.

He releases your hand and raises it to join his other hand in cradling your face while arching into you. You feel his toned chest pressed against your own, knees slotting together like pieces of a puzzle in perfect synchrony. Angling his chin, he softly parts his lips and deepens the embrace, humming against your mouth and claiming more of you into him.

Your hands find purchase on his thighs before raking up his legs to rest on his hips, slowly mapping his skin and committing each ridge and divot to memory. You feel your chin meet with the subtle scruff of facial hair, the coarse strands scraping against your face and tickling your skin beneath it.

Tilting your face, you both begin to mouth at each other and turn and tilt your heads to match each other's intensite energy. Passion begins to simmer in your chest each moment that passes between you. His hands move to grasp the scruff of your neck, holding you stationary as he allows himself the luxury of taking complete control and dominating the kiss.

His tongue darts from between his lips, caressing and tingling against your skin before you welcome him into the kiss by grinding your own against his. Just as you begin to deepen the motion, you're both brought out of your trance by whistles and hollars echoing around your booth.

“Wooh, get ‘em, Cap’n!” the nasally voice cackled from earlier, the baritone counterpart joining in with, “Use your tongue! More tongue!” Several whistles reverberated around you, prompting your guest to freeze against your lips.

Smiling, you press a final kiss against him to seal the embrace with a finality before fully pulling away from him.

“Sorry ‘bout them,” he grunted sheepishly, his close proximity causing you to feel the flush radiating from his features against your hands and face. “My crew… they're a lot.”

“Ah, the earlier sentiment returns,” you chuckle warmly, “Aren't friends marvelous.” He joins your chuckle, softly releasing you from his embrace and caressing your cheek beneath his palm.

“Thank you for your company,” he uttered softly, “I appreciate your conversation, and-... and the other thing. It's been a while since I've-... You know?” You fill in the blanks mentally and offer him a soft, polite nod in affirmation.

“Thank you for offering me company at my booth,” you smile up at him, releasing your hands from their position on his hips. He lingers on the stool for a moment longer before getting up with an exasperated sigh.

“Alright, let's go,” he gruffly ordered, the troop behind him grunting out a soft, “Aye, sir,” in response. You wave to him, not truly aware if he was paying attention to you or not, but offering him an extension of your politeness regardless.

Law was paying attention, trying to catch his breath and extinguish his growing fluster tinting his cheeks. He was truly moved by your kindness, your conversation, and the way you so easily matched his energy with each motion. He was hoping to catch you at the end of the festival, but hoping to not seem overeager to earn more teasing from his subordinates.

Only time will tell if you were open to seeing him again, but he truly hoped you would.

#one piece #x reader #ask snail #snail answers #trafalgar law #trafalgar d water law #law x reader #traffy x reader #trafalgar law x reader #op law #kissing booth event #follower milestone #one piece x reader #one piece fluff #kissing

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