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wibben · 2 months ago

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Pillow Talk

Choso discovers new sensations when thoughts of you turn innocent moments into something much more… hands-on.

↳ pairing: friend! choso kamo x afab! reader

↳ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, virgin! choso, m masturbation, pillow fucking, overstimulation, fantasizing, pillow fucking, (not sure who the artist is, if you do please let me know so I can credit!)

↳ wc: 3,485

↳ notes: another cross-post from my ao3 while I try to make tumblr my main writing hub! I hope you enjoy! <3

“Goodnight.”

Choso’s voice is soft, barely louder than the creak of the bathroom door as he eases it shut behind him. Yuji is already asleep, he assumes—he doesn’t expect a response, but routine compels him to speak into that dark hallway void anyway. He waits, listening—a response does come in the form of a loud snore down the hall.

Choso smiles fondly as he silently pads back to his own room, taking that as his queue that he is well and truly done with the day.

The cool, lingering dampness from washing his face clings to his skin, tiny droplets of water catching the faint flicker of silver from breeze-blown curtains as they trace thin rivers down his cheeks and neck. His hair, still slightly damp around his face, sticks to his forehead in dark, unruly strands. He doesn't care to tame it, nor does he bother to brush away the residual drips of water. They cool his skin wherever they touch, and he’s grateful for that because he feels oddly warm.

Warm enough that his t-shirt lies discarded on the bathroom floor, haphazardly kicked towards the laundry to be dealt with later.

He toes open the door of his room and nudges it shut behind him with his heel, listening for the soft cli-click of the knob. The room is dim, illuminated only by the soft glow of the moon filtering through the window, flickering through sheer curtains that really serve no purpose other than to look cute. That’s what you said, at least. Home decor…he doesn’t get it, but you seemed pleased with the addition so he was too.

Choso shuffles with mechanical routine as he approaches his bed, his body craving the comfort of his soft mattress, to nest into the carved divet in the foam created by and molded to his body.

With the unceremonious flop of a marionette with cut strings, Choso allows himself to fall onto the bed, the springs squeaking their protest and his sheets rustling under his weight. He lays there face down, eyes closed, and simply lets himself sink.

In the quiet dark of night and behind closed eyelids, he wonders if this is what boats feel like.

He’s never been on one, but he’s seen plenty—in movies mainly, like the one you watched together earlier that evening. With senses deprived, his body rocks with the gentlest sense of vertigo, up and down, forward and back, soothing. He feels heavy, liquid and relaxed, and yet… not quite right. There’s a restlessness beneath his skin, an undercurrent to his gentle tide he can’t quite shake. He keeps his face buried in his pillow, wrapping an arm around it and holding it tight, as if the soft fabric could anchor him.

…He doesn’t know how long he’s like this but fuck he can’t sleep.

He turns his head from his pillow, eyes cracked open in the dark, lower lip pouted and dragging against the fabric; he wears a petulant expression with nobody around to see it, nobody to explain away his uneasiness. He’s tired he knows he is, and yet he feels like a taut bowstring, ready to snap at a moment's notice.

Choso rolls onto his back instead, running a hand through his damp hair and pushing it back from his forehead as he stares up at the ceiling. The room is silent save for the occasional creak of the house settling, and the faint, distant sounds of the city outside. A dog, a car, the smash of a bottle on a curb, the flap of his curtain, the grinding of his teeth—he categorizes each sound methodically, filing them away neatly and willing the tedium to bore him to sleep like it always does. Always did. But not tonight.

He closes his eyes, trying to force tranquility and exhaustion upon himself, but his mind refuses to settle. He thinks of boats and the ocean, he thinks about when you came over and knocked on the door, he thinks of the movie he watched with you and Yuji on the couch, he thinks of cooking dinner with you in the kitchen—he thinks of you, you, and you again. The tension in his bones stirs more insistently with each and every thought, each train tracking straight back into your station.

But that’s okay. Choso likes you, likes thinking about you, and thoughts of you have lulled him to sleep before with a sort of embracing comfort he can’t even begin to name. He smiles to himself in the dark—the same brand of smile only you seem to inspire in him. He just needs to think of you more and then surely—

He remembers your smile when he opened the door, the way it lit up your entire face, the wrinkle in the bridge of your nose as it screwed up and made him smile in return. Your laughter, too, was infectious. It always is, and he caught that particular sickness with remarkable consistency every time you tittered or giggled—a laugh reciprocated in his own throat as quick as a lit match, earning more than a few wide-eyed, slack-jawed looks of disbelief from his brother.

And then there was the spaghetti.

It’s a simple meal and he eats it far too often—but it’s good, and easy to make for three. And you, ever eager to help, had insisted on joining him in the kitchen while Yuji picked out a movie. He didn’t mind though; your presence was nice, even if it meant treacherously navigating around you as you both shuffled around the small space with enthusiastic clumsiness. You bopped cabinets and the fridge closed with your hip, which he too fell victim to more than once, finding himself nudged into the counter by a stray hip-check. Despite the occasional collision, your proximity was a comfort, a warm, lively presence in the otherwise mundane routine.

Choso couldn’t help but chuckle as you fumbled with pots and pans, finding your determination to be helpful endlessly endearing, even with something so simple as flitting about the kitchen. He directed you to the cabinet where a jar of tomato sauce was stored with a quiet look of anticipation—innocently underhanded is the request. You wouldn’t be able to reach, he was sure. You wouldn’t be able to reach, and you would ask him for help, and he would be able to help—

He remembers the way you stood on your tiptoes, reaching for the jar with your free hand splayed against the counter. As you stretched, he watched as if in slow motion, fabric unfolding like the draw of a curtain away from a theater stage. Your shirt rode up, exposing just an inch of the skin above your waistband.

The sight was brief, but it held a searing magnetism that held Choso hopelessly hostage. It sapped his mouth of moisture, glued his eyelids open, and his hand gave a peculiar twitch with the sudden urge to touch you. He watched your skin shift as you reached higher and higher, the gentle curve of your waist, the way your skin looked so soft and inviting and smooth as satin and he so badly wanted to see if this usually hidden expanse was as soft as it looked, and Choso doesn’t want for much but god did he want—

And he completely forgot to offer you a hand, his mind swept blank with ringing tinnitus in his ears when you laughed and settled back onto the balls of your feet, whirling around and flourishing the jar with a triumphant smile. Your eyes sparkled with satisfaction, and there was a slight flush on your cheeks from the effort. Choso had smiled back then, feeling a warmth in his chest that surely had everything to do with the heat of the kitchen.

Choso suddenly flinches in surprise, abruptly torn from the pleasant memory as he absentmindedly rolls his wrist over his erection. He must have been doing this for some time now, judging by how the waist of his sweatpants has already rolled down his hip bones, freeing the red and needy head of his cock to the cool air and smearing a shiny trail over his arm. He stares down at the unmistakable bulge snaking up towards his navel silently perplexed, his shaft straining against the loose fabric where it’s still confined.

He’s fully hard. He hadn’t even realized it happened, hadn’t recognized the feeling building inside him until it manifested so obviously. Arousal snuck up on him, licking up his spine with hungry fangs while he was lost in the memory of you.

Familiar heat pools low in his abdomen, a dull hook that drags beneath his skin. His cock twitches with every beat of his heart, a heavy, insistent pulse that’s impossible to ignore. And he has tried to ignore it before. It keeps him from peace, from sleep— god he just wants to sleep.

It’s a mix of aching need and slick, simmering napalm that spreads through his veins and ignites kindling he hadn’t even known was there. He knows this feeling well, even if it has no name; the way his cock grows heavier and jumps against his stomach, the way his breathing grows rough and deep—all sensations he’s experienced before, though they never fail to leave him flustered and bewildered…and annoyed, above all else.

The intensity of the need always catches Choso off guard, consuming his thoughts and clouding his mind until he could find some way to deal with it. It frustrates him how this desire would strike at the most inconvenient times—when he’s trying to sleep, or worse, the times when he’s with you —an all too frequent occurrence, he thinks, and he wonders if you’ve done something to him. He’s been a decent friend to you, so it’s with a feeling of tormented betrayal that he simply cannot understand why you would afflict him with this so cruelly and so often.

Choso lets out a shaky breath, his hips shifting restlessly against his sheets. He hesitates, a moment of self-consciousness flickering through him and burning his face with a secret blush that blooms on his face first then leaks to his throat. He shifts upright, yanking his pillow from beneath his head, the familiar texture of the fabric cool against his skin, and positions it between his legs. He shoves his pants down, bunching them around his knees—good enough.

He tilts his thigh outward and lifts his hips up, giving an almost tentative grind into the pillow, as if unsure he’s doing it right. The friction is familiar, almost comforting in its predictability. Choso’s nostrils flare with a heavy sigh, his head falling back to the mattress as he stares heatedly at the ceiling, his eyes narrowed to slits. Slowly, he starts to fuck his pillow, the movements deliberate and mechanical, driven by the single-minded need to rid himself of the troublesome arousal gnawing at him.

His cock throbs with each slow thrust, the pressure of the pillow against him both soothing and maddening. The heat in his abdomen builds, coiling tighter with every grind. Pre-cum slicks the fabric, smearing in thin, dark stripes with each drag of his length against it. The pleasure is there, tingling all the way down to his toes, but it doesn’t crest, doesn’t even come close, leaving him teetering on the most frustrating of knife edges.

He grinds harder, hips moving more forcefully now, desperation seeping into every motion. The familiar rhythm that usually brings him relief is failing him, the need growing more intense with each passing second. His mind is a haze of lust and longing, the image of you blending with the sensation of his cock twitching against the pillow, creating a heady tonic that seeps deeply into his brain, sinking hooks that he doesn’t know yet he will never be able to remove. He bites down on his lip, a low, frustrated groan escaping his throat as he thrusts harder, faster, violently clawing for the release he so desperately and suddenly needs.

But it's not enough. His body is slick with sweat, muscles tensing and trembling with the effort. The pillow, once a source of solace, now feels infuriatingly inadequate. It only works him up higher, hotter, veins in his forearms standing out as he whines in frustration.

The pillow crumbles beneath Choso’s hands, the downy feathers within compressing and shifting into a useless lump under the abuse of his pelvis. Each pounding drag against the pillow drives him further from his peak, his own aggressive hopelessness raking him over hot coals as the very thing he uses to relieve himself falls apart in his hands.

His breaths are harsh, ragged, his heart pounding in his chest as he fights against the insistent ache that won’t go away. His goal remains just out of reach, a teasing promise that leaves him gasping and grinding against the pillow with mounting desperation. He wants to scream—it isn’t working, it isn’t working, why isn’t it working?

With a final, helpless thrust and bitter groan, he collapses onto the bed, panting and trembling with unspent desire. The need is still there, throbbing and insistent, leaving him feeling more restless than before. He whips the pillow aside to thump somewhere on the floor, damp and crumpled.

Choso lies there, staring up at the ceiling, his body aching with unresolved tension. The memory of you lingers in his mind, water and oil with the frustration of his failed attempt at relief. He feels helpless, yearning in the dark for something. Sleep, peace, release from his torment, you.

You.

It’s a new thought, one he’s never entertained before, but now it feels so undeniably right. He doesn’t question where the idea comes from; it’s an instinct, an impulse he can’t quite name but can’t ignore. Driven by this sudden urge, he trails his hand down the firm ridges of his abdomen, wrapping his fingers around his throbbing cock. The sensation is electric, sending a shiver up his spine as he tentatively strokes himself.

The sensation is immediate and overwhelming. It's like a jolt of lightning, a direct line of pleasure from his cock to his brain. His eyes flutter shut, a soft gasp escaping his lips as his fingers slide along his length, the friction so much more intense than the pillow. It's hotter, slicker, and he can feel every ridge and vein beneath his touch. His hips lift off the bed, rutting roughly into his palm with a choked whimper.

He strokes himself again, more confidently this time and slowly at first, exploring the unfamiliar territory with hesitant drags of his hand. He grips himself tighter, his thumb brushing over the sensitive head, and a strangled moan breaks free of his flushed and sweaty throat. It’s sharper, more focused, and it’s like nothing he’s ever felt before.

Thoughts of you flood his mind, but they're different now, colored with a perverse longing that makes his heart race and his cock throb in his hand. He remembers your kind smile, but now it feels like an invitation, a secret shared just between the two of you. Your laughter echoes in his ears, sweet and melodic, but it twists into something more intimate and utterly salacious.

His strokes quicken, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He thinks of you reaching for the jar of tomato sauce, the way your shirt had ridden up, exposing a strip of skin that glowed in the kitchen light. That innocent moment which only planted seeds of interest is now blooming with raw, aching desire. He imagines touching you—it would’ve been so easy to reach out and skim your flesh with his fingertips, to wrap his hand around the soft curve of your waist as he stood behind you, pin his hand over yours on the counter—

His fingers move faster, slick with pre-cum, each stroke sending pops of color to the edges of his vision. He thinks of the way you held the popcorn bowl between your thighs, the meat of your legs squishing around the ceramic and the genuine affection in your eyes when you offered it to him. But now, he imagines those eyes darkened with lust, looking at him with the same desire that grips him now. He pictures you close, your body pressed against his, your breath hot against his neck as you whisper his name.

Your voice would never sound as saccharine as it would as his name forms on your lips, your voice sweet as spun sugar as you coax him toward oblivion with a hand much gentler than his own.

The friction is maddening, his grip tight and unrelenting. Each pump of his hand draws him closer to the edge, his pleasure building in a way that’s almost unbearable. He imagines your fingers tangling in his hair, your lips ghosting over his skin, sending shivers down his spine. His hips thrust into his harried palm, chasing a climax that’s so deliriously close as his room is filled with the wet little sucks of pre-cum leaking between the creases of his fingers.

He imagines those same fingers in his hair drifting down his body, splayed over his abs, leaving red lines in their wake. The thought of your touch surprises him, but it feels so vivid, so intoxicating. He pictures your hands moving lower, tracing the dark hair that trails down his abdomen, teasing and scratching lightly. He imagines your hand… fuck, he imagines your hand.

Choso’s body tenses, his breath hitching as the pleasure peaks. His mind is filled with you—your smile, your laughter, your touch—how can he so vividly feel a touch he’s never known? How can he crave it so feverishly? By god does he crave it.

With a gasp he suddenly turns his face into the crook of his arm, teeth pressing forcefully into the cords of muscle as he cums, muffling the guttural moan and reducing it to desperate whimpers instead.

Cum spills over his fingers, hot and sticky ropes spurting onto his chest, his stomach, his spine arching under the almost blinding force of it and he only remembers to breathe when the lack of oxygen makes him dizzy.

His breath comes in ragged, uneven gasps as he lies there, stunned as certainly as if he’d taken a blow to the temple. Using his hand made all the difference, and picturing you rather than the detached clinicality he always approached this with changed everything. For the first time ever, the act of masturbation didn't feel like a necessary chore, it was a joy. His cum glistens on his skin, thick and milky, smeared across his abs and chest and sheets, a living, dripping, testament to that change of heart.

Choso’s hand remains wrapped around his cock, now softening in his grip, but he can’t bring himself to let go—an irrational concern that he might never feel something so exquisite again if he were to release himself. His cum dribbles over his fingers, pooling in the creases of his palm, and still he cannot let go.

He milks his cock slowly, drawing out every last drop with each firm squeeze around the head. The sensation is almost painful, the overstimulation sending sharp sparks of pleasure and discomfort through him, but he can’t stop. Each squeeze brings another bead of cum to the surface, dribbling down over his knuckles, mixing with the sweat and ejaculate that already slicks his skin and connects his hand to his belly with pale ropes.

His mind is a whirl of conflicting emotions. Embarrassment floods his thoughts, a blush creeping up his neck and settling in his cheeks with that awful clarity that always crashes his consciousness after.

He wonders if he shouldn’t be thinking of you this way. He’s never thought of anyone else like this before, and the intensity of it all leaves him feeling exposed and vulnerable. But then, a small voice in the back of his mind reassures him. You’re friends, after all. This helped him, and you always love to help.

He’s struck with an odd desire—not the desire that landed him here, spent and weak and flushed in his bed with his palm wrapped around his soft and gooey cock, but a different kind. Gratitude. He’s grateful to you for afflicting him with this and unknowingly aiding him through it. Should he thank you? Choso thinks he should thank you.

But for now, he lets himself drift in the hazy aftermath, your image the last thing on his mind as he begins to succumb to sleep, the feeling of your imagined touch still warm against his skin. Yes, he thinks as his brain all but weeps in joy as the curtain closes on wakefulness, he would have to thank you.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen smut #choso kamo #choso kamo smut #choso kamo x reader #choso smut #choso x reader #choso x you #jjk choso #jjk smut #jujutsu choso #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen choso #choso kamo x you #choso jjk #choso #kamo choso

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isarenderart · 19 days ago

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(First official artblog post yay) (pls click for quality, tumblr has done it again)

Tried drawing something on a computer for a change! It sure did take a while (a week or so on and off) but I am very proud of the result...V1 Ultrakill with epic lighting

I've noticed that the colours of my artworks tend to look different on different screens - it's happened to this one, but I like it both ways so that's fine. It might make a difference in some cases though

The way the wings are drawn take a bit of inspiration from a design I saw one time that drew V1 as dragonfly-like - I haven't managed to find it again but if anyone knows what I'm talking about, please leave it in the notes because it was really cool and I'd like to credit the artist

Edit (sorry chat it took me way too long to add this in): I have been informed that the initial design of dragonfly v1 can be attributed to @magnumopos, although it's been drawn by a lot of people since then -- very epic and cool concept

#v1 ultrakill #art #eyestrain #<- just in case #v1 fanart #ultrakill #go forth my beautiful procrastination product

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dashitsxx · 8 months ago

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if only | various male characters x fem!reader | mha

summary. Maybe leaving him wasn't the best decision to ever do.

genre. dark. explicit smut. nsfw. 18+

word count. 1.7k

characters. aizawa shota (eraserhead). chisaki kai (overhaul). takami keigo (hawks). todoroki touya (dabi).

warnings. dubcon/noncon. all in an established relationship. quirk au. vulgar language. cunnilingus (aizawa). rough fuck. penis in vagina sex. overstimulation. multiple orgasms. creampies. stomach bulge (dabi). manhandling. forcing. evident male dominance. yandere themes. possessive. obsession. mentions of killing (dabi). selfish behaviour. egoistic behaviour. indicated the use of quirk. breeding kink (dabi). praising (dabi).

disclaimer. Please note that this work is entirely fictional. It is not intended to condone, glorify, or encourage any form of violence, illegal activity, or harmful behaviour. All characters (credits to the manga artists), scenarios, and events are products of the author's imagination and/or used in a fictional manner. Any resemblance to actual persons or real events is purely coincidental. The purpose of this work is to entertain and provoke thought, not to promote harmful behaviour.

notes. finally done with this! been itching to post this as quick as possible. i definitely didn't like how i wrote them but enjoy sluts, tried to make it spine-shivering as much as possible! reposting 'cause i found out that tumblr didn't kind of added it into the no. of my posts?? idk why

shota aizawa (eraserhead) — If only you weren't clumsy enough.

Oh love. That was the biggest mistake you have ever made to him. Do you think that you could easily slip away from his sight? Oh my. How dumb of you. You may have a strong quirk but it doesn't surpass his level... and he'll make sure to let it stay that way.

A trembling shaking rattled on the bedframe as you arched your back from the pleasuring sensation. Pants and moans vibrate against the wall of the room. No matter how much you want to try to push the head away from your cunt, your hands prevented you from doing so as it is tightly tied by his binding cloth, whereas with each forceful pull you create, it suddenly stiffens its fabric.

You moan loudly as you squirm under his touch. "Stop moving," he ordered in a vicious tone. Then, a warm wet long stripe was placed on your cunt, making you hold your breath. A strangled moan left your lips as you attempted to break the cloth that was chaining you.

"I-I can't—ah! No, n-ngh! Ah! no, s-stop. Aizawa!" you exclaimed, panting in the process.

"I said stop squirming." he painfully held your hips in place as he halted his motion. Your eyes slide down to him as you find him with a raging fire, "You wouldn't been in this position if only you had been obedient to me."

Then he slowly rises from his position as he continue to glower down at you, "You know you can't escape from me, love."

You heard a rapid swish of fabric as you found your legs bound up in a lewd position, wide open for him. "N-not like this! A-Aiza—" A painful feeling slapped your pussy which made your back arch. "Shut up."

A sinful smirk slowly formed on his lips. Who would have thought that his fantasies would come true? He was thankful that you attempted to escape, but it still does infuriate if you wanted to leave him. He didn't like that idea, nor would he let it happen. Maybe... it is time to mark you.

Then, he quietly placed his hands on the middle of his pants before unzipping it. A look of fear and shock was evident on your face as you knew what it meant

"Aizawa! No, no, no!" you attempt to back away from the raging man, but he grabbed your thighs and pulled you down to him to let you feel his hardened cock with your bare vagina—you moaned at the sensation. Pride was evident on his face as he spoke in a possessive tone.

"I'll always find you, love."

kai chisaki (overhaul)— If only you were fearless.

Darling, darling, darling. Why did you ever think that you would be able to escape from his grasp? He didn't do all those cheesy courtship with no purpose just for you to leave him. He did it all in his satisfaction to have you caged within him despite that you were a great benefit to the yakuza. Hence, you are his possession—and there is no way for you break free.

"Fuck—so... t-tight. Fucking tight." A deep growl emitted from his chest as he thrusts his fat cock into your gummy walls. You moan from your taped mouth and warm tears fall on your cheeks from the overstimulation.

A pleasured moan left his mouth as he stared down at you, a contemptuous smile was plastered on his face. You looked so pretty taking his godly size dick—it fits well with your pussy. Although he's been fucking you for who knows how many rounds, his rage hasn't been satiated yet.

The fact that you tried to leave him really fucking blood-boiled him. He has never felt this way after the heroes attempted to meddle in his business. Upon the thought entering his mind, his eyes darken immediately as he pushed the back of your thighs to your chest.

Your felt your eyes widen at a new sensation as your chest rose, heaving at the new position he put you into. It was the position you knew that would make you feel his size.

Feel him more.

You attempt to push his hands from your thighs with your taped wrists, but it keep slipping off from the body sweat formed. Then, he harshly flicked his hips onto you. Your body jerked as you felt the tip of his dick kissed your womb.

The smile remained on Kai's face as he leaned forward, "Feel that, darling? You're not dumb enough to know what it means." a chuckle erupted from his chest as he pulled out until his tip before slamming back deeply, making your body jerk again and a moan leaving your lips.

Then a sudden shivers crawled on your body under his, making his cock more slick from your cum. Kai lets out a short deep laugh before he slides his hand from your thighs to your clit, having one of your legs hanging on his shoulder.

You try to take in deep breaths as your eyes make contacts with his lust-filled ones. He tilts his head slightly with a naughty smirk.

"You can release one more, right darling? After all, you deserve this punishment."

takami keigo (hawks) — If only you weren't slow.

Sweetheart, you knew that you could never outrun him—so, why did you still do it? You are one dumb girl with a mediocre quirk, but he still loves you. It's just that your stupid mind persuaded you to leave him. Says who? He gave you no order about that—in fact, you have no rights to step away. Once he laid his eyes on you, he knew that he had to fly and catch you.

"Ngh-ah! Fuck! K-Keigo!"

"That's it. Moan my name, sweetheart."

He grabbed your hips before pulling it to his hips with a tight grip, hitting your g-spot perfectly. You hiss at the sensation as you gently place your forehead on the wall, trying to catch your breath. Hawks continued to thrust in your pussy, but it wasn't the usual way he does. He never would have acted so rough to you if you hadn't tried to hide and run away from him.

It aches his heart to put you in this position, but you need to learn your lesson.

Pants and groans escaped his lips as he pushed you more to the wall, drunk in bliss. He snakes his arms around your chest, grabbing one of your tits to twist your nipples and waist to hold you—he wants to feel your skin. Only moans are emitted from you as you try to pull away from him while clawing his arms.

"Ah, ah, ah. Sweetheart, you'll only make it worse. Hah... s-shit. J-Just allow me–ngh–to fuck you like this," he pauses as he pulls his hips until his tip is in you before slamming it deeply to your cunt, you arch your back greatly as you moan—uttering curses beneath your breath. "You'll eventually like this..."

Yes, you will like this. He'll do anything to keep you and a good hard fuck may help him hinder your ability to walk and run.

Maybe, that is a good idea—it'll let him keep watch of you. The thought of that made him more aroused as he slowly quickened his pace. Yet, you were too fucked up in pleasure to notice the malicious intent your boyfriend had in mind.

But it's okay, as long as he has you—he'll do anything.

"Sweetheart, you know I am the only man for you, oh—ngh? Ah—fuck... hmm, right?"

todoroki touya (dabi) — If only you were strong enough.

Dilly dally doll, such a beauty you are. Yet, you are such a fucking pain in the ass. You dare to escape from him—were you insane enough to consider that he'll never find you? Doll, you are wrong there. You have such a weak body with a weak quirk, he definitely doesn't want you to go to unknown places because he actually fucking cares about you. Maybe... there is another method to keep you by his side.

Deep grunts and vulgar words escaped the scarred lips of the villain as he gripped your plump sides, shooting thick ropes of white sticky liquid in your womb.

"Take it all like a good girl, doll. That's it." he licked his lips in satisfaction as he watched the erotic scene before him.

You look so pretty under him, just being a perfect cumdump for him. Although, he just hated your pettiness—who told you that you could leave him? Just because he accidentally put on a show of his ruthless killings of heroes in front of you, you had the nerve to escape. He is just doing his job, it's not really a big deal.

His eyes darken at the thought.

He pulled his dick out of your swollen pussy, letting the cum leak from your hole and giving a painful smack on your ass. A smirk forms on his face as he slides the leak sensually back into your hole, "That's the right place. Keep it in, doll. I really don't want you to piss me off again after that silly little stunt you've pulled."

You yelp in pain when you feel a stinging heat place on your clit as you comply with his order, carrying your body in a doggy position.

A boost of confidence fires in Dabi's core as he looks at your pussy clenching to hold his essence in you. But his ego wasn't the only one that fired in you, his huge cock was standing up again. He contemplates methods

Maybe, there is a way to let you stay with him.

Before you even attempted to get up from your bruising position, your face was suddenly pushed on the bed mercilessly, your ass at a higher height with an inviting pussy, and you felt a prodding tip in your entrance as it was gone in.

A loud moan from you echoed the room smelled of sex and sweat as Dabi let out a hiss to your tightness even if your mixed essence with his served as a lube.

"Touya! Wait, I-I just came!" you exclaimed, turning your head to the side.

A deep chuckle emitted from his chest as he snapped his hips against yours. You felt a protruding bulge on your belly when he snapped, jerking your body in reaction. His eyes held a purpose behind those lust and temptation as he leaned down, marking you with hickeys.

"I need to make sure that my baby mama doesn't waste a drop of my cum. I am certain you'll be a great mama, doll."

all dividers are from @/cafekitsune, thank you <33

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torpublishinggroup · 2 months ago

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Want to see if it’s to your liking? We’ve included an excerpt from chapter one below.

Chapter 1 Matti laid his fingers on the polished edge of the bar’s wooden surface and forced himself to stop counting sheep. And yards of twill. And looms in need of repair, and outstanding debts.

Instead, he counted today’s collection of ink smudges, bruise-black on the brown skin of his hands: six. He counted the number of blue dyes that would have been used in the fabric of the bartender’s layered skirt: four, possibly five if the palest shade was true dimflower and not just the result of fading.

The tense throb of pain like a fist clenched in his hair eased, grudgingly, to a quiet ache. Bearable. Normal.

It was busy in the drinking house, the post-dinner hour that usually found Matti heading back to his study to finish the paperwork that a member of his family had tugged him away from in order to eat. Matti counted the number of flavoured jenever bottles on the shelf behind the bar—fifteen—in the time it took Audry to finish serving her current customer and sweep her sky-coloured skirts to stand in front of Matti. “And here’s a face we haven’t seen in a while! Something tells me you’re here for a celebration, Mr. Jay.”

Matti hoped the smile he’d pulled onto his face wasn’t the wrong size, or the wrong shade of abashed. “News travels fast.”

“Mattinesh Jay and Sofia Cooper. A match surprising exactly no one.”

Matti kept the smile going. There was a silence in which Audry politely didn’t say, Pity she’s in love with someone else, and so Matti didn’t have to say, Yes, isn’t it?Audry said, “Wait here a moment. I’ve got something in the back that I think will do nicely.”

Matti cast a glance over the room as Audry disappeared. His cousin Roland made an extravagant sighing motion and pretended to check his watch when Matti’s eyes landed on their table. A burst of laughter came from a dark-skinned woman nearby; she was wearing a dress that rode high at the knee to reveal a fall of lace like frothing water, a northern style of garment that Matti’s own northerner mother seldom wore these days.

At the closest table the Mason Guildmaster, Lysbette Martens, was deep in conversation with a senior member of the Guild of Engineers. Martens met Matti’s gaze with her own and nodded brief acknowledgement. He was sure she was weighing his presence as consciously as he was weighing hers. This was a place to be seen, after all.

“Here you are. Red wine for young lovers.”

Matti turned around again. Audry named the price for the bottle as she uncorked it and set it on the bar. Matti paid her, ignoring the lurch like a fishhook in his stomach at the amount on the credit notes he was so casually handing over. Mattinesh Jay, firstborn of his distinguished House, had no reason not to indulge in one of the finest bottles of wine that money could buy.

No reason that anyone here would know about, anyway.

Matti took the bottle in one hand and hooked three glasses with the other. Making his way over to the table, his mind circled back to dwell on the wrong sort of numbers. The money in Matti’s purse was painstakingly calculated: enough for the first round of engagement drinks, and enough for him to hire a top-of-the-range duellist who would step forward in the awkwardly likely event of someone challenging for Sofia’s hand at the wedding itself.

Matti’s skin prickled cold at the very thought of what might happen if Adrean Vane challenged against Matti’s marriage to Sofia and won. His family’s last hope would be gone. Matti would have failed them in this, the most useful thing he could do for them.

He was so caught up in this uneasy imagining as he wove through the room that he collided, hard, with another person’s shoulder. Matti was both tall and broad, not easily unbalanced; the unfortunate other member of the collision made a grab for Matti’s coat, couldn’t get a good grip, and tripped to the ground with a caught-back “Fu—”

Matti tried to step backwards. They were crammed into a small space between tables and there were people moving around them. His first panicked instinct had been to keep the wine bottle upright and the glasses safe, so he didn’t have a hand free to steady himself on a chair.

He wasn’t quite sure what happened next, except that he ended up wobbling and stepping forward instead, and he felt his boot come down on something that was not the floorboards. A small, pathetic, grinding mechanical sound crawled up Matti’s nerves, heel to head, and reached his ears even amidst the noise of the busy room.

“Sorry!” he said at once. “I’m sorry. Was that—Oh, Huna’s teeth.”

The man on the floor jerked his head up, staring at Matti, and Matti stared back.

For a moment all that Matti could see was the wide, straight line of the man’s mouth, set beneath an equally straight nose, and the frame that set off the whole: the dark, luminous copper-red hair that seemed to be trying to grow in about ten different directions.

The man’s tongue darted out in a nervous mannerism, wetting his lower lip. Something in Matti’s own mouth tried to happen in a yearning echo.

“Would you please lift,” the man said precisely, “your godsdamned foot?” Heat flooded Matti’s face. He snatched his foot backwards with enough force that his heel collided with a chair leg.

The redheaded man stood, his fingers closed convulsively tight around a small velvet bag. His brown coat was shabby and made of a coarsely woven fabric, though his shirt was good and his trousers had probably been equally so before they’d been overwashed into a patchy shine.

“Fuck fuck shitting—fuck,” the man said in tones of despair, with a lilt to his accent that placed him at least one city-state farther east: Cienne, or possibly Sanoy. He shook the contents of the bag into his palm and ventured into new realms of inappropriate language as he did so.

Enough people had witnessed their collision, or had their heads turned by the stream of expletives, that there were a fair few necks craning to see what was in the man’s hand. Matti, at whom the shaking fingers of this hand were pointed most directly, couldn’t help seeing for himself the ragged, glinting pile of cogs and jewels and glass. Only the intact cover—monogrammed in a swirling, engraved H—spoke of this pile’s previous existence as a pocket watch. A very expensive pocket watch, by the look of it.

The man’s breath hissed out through his teeth. “Guildmaster Havelot is going to use my arm bones as a fucking lathe. He only had it made to order, and he only trusted me to pick it up, didn’t he? Two hundred gold. Fucking fuck.”

“I’m so sorry,” Matti said again. He recognised the name: Havelot was the Woodworker Guildmaster in Cienne. “Truly. I can—” He stopped. The abrupt lack of his words created a silence that seemed to suck noise into itself, as conversations died to murmurs and the onlookers sensed something interesting.

The man looked straight at Matti with a stubborn lift of his chin. His brows, the same absurd colour as the rest of his hair, had sprung up into the beginnings of hope; as Matti’s silence grew longer, they lowered again. And then lowered farther. He swept a look down and then slowly up Matti’s own outfit, and now pride warred with scorn in the way those maddening lips pressed together.

Matti felt sick. His own coat was made of the finest wool, a midnight blue cut perfectly to his figure, and the rest of his clothes were of the same quality. He was holding a bottle of extremely good wine. Anybody looking at him would make immediate assumptions about the amount of ready money that Matti might have, and the ease with which he would be able to reimburse a poor clerk, if he’d just ruined a pricey piece of artificer’s skill that the man’s employer had trusted him to travel all the way to Glassport to collect.

Of course they would make these assumptions. That was the point.

Matti swallowed and felt the burning heaviness of his purse redouble. He’d be left with enough to a hire a duellist, yes, but not one of the highest skill. It wouldn’t buy himself and his family the absolute security they needed.

His friends were looking at him. It seemed like every pair of eyes in the drinking house was looking, and in another moment the murmurs of curiosity would turn to murmurs of disapprobation. I thought Matti Jay had more honour than that, they would say. What’s two hundred gold to someone like him?

Besides, the plain fact of the matter was that Matti had broken the watch. And he couldn’t pretend that he and this man with his proud mouth and poor coat, patched at one elbow, were on an equal footing. Even if he were left without a bronze, Matti would still have influence, connections, the weight of his family’s name. That was still worth something. For now.

So that was that.

“I—I really am sorry.” Matti set the wine and glasses down on the corner of the nearest table and pulled his purse from inside his coat. He kept his gaze on the man’s face, on a pair of eyes that were either grey or brown—impossible to tell from this angle—and urgently willed them not to look away. To a degree that seemed irrational, he wanted to banish the judgemental expression from the man’s face. “Of course I’ll cover the cost. Two hundred gold. Who did the work?”

The man glanced down at the metal scraps in his hand, as though the answer might be hidden in the pile. “Speck,” he said at last. “Frans Speck, in Amber Lane.”

“He’s a fair man. Tell him what happened and he’ll rush through the repair job,” Matti said. He held out the century notes.

The man tipped the wreckage of the watch back into the bag and closed his hand around the money, slow and wary. His fingertips had rough patches that scraped against Matti’s own, sending a tingle up Matti’s arm.

“I appreciate it,” the man said. He looked less cold now, though still nowhere near warm. “You’ve saved my life. Really.”

Matti forced himself to smile. Forced himself to say, “It’s nothing,” as though it really were nothing.

The man nodded awkwardly at Matti and tucked both money and bag into a pocket. Then he turned and was gone, headed for the door.

Matti somehow made his way to his table and sat down. His heart was pounding so loudly that he could barely hear anything else, and he wanted to shout at his own blood to be quiet and let him think. He needed to be alone in his study. He needed to contemplate his options, and make lists, and pore over the accounts for the thousandth time, in case they transmuted themselves into a picture of prosperity instead of the ugly, desperate reality that nobody outside of Matti’s immediate family knew about.

“Two hundred gold,” he said, before he could stop himself. “Two hundred.”

“We saw. Hard luck,” his cousin Roland said, making a face.

Perhaps it was stretching the term to call Roland and Wynn his friends, but they were the closest thing Matti had to members of that category, and the only people he’d been able to think of to form his wedding party. At least the three of them never found it too hard to pick up their acquaintanceship again, even if it had been months since their last conversation.

Wynn turned the bottle of wine to inspect the yellow butterfly on the label. “How appropriate that we’re drinking wine from your betrothed’s own winery.”

“Audry’s idea of a joke, I think,” Matti said. The word betrothed had landed in his ears like a piece of music played in an unfamiliar key; his mind was still turning it over, trying to decide how it felt about the melody. His hand was shaking as he poured the first glass, sending the stream of dark wine shivering and slipping. He’d steadied it by the time he poured the second.

“Huna smile,” he said, opening the toasts by lifting his own glass. “Thanks for agreeing to stand up with me, you two.”

“Drown your sorrows in this one, and by the time we hit the next bottle you’ll remember that you’re here to celebrate. And that once you’re married to Sofia Cooper,” Roland went on, lowering his voice sympathetically, “Jay House will be rolling in enough money to replace a hundred watches.”

Except that Matti had to get himself successfully married in the first place. And he’d just lost his best guarantee of doing so.

He let the old, gorgeous wine flood down his throat until a good third of his glass had vanished. He felt lightheaded; it had to be panic, because the wine couldn’t be working that fast. Panic and a sense of becoming unmoored. And the image of the man’s face, pale and sharply beautiful, gazing up from where he was kneeling at Matti’s feet.

“A fair effort,” Wynn said, when Matti put the glass down. “But I’ll show you children of Huna how it’s done.” He raised his own glass. “Agar fill your plates and cups.”

Matti smiled and drank again, accepting the toast. Maybe the wine was working after all. He could still feel his panic, the wound-up watch of his worry, but he shoved it away into a recess of his mind: its own small, dark velvet bag. It would be safe enough there. It would last until tomorrow. Matti’s ability to worry was shatterproof.

For now, he was going to drink.

#Bramble #Booklr #New books #Tbr #Swordcrossed #Freya Marske #LGBTQ #Fantasy #Romance

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seonghwaddict · 5 months ago

Text

not just a distraction — park seonghwa

in which it’s too easy for the new literature professor to pick a favourite.

literature professor!park seonghwa x fem!reader. genre. fluff, angst. warnings. LEGAL teacher-student relationship, implies age-gap, an argument, suggestive, nickname (baby, angel, doll, princess). wc. 10.4k. rating. pg-13.

lilo’s notes. this is my comeback yessss~ anyways, this is part 1 of 2 because the next part will have some… fun activities >:) i hope you guys enjoy this, i’m sorry for being so inactive for the past month but i have lots for you guys to look forward to! excuse any errors i did not proofread this.

listening to. training wheels, melanie martinez / angel, kali uchis.

masterlist.

the first class of the new literature course at your campus garnered the attention of quite a few of the students from the arts department.

there was, of course, a literature class that existed before that one, though a few students had been unhappy with it since the introduction of more contemporary works. the classic masterpieces, they thought (including you), should not be bunched together with colleen hoover.

with enough pressure, the faculty were able to introduce a new course; classic literature. the few students unhappy with the initial course switched into this course instead, delighted by the fact they were allowed to keep their previous credits. a completely new teacher had been hired too, stirring anticipation. all you knew of him was his name, given in the description of the course when you signed up.

so you found yourself in one of the many lecture halls, around fifty others surrounding you. when you walked in, the new professor was at the long chalk board at the front, looking down at a book in his hand while the other wrote something down. you tried catching a glimpse of him, but his positioning faced him away.

but from what you could see, he was quite slender. his grey slacks, neatly ironed, were secured around his hips by a thin black leather belt. his white button up seemed a little large, though it complimented him well, tucked into his trousers with the sleeves rolled halfway up his arms elegantly—his blazer, a grey matching his slacks, shucked off and placed around the back of the chair at his desk. you could also see his hair was dark, a slight waviness to it, a little longer in the back.

finding the most convenient seat, you chose to sit in the left-most seat on the second row, next to a girl you recognised but couldn’t remember the name of even if you tried.

you catch a glimpse of professor park glancing down at his watch, prompting you to do the same. nine in the morning, on the dot.

“literature,” he starts, underlining the bold word on the chalkboard before turning around. and you nearly choke at the sight of his face.

he’s handsome, almost impossibly so, and a lot younger than all your other professores. dainty glasses sit atop the bridge of his nose, carefully placed strands of his hair framining his face as he begins pacing in front of the seats, making sure to look at each students individually.

“it’s many things, but at its core, it’s all about the manipulation of language. language, simply put, is food, nourishing literature. and so, with the intricacies of the art, literature becomes one of the sweetest passions known to man. because what is it if not love and hatred and disgust and every indescribable feeling thrown into a melting pot of prose.”

his voice is captivating, making you feel just a little lightheaded as you listen to his passion intently, all precise words and confidence as he paces, his hands clasped behind his back. you’re hanging off his every word, watching as he stops by his desk to place down the chalk.

it isn’t after a few moments that you realise you were admiring his hand, how it moves to elegantly. the way his fingers gently curl around the little white stick is almost artistic in itself.

he turns around, resting his hips against the edge of the mahogany desk behind him, legs crossed at his ankles and arms crossed over his chest. his eyes scan the room as he continues speaking, occasionally locking with yours. “is it not poetic? how morphemes, for example, or adjectives or conjunctions are the morsels of literature, small parts that are put together to create meaning? of course, something may be described in one word, but there’s something quite magical about being more metaphorical, more intimate.”

he catches you leaning forward in your chair slightly, a small smile tugging at his lips at how captivated you look before he schools his expression. but his focus is quickly redirected when another student raises his hand.

“yes?” professor park pushes himself off the desk, clasping his hands behind his back.

“professor,” he begins—you recognise him as a jock that calls himself dylan, but you know it’s not his real name and he’s probably here to fulfil a requirement to keep him on the volleyball team—his tone incredulous, “don’t you think all this romanticisation of literature is a bit dramatic? we don’t need fancy words to describe everything.”

professor park arches his eyebrow, a soft huff escaping his nose as he took steps in the direction of dyland’s seat. “dramatic? perhaps,” he nodded, eyes fixed on him, “however, as a literature professor, i enjoy the romanticisation of it. my job is to introduce others to the passion that is literature, and therefore i will romanticise it all i wish… what is your name?”

“it’s, uh, dylan?”

his eyebrow quirked once more as he gave the jock a once over, evaluating him. “i see… well, dylan, have you ever felt the rush of emotion when reading something truly spectacular? have you ever read a sentence and felt it like a punch in your chest or a sudden breath of fresh air?”

dylan’s opens his mouth to respond before he is interrupted with a raise if professor park’s palm. “think before you answer, please.”

you nearly laughed at his baffled look, never having seen him so silent, pondering the question for a moment before answering. “well, yes i have.” he answers honestly, earning a nod of approval.

“describe that feeling for me. can you find the correct words to explain the way you felt in that moment?”

dylan tries to explain it the best he can, but your teacher only shakes his head and clicks his tongue. “close, but no. see, it’s difficult putting into words such strong emotions no matter how many synonyms of ‘joyful’ you use.”

he turns away from him to address the rest of the class. “and that is the beauty of literature—it can be used to describe the most indescribable feeling, stringing together individually meaningless words to create something so much more.”

you smile at that, enjoying the link he made. your eyes meet for another moment, a split second that made heat rise to your cheeks under his perceptive gaze. but you blink and his pretty brown eyes are gone.

he takes a moment’s pause, glancing over at the clock in the room before finally addressing the rest of the class again. “i want an assignment from each of you by next class that demonstrates the true beauty of the language we know. it can be anything you feel like writing. a short story, a narrative, an essay, a poem,” his eyes flick over to land on you once again, “i want to see the feeling you want to convey in this written form. and i don’t just mean the happy feelings—get raw and descriptive. write something from the heart.”

the class is dismissed and you pack up your things, heading out but not before trying to catch another glimpse of him in the moving horde of students.

though you hadn’t noticed it, throughout the lecture his eyes lingered on you as well. of course, there were so many students for him to focus on, but none of them seemed quite as captivated as you. judging by the evident fascination on your face as he spoke, he knew you understood every word he said. unlike dylan, apparently.

the next class is on friday, four days away. you take that time or write the assignment. instead of writing a story or a poem, you decide on writing an essay. something where you can really write without the constraints of sticking to a plot. when you’re not in any of your other classes, you’re at your shared house, writing. and if your roommate is being too loud, you take the short bike ride to campus, sitting in your usual corner in the library, also writing.

by the time friday comes around, it’s ready and you’re happy with it, confident in your works as you walk into the lecture hall between some other students. you follow them as they stop at his desk, placing their papers on a stack of other turned in assignments, following suit before sitting at the same seat as last time; far left, second row. this time there’s more people sat at the front, whispering and giggling as they gaze at the professor.

he’s sat at his desk, a similar suit to last like on except a beige colour. his glasses are off and placed on the wooden desk, a book partially obscuring his face as he reads and waits for it to be nine on the dot.

he can vaguely hear the students talking amongst themselves as he reads, but he doesn’t pay it too much mind. it was normal. a lot of his students found him attractive, and that was clear just by the way they talked while he was around. after a while, he glances up at the time, noting it was almost time for class to begin.

he closes his book, setting it off to the side before standing up behind the desk. his hands clasp behind his back.

he glances around the room as more students trickle in and take their seats. he notices you at the second row almost immediately, and he can’t help the small smile that crosses his face. he lets his eyes roam over you for a second before he looks away, noticing the other students chattering in their seats. he clears his throat, loud enough to make them stop and look at him.

“good morning, class.” he says loudly, glancing around once more before resuming, “i’ll be looking over your assignments after class, but for today i’d alike to talk about some literary devices. i know this is classic literature and you’re all expecting to be reading classics, but some groundwork should be set before we jump into analyses. for example, can anyone tell me what a hyperbole is? any guesses?”

he scans the room, as if challenging one of the students to answer. the students in the class are quiet, no one wanting to take the challenge. he hums after a couple minutes and walks around to the front of the desk to lean against the edge of it.

“no one? how about you,” he suddenly says, nodding to you.

you blink, taken aback by the fact he chose you in the sea of fifty-something students. after clearing your throat, you simply say, “an exaggeration, sir.”

he gives a small nod of approval, a smile accompanying it. he expected you to know it, one of the most basic terms in the subject, but could he really be blamed if he just wanted to hear your lovely voice?

“that’s correct. a hyperbole is an exaggeration. it’s also a useful tool in literature to convey specific emotions. i’m sure you’ve come across sentences such as... ‘i could kill him’ or ‘i can’t believe it. this assignment was a literal death sentence.’” he adds the last part in a joking manner, and the few students in the room who were paying attention let out a quiet bout of snickers. he gives you one last small smile before moving on.

he spends the rest of the lesson talking about all sorts of techniques used to enhance literature and the effects they have on the readers. sibilance creates a smooth flow and double entendres are often used to amuse the reader.

nearing the end of the class, he instructs everyone to start on their reading of “the picture of dorian gray” by oscar wilde while he starts going through the turned in assignments. you pull out the book, having borrowed it from the library the other day. you’ve read it before, but it was entertaining enough for you to be willing to read it again, leaning back in your seat comfortably as you flip to the first page.

professor park gets through the first couple of assignments, grading them and adding comments here and there. he finds your essay on the third assignment, and glances up to look at you sitting at your seat, reading so serenely. he takes the time to look you over for a moment before his focus turns to your paper in his hand. he can’t help the slight curiosity as to what you have written, so he begins reading.

he can tell from the quality of the writing alone what kind of writer you were. not like the others, you weren’t rushing with each sentence. no, each word was well thought out, each word placed delicately in the paragraph. it was obvious you had taken the time to write it, and it was obvious that you enjoyed writing even before he finishes reading the introduction. there is passion in the way you laid out your paragraphs. the way it seems so effortless for such words to spill onto your pages.

he finds himself rereading some of the sentences and paragraphs, just to see the way you had worded things. the way you describe how literature can make a person feel could be compared to a piece of art itself. a smile tugs at his lips as he finished reading, having become completely entranced in what you had written. he wanted more, he wanted to read even more of your writing, see more of your passion, more of you. he had expected to have to read through mindless writing but instead he had been surprised by something actually worthwhile.

at the end, he writes a decently-sized comment, a perfect grade circled in his black ink right below.

as he dismisses the class, it takes you a moment to register his words and the people filing out of the hall around you. but once you do, you fold over the corner of the page you’re on and start packing away your items.

as the class is now empty, the only person left in the room besides himself is you. he watches from behind the desk as you pack up your things, noticing the slight hesitation in your movements when you glance towards him. he takes a moment to just watch you before speaking up, his voice firm and clear.

“stay a moment, if you don’t mind.”

you glance up at him before looking around, making sure he was speaking to you before you nod, taking the steps down from the second row to the first, standing at the end of the seats expectantly.

he picks up something from his desk before making his way over to you, his long legs carrying him effortlessly.

he studies your face for a moment, holding up the stapled stack of papers that were your essay. he takes in your features as he speaks, his tone softer now that you’re alone, “you enjoy literature, i take it?”

you glance at the papers before meeting his eyes again, heat rising to your face at the realisation that his full attention was on you. that he was standing so close, just a step away, looking down at you ever so slightly. you give him a nod.

he hums softly in acknowledgement, his eyes looking at your face curiously. he can see the flush of your cheeks clearly, the way you’re keeping your gaze averted from his for the most part.

he glances down at the paper in his hand, tapping it against his fingers gently before looking back at you.

“your assignment. i read it,” he starts, flipping through the pages absentmindedly to keep him from staring at you too long, “it’s quite well written, and i can see the care you put into the language of it. i enjoyed reading it.”

he watches as your eyes queen ever so slightly, a certain sparkle that does not go unnoticed by him; can see the gears turning in your head as you take in his words, your face growing to an endearing mix of shy and embarrassed. he couldn’t exactly pinpoint what he was feeling, couldn’t describe it in any way other than a bloom of warmth in his chest, akin to familiarity.

“oh, thank you, sir.” you smile at him lightly, having been worried you were in trouble and about to be in the receiving end of his scolding.

he hums again, still looking at your face. he can’t help the slight grin that forms on his face as he hears you call him ‘sir.’ he liked the sound of it coming from you. he glances down at the paper again before speaking again, holding the stack out to you.

“i should be thanking you, really. you seem to be the only one to have put some effort into it,” he gave you a soft smile before nodding towards the door, “you may go now, i’ll see you next class.”

you smile and nod, giving him a slight bow before straightening up again. “have a nice day, sir.” and with that you leave, making a beeline to leave campus since you didn’t have anything else to do for the day.

the next time you see him is on monday, in class. he teaches as usual, introducing some context for the book you’re all supposed to be reading. he doesn’t talk to you during the class, though occasionally his eyes find yours and you can’t help but think they soften ever so slightly.

soon enough, you pick up on the fact that you have a similar routine on wednesday evenings. usually, you stay in the campus library for a little longer on those days, whether it’s to read or to work. you like it then because there’s usually barely anyone there, the library big enough for the students that are there to disperse out of each other’s views.

you notice him on your way in, talking to the librarian with a stack of three or four books on the counter. but sometimes you’d see him at a table or couch, or browsing through the shelves. and each time you smile at the sight of him before making your way straight to the second floor, ducking between some bookshelves on the far end to sit in your usual seat.

this may be your favourite spot on campus, maybe the whole city. a little sofa tucked against a big window, two bookshelves—historical fiction—on either side hiding you from the prying eyes of your peers. at this time, the sunlight is just right, a copper glow feeding the two little plants on the windowsill and providing a warmth that felt like a blanket on a cold winter day. it wasn’t too bright, able to look outside without squinting your eyes, enough light to read comfortably. there’s also a little round table that you use to place your laptop on if you need to work, though often you push it aside, favouring to relax on the plush sofa against the soft pillow and get lost in the pages of whatever book you got your hands on.

he’s noticed you there before, on his way to pick up a book from the bibliography section, right next to the historical fiction section where you resided. he soon comes to notice your form among the bookshelves that he passes by, doing a double take before he forces himself to continue along his way. when he finishes the bibliography exactly a week later, he offers to bring it back to its previous spot; in reality, he just wanted to see whether or not you’d be there again.

and sure enough, you were. and he slows down in his movements, looking at the way you’re curled up comfortably in the sofa.

he finds himself watching you silently from a distance for a while, just watching you flip to the next page in your book as you lay comfortably against the pillow, to absorbed in the story to notice him. you look completely at ease there, he finds himself thinking. the sunlight from the window seems to caress your features softly, and a part of him wondered what it would be like to be the sunlight for once, to touch your skin so softly and admire the details of it.

he watches you for a while, taking in your expressions as you turn the pages, before deciding to make his presence known. he takes a step, his leather shoes clunking against the polished wooden floors, “mind if i join you?”

your eyes dart up at the sound of his voice, flinching as you were caught off guard. once his words process, you offer him a smile, nodding as you retract your feet from the sofa to make some space for him. “yeah, of course, professor.”

he smiles warmly at your reply, settling into the newly available space on the sofa. now sitting, he realizes just how small the space is. it’s a two seater, so he ends up sitting very close to you, his side pressed right up to the armrest to prevent from being pressed against you. he glances at your face, noting the small reaction you had when you weren’t expecting him to approach. cute.

he leans back a little to get comfortable on the sofa. it’s quiet between them for a moment, both of them looking outside or at their books. the silence isn’t awkward, he finds. in fact, he quite enjoyed it in such proximity to you. he turns his gaze to watch your face, studying you; the curve of your nose, your lips that are pulled into a frown ever so slightly as you concentrate. his gaze then flicks down, to your sweatpants-clad legs tucked under you on the sofa, and lower to the hand holding the book.

you sit together in silence for a while, reading your respective books. you can’t stop yourself from glancing up at him occasionally, however, just wanting to catch a glimpse of his soft hair or perfect plump lips or the slope of his neck.

but when the sun go too low and the lights too dim and you could barely keep your eyes open, you let out a soft yawn, stretching. he glances up, opening his mouth to say something before his throat suddenly feel to dry to produce any words, distracted by the arch of your back and the curves of your hips. you look so inviting.

“tired?” he manages to force out with a slight chuckle, watching you slump back into your seat. he has the urge to brush away the stray hairs that fall over your cheeks.

you glance at him, nodding as you pull yourself off the couch for one last stretch before gathering your stuff and facing him. “i should probably head home,” you mutter.

“alright,” he pushes himself off the couch, closing his book, “i’ll walk you out.”

too tired to argue and insist he didn’t have to, you just nod, turning on your heels to walk out of the shelves, waiting at the end for him. the walk is silent, holding your breath and heart thumping in your chest each time his fingers brush against the back of your hand as you walk side by side.

this became a new routine. every wednesday, you’d find him or he’d find you, sitting in the little brown leather couch. and you’d stay there together for a while, talking or laughing or working or reading. there was no longer an awkward space separating the two of you, happily resting against each other, far from worried that anyone would see.

neither of you mentioned it, but it was the elephant in the room. you didn’t know what to call it, whatever was happening between you. but it felt good, it made you want to cling to his shirt and bury your face into the warm curve of his neck and never let go. but you couldn’t, no matter how much either of you wanted to.

and as the lines between professor and student blurred, you found yourself looking forward to your wednesdays with him.

and so did he. still, he often thought about how he behaved around you, like it was a secret meant for him and you and you and him.

the way he would find himself sitting closer and closer to you. the way he’d find his gaze lingering on you for too long. the way his mind would wander on how it would feel to run his fingers through your hair, trails them along your thighs. oh, how badly he wants to feel your skin against his own. the idea of what he was doing was dangerous, foolish for someone of his position.

but it’s hard to care when you’re right there next to him, in the soft light that makes your skin glow, your face relaxed and content as you read beside him.

one particular friday evening, it’s pouring, and you’re standing outside under where the roof of the humanities building entrance protruded, protecting me from the rain. this morning you had decided to walk to school instead taking the bike, though you suppose it wouldn’t have been much better with a bike.

your shoes are already wet from the puddle you had accidentally stepped into on your way out, your clothes soaked from having walked into the rain for a minutes as you hug your messenger bag close to your chest.

he’s on his way to his car when he spots you standing by the doorway, and he frowns as he notices you, soaked from the rain that pours mercilessly. he glances around, noticing the lack of anyone nearby thanks to the weather, before making his way towards you.

he stops a few steps in front of you, opening his umbrella to block the rain above both of you. "what are you doing standing out in the rain?"

“i walked to school this morning,” you look from him to the pouring rain, just a step away, “didn’t check the weather.”

he takes you in for a moment, taking in the way your clothes are sticking to you, your hair slightly damp. a small part of him found it quite adorable to see you like this.

"you’re soaked," he says, his voice firm and concerned, "you’re going to get sick like this." as if on cue, a shiver racks through your body. he notices, his expression softening as he takes a step closer, offering his free hand. “come on, i’ll drive you home.”

“oh, you really don’t have to,” you smile at him, grateful at his offer, worried about getting his car wet with your clothes, “i can just wait here until the rain stops.”

his eyes narrow slightly, taking your wrist lightly. "don’t be ridiculous," he scolds, "you’ll freeze to death if i leave you here."

you blink at him, not used to being on the receiving end of his firm tone. his concern making the corners of your lips tug up, you sighed softly, nodding, “alright, lead the way.”

a small smirk pulls at his lips as he watches you relent, giving in to his words. he steps to your side, releasing your wrist and putting a hand on the small of your back to guide you towards the parking lot.

he pulls a tissue from his pocket, unfolding it and using it to gently pat your face. you giggle softly at his attempts to dry your face, reaching one of your hands up to take the handkerchief, your fingers brushing against each other before you dry your face yourself, your other hand helping him hold the umbrella in the strong wind, hand a little lower than his on the handle.

he looks at you with a small smile as his hand rests on the umbrella’s handle, moving to cover yours. his hand is a little bigger and warmer than yours. but as he guides you further towards the parking lot, he notices you shivering again, the cold air starting to get to you.

"if you get a cold, it’s your fault." he teases slightly, pulling you closer to his side, making you stumble a little before you regain your footing.

“oh no, i won’t be able to attend your 9 am lecture on monday, whatever will i do?” you gasp dramatically, holding back a laugh as you joke around, instinctively glancing around in case anyone saw. but everyone was gone, rushing home in the midst of the downpour.

he lets out a low laugh at your dramatic response, rolling his eyes playfully at you.

"stop that," he chastises, his hand on your waist keeping you from falling. it was hard to miss the nervous looks your threw around, and he knew exactly why.

“hm?” you glance up at him as he stops in front of what you assume is his car. it’s a black mercedes, sleek and modern. you clasp your hands behind your back, tilting your head, “no idea what you’re talking about.”

he pushes open the passenger door of his car, gesturing for you to get in. he shakes his head slightly with a scoff, his gaze raking down your figure for just a moment.

“sure you don’t,” he says in a slightly teasing tone, “just get in the car, angel.”

you blush lightly at the nickname but shake your thoughts away, looking down at the leather passengers seat before looking up at him again “but i’ll get your seat wet and mess it up.”

it takes him a moment to process your words, distracted by how the flush of your cheeks makes you look even lovelier. the thought that he was able to make you blush like that because of a simple nickname makes him bite back a giddy smile.

he shakes his head. “i’ll take my chances. just get in, you’re shivering.”

you don’t move for a moment, weighing your options; get his seat a little wet, or walk in the rain. deciding the former is obviously the better choice, you thank him silently as you slip into the passenger seat, securing your seatbelt after resting your bag in your lap

he shuts the door behind you and circles the car, walking to the driver’s side. his steps are a little rushed, eager to get out of the rain and into the warmth of the car.

he gets in the car, pulling the door shut behind him before he looks over at you. you sit quietly, your head down and hands in your lap.

it’s silent for a brief moment before he speaks up. “i’m gonna need your address, you know.”

“oh, right.” you hum, leaning forward to the screen on the dashboard to type in your address. it takes some effort, your muscles mostly focused on your legs as you try not to seat my full weight in an attempt to not ruin his seat despite what he said earlier.

he says absolutely nothing, his gaze glued to the arch of your back. he swallows hard, clenching his jaw as he keeps his eyes trained on you, fighting the urge to reach a hand and touch you.

he clears his throat, “just lean back into the seat.”

before you can protest, he’s pushing down on your thigh until you’re fully seated. you give him a playful glare as you finish typing the address. it’s just over a five-minute drive, while walking in this weather would’ve taken you nearly twenty.

he looks at you with a chuckle, his hand still on your thigh, giving it a slight squeeze.

“now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” he jokes, giving your thigh a tap before pulling his hand away, turning the ignition on and pulling out of the parking space.

the drive to your place is quiet except for the sound of the rain outside. he has the heat on full blast to keep you warm. every now and then he glances at you out of the corner of his eye.

the heat makes you shudder, holding your fingers up to the air to warm them up a bit.

he can’t help as his mind thinks of how cute you look, all bundled up with your bag in your lap. and the urge to touch you, god, the urge to run his fingers through your hair.

“we’re almost there, don’t worry,” he mutters as he tears his gaze away from you.

“hey, um,” you start after a few moments of silence, glancing at him, “if you want, you can come up and we could have some coffee or tea or something together. if my roommate doesn’t mind, which she probably won’t, she’s really nice so i wouldn’t worry. but you don’t have to if you don’t want to! i just, uh, wanna thank you properly… for this.”

he watches with a fond smile as you ramble, stopping at a red light. he’s about to accept the offer, tell you that he’d love to, but the realisation of your roommate being there changes things, his expression turning solemn.

“i don’t think that’s a good idea…” he mumbles, avoiding your piercing eyes.

your brows furrow ever so slightly, a frown threatening to override your features. “why not?”

he swallows, pulling over in front of the address you had typed into the gps.

“i’m your professor,” he starts, his tone firm, “it would be unprofessional if we’re caught.”

he hopes you can’t notice the way he’s gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than necessary.

“that hasn’t stopped you so far, though,” you muse, chuckling lightly despite your confusion of his suddenly change in sentiments, trying to ease the tension.

“but don’t you think it’s a bit suspicious that we’ve been sitting together in the library every week, completely hidden away?” he mutters, “if someone saw us, someone who didn’t know, it would look bad. this could be worse.”

“i thought you liked being there with me…” his words get to you this time, actually frowning as you turn to look out the window instead of at him, noticing you were in front of your house.

shit.

he mentally berates himself upon noticing the slight change in your expression, realizing with a pang of guilt that his words bothered you, having come out the wrong way.

“oh, angel,” he starts, letting go of the steering wheel. his hand reaches for you, and before he can stop himself, it’s cradling your face.

“i do. i like being with you there,” he sighs, gently pulling your face to make you look at him, his thumb caressing your cheek. “you have no idea how much i enjoy it.”

his touch on your face feels warm, and his words even warmer as his directs you to look at him. you don’t say anything.

he’s not used to this, to you being quiet and still. he’s too used to your carefree self being full of jokes and laughter. he doesn’t like you like this, looking at him with disappointment written on your face.

“what i meant is,” he murmurs, the pad of his thumb moving across your cheek to your chin, tilting your head up so your eyes meet his, “i’m just worried about your roommate.”

“i like spending time with you, princess,” he continues, his tone firmer this time, “i like it a lot, alright?”

your frown eases at his words, nodding as you answer in a whisper, “okay.”

he lets out a small sigh of relief, his fingers tracing down from your chin to the side of your neck, and then your collarbone. he gently caresses your skin with the lightest of touch, letting the pad of his fingertip graze your skin.

he tries to ignore the voice in the back of his mind telling him to tug you across the console and kiss you. he shouldn’t.

he shakes himself out of his thoughts, pulling his hand away reluctantly. glancing out the window, he sees your place right in front of him.

“we’re here,” he murmurs, looking back at you. his gaze softens when he sees the remnants of the frown still on your face, and his hand gently reaches out to give your thigh a light squeeze.

“come on,” he says quietly, “let’s go.”

you look out the window before nodding, unbuckling and stepping out, walking to your front door as he accompanies you with an umbrella. you rummage around in your bag, trying to find the keys. groaning as you realise you were in such a rush this morning you must’ve forgotten them in the bowl where you and your roommate place your keys so you don’t lose them. with a sigh, you ring the doorbell, waiting for her to answer.

but she never comes. and that’s when you realise she had the late shift at work today. you groan, frustrated as you thump your forehead against the wooden door.

great, he thinks to himself as he watches you struggle trying to get inside. and then you turn around, with a frustrated sigh, and a thump of the door.

he can’t help but feel like the world is against him. the universe wants to punish him, to test his limits.

he bites the inside of his cheek, watching you and listening to you as you mutter about your locked door.

“i don’t have my keys, my roommate isn’t home,” you explain, kicking the door light before burying your face in your hands, your voice a little muffled, “oh, i’m so sorry, hwa.”

he stands there, watching you explain your situation, and he fights back a smile at your last sentence.

hwa*.*

he likes it when you call him that. spending three months growing closer, you’ve evidently given each other little nicknames.

he glances over at the parked car behind him, before back at you. “do you need a place to stay?” he asks, trying to keep his tone neutral again.

“i don’t wanna bother you too much,” you shake your head, running your hands over your face “please, i can just wait here for her to get back.”

he doesn’t like how you’re trying to push him away. frowning, watching you as you shake your head and run your hands over your face in defeat. he closes the distance between you, taking hold of your wrists and pulling your hand away from your face gently.

“it’s pouring,” he reminds you, “your clothes are soaking wet. and you think you can just sit here on the front porch until your roommate comes back?”

“i don’t want to inconvenience you any more,” you murmur, your hands relaxing as he pulls your wrists away from your face.

his chest tightens at your words, at how stubborn you’re being. he sighs.

“you’re not inconveniencing me,” he insists, “i’d feel better knowing you’re inside with dry clothes and a warm drink than out here soaked to the bone.”

you contemplate his offer for a moment before sighing, nodding, “okay, if you insist.”

his heart nearly skips a beat at your agreement, and it takes all his willpower not to visibly show the relief that washes over him.

he tightens his hold on your wrist for a moment, before gently guiding you back to his car. he opens the passenger door for you, waiting until you get in before he shuts the door and circles around to the driver’s side.

he starts the ignition again, the warm air blasting through the vents yet again. you hold your hands in front of the hot air again, glancing over as you hear his door open and close as he slips. “in is it a long drive?”

he lets out a scoff, looking over to you with a teasing smile. “it’s a whole two minute drive. i’ll try not to bore you too much.”

he turns back to the window, pulling out of the parking spot. the rain starts again, and the sound of it pounds against window before he turns on the wipers.

“oh dear me, i can already feel myself falling asleep,” you slump your head back and pretend to snore, back to being playful.

he turns to look at you, watching your dramatics with a fond grin. “shut up, you,” he says, reaching out to pinch your side gently.

you giggle as he pinches your side, opening your eyes again to look out the window, watching buildings and cars glide past as he drives smoothly. true to his word, just a few minutes later he’s pulling into the underground parking lot of an apartment building.

he parks in front of a spot numbered ‘407’, cutting the ignition as soon as he does.

he glances at you briefly before nodding almost to himself.

“come on,” he says with a jerk of his chin, gesturing for you to follow as he gets out of the car.

his longer strides have him walking faster than usual, and it takes him a conscious effort to slow down for you to keep up.

he presses the ‘up’ button and the elevator doors part within seconds. he steps into the elevator, holding the door open for you to enter.

it’s a silent ride up. his mind is racing, though he doesn’t show it outwardly. his hands are in his pocket, and he keeps his eyes trained on the blinking numbers signifying each floor.

the elevator dings and the doors open and he steps out without looking back to see if you’re following, striding down the hallway, making a turn to a door marked ‘407’.

he fishes for his keys in his pocket, pulling them out before unlocking and opening the door as you look around the empty hallway, your gaze lingering on the mass-produced paintings hanging on the wall that he knows can be seen on every other floor of this building.

the apartment is spacious, with plenty of open floor space for the front room. the color scheme is simple and neat, with a large armchair and a small couch that sits in front of a flat screen tv, as well as a wooden coffee table.

he steps in, taking a moment to kick his shoes off and set his stuff down. he looks over his shoulder, watching you step into the apartment as he places his umbrella in the umbrella rack and hangs up his coat.

you grimace as your shoes squelch when you step in, muttering apologies as you take them off and leave them outside of the door in the hallway instead, not wanting to mess up his flooring.

he raises an eyebrow, watching you as you leave your wet shoes in the hall. he’s about to say something when he’s interrupted by the sound of a small meow.

a ball of black fur appears at his feet, nuzzling against his ankle, and he smiles, scooping the cat into his arms without a word.

he scratches behind the cat's ears as it purrs in his arms, the sound of its soft mews filling the room. he can see a hint of confusion on your face, watching the cat with interest as he holds it, its front paws resting on his chest.

"his name is kuma," he explains, bringing the cat up to his face and letting it rub against his cheek.

you nearly melt at the sight, stepping into the house with wet socks as you coo at the cat, the front door falling shut behind you automatically. “i didn’t know you have a cat.”

he has to physically stop himself from grinning as you nearly swoon at the sight of his cat, covering up his smile with a cough. he shakes his head, lowering the cat gently to the floor. it runs over in your direction, nuzzling against your ankles much like it did to him moments ago, before disappearing down the hallway into the heart of the apartment.

"i got him a couple months back," he says, taking in the sight of your soaked clothes once more. he lets out a sigh, tilting his head toward the hall.

he glances down at your feet, eyeing your soaked socks, before looking back up to your face.

"you can shower if you'd like. I can lend you some clothes to change into," he says, pointing down the hall toward the bedroom.

“oh, yes please,” you nod, relieved that he offered instead of you having to ask.

he nods and starts down the hallway, motioning for you to follow him. as you follow, you look around. just like his car, the design of his apartment is sleek and modern, glowing in warmth as he uses a variety of floor lamps and shelf lamps to light up the interior instead of headache-inducing overhead lights. the furniture and walls are light in colour, a variety of whites and beiges.

it’s an open floor plan, the kitchen and living grouped together, separated by a counter island and some stools. the countertops of the kitchen have a glossy white finish, everything clean. a narrow hallway leads to some three doors, which you assume are his bedroom, a bathroom, and guest bedroom or office.

he stops first in front of a door, where the cat lies on the floor, tail flicking back and forth. he bends down to pet the cat briefly.

"that's the bathroom. the towels are in there. I'm just going to grab some clothes for you," he says, giving you a quick glance before striding away toward the bedroom.

your eyes follow him as he walks away, before letting out a soft yelp at the feeling of something furry wrapping around your ankle. looking down, you realise it’s kuma, giggling as you crouch down to pet him.

he returns a few moments later, taking a moment to watch as you play with his cat so nicely before clearing his throat, making you stand back up as he hands you the stack of clothes.

“feel free to use whatever you need in there,” he nods towards the bathroom door, “you can leave your clothes in the basket, i’ll put them in the laundry later.”

“thank you, hwa.” you grin at him, accepting the clothing before disappearing into the bathroom, locking the door behind you.

you shower with warm water, relaxing every muscle in your body as you wash off the rain. without any other choices, you’re left to use his shampoo. it smells of him, a deep vanilla. when you finish, you dry off and change into the clothes he brought, using your own previous undergarments as he obviously didn’t have those on hand.

the clothes are quite large on you, hanging off your body as you tighten the string of the sweatpants. you pat your hair partially dry with the towel before tossing everything in the laundry basket, stepping out to go to the living room.

only to see he wasn’t there. shrugging, you figure he’ll return soon as you flop onto the couch, kuma coming to sit with you after a moment. you sprawl out a bit as you realise just how spacious the couch is, the cat padding all over your body, playing with the drawstrings of the hoodie he gave you before curling up on your stomach.

meanwhile, he’s in the shower of his bedroom’s en-suite bathroom attempting to get himself together, both physically and mentally. the water feels amazing on his skin as it beats down on him, and he tries to relax his muscles as he lathers shampoo in his hair.

but his mind keeps going back to you, and how you’re probably already in his living room.

wearing his clothes.

he sighs, leaning his head against the shower wall as he tries to push those thoughts out of his mind. he stands there for what feels like hours, letting the hot water hit his skin before shutting off the shower and stepping out. he dries himself off, quickly drying his hair enough so that it’s not dripping all over his floor before he getting in record time, pulling on an old pair of sweats and a loose black shirt.

he takes another deep breath, opening the bathroom door as he ruffles his damp hair. he starts to make his way toward the living room, hoping that you’re just as nervous as he is.

he turns the corner and enters the living room, nearly freezing in his place at the sight of you sitting on the couch with kuma. you look good. comfortable.

by the time he makes it back, you’d be kuma are no longer sitting calmly, practically rolling around on the couch as you try to get away from the playful punches of his paws. he feels his heart flutter at the sight and the sound of your laughter.

there’s just something about seeing you getting along with his cat that makes his heart nearly skip a beat. he silently watches from the hall for a moment, just gazing at the two of you playing together before clearing his throat to make his presence known.

you look up at the sound, grinning at him stupidly. you glance at his clothes, noting that he’s wearing comfortable clothes now rather than his usual suits. “oh, hey,” you say between giggles as kuma continues to jump all over you.

his heart stutters at the sight of your grins and the sound of your giggles, at the joyful look on your face. he swallows, forcing his arms to cross over his chest to keep himself from reaching out and pulling you against him.

trying to appear nonchalant even though he’s having a hard time doing so, he walks over to the couch, standing at the end of the coffee table and looking down at you.

“seems like you’re having fun together,” he remarks with a slight nod towards kuma.

“uh huh,” you nod before squealing, covering your face as kuma’s paws swat against your cheek, attacking you, your stomach hurting from laughing.

he lets out a scoff, watching kuma pawing at you and your failed attempts to shield your face from the attacks. he can’t help but let a small smile settle on his face, his heart fluttering again at the sight of you two.

“he’s playing rough,” he comments with a smile, walking to the couch and plopping down beside you.

you crawl over to his other side, hiding your face under his arms as kuma chases, “help me, hwa.”

his heart skips a beat as you hide under his arm, ducking away from the harmless kitten. he can’t help but laugh, finding the situation both endearing and adorable.

“I think you can handle kuma, doll,” he teases, grinning down at you as you continue to use him as a human shield.

“he’s a beast,” you try to sound serious, your voice muffled against his sleeve as kuma starts attacking him instead.

“he’s not that bad,” he teases, grabbing the cat by his little body and lifting him up in front of his face, “see? look at this face. he’s not even one bit menacing.”

“that’s the face of evil!” you exclaim, sitting up and placing the back of your hand on your forehead to fall into his lap dramatically, feigning death, my body draped over his thighs faced down.

he looks down at you as you go limp against him, and he can’t help but laugh at your antics.

“don’t be so dramatic,” he grins. he lets kuma go, watching as he climbs down your combined bodies to muzzle against your cheek before moving away to curl up in his usual spot in the corner of the couch. “i think he’s gonna end up liking you more than me.”

“good,” you hum, closing your eyes and relaxing in his lap, forearm under your chin so it doesn’t dig into his legs.

he rolls his eyes jokingly, resting his hand on your back and tracing down your spine, “very funny.”

you chuckle at his response, sighing softly, content where you are. in the privacy of his home, you’re not scared of being affectionate, especially not as his hand traces down to rest against the small of your back, eliciting a faint shudder.

his heart hammers in his chest as his hand trails further down to the back of your thigh, the feeling of your plump flesh beneath the fabric, under his touch igniting something in him. he has to remind himself to breathe, trying to control the rush of blood that is steadily flowing downward.

enjoying the feeling of his hand kneading the back of your thigh, you go a little silent before turning to look up at him, a question that’s been balancing on the top of my tongue for three months finally spilling out.

“hwa… what exactly are we? what is this?” you point between the two of you as you mutter the question.

his hand freezes the second he hears it. he’s been avoiding that question since the two of your really started seeing each other every wednesday months ago, but he knows he can’t anymore. not when it’s thrown straight at his face.

he takes a deep breath, avoiding your gaze for a moment. he lets the silence sit for a few more seconds as he considers his answer, then looks down at you.

“i don’t know,” he mutters, his hand moving to rest on your waist, “i’ve been asking myself the same thing.”

“well, what is this to you then?” you ask softly, sitting up to be eye level with him, kneeling beside him.

the question sounds more demanding coming from you face to face, eye to eye, and his heart is beating fast enough that he fears you can hear it. he swallows, looking into your eyes.

“a distraction,” he mutters, his gaze flitting to your lips for a moment before going back to your eyes, preparing his next words.

but before he can continue, you visibly deflate at his answer, sitting back as i nod. a distraction. “i see,” you tear your gaze away from him, getting up, making his hand drop from you, “i’m gonna go to bed, wheres the guest room?”

he feels his heart twist at the sight of you leaving his touch, a dejected look on your face.

he’s never seen you back off so quickly before. not like this. he watches you get up and stand over him, a step too far for him to reach for you agajn, his heart tightening in his chest.

“wait, doll-“ he starts, reaching out to take your hand.

“what? you said what you said.”

“i didn’t mean it like that,” he mutters, his tone firmer. he stands up from the couch, towering over you. he holds a hand out to you. “come here, please.”

“then how else could you possibly mean it,” you scoff lightly, eying his hand but not taking it.

“listen, doll,” he mutters, holding back a huff of frustration. “you can’t seriously think that I would call this a distraction,” he gestures between the two of you. “a distraction. you really think that you are just a distraction to me?”

“well is that not what you said?” you mutter, trying to prevent your lips from trembling as a lump latches itself onto your throat.

he lets out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. he reaches out and grabs your wrist, tugging you closer to him. he can feel the tension in your body, and he hates it. he hates himself for causing it.

“you didn’t let me finish. i didn’t mean it like that,” he mutters, looking directly into your eyes, resting your hands in his chest. “you’re not just some random, meaningless distraction to me.”

your fingers flex slightly as he holds them up to his chest, right over his heart, “then tell me how you really feel about me if i’m not a distraction”

he looks into your eyes, holding onto your wrists firmly but gently, his thumbs rubbing against your skin, the inside of your wrists.

he’s never seen you like this before. this vulnerable and open in front of him. he can feel the tension in your body, the stiffness in your shoulders and the tightness in your jaw.

he wants to smooth out those frowning lines on your face, erase that look of uncertainty in your eyes.

“you’re more than just a distraction to me,” he mutters. “you’re an obsession. you’re all i think about, doll. i think about you constantly. i don’t know how else to describe it other than an obsession,” he continues, his voice getting softer as he speaks. “i can’t shake you. you’ve gotten in my head and you’ve been living in there rent free for months and you refuse to get out. even when i try to ignore you,” he lets out a scoff, looking into your eyes, “even when i pretend to ignore you, you’re still there. you don’t leave my mind.”

his heart races as the words spill out of his mouth, like there’s a dam bursting inside of him. the feelings that he’s been bottling up for months finally coming out, and he doesn’t want to stop, letting those words tumble out and onto you. he can see that you’re listening intently, that you’re listening intently as his grip on your wrists tightens, almost as if he’s scared that you’re going to run away from him.

“you’ve got me so distracted i can barely focus on anything that doesn’t involve you,” he admits in a low voice, glancing down at your wrists. “i can’t even teach my own goddamn class without thinking about you.”

you’re speechless, even as he finishes, staring up at him with wide dumbfounded eyes, feeling his hammering heart beneath your fingertips just as how he feels yours under his as his thumbs continue to rub the inside of your wrists.

you suppose you can always rely on a literature professor for an extravagant, dramatic confession.

he continues to hold onto you. he’s never seen you this speechless and dumbfounded before, and he’s torn between how good it feels to see you like this and how bad it things could go now that his feelings were out.

he swallows, looking down at your wrists. he can feel your pulse point under his thumb. “say something, angel,” he murmurs, a pleading tone in his voice.

instead, you pull your hands out of his grip to wrap them around his neck, pulling him down, placing your lips against his urgently, your eyes falling shut.

his heart hammers in his chest as he kisses you back, his hands gripping your waist and pulling you against him, his fingers curling into your hoodie. he wants to kiss you forever, wants to make up for all those months of holding back, but his lungs are burning from the lack of air and he’s forced to pull away to breathe.

he lets out a sigh, his forehead falling to the crown of your head. his hands stay on you, still holding you against him. he can still feel your heart racing against his chest.

“that was your idea of saying something?”

“uh huh,” you hum, chuckling softly as you thread your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, mind full of him. seonghwa, seonghwa, seonghwa.

he closes his eyes as he feels your fingers, enjoying the feeling of your fingertips against his scalp. he still has his arms around you, unwilling to let go yet. he leans down just enough to press a kiss to your temple, his lips brushing softly against your skin.

“but seriously,” you snicker, pulling away from him a little “i am kinda tired, wheres the guest bed?”

he almost lets out a whine when you pull away from him, opening his eyes reluctantly. he looks down at you, a frown on his face.

“you’re really gonna go sleep by yourself?” he mutters, an almost petulant tone in his voice as he quirks his brow.

“is that not what i’m supposed to do?“

“you really think i’m going to let you sleep alone after… that? come on now, you’re not that dense.”

“i know, i just wanted you to say it,” you giggle after a moment, grinning up at him as you lean down to scoop up kuma from the couch.

he lets out a scoff, rolling his eyes, but he’s unable to hide the small smile of his own. he reaches out and ruffles your hair, letting out a scoff. “you’re insufferable.”

“and you just said you’re obsessed with me,” you shrug, kissing his cheek as his hand find the small of your back, leading you don’t the hallway, “where does the kitty sleep?”

he looks down at kuma, still curled up in your arms, practically purring himself to death. “baby, he’s a cat. he’ll sleep wherever he wants.”

you snort, setting him down on a little armchair in the corner of his room, next to some bookshelves stacked with books upon books, and more books. you lean down to pet him a few more times as seonghwa watches you with a fond smile.

he watches you as he sits on the bed, his heart clenching at how good you look in his bedroom. it feels almost surreal, having you here in his home. he pats the spot next to him.

“get over here, baby.”

networks. @cromernet @cultofdionysusnet @wonderlandnet @atzhouse

permanent taglist. @ad0rechuu @sankatchu @mlink64 @yeosangsbb @seonghwasbbgirl

@likexaxdaydream @dreamingofyeo @yalyallic @yunhoswrldddd

@coffee-addict-kitten @thunderous-wolf @chngbnwf @okdudeiime

#cromernet #wonderlandnet #cultofdionysusnet #pirateeznet #atzhouse #ateez x reader #ateez #park seonghwa smut #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa headcanons #seonghwa angst #seonghwa fluff #seonghwa imagines #ateez reactions #ateez smut #ateez fluff

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blackkatdraws2 · 4 months ago

Text

Quick note to people who use Kat's art / characters!!

How to Properly Use Kat's Content!

Get my permission first! [Ask in my DMs]

Credit me!

That's it lol

I don't mind that much but I would appreciate it if people asked me first. I don't have a problem with people using my art for profile pictures, chat bots [NOT NSFW], reposting on social medias I'm not in, Discord emojis, etc.

Let's just be reasonable, yeah? （＾∀＾●）ﾉｼ

What Not to Do!

Don't use my art to sell!

Don't use my characters for anything NSFW!

Don't use it to generate AI art/images/videos!

If you're reposting my art, don't tell people it's yours! Don't impersonate me either!

Don't make/add anything strange or inappropriate using my content/characters!

If you're not doing anything listed then I'm good with almost anything as long as you credit me.

[You're also free to ask me in DMs if you wanna do something with my works/characters that you're not sure will breach my boundaries.]

What do you do if you see somebody:

Selling my art?

- REPORT THEM! These people absolutely do not have my permission! They take other artists' art as well, it's not just me!

Reposting my art without credit?

- Tell them to give me credit! If they delete your comment / claim that it's theirs, report them! If they comply then leave them be.

Pretending to be me in social medias that aren't Youtube, Tiktok, Tumblr, Bluesky, and Twitter?

- Report them!! Don't impersonate me.

Using my art / characters in ChararacterAI, etc.?

- As long as it's a SFW bot and it has credits, leave them be.

- If it's inappropriate / an NSFW bot of my characters, report it!

Alright, Have fun guys. ✌️

#kat talks #toon x mobster #txm #tsp au #tsp achromatic loop au #tsp blank scripts au #ocs #oc #original character #original characters #fans do what they do and they share things that they like #I mean hey! as a fellow fan I get it!#but as an artist. ask me for my permission and consent first before you do things on your own with MY content you know?#I'm not mad [genuinely] I just wanted to tell you all this before another one pops out #have fun with the bot I guess lololol I'm gonna have a chat with it and see how OOC / in-character it is

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brailsthesmolgurl · 8 months ago

Text

WHY HER?

Another angst/fluffy oneshot required by one of you. I swear, the ones who are following me, most of you have a thing for angst :0 But it is okay my babies, as I am nothing different from you guys :) this will be a bit shorter than my usual oneshot lengths but hope it is just as enjoyable for you guys :)))

Warnings: Angst but don't worry my lovelies, there shall be comfort for this round. Reader is not main character in game.

Please note all artworks are credited to the artist @chimmyming on Twitter, please do go and support the artist! Click onto the pictures and there shall be a link on it that brings you straight to their artwork!

Rafayel

You sat at the beach, looking far out into the ocean as you waited for Rafayel. He had agreed to meet you today for a nice evening walk but it was VERY UNLIKE HIM to be late for any meetings with you. Furthermore, you had only came back from your business trip recently, and the last thing you had expected was for your lover to be late to this long-awaited meet up.

Taking out your phone, you decided to give your boyfriend a call. "Hello, Rafayel?" You spoke once the call was picked up. "Where are you mister?"

"Hello?" The voice on the other end of the call caught you off guard. It was the voice you had heard Rafayel mentioned through his video calls with you for a couple of times. "Rafayel will be there in a bit." You heard a slither of your boyfriend's voice echoing in the background, shouting out something and the girl repeated his message. "He told you to---"

You hung up the call. Not even bothering for an apology nor an answer. Just hearing her voice made your blood boil. It does not help either when Rafayel would mention about her during your business trip. He would say, "Oh she helped me with the drawings today, as she said purple would fit better than orange." or "We went and got some paint today by the shop that was at the corner of the Bloom Street. She asked me to buy the conch shells too."

The recollection of him telling you all about their activities brought tears to your eyes, pulling your knees up to your chest and you stopped fighting the tears coming out of your eyes. When did she took your place? Helping him with his artworks? Accompanying him to buy painting materials and buying seashells together? That is, and has always been the activity reserved for you. But maybe, your absence made him feel empty inside.

Standing up, you dusted the sand off of your pants and decided to head home. Your phone had rung for a couple of times but it had fallen on deaf ears. Unlocking your phone and rejecting the call, you decided to block him. What happen to Lemurians only having one mate for the rest of their life? A question raised in your head, but it goes unanswered.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

Loud music filled the entirety of the darkness of the bar. Your hand held onto a cocktail glass, swivelling the Long Island Iced Tea in it. But here is the catch, none of the contents in the glass contained anything that has to do with its name. But it is surely going to get you wasted in no time.

You took another hit, feeling the burn go down your throat when you downed the whole glass in one go. The laser lights, light bars below the bar table and holograms of women dancing being the only source of lighting found within the bar, a good way for you to hide away from anyone you know.

You just wanted to drown out your thoughts, but forgetting the point that you had never been the type to handle alcohol well. Hence earning the title of you being the teetotal in every party and event you attend with Rafayel. Speaking of the man, your eyes wandered down to your cocktail glass, the empty contents a direct reflection of your mind right now, empty.

When your mind started to get hazy further, you knew it was the right time to leave. You slowly maneuvered your way through the club till you were nearing the exit. A guy came in front of you to block your exit. "Where are you going, pretty lady? Do you need a ride home?"" His hand reached for your arm and you winced, his hold tight.

"Leave me alone. I am not interested." You pushed him with your hands and the guy barely budged. His tight grip on you still unfaltering. Instead, he started leading you out of the club, and into the alleyway.

"Bad girls don't deserve a good treatment. And seeing how wasted you are, I doubt you could stop me. So just be a good girl and take it." His words made you teared up, hand still coming up to push him with all of your might, sobs started surfacing from your breath.

"Help me!" You shouted out, head aching and eyes widening when you caught sight of the guy undoing his belt. He is planning to rape you isn't he?

"Nobody can hear you don't worry, so save your breath for me when I take you baby girl." He chuckled darkly but a spark caught your eye and the guy immediately got lit up in flames. Bright red colour lighting up the dark alleyway.

"Y/N!" The familiar voice called out to you, your sobs not stopping till someone grabbed you and you pushed with all of your drunken might, traumatised by how you were nearly raped by a stranger. The strong arms circled around your small body to pull you in close and your face hit against a taut chest. "Are you okay?!" And you passed out.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

You woke up, eyes slowly fluttering opened and you winced at the throbbing of your head. Looking down at yourself, you realised your clothes had a change, you were wearing an oversized button up and you gasped, your memory piecing the fact that you almost got raped yesterday night. Thinking you were still entrapped in a stranger's home, you turned your head and you caught sight of your boyfriend fast asleep next to you.

His purple hair sat on his head like a bird’s nest, a vibrant colour against his white pillow and bed sheets. Feeling movement on the bed, you watched when he slowly opened his eyes, lapis-lilac shades caught yours. "Good morning..." He spoke groggily and slowly sat up, the blanket sliding down to reveal his chiselled abs. It was rare for him to not wear clothes to sleep.

"I should go..." You said quickly, eyes avoiding his when you pulled the blanket aside and you realised, you were half naked, the oversized shirt covering your naked upper half and you were only dressed in your underwear underneath the clothing. You probably had sex with him, you thought to yourself as tears came to your eyes again. That was the last thing you wanted to do as you did not want anything to do with him anymore. "This...this mistake... It won't happen again. I'm sorry for being an inconvenience."

"Wait..." Rafayel was shocked at your response, his face contorted in disbelief. "Y/N, wait..." He quickly got out of bed, butt naked and nimbly searched for his pants and putting them on, as he quickly chased after you. You were already putting on your shirt, his button up strewn across the floor. You being in a hurry to leave him made his heart ached. "No, y/n wait." His hand clasped your arms when you were heading towards the door with your phone in hand.

He turned you around and was met with your bare face, red painted across your nose and eyes. "Just leave me alone. I wish you all the best with her." A silent tear fell and you pushed his hand away. But he grabbed your arm again, reluctant to let you leave.

"Nothing happened." Rafayel's tone was calm. "Trust me. Nothing happened between me and her." His hand came up to your face to wipe the tear but you looked away, not wanting him to touch you any further. "She only helped me with this. Come..." Holding onto your arm still, he guided you towards the backyard. A canvas placed in the middle of the yard. "She was helping me to create this for you." He turned the easel to reveal an artwork, featuring you by the beach, on the shore with a mermaid tail. Your tail. The artwork had hints of purple in it and the seashells they had gotten previously.

Amazed at the artwork, you turned towards your lover, eyes still bloodshot. "This explains why you had been cutting our calls short and with her picking up the call yesterday and you being late for our date?" Your hesitant tone was evident.

He pointed to the pile of pot paints on the floor next to the painting. "I was in a hurry to create this piece since you were only out for your business trip for 4 days. I wanted it to be perfect so I took a longer time than usual. I was trying to clean up the mess before I go and find you." He held your other hand in his when you turned to fully face him. "I wanted to show you this yesterday." He sighed and looked down. "I am sorry that I hurt you, you nearly got hurt because of me. But, I will never choose anyone else other than my lifetime mate. I will not choose anyone over you." His eyes looked deeply into yours.

"Rafayel..." Your eyes softened when you looked up at your lover. "Thank you." You took a small pause and smiled warmly. "Thank you for always choosing me." And you hugged him.

✧○ꊞ○ꊞ○ꊞ○✧

Xavier

"Y/N," Your name was called when your boyfriend approaches your desk, handing you some documents for you to upload into the computer. "I will be going out for my mission soon, so I will see you back at home later?" His gentle voice made you smiled and nodded. He leaned down to give you a peck on your cheek when he realised nobody was watching and you watched as he walked off, the blond hair of his forming a halo under the radiant sunlight.

"So you are paired with Xavier again?" You heard a few girls squealed beside you and you just sat at your desk, continue inputting information into your computer, but you cannot help eavesdropping. "How lucky are you to be paired with him. How many times have you been paired with him for combat?"

"Oh, uhm....Almost everytime I think." The brunette replied, her hair tied in a low ponytail. None of the people in the headquarters know of the fact that both of you are actually in a relationship as there was no need for anyone to know about your private lives. And staying undercover just makes things less complicated when it comes to work.

"But, do you think he would make a move on you?" The short haired brunette asked and Xavier's combat partner shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly, a sign of not sure but there is a possibility of it happening as well.

"He did kind of brushed my hair out of my face and patted my head yesterday." Her response stopped you from typing any further as you felt your blood drained from your system. The girl-friend however, cheers and squeals for her friend's answer. You stood up, adjusting your outfit before you headed off to the washroom to take a break.

Washing your hands, you stare blankly at the mirror, studying your own reflection. Why would Xavier do this to you? You knew that your combat skills are non-existent, so that's why you kept yourself occupied with the information department, filing in documents for the deepspace hunters. They are more like the hands and feet while your department acts like the brain, collecting and providing information.

Maybe he likes girls with combat skills. Your mind jumped to that conclusion and you were snapped back to reality when the door opened up and you turned off the faucet, stepping past the same girl that was bragging about being close with your boyfriend. Your boyfriend no doubt is one of the popular males among the whole headquarters but all this while he had never made you worried. But why does her words affect you so greatly?

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

After work had ended, you took your time to walk instead of taking the subway, wanting to give yourself some time to walk after you had spent the whole day sitting in the office. You walked past a grocery store and remembered that you are running low on food at home so you decided to head into the grocery store to pick up some items.

Staring at the snacks isle, you were debating on whether to get popcorn or potato chips, since Xavier would like to munch on them whenever he is bored at home. So without much thought you just get both of it. You paid at the counter and held onto the plastic bags, resuming your walk back home.

Walking the streets during the evening is a sight to catch. The skies displaying orange and yellow, dashes of pink over the linings of the cloud that hung high above. It looks like a light show in the skies, but only that it is a natural phenomenon. Taking out your phone, you took a snapshot of the skies and checked the result. A frown coming upon your face when you know that cameras would never be able to fully capture nature’s beauty.

You turned a corner and you came across the sight of your boyfriend standing outside of the claw machine store that you would visit with him sometimes. Your eyes lit up, wanting to go up to him but you stopped in your tracks when you saw his combat partner appeared from the stores, her grin tugged from ear to ear, and her face clearly blushing.

Your hands tightened on your grocery bags when you noticed your boyfriend, who has his back facing you looking down at the girl. Oh, how you wished you could eavesdrop on their conversation right now. You would have wanted to know desperately what their conversation is about. A part of you is telling you to straight walk up there to claim your man while the other part of you is held back, heart heavy as you watched the girl's face lit up when she was conversing with your boyfriend.

And that was when you noticed she tip toed to lean up towards your boyfriend. That's it. You had seen enough. You turned away, and stomped the other way. Tears caught you off guard when you decided it is the best for you to step away. You do not want to cause a scene in the middle of the streets.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

"Finally found you." A voice broke the whispers of the wind. You stayed silent when you heard shuffling, someone taking a seat next to you. "Why are you out here, in the cold?"

You refused to face your boyfriend, eyes narrowed, lashes combatting against the cold harsh wind. Another shuffle could be heard again and you felt his hands on your shoulders, a heavy material wrapped over your shoulder. It was cold, but it could be a good excuse; to hide the actual fact of what caused your nose and eyes to take on a reddish colour. "Can you give me some time alone?"

"Why?" He asked, the puppy eyes he is known for stapled on his face when he tilted his head, trying to get a better look at your face. "Have you been crying?" His question made you turned your head to face him, cheeks still pressed against your knee.

"No." You blatantly lied and avoided his gaze again. "I don't have anything to talk to you about. You can go home first and wait for me at home."

"Are you sure?" His concern made you hid your face further into your knees and you nodded. Your reluctance to meet his eyes already confirmed his suspicion of something happening. So he asked further. "Were you happening to be watching me just now? When I was at the claw machine store?" Your silence gave him a sense of comfort. "So my senses are not wrong. That was you peeking out of the corner just now. And let me guess, you saw me with the hunter didn't you?"

How did he knew? You swear he probably has eyes on the back of his head. That thought sent a shiver down your spine. You adjusted your seating and he sat closer to you. "And...you probably saw how she wanted to kiss me, with her on her tip toes." It was crazy on how accurate he was on this.

He unwrapped your arms around your knees and slowly pulled you into his side, placing his arms around you and letting your head lay on his shoulder. Xavier's scent enveloped you, talcum powder and vanilla. There is no need for him to use any sorts of perfume when he himself is a walking perfume that nobody could remake. That is how he always smelled like and a part of you wondered if she managed to smell it from him as well.

"I would have teased you further, and enjoy the way you would have reacted when you are jealous. But," His hands smoothed over your hair, tucking some strands behind your ear gently. "I pushed her away before she could even come close enough. I even told her about us." You looked up at him, his cerulean orbs now light grey under the stars. "I don't think it would be a good idea to hide our relationship anymore." His free hand came up to rub his chin. "Because I want people to know that you are the only one that I want."

"What about your missions with her? She was bragging about you patting her head and tucking her hair." You asked frantically, thinking he might still end up spending time with her.

"I had contacted the captain about this and requested for a change of partners. This time, it will be a HE and no, he is not GAY." He smiled, finger tucked under your chin to pull your face up to meet his lingering gaze. His soft laughter rolling out of his mouth. “Moreover, I never touched her, not even once, she needs to get her head checked out. Whenever she falls during combat, I just stood aside and watch.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your cold cheeks, in an attempt to warm them with his lips. “After we reveal our relationship in the office, you don't have to worry anymore, because no matter what happens, I will protect you to the ends of this world."

✧○ꊞ○ꊞ○ꊞ○✧

Zayne

Your phone beeped when you were nearly done at work. You read the message, knowing that he has to work late again for tonight, same as yesterday, the day before, and practically 4 days before. But, you cannot blame him for being one of best cardiac surgeons in Linkon City. It should be something you are proud of.

But it does not help when you went to pay him a short visit two days ago, his door does not open even after you had knocked twice on the wooden door. His usual patient, the deepspace hunter, came out of his room, face as red as a tomato. Your eyes followed her as she walked down the hallway and you made your step into your lover's room.

Zayne was near the bed, readjusting his shirt and coat. He did not realise you had walked in until you cleared your throat. "You are here." He said calmly, turning over to face you, his tie a little bit crooked. "I thought you were going to wait for me downstairs."

The deepspace hunter's red face, and him readjusting his shirt, anyone with two sense of mind could easily tell what had just went on in the room. "I just wanted to stop by your office as well." You replied, taking a seat on the couch in his office. "So, what did you do with the girl?"

"You mean the deepspace hunter?" He questioned, taking long strides to close the door. He did not seemed like he was anxious nor scared of your question. Probably a mask to his own guilt, you thought to yourself.

"Yeah, your childhood best friend." You clicked your tongue, arms crossed over your chest. "She seemed flustered when she left your office just now."

"I just conducted a normal check up on her, as usual." He said, dismissing your question easily. He reached his hand out to you, beckoning you to take his hand. "Let's go and get dinner together."

⁎̩͙ ⁑̩͙̩͙ ⁂̩̩͙͙

Your hesitation of his loyalty to you was one of the things that kept on bugging your mind, other than your work of course. You looked at the amount of work you have on your desk and started arranging it. Doing whatever you can now to keep your mind busy. What does that deepspace hunter have that you do not have?

A fleeting childhood with Zayne maybe? There have been theories that men would fall for their childhood friends due to the familiarity they have and how comfortable they could get with their childhood buddies. But this theory sucks. You tell yourself and stacked the files neatly and placed them at the shelves behind you.

You are just as capable as Zayne, but just in a different field. You are known to be one of the best lawyers in Linkon City. A highly respected one in fact. When news of you and Zayne went out, people claimed it was meant to be because both of you are aces within your own field and that you are both compatible to one another.

But what if he wanted someone more normal? Someone who would not constantly be under the watchful eye of the common public? The voice came about again. Almost every month, both of you would have your own array of social meets, and both of you making time to acquaint one another to those social events. Every single move, every single action you and Zayne do, it would be booming news. Maybe he is tired of us constantly being under the spotlight.

Mighty or not, you could be the best within your field, but you could also have equally damaging insecurities. This is the exact moment that you start crushing your own walls, walls of confidence that you had taken years to build up, to earn for respect from others. And perhaps, to earn Zayne's love.

<Okay.> You texted back and tossed your phone into your bag. Grabbing your car keys on your way out of your office. You locked your room on the way out and you were shocked to see some of your interns are still working in their cubicles. "Guys, I think you should all take a rest. How about we head to the coffee shop downstairs to have a drink hmm?"

Your interns' eyes lit up at your offer and they quickly gathered their stuffs before following you out of the office like a bunch of ducklings. On the elevator ride, you asked them of their work progresses and whether they needed any additional help with their current tasks. Your interns however, were more than surprised that you are willing to communicate with them.

Their first take on your image is that you are professional and strict. A woman of high standards and it was a common theme for people to link your working attitude to you being arrogant and ignorant. You had never once fell back on any datelines and your clients always leave your room satisfied, regardless of the outcome of the court case. You are on a whole other league as compared to anyone else within your department.

All of you decided to choose the seat outside because of the cooling night wind. It serves to refresh everyone, to step out of the tight cubicles for a bit and having to stretch comfortably. You sat next to two of the female interns, with them asking you about brands that you could recommend them to buy formal outfits. It was nice to see how fast the interns had opened up to you once they found out that you are not as scary as what was portrayed by others.

Your eyes caught sight of a black car pulling up just a few shops down the street. Not many people within the city owns that car, especially the black version. And one of those 'lucky few' happens to be your boyfriend as well. Your eyes slightly widened when you noticed the familiar figure coming out of the car.

His hair the colour of his full outfit, with a lanky but muscular build. The man standing next to the limited edition car is no doubt your boyfriend, Zayne. The sounds of your interns talking around you had turned into a constant white noise. Your eyes watched carefully, thank goodness the spot he had parked at was right below a street lamp.

The passenger side of the door opened, and out came the same girl. The one that you had suspicions about. At that exact moment, you felt your walls started breaking. Your eyes continued watching, your heart strapped in the back seat, limbs unable to move when you sat there in shock. The girl went up and gave Zayne a hug, you can tell that it was a tight hug, based on the way she literally planted her face into Zayne's torso. The sight of it made your heart crumbled and you stood up, your chair creaking against the cement pathway. Your interns stopped abruptly and turned to look at you in sync.

Clearing your throat, you held back tears as you spoke. "I remembered I have something to tend to, I have to get going." You bid them goodnight and you turned immediately, car keys dug out of your bag and you rushed to get into your car before you drove off quickly.

⁎̩͙ ⁑̩͙̩͙ ⁂̩̩͙͙

The clock at your bedside table flashed 9.55pm. It was a good idea to head off to bed earlier than usual. Although Zayne said that he would call you at 10pm, you had made your decision not to pick up. Telling him that you were too exhausted and fell asleep sounded like a viable excuse.

You closed your eyes and lulled yourself to sleep, used to the other side of your bed being empty for the past few nights. After a while, you heard your room door opened, the slither of light from the living room seeping in.

Zayne was home early. You assumed he would have went back to the hospital after dropping her off. Your back was facing him so he would not be able to tell that you were upset. But your plan was short lived when his shadow loomed over you.

"Y/N." His voice soft, and you heard a thud, the warmth of a hand on your face. "My love." He called for you again, running his big palms across your cheeks, him noticing that there were some tear streaks. "Are you awake?"

Your eyes then opened, and you are face-to-face with your handsome boyfriend, his hazel green orbs fixated on your face. "I thought you were at work." You slowly sat up, rubbing your eyes and feigning a yawn, as if you had just woken up. Your heart felt heavy, and before you could stop yourself, your mouth blurted out. "Am I not good enough?"

Zayne was clearly taken aback, turning on the switch to the lamp on your nightstand, the soft glow of the light bouncing off of your silhouette, your white satin night dress a sheen of orange. "Why would you think so?" His hand comes up, touching your arm but you flinched away. "Y/N, what's going on?"

"You know what, it's nothing." Your hands came up to hide your face from him, desperately trying to hold back your tears. Zayne has never seen you cry many times, only when you were drunk and watching some sad rom-coms or when work gets too stressful and you were pushed too hard. Yes, a strong woman like you have her own small, vulnerable moments too. And Zayne, acknowledges all of it. To him, he never treats your crying moments as to be small matters. When you cry, it is a natural human emotion yes, but it is not normal within your books, for you to cry over something miniscule.

"Y/n, you are sad. And being sad is---" He stopped himself before he continued spitting out medical facts. Knowing at this moment if he were to do that, he would not be doing her a favour in consoling her. "You had always been strong in my eyes. So, what is going on through your head? Do you want to tell me about it?"

"Is the deepspace hunter better than me?" You sniffled, face still covered, your voice slightly muffled. "I saw you...today...with her...near my office...you hugged her." You choked out your words, accompanied with tears and snot. This will mark one of the first times Zayne would witness you cry like an adult baby. But you could care less as you anticipate for the heart break.

"No." He replied. "I did not hug her back. She hugged me and I pulled away after 2 seconds. She was thanking me for saving her life. And she will no longer need to come for checkups again in the future." He clarified and sat on the bed beside her and he slowly peeled her hands away from her face. "I fetched her back, because she had had her surgery a day ago, and she could not get a cab on time during her discharge timing. So I offered a ride for her, and thought maybe I could surprise you at your office. But your interns told me you left in a hurry so I came home."

"What about your surgery that was scheduled for tonight?" You asked.

"I cancelled them and rescheduled them to tomorrow. I just wanted to come home and spend time with you." He placed a kiss onto your forehead, calming your sobs. "You don't look happy for the past few days. Perhaps you want to enlighten me on anything else I had done that could have made you so upset?"

"What about that day, when she left your office, did you guys do something? She looked embarassed, and when I came in, you were adjusting your clothings. And the way you just dismissed me, it hurts me." Your eyes looked exhausted to him, with you patiently waiting for him to explain the situation to you.

Zayne took a few seconds to recall. "I was doing last minute checkups for her, before her surgery. But when she tried to stand, she nearly fell and she grabbed onto my tie for support but still ended up on the floor, which explains why I had to readjust my clothing. She was probably embarrassed at the situation, which explains the red face." He added on. "Her condition got worse after our dinner, that was why I had to rush back to do the surgery immediately."

His explanation gave you nothing but a rush of relief through your heart. "I see." You said, wiping your tears and Zayne took the opportunity to pull you into his arms, seated on his lap and your chest against his. "I am sorry for being so ridiculous."

"I don't see any issues with that. You care for me, that is why you feel this way. And with you crying over this, it means it matters a lot to you." He hugged you and you relaxed in his arms. "I don't blame you for getting upset over this as it is equally my fault for making you doubt my loyalty. But I treat that deepspace hunter just like how I would treat every other patient of mine." He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, his lips soft and tender. "Just know that even when I am very busy, I will always make time for you."

✧○ꊞ○ꊞ○ꊞ○✧

I KNOW I LIED AGAIN, MY MIND JUST STARTED BEING IN OVERDRIVE BECAUSE CREATIVITY WAS FLOWING SO I WROTE IT LONGER AND LONGER AND ENDED UP WITH THIS. I AM SORRY!

But hope this read is just as good as the others!

Lots of Love! <3

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #rafayel love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace #xavier love and deepspace #fluffy #lnds

839 notes · View notes

ayyy-pee · 7 months ago

Text

𝔼ℙ𝕀𝕊𝕆𝔻𝔼 𝟙 - 𝕀ℕ𝕋ℝ𝕆𝔻𝕌ℂ𝕋𝕀𝕆ℕ𝕊 ℙ𝕋. 𝕆ℕ𝔼

Discord 18+ - Twitter - Last Episode - Next Episode - Masterlist

Pairing: JJK Men x Female Reader

Episode Summary: The season has begun! Which one of these contestants will be the first to make an impression on your heart?

STORY TWIST: READERS WILL VOTE AFTER CERTAIN CHAPTERS TO CHOOSE WHO GETS A ROSE AND MAKES IT TO THE NEXT WEEK. KEEP A LOOKOUT FOR THE VOTING LINK AT THE END OF CHAPTERS

Story Warning: DRAMA, lying and scheming, REVERSE HAREM, profanity bc I can only be me, arguments, fights probably, heartbreak and tears, (more to come)

Artist Credit: momoya348, Umbra3terna, ilameys,maoyaoyao519, _0_0219 Divider Credit: Cafekitsune (Tumblr)

A/N: sorry it took so long! i said it would be up the next day but yall know i lie

Apparently, you were the perfect pick for the show. At least, that’s what the producers had told you as they spent weeks screening you for this and prepping you for what was to be expected.

“She’s not heavily involved in society, but can still see curses,” they’d said.

“And none of the Sorcerers would know her either since she’s practically nobody in society,” they’d note.

“No expectations from someone like her,” they’d comment.

And all the while, you sat there, letting them pick apart your life.

A window – hardly useful, new to Kyoto so the chances were slim that you had met any of the men who had signed up for the show, a nobody, just…there. Unimpressive, plain, hardly a step above the non-gifted. And somehow, you were supposed to win the heart of one of these men.

- - - - - -

Jesse stands before you, a wide smile on his face when he asks, “Feeling nervous?”

“Just a little.” That feels like an understatement

“Anything you’re looking for in one of these Sorcerers?” Jesse pushes. You’ve honestly got to give it to Jesse. He’s a great host. You’ve gotten more comfortable with him in the short time you’ve been speaking. You think he’s a nice person. At least while the cameras are on.

“Nothing in particular, Jesse,” you respond. “You know, I’m pretty open right now. Just looking to find someone who speaks to my heart.”

Now you’re just pulling things out of your ass, because where did that come from?

“Good, good.” Jesse pauses briefly, taking a dramatic inhale of breath before he speaks your name. “Alright, listen. The first man who will be competing for your heart should be pulling up here shortly. Best of luck. But, I have a strong feeling there’s going to be someone out here for you that will end up sweeping you off your feet…” He leans forward and embraces you once more. Then he turns and speaks directly into the camera, where all the viewers at home can see. “Remember, this is a very special season in more ways than one. While our Bachelorette tries to find her soulmate, you, the viewers at home, are in charge of choosing who will not be receiving a rose for eliminations.”

Your head snaps to the camera and you see the cameraman swivel the large machine so that Jesse’s head blocks your wide eyed, open mouthed stare.

“Hopefully these men know how to make an impression, because that will greatly sway you viewers. Be sure to tune in…” He claps his hands together. “And with that…let the journey begin.”

Jesse is off before you can even call after him, not sparing you a glance as his assistants swarm around him out of view of the camera. There’s a lot of movement that follows as Jesse leaves you standing outside of the Bachelorette mansion in what now feels like the frigid cold. Was it always this freezing? Was your dress always so tight, so suffocating? You feel like you can’t breathe.

The viewers. That’s what Jesse had said on live television. The viewers would be deciding who moved forward?! That was not what was advertised! This was not what you were told would be happening! You were supposed to be choosing for yourself!

How could you possibly find the love of your life among a group of Sorcerers you’d be meeting for the first time in your life. Not to mention, you had to depend on the viewers of the world to decide who was your soulmate?! They didn’t even know you! How could you trust them with your heart? How would they know who would be the one best suited to take care of it?

Hell, you don’t even know who would be the one best suited for that. But the only thing you are certain of is that this is a mistake. A very big, very stupid mistake.

How could you have let Utahime talk you into this? Let this be the last time you’re swayed by that drunkard!

Your eyes dart around, trying not to catch the attention of the many people surrounding you at the moment. The crew is busy fiddling with the lighting. The sound team is checking and adjusting mics. The cameramen are moving into position to catch every possible angle. And suddenly you feel more exposed, more vulnerable than ever. You need to get out of here, quickly.

Spinning on your heel, you take a single step forward in an attempt to dart past all of the commotion, hopefully unnoticed. But the moment you turn around, you hit a wall. At least what feels like a wall. But the only thing standing between you and your escape is one very tall man dressed in a nice and clearly incredibly expensive suit.

Your gaze climbs up this man’s body and you’re met with a pair of the most insanely (and downright terrifying) pair of blue eyes you’ve ever seen in your life. They sit behind a pair of sunglasses (it’s nighttime?) so dark, you can’t see a thing through them. And atop this man’s head sits a head full of stark white hair. He’s so…unnatural looking. Almost alien-like, but beautiful nonetheless.

Still. It doesn’t change the fact that less than two seconds ago, you’re absolutely positive that this man was not here.

“Hey there,” he says, a lopsided grin on his face.

It’s then that reality crashes down on you. That this strange-looking man appearing out of thin air feels real. And you let out a blood-curdling, earsplitting shriek that has the staff gasping and screaming along with you. You quickly stagger backwards. And because you seem to be blessed with nothing but bad luck tonight, your heel of course catches in the ridges of the outdoor tile. You’re sure to be tumbling to the ground soon and you can only pray the cameras aren’t trained on you when you inevitably hit the floor. You squeeze your eyes shut and wait for the impact to come.

But it never does. You’re sort of just…floating there. You hesitantly peek through one eye, aware that you’re now in the arms of the man who had appeared out of nowhere. His eyes stare down at you, a hint of amusement behind them as he holds you to his chest. Well, you think it’s his chest? It feels like you’re touching him…but not? It’s such a strange sensation. Is this his cursed technique? It has you reaching up and almost pressing your hand to the man’s chest. That is, until you realize what you’re about to do. Aghast, you scramble out of his hold and straighten yourself up.

What was it the producers had told you in preparation? Stand tall and confidently. Even if you don’t feel confident, you’ll at least be able to look confident.

Well, you definitely don’t feel confident, and you doubt you look confident either. But you clear your throat quietly anyway, folding your hands in front of you and offer this man a polite smile.

“Thank you,” you mutter.

He chuckles, slipping his hands into his pockets as he peers at you from over the rim of his glasses. He purses his lips together, taking you in. Then that grin from earlier is back, like he approves of what he sees. “Any time.”

You’re not sure who the hell this man is. If he’s a contestant on the show, he shouldn’t be here yet. He’s supposed to be pulling up in a stretch limo and let out in front of you so that introductions can be done properly. You wait for him to introduce himself, but instead he just stands there, a shit eating grin sitting on his lips. Like you’re just supposed to know who he is.

Should you? Maybe you should.

He waits there…staring, annoyingly if you’re being honest.

So you wait, too. Because isn’t he supposed to be impressing you? Not the other way around. He’s clearly a sorcerer. You can feel the light airiness his cursed energy exudes, but you can’t for the life of you pinpoint who he is. Maybe it’s your nerves. Maybe you’re still on edge from this entire experience. Or maybe it’s the way your heart is still racing from him scaring the absolute shit out of you fifteen seconds ago. Either way, this guy seems awfully sure of himself and his expectation for you to show him some sort of reaction to his presence.

But you can’t place who he is. Mentally, you want to kick yourself for the way you always checked out, daydreaming about cheese fries instead of listening to Utahime give you the 411 on all of the sorcerers she knew. It would probably come in handy right about now.

When you don’t give this stranger the reaction he’s waiting for, you watch as his brows slowly knit together behind those glasses of his and his mouth turns down with a scowl.

“I thought a sorcerer would be more…” He waves his hand in the air lazily. “...excited about this.”

You fix him with a deadpan look. “You popped up out of nowhere, then almost knocked me on my a–”, you glance over to one of the cameras quickly. It stares back at you, one of many giant eyes suddenly hovering to catch every expression and word from you and televise it to the world. So really, you should be more careful about what you say. “I mean…you came out of nowhere and scared the crap out of me!”

You toss in a laugh to lighten up the mood, and let the man know you’re not upset even though deep down your heart is still hammering against your ribcage from his annoying little stunt.

Annoying…

…Stunt

Suddenly it hits you. Through the fog of cheese fry filled memories, you can hear Utahime’s drunken slurring come through.

“Everything’s a fucking joke to him. He takes nothing seriously. I hate that guy so much! Him and that dumbass blindfold and that damn forcefield he keeps up around him. Gojo Satoru can kiss my ass.”

And because he’s Gojo fucking Satoru, he can see the instant you realize he’s him written all over your face.

“Looks like you finally figured it out.” He’s as cocky as Utahime told you he was.

Even still, you hadn’t paid it any mind because you hadn’t expected the strongest sorcerer in a thousand fucking years to be standing in front of you on a damn dating show.

He saunters over to you, long legs quickly closing the distance. Then he’s taking your hand in his and bringing it up to his shiny pink lips. And you must look like a deer in the headlights, staring up at him with wide eyes, mouth open slightly as The Strongest, places a soft kiss to the back of your hand.

“I’m Satoru,” he breathes against your skin, and from your peripheral, you see the cameras move closer to catch this gesture.

They’re so close, you can even hear the staff whispering worriedly behind you: “Wait, wasn’t everyone’s montage supposed to be in black and white?” and “Why are his photos in color?” and “Something about his eyes? I don’t know.” and “Management’s gonna kill us.”

When Satoru pulls away, he’s smiling down at you. You don’t know if you’ll ever get used to his height. “You’re…stunning,” he speaks with an air of disbelief. And you can’t help it. You swoon for him immediately. It’s kind of pathetic, really. “As The Strongest, I think I’m the only one here capable of taking care of your heart.”

Again, you hear the staff behind you, men and women alike sighing and quietly squealing. You respond with a sweet smile and a genuine laugh because, although a little cheesy, that was definitely a good line. “Maybe so.”

You think he likes your cheekiness, because he’s beaming now. “Definitely so. And I can’t wait to prove it.” He kisses your hand again. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. I’m looking forward to getting to know you.” Satoru gives you his most radiant smile and you can’t help but return it. “I’ll see you inside.”

And with that, he’s gone in an instant, like he was never there. It’s just you, with your hand still in the air and the impression of Satoru’s cursed energy before you…and the impression he’s already left on your heart.

You turn to the camera, pressing your hand to your rapidly beating heart. “He’s so charming.” It comes out as more of a sigh and you think you can hear Utahime groaning, see her rolling her eyes all the way from her couch. But you can’t help it! You just met the Satoru Gojo!

Unfortunately, you don’t have time to dwell too much on Satoru’s unique entrance because shortly after he poofs out of sight, you hear the sounds of tires approaching. With a wide grin to the camera and the audience watching, you spin back around and try to calm your nerves for the next arrival.

“We’re already off to a good start.” The cameras move into position, ready to capture everything. “Looks like the next contestant’s coming. Wonder what he’ll be like.”

Just as you finish speaking, a long, black and luxurious limousine rounds the corner and pulls into the lengthy driveway. You steady yourself, feeling optimistic after your first meeting. It’s as though all the nerves and apprehension you’d felt earlier were washed away. You can’t help but feel giddy now, eager to meet this next contestant as the limousine comes to a stop.

But as the driver exits the vehicle – a small, sweaty and almost sickly looking man – he comes around to the back of the limo and opens the door...only to see that the backseat is empty. He peers inside, then whips around when he finally sees there truly is no one in there. You can see his face begin to go almost green, his black rimmed glasses fogging as he stutters out, “H-has Gojo-san a-already arrived?”

He’s trembling, this poor man, and you simply give him a nod. Was he supposed to be bringing Satoru to you? If so, he failed miserably at his task.

The driver looks like he’s about two seconds away from passing out and the camera crew pick up on it, scurrying forward to catch his expression. He’s panic-stricken, murmuring to himself and it’s just loud enough for you to make out a “I hope Gojo-san doesn’t hit me when he’s back. How did I not notice he wasn’t there anymore? It was so quiet in the backseat. I must have simply enjoyed the rare peace I was given and didn’t question it...Oh, I’m so dead–”

He hurries back around to the drivers side without sparing a glance back, quickly hopping inside and taking off. The tires smoke and screech as he speeds around the corner, driving far too fast for any limousine to be moving.

The cameras pan back to you, and you smile uncomfortably, an equally uncomfortable laugh bubbling up from your chest. You shrug to the audience because what can you even say to that?

Dealing directly with sorcerers is already proving to be more chaotic than you imagined.

The next limo pulls forward not long after Satoru’s and the nervous pale man, and one of the most striking men you’ve ever seen steps out easily. He makes eye contact with you immediately, confidently. And it sends chills up your spine. He’s just barely shorter than Satoru, with a face carved by the gods, shiny blonde hair that looks so soft and probably smells incredible, and deep brown eyes that have definitely seen some shit in his line of work. They house deep bags under them. You wonder when the last time he got a good night’s rest was.

The man strolls across the driveway, so handsome in his khaki suit. You take that time to let your eyes rake over his form. Utahime didn’t tell you that these sorcerers were so damn big. If you had been given a warning, you’re sure you wouldn’t look like an idiot drooling over only the second guy you’ve seen tonight.

When he’s about arms length away from you, he stops suddenly and bows. It’s a perfect 90 degree formal greeting and you return it politely. This man must really care about customs and tradition. Surprisingly, you find that quite attractive.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he greets when he stands. His voice ignites goosebumps along your skin. It’s deep, rough and if you’re being honest, fucking sexy. “I’m Kento Nanami.”

“For now, you can simply refer to me as Nanami until we become more familiar.”

His words confirm your first impression of him. This man carries an air of confidence that makes you feel like you can trust him with your life. You know that sounds dramatic, but it’s a trait that is highly valued in the Sorcerer world. You’ve never seen a battlefield in your life, but you think that if you had a cursed technique, you’d want to go head to head against a curse with Nanami.

The cameras have moved forward again, just in time to catch you grinning like a goofy idiot. Nanami is the polar opposite of Satoru, in a good way. He’s far more serious and stoic than Satoru, but for some reason, you have a feeling that there’s more to him beneath the surface. You’re willing to bet he’s a lot more sensitive and caring than he lets on. You’re hoping you get to see that side of him soon.

“It’s so nice to meet you too, Nanami. You can call me by my first name. No need to be formal with me.”

Nanami presses his lips into a thin line. Like he doesn’t want to agree to that, but he doesn’t argue about it. And though brief, you see his eyes quickly snap up and down your form, taking you in so fast you almost miss it. “You look beautiful,” he tells you. And while his voice gives nothing away, you see the tips of his ears grow a little more crimson.

‘Cute.’ You can’t help but think. Yep, he’s so clearly adorably soft and shy underneath that hard exterior. Interesting. It gives you a small boost in confidence for a second. Someone as attractive as Nanami finds you beautiful. Of course you feel good about yourself.

“You’re very…”

‘Very what? Sexy? Ripped? Built like a fucking house?’

“...good looking yourself.”

‘Yeah, reel in the horny, please.’

Nanami gives you what looks to be the smallest smile you’ve ever seen and much like how you reacted to Satoru, you swoon for him too, heart racing in your chest. You can't help it. He’s just so cute!

“I’m happy to be here. Really lovely meeting you. I'll be seeing you again soon.”

With that, he gives you another bow and that shy smile that you can’t wait to see again. Then he’s moving past you and into the mansion to join Satoru. The cameras face you now and you mouth “wow” into the lens. When you turn back around to ready yourself for the next contestant, you hear the mansion’s door swing open behind you and what you swear is the faint sound of Satoru screaming, “NANAMIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII”.

You hope to know more about Nanami soon. He really seems as though he has a lot to offer once he opens up. You’d love to be the one he opens up for.

Just like after Satoru, the next person arrives shortly after Nanami and the cameras move into position quickly. The limo has barely parked when several people who are definitely not contestants (how did they all fit in there?!) jump out from the vehicle and swiftly form a line along the pathway to you.

There’s a shirtless man with heart-shaped nipples that opens the door and after one very long minute has passed, a man exits the vehicle.

Right away, you’re taken aback by how breathtaking this man is. His long black hair is lustrous, voluminous and hangs freely down his back with half of it tied up in a top knot. He’s as beautiful as the two men before him, standing tall in a dark blue form-fitted suit.

His deep violet eyes scan along his surroundings until they land on you at the end of the path, waiting for him. He meets you with a smile so sweet, it almost scares you. And as he strolls towards you, you see why. Every person who had lined the path previously falls forward as the man passes, bowing at an even more perfect 90 degrees than Nanami did just moments before. They offer him praise as he goes.

It’s freaky, downright strange. It’s almost like they worship him.

Now, while everyone in the Jujutsu world knows who Satoru Gojo is because of his reputation, he was actually quite a rare sight. Always busy, always out and about keeping Japan from being wiped from the earth. It wasn’t easy to catch sight of Satoru unless he wanted you to see him, you were a student or staff at the Tokyo campus, or unless you were an unfortunate curse coming face-to-face with him. And so, a little small town Window like yourself had no idea what he looked like in person and a brief description from Utahime hadn’t helped much.

But this man heading your way? Everyone, even Windows, knew who he was and what he looked like. His reputation preceded him, and not in a good way. His air is a lot more intimidating, menacing even. And he’s just as pretty in real life than in any picture you had seen. They did not do him justice. So you were ill-prepared when you realized that heading towards you, with the most stomach churning aura was none other than the worst Curse User of all time, Suguru Geto.

When he reaches you, without a word, he waves a hand and those kneeling behind him shoot up to standing position immediately. They chant “Thank you, Master Geto” in unison, bowing once more before they all pile into the vehicle and leave the vicinity.

It’s creepy…and intriguing all at the same time. You’d never seen anything like that before. So all intel given to Sorcerers and Windows alike weren’t exaggerating. This man really was operating as some strange cult leader. And now the show has captured all of that live on camera.

How was he even able to get on the show anyway? He’s a curse user, not a Sorcerer.

He peers down at you, brows knitted together as he takes you in. He’s quiet for quite some time. Even the crew is on edge, the tension palpable.

When Suguru meets your gaze, it’s almost as though he’s not looking at you at all. More like he’s looking past you. He raises a hand, reaching towards the side of your head, and your eyes drift shut, only for a brief second before you hear a soft whirring right behind your head, and can just make out a soft blue glow highlighting the man’s features.

It’s over as quickly as it began, and when Suguru brings his hand back, he holds a small black and gold ball in front of your face. You peer up at him again, and his eyes are closed in a pretty crescent shape as he beams down at you.

“There must be some mon– humans on staff if there are little flyheads buzzing around freely like this.” He’s making a face, like he’s holding down vomit just having to utter the word humans and for some reason this makes you laugh. Out of finding it genuinely funny? Out of fear? Out of nerves? Who knows? But, your laughter dies down after a few seconds and your eyes fall to the ball in his hand again.

“Did you just…absorb a curse?” You’d heard of his cursed technique, but obviously hadn’t seen it in action before. Until now.

Suguru chuckles softly, the sound making you shiver. You’re not sure if it’s in a good way or not. “I would need to swallow it later to truly absorb it, but I’ll spare you the sight for now.”He tucks the curse into his pocket, then he’s taking your hand in his and bringing it up to his chest where he presses his lips to the back of your hand sweetly.

Right. Him and Satoru used to be the best of friends. You’re sure they’ve used the same pick up lines on other people that they’ll probably end up using on you. You’re only hoping they’re here for genuine reasons. But more than that, you just hope that they’ll be able to coexist with each other.

“Absolutely breathtaking,” Suguru purrs, his lips curling into a bright smile. “More than I was expecting.”

You’re not sure what he means by the last part, but who cares? You’re fucking swooning again.

No wonder he and that blue eyed bastard were so close at one point. Two beautiful men that know how to say all the right things. It makes you feel shy, like a child trying to talk to her schoolyard crush and the cameras are quick to capture your expressions and broadcast them to the world.

“Thank you so much. You are, too.”

And because he’s Suguru Geto – charismatic, playful, manipulative – he leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to your cheek. It’s your first kiss of the night from any of the men so far, and this one has your stomach doing flips, has your heart crawling up your throat.

You give him a wide smile and he shakes his head like he’s just in disbelief. “Beautiful.”

“Thank you,” you acknowledge again.

“I’m so glad to be here. Can’t wait to get to know you more.”

“Likewise.”

Suguru kisses your cheek again before he waves goodbye and heads towards the mansion. You watch as he retreats, and for a second you think he doesn’t seem that bad. Except…he’s a fucking mass murderer.

You really need to pull yourself together.

There are still four more people to meet, but so far, you’re enjoying this experience. You don’t think you’ll mind meeting the others and you’re definitely looking forward to spending more time with the men already inside.

At least, you think so. Because just as the director calls “CUT” for commercial break, the hairs on the back of your neck stand high as you feel the telltale rush of two very opposite sources of cursed energy flare from inside the mansion. Those in the crew with even a smidge of cursed energy feel it too, because their heads snap over towards the building the men will reside in as well.

IN THE MANSION

“And then Yuji was like– what if we just put Panda in the exhibit? How much do you think it will freak everyone out when he stands up and just starts talking?!” Gojo speaks to Nanami enthusiastically. He’s waving his arms retelling the story, bursting into raucous laughter. “I swear that kid is hilarious!”

Nanami stares patiently at the wall ahead of him. In all honesty, he hasn’t heard a word Gojo has said. That’s usually how things go between them. Gojo rambles, Nanami grunts with feigned interest and eventually, Gojo gets bored and leaves to bother someone else. Unfortunately for him, with none of the students around or Principal Yaga, Nanami is now his sole target.

But Nanami doesn’t care about that right now. He’s thinking about you, and how he should have said more, made more of an impression. Now he’s inwardly beating himself up since he stepped into the house and was greeted by his colleague. He wonders if he’ll stand out among the other contestants. He should have put himself out there with you instead of scurrying off as soon as he had the chance.

It’s just that…you’re a lot more stunning than Nanami had anticipated and the moment he saw you, he’d reverted into formalities and awkwardness. It reminded him of how he was in high school.

Nanami is drowning out Gojo with thoughts of you and how he could possibly get more one-on-one time with you later tonight when he hears Gojo suddenly shut up. He peers up briefly, catching sight of Gojo’s scowl, brows furrowed harshly as he stares hard at the entryway. Another contestant must be here, one that Gojo isn’t particularly fond of.

And Nanami knew exactly who that would be.

The moment those soft steps carry in Curse User, Suguru Geto, Nanami instantly finds himself in the center of a pissing match of their cursed energies fighting for dominance in the room. Unlike most Sorcerers and curses, Suguru doesn’t fear Gojo in the slightest. Most people would cower away, move to the other side of the room and take a seat. But not Suguru. In fact, he strides right over to where his two old classmates sit on the sofa – Gojo on the end, Nanami in the center and now, Suguru on the other end of the sofa.

He grins tauntingly at Gojo, who holds his stare. “Nanami,” he greets, not even bothering to look at the blonde. His eyes are locked on his target. “Satoru…”

“Geto-san,” Nanami nods curtly. “Didn’t think we’d be seeing you here.”

Suguru hums cheerily. “Well, I suddenly found myself in the market for love.”

Satoru snorts, rolling his eyes. “You? Like you’d know how to love anyone besides yourself.”

Nanami sighs between the two men, already feeling his annoyance begin to build up. He had not missed these petty arguments.

“Oh, you know I’m capable of loving more than just myself,” Suguru purrs and Nanami can feel Gojo’s cursed energy waver slightly. Beside him, Suguru chuckles happily. Probably because he got the reaction he was looking for and so easily, too. “Anyway, Nanami, I’m truly surprised to see you here. You don’t strike me as someone interested in romantic relationships.”

Nanami doesn’t reply. Instead, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, feeling a headache already coming on. There were days where he had hoped to have Geto and Gojo be able to coexist in the same space again, as chaotic as they were together. But if it was going to be like this, they may need to get sent home quickly.

Wait–

Nanami’s eyes shoot open, scanning the room until his gaze falls on the bar across the massive living area. This is the perfect chance to get some time alone with his thoughts.

“Excuse me,” he interjects, pardoning himself from whatever was going on with the two men beside him.

It was time to think about how he can make a better impression, get some time with you after the others have arrived. Maybe even secure a rose tonight. He’s only interested in moving forward with you. And while Gojo and Geto are too busy taking sly digs at each other on the sofa, Nanami’s thoughts are cooking up a petty scheme to get rid of those two as soon as he can.

“You’re lucky I don’t blow a hole through your head right now, Suguru,” Satoru threatens, scowl deepening if possible.

But Suguru just smirks, leaning back against the sofa. “Well, you always were good at blowing my head, weren’t you?” He closes his eyes, smiling wide, like he’s reminiscing on some sweet memory.

It makes Satoru…feel weird. Suguru knows just how to get under his skin in ways that remind him of the old Suguru. But he’s not him anymore. Outside of this, he’s his enemy. In this house, he’s just his competition.

Satoru is here for you. He hasn’t seen his ex…friend in years and it’s bringing up all of these strange feelings that he hasn’t had to face in so long. And to make matters worse, Suguru is here for you, too. Now there’s just another person in the way of him winning your heart. Suguru was always popular with women and men.

Nanami? Satoru could absolutely win against him. Don’t get him wrong, he loves Nanami, thinks he’s great and respectable and maybe he’d be a great fit for you. But Satoru would be an even better fit for you. Perfect, even.

But with Suguru here now, there was real competition. And now The Strongest was beginning to doubt himself.

BACK OUTSIDE

“When’s the next contestant supposed to show?” The director calls to someone in the cast.

You’ve been waiting for a while now, and you’re pretty sure you should have been on commercial break twenty minutes ago.

“They’re having car issues,” someone calls back, a phone pressed to their ear.

Great, more waiting. Not that you have anywhere to be. You’re simply here to look pretty and smile when a Sorcerer shows up.

The mansion seems to have calmed down, those cursed energies dissipating and you hope that wasn’t the result of the guys killing each other in there. You don’t know all the gory details of Satoru and Suguru’s relationship. You just know they’re the strongest modern day Sorcerers at the moment, that they used to be extremely close when they were kids and then when Suguru snapped, their friendship quickly went up in flames.

If they had any contact after Suguru’s defection, you’d have no clue. But with the way those cursed energies went into overdrive the moment Suguru entered the mansion, you’re concerned with how their history will affect their time on the show.

You can’t say that you’d hate to be stuck between the middle of those two. How could you? You’re literally on a reality show about being the center of attention for multiple men! And so far, everyone is sexy and charismatic and–

The intense screech of metal scraping along the concrete disrupts your thoughts, and the cameras pan around just in time to catch a limousine rounding the corner and approaching the driveway. The rear tires are completely blown out, the metal wheels barely carrying the vehicle forward. The sounds make you want to cover your ears and hide. The car’s bumper hangs from the back, dragging and knocking loudly along the road as the car moves along. Sparks fly haphazardly across the ground and the smell of burning rubber almost has your eyes watering.

From the corner of your eye, you see another camera swinging around to catch your reaction which is that of astonishment.

“Who is this?!” You speak into the lens, eyes wide like saucers.

The sudden noise of the engine popping and sputtering, surely giving out, pulls your gaze back to the vehicle. It’s stopped for all of three seconds before one enormous fist bursts through the blacked out windows and sends shattered glass flying. Behind you, several people on the crew gasp. That same hand pats around the outside of the car, tattooed muscles flexing until it finally lands on the handle of the door. The chauffeur exits the limo and backs away as quickly and quietly as possible, abandoning their passenger.

And it isn’t until that large hand tears the entire car door from its hinges with little to no effort and tosses it aside carelessly that you see why. Out climbs the largest being you’ve ever seen in your life. No shirt – because how could you dress the four tattooed arms he possesses?! And surely wearing a shirt has to be quite uncomfortable when you have a mouth on your stomach!

It’s clear who this is, because everyone in the Jujutsu world is educated on the strongest curse to have ever existed. And yet you still can’t believe what you’re seeing with your eyes. You need someone else to confirm it for you. And so you turn your head towards the camera, staring straight into it as you shakily ask the audience…

“Is that **BLEEP** Ryoumen Sukuna?!”

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