#:: tryna to figure this bird boy out

[stxllarscholar]

((We’re both tired honestly))

[z3r0-c001]

I had a dream I was a zombie living in the backyard of a hotel with a bunch of other zombies desprately trying to stop the other zombies from converting more people bc the back yard was getting pretty full as is

[norikuna]

WHAT? LIKE IT'S HARD? ✶ choso kamo

abstract ✶ there are six physiological stages of having a crush. you just wish that you didn't have to learn this through first-hand experience. everyone said that choso kamo was a loser in high school, a quiet kid who haunted the campus with no friends. sure, he was brilliantly smart, but he dropped out in senior year. he even managed to break your heart, the glittering prom queen, with the world at your fingertips. imagine your surprise three years later, when you find yourself stuck with him in med school. what's worse? he's actually super hot now!

PART II. of the new years letters, a series of fics dedicated to some of my lovely mutuals! 🎁

pairing. choso kamo x afab!reader genre tags and warnings reader is practically a blair waldorf prototype (filthy rich, a bit bratty, spoiled), bestfriend!gojo, background gojo x geto, mentions of blood and injuries, med school, MISCOMMUNICATION, angst and hurt, fluff, kissing and making out. sukuna and yuuji cameos.

word count. 17.5k! song inspiration. crush culture — conan gray

a/n. shameless med student insert i rlly projected my full heart and soul into the anatomy lab ick. art belongs to all respective artists [will add credit!] crossposted on ao3 💖

dedication. for my dear kashika, first of all happy (belated) birthday @kasukuna 💗 wanted this to coincide with ur day but i'm late, i fear!!! you hype me up so much, send the sweetest asks and you're so damn talented that i'm left begging for an ounce of your creativity and amazing mind! your fics are so witty and well thought out and i like to think that you've spawned an incredible dumbass!bf sukuna renaissance on jjk tumblr 😭 idk if you remember but i sent you an ask on creamflix so long ago like the start of december asking you to choose between characters and au's so i tried lifting this as verbatim as i could from ur answer <3 hope you had the most amazing day ever!!

mp3. ✶ crush culture makes me wanna spill my gut out, i know what you're doing! tryna get me to pursue ya <3

You refuse to speak to Gojo Satoru ever again. Not today, not tomorrow, not in this lifetime nor the next. He’s officially dead to you, figuratively, of course. Unfortunately.

The moment he stops cackling like a deranged hyena in the middle of your bedroom, you’re going to shove him out the door so hard that he’s going to see stars. You’ll block his number, you’ll delete every photo of his smug grin, and you’re going to hire an exorcist to cleanse his essence from your life.

Except right now, your best friend is sprawled across your bed, practically writhing as he gasps for air in between bouts of ridiculous, chipmunk-like squeals. He’s still in his uniform, having crashed at your place after school, with his white shirt untucked, sleeves pushed to his elbows and his tie dangling uselessly around his neck.

“You are such a child,” you grumble, shoving your sticker-laden journal off your lap with a huff, just so you can aim a precise kick at his ribs. Satoru wheezes dramatically, clutching his stomach like he’s just been mortally wounded in battle.

“It’s -” he’s snickering, slapping the fine-thread sheets with the fervour of one trying to summon a higher power, “It’s just too good. I – oh my god, I really can’t breathe! I think I’m going to pass out.”

Satoru’s rolling over dramatically, dark-tinted sunglasses slipping down the bridge of his hawkish nose, leaving him to look like a cherubic bird with a bad attitude.

“If only,” you mutter darkly, arms crossed over your own blazer as you glare daggers at the white-haired boy, “It’s not that funny.”

But Satoru just doesn’t listen, of course. His grin is wide enough to split his face in half, and every breath that he takes is another affront to your polished dignity, and every stupid wheeze is a reminder that you made the colossal mistake of trusting this man with classified information.

“Keep laughing,” you say, your tone low and menacing as you snatch your phone off your nightstand, “And see what happens when I play offence.”

That gets Satoru’s attention, as he freezes mid-snort. Grin faltering just enough to make you feel a small and petty thrill of satisfaction, “You wouldn’t.”

“I would,” you say, already tapping away on your phone, scrolling past the ninety-nine notifications clogging Instagram. A certain raven-haired boy’s name hovers in your mind, one who shares the same initials as Gojo Satoru.

You’re not above sending a risky message.

Hey! Gojo’s been totally obsessed with you, ever since you bashed his head in with a spiral notebook back in seventh grade, and called him a spoilt, rich kid. He draws love hearts around your name every night. Just thought you should know, XOXO.

“Wait!” Satoru bolts upright so fast that his sunglasses fall into his lap, his grin morphing into a scowl as panic flashes in his too-blue eyes, “That’s playing dirty. Totally unfair.”

“You’re the one who laughed like a lunatic,” you say sweetly, tilting the phone towards him as if you’re about to hit send.

“You can’t be serious!” Satoru points a long, accusatory finger at you, his dramatic outrage undercut by the way his lips keep twitching, “I mean -” Another snicker escapes him as he buries his face in his hands, shoulders shaking again, “Like how? Of all people, you really have a crush on that guy.”

For a fleeting moment, you wonder if it’s too late to enrol in witness protection. It was clearly your mistake, deciding to tell Satoru critically sensitive information. Revealing the name of the boy that you were crushing on.

And yes, your type has turned out to be greasy Tim Burton reject loners who wander around school in faded Lord of the Rings hoodies.

You’re just totally head-over-heels for Choso Kamo.

“Whatever,” you snap, shoving your phone into the pocket of your school blazer with as much dignity as you can muster under the barrage of Satoru’s relentless cackles, “You wouldn’t understand?”

“Understand?” Satoru shifts himself with all the casual arrogance of someone who, unfortunately, has never been truly humbled in his life, propping himself against one of your enormous plush pillows.

The velvet squishes beneath his weight, gold embroidery bunching, but he’s utterly unbothered. “Enlighten me, we’re talking about the same Kamo right? The guy who sits behind you in class, and doesn’t so much blink in your direction? The one who looks like he’d rather gargle glass than talk to you?”

Another pillow sails across the bed before you even realise that you’ve hurled it. It strikes him square in the face, with a satisfying thwump! Muffling his laugh as he flails, tangled in thick, down stuffing.

“He’s just shy!” You insist, your voice rising as you get up to pace. Your Prada loafers click against the polished floor, before you kick them off. “And he only acts like that when others are around, by the way. He talks to me when it’s just us.”

“Oh, sure,” Satoru sits up, wrestling the pillow aside with a theatrical groan. His snowy hair sticks up at angles, like he’s been electrocuted, “That’s probably because he’s plotting his escape route while you corner him, like a lion closing in on its prey. Poor Kamo’s the gazelle.”

“Just know that I’m blowing you up in my mind.”

Satoru huffs, “So, what is your plan now? Are you going to ask him to prom? Are we going to see a proposal for the ages?”

You pause mid-pace, fighting the hot flush that creeps up your neck. It burns brighter as you glance towards the gilded vanity mirror, for that is exactly what you had wanted. You just needed to hear someone’s validation, “Should I?”

Satoru’s grin falters for a second, replaced with a look of sheer disbelief, “You’re kidding, right? That kid hates social events. You think he’s going to go with you?”

“Why not?” You’re fiddling with the crystal perfume decanters, the bottles of skincare on your vanity, “I’ve been dropping hints, okay? Subtle ones, all that manifesting shit.”

“Subtle?” Satoru snorts, “You mean letting half the football team pile bouquets into your locker? The locker that’s right next to his? Oh, yeah. Super low-key. Very humble.”

“At least I have options,” you snap back, flicking on the lights as the sun begins to sharpen its afternoon glare. Warm golden light spills across the room, catching on the ceiling-length silk drapes, “Meanwhile, I hope you end up alone at prom. Making ugly, kissy faces at Geto Suguru, while he’s with someone else.”

Satoru groans, like you’ve truly pierced his heart, “Cruel. So cruel when provoked,” but he’s propping himself back up on one elbow, “But hey, if you really do like Kamo, you know that makes him my future brother-in-law or something. That’s cool.”

Your gasp is sharp, scandalised, “Excuse me?”

“But think about it,” Satoru continues, ignoring your sputters, “You’re practically confirmed to be Prom Queen. Do you really want to drag that guy up on stage with you?”

“I think you’re being judgemental,” you mutter, tugging the drapes close and blocking out the faint twinkle of the city skyline, “He’d have to be insane not to say yes to me.”

“Someone is going to deflate that big head of yours one day,” Satoru says, and his voice has softened just enough to make you glance back at him, “You do know he cuts class a lot, right?”

“What’s your point?”

“I’m not being a bitch, I swear,” Satoru holds up his palms defensively, “He shows up for only half the month, you might want to check on your boy.”

You flop onto the chaise lounge, throwing an arm over your face tragically, “This isn’t the inspiring pep talk that I need right now.”

Satoru leans lazily against the gilded frame of your canopy bed, “Hey, it’s not my place to tell you what to do. But if you are that into him, then fine! Just ask him to prom and see what happens. And tell you what? If you ask Kamo, I’ll ask Suguru.”

You narrow your eyes, “Wow, this must be serious if you’re out here wheeling and dealing like this. Are you feeling okay?”

Satoru presses a dramatic hand to his chest, his grin morphing into something faux-solemn, “Cross my heart. I’m making a binding vow, like, it’s unbreakable. Life or death.”

“Deal,” you quickly say, ignoring the sudden leap of your pulse, because there’s no way that you’re letting him see how the sudden time-pressure is making your stomach twist into ugly knots. You point towards the door with a flourish, “And as much as I love our time together, I need to get ready. So…out! Chop-chop.”

Satoru groans like you’ve just asked him to drag a boulder uphill with his teeth, slumping off your bed in exaggerated defeat. He sluggishly reaches for his discarded backpack from the floor, slinging it over his shoulder, “I still don’t get why you bother with working. You and I both know that we don’t need it,” he mutters, as if the concept of responsibility personally offends him.

“It’s just babysitting,” you gently correct, shrugging on a cashmere cardigan from the back of your chair, “And anyway, you know I need a well-rounded list of extracurriculars for Pre-Med.”

“I’d rather eat my sunglasses, one lens at a time,” Satoru shoots back, adjusting said sunglasses squarely over his face, “Instead of being stuck babysitting brats all evening. We’re not meant to be saints.”

“It’s just one kid tonight. New family, new house,” you reply, grabbing your bag where it rests by the vanity, “Anyway, I expect a full report on your prom date by tomorrow, Satoru. I’m not forgetting that vow.”

Satoru pauses in the doorway, with the edges of his grin sharpened into something that makes you pity Geto Suguru in advance, “I never disappoint.”

You had finally managed to shove Satoru out of the doorway, his obnoxious laughter echoing faintly down the hall. The quiet that follows is a relief, albeit short-lived. You’re left standing in the stillness of your room, phone in hand, thumb hovering over the text with the address of tonight’s gig.

Honestly, Satoru might have a point. You, the only child of one of the country’s most obscenely wealthy families, babysitting? It’s not like you’re chasing pocket money or trying to build character. But medical school applications don’t only care about your bank account, there’s so many extra boxes to tick. Factors like being selfless or dedicated to the community.

The request had been odd from the start. Some child had called you himself, and normally, it’s the frazzled parents who handle that kind of task. His voice had been small, but determined, saying that his brother was out, and he needed a sitter for the evening. Something about the earnestness of it had softened you, though, now you were starting to regret the whole thing — seeing how far out this house was from your own penthouse.

Showing up in the Bentley with tinted windows and your chauffeur had felt a little off brand for this role. So, in the name of relatability, you had popped a piece of cherry gum and a book, taking on the bus. The sticky seats and questionable patrons had almost been enough to make you reconsider, but the suburb itself offered a strange charm.

It was quiet here, too quiet, the kind of place that might have once been picturesque, but it had gone soft around the edges. The homes were older, cozy but tired, with paint peeling in places and lawns that were overrun with weeds. You wrinkle your nose as you step off the bus, weaving through tufts of stubborn greenery and abandoned toys in the yard.

The house that you’re looking for stands a little crooked, but sturdy. It’s faded shutters are barely hanging on, and a basketball hoop leans precariously over the driveway. There’s a small, red toy car that’s entirely faded and scratched, sitting forgotten near the porch steps.

Just as your knuckles hover over the worn wood of the front door, it swings open with such force that you nearly stumble backwards. A blur of motion catches you off guard, and you’re suddenly face-to-face with a tiny, pink-haired whirlwind.

The boy’s grinning up at you, wide and gap-toothed, with big golden eyes. His hair is wild, a fluffy crown of rosy strands over a dark undercut, and his scraped knees are haphazardly patched up with dinosaur bandages.

“Wait here! I’m going to get my brother!” He chirps, his voice bright and slightly whistly, thanks to the missing tooth. Before you can get a word in, he’s gone, sprinting back inside with the energy of an overeager puppy, leaving you stranded on the porch.

You shuffle awkwardly, glancing down at the scratched paint on the doorframe. There was something endearing about the child, and you’re starting to feel less apprehensive. That is, until the door opens again, and time slows.

Your heart stutters, skips, and then plummets. As if someone’s dropped you into an industrial freezer. Standing there, with one hand resting lightly on the kid’s shoulder, and an expression that’s one part confusion and one part disbelief, is Choso Kamo.

It’s as if the universe has conspired against you, playing its most cruel and ridiculous joke yet. Tall and broad, with tired eyes that sweep over you in slow recognition. Dark mark twitching across his face, like a deliberate smudge of ink.

Choso’s blinking, startled to see you here, though his usual stoic expression has yet to crack. Meanwhile, your inner monologue is screaming a symphony of pure panic. You can already heal Satoru’s stupid squeals in your head.

The pink-haired boy tugs on Choso’s arm, “See, I got a babysitter! Isn’t that cool?”

Choso glances down at the kid, then back at you, his lips parting as if to speak.

“Uh, hey,” you manage. The picture of eloquence, the master of the verbose elite.

It strikes you, with almost absurd clarity, that you’ve never seen Choso outside the campus bubble. No dim library corners, no lab tables cluttered with textbooks, or heavy beat-up laptops parked in front of him. Gone are the oversized hoodies thrown over his school uniform, or the baggy jeans he dons when he forgoes the dress code entirely. Instead, he’s here, standing in the soft glow of the broken porch light, wearing a loose black tee and dark track pants.

His chestnut hair is free from the two greasy, spiky knots that he favours on his head, falling softer around his face. Your traitorous heart lurches, feeling a sharp pang of betrayal.

“You’re the babysitter?” Choso’s voice cuts through your spiral. Raspy as always, roughened like rock salt, but there’s something else threaded into the question. A flicker of irritation, and confusion. As if he’s struggling to reconcile you, with the person standing on his doorstep.

“You didn’t know when you booked?” You shoot back, aiming for casual indifference, but landing somewhere closer to petulant. Your eyes flick to the box he’s holding, with contents that glint faintly in the light. Suspiciously metallic, as if he’s cradling surgical tools.

Choso follows your curious gaze, exhaling sharply, and shifting the box to a nearby table, just out of your line of sight.

“I didn’t book,” he grunts, “Told Yuuji to check the ads, and pick one.”

“And I picked the best one!” The delighted chirp comes from behind Choso, as Yuuji reappears, practically bouncing with a sunny grin. His golden eyes are locked on the ribbon-wrapped box in your hands, and his expression is lit up with unabashed glee.

You glance down at the box, containing an array of decadent artisan doughnuts. Saffron glaze, coconut cream, pistachio and chocolate. All from that impossibly chic Swiss patisserie downtown. You ignore the dull ache building between your eyes, smiling as you hand the box over, “These are for you, little man.”

Yuuji’s already snapping his hands for the box, as though you had just delivered a treasure chest of gold doubloons, “Can I have one? Please? Pretty-please?”

Choso glances down at him with a long-suffering look that somehow manages to carry an undertone of fondness, “Just one,” he warns, his voice dry but warm, “For now.”

Yuuji doesn’t need to be told twice, bolting towards the kitchen and clutching the box to his chest like a sacred relic. The faint sound of icing being smacked off fingers echoes from somewhere around the corner.

Choso watches him go, before turning back to you, his posture easing slightly. “That was nice of you,” he says, his voice softer now, almost tentative, “But he’s going to crash hard after that sugar high. Good luck.”

You wave off his scepticism with a breezy smile, “I’m good with kids. I’ll manage.”

For a moment, the boy’s expression shifts. Something fleeting and unreadable flickers across his face, a hint of thoughtfulness or something heavier.

Another thought gnaws at the edges of your mind, a tiny spectre of dread wrapped in Gojo Satoru’s smug grin. Two hours ago, though it feels like a lifetime now, you made a pact.

You ask Kamo, I’ll ask Suguru.

At the time, it had seemed like an impossible bluff. But the thing about Satoru is that he’s infuriatingly reliable when he sets his mind to something. No matter the cost.

Which is why you’re here now, sweating under your cashmere sweater. The fabric is suddenly too soft, too warm, clinging to the nape of your neck. You, with half the school population ready to pen sonnets just for a chance to take you to prom. Jocks, debate captains, the crème de la crème of eligible dates. All overlooked in favour of the quiet boy that no-one seems to notice.

The boy whose locker was assigned right next to yours, empty and cold steel. While yours was glittered with Polaroids, and pastel sticky notes, and the occasional folded love letter. The boy that everyone said had no friends, but he was easily the uncontested valedictorian. The boy that you desperately wanted to ask to prom.

Choso is shuffling papers on the table, avoiding your gaze like it’s a laser beam. His movements are slow, and deliberate, but there’s an edge of tension in the way his fingers linger on a set of silver keys, before he slips them into his pocket.

“What?” His voice breaks the quiet, low and rough like gravel underfoot. It startles you out of your spiralling thoughts.

“Nothing,” you blurt out, far too quickly. You’re grasping at straws to keep the conversation going, “Where are you headed?”

Choso hesitates, a slight hitch in his movements, picking that cardboard box again. For a moment, you think he’s going to ignore your question, but then he mutters, “Work.”

You tilt your head, your curiosity outweighing your better judgement to never press Choso Kamo for more than two sentences in a conversation.

He shifts uncomfortable, and you catch a glimpse of latex gloves tucked neatly inside before he angles it out of view, “I…clean up things,” he says finally, his tone clipped as though every word is a concession, “Errands. I’m a cleaner.”

The kind of response that’s designed to kill conversation in its track. It’s vague, annoyingly so, but you let it slide, “Oh.”

You’re this close to spontaneously combusting. The pact, the reason that your hands shake when you catch yourself staring at Choso Kamo for just a second too long. It’s either now or never. Rip the band-aid before your central nervous system completely betrays you and implodes.

Objectively speaking, you’re a real catch. Second-best grades in the cohort, from an old business dynasty that rivalled the Youngs from Crazy Rich Asians, two-time prom queen with med-school practically knocking on the door. Yeah, a dream. College applications adored you. Surely, Choso would have had to be running on a clone’s brain stitched into his head to say no.

Yet, somehow, it doesn’t make your heart beat any less erratically. It doesn’t erase the hollow pit that’s clawing at your insides. And now, you’re wishing that you had asked for advice from someone with an ounce of finesse. Like Shoko, or Utahime. Not your best friend who called himself The Honoured One.

You clear your throat, the taste of artificial cherry gum still lingering, “So, are you going to prom?”

Choso snorts, the sound entirely dismissive. But he seems to realise that you’re not joking, flicking you a glance, like he’s deciding to humour you, “What’s it to you? Need me to vote for you to be prom queen?”

You roll your eyes, fighting the flush creeping up your Burberry sweater, “Didn’t I already ask you to do that, like, two months ago?”

His lips twitch, barely, like he’s holding a smile back under layers of indifference, “Yeah. You pestered me three times. And I actually did it.”

You latch onto the softer tone in his voice, “So, are you going to go, then?” You’re watching him, almost desperate for a sign, for anything other than no.

Choso’s shoulders tense, “Can’t.”

“Can’t?” The word slips out of your mouth before you can stop it, incredulous, “What do you mean can’t? Why? You need to study or something?” You’re trying so hard to sound indifferent, like you’ve got a roster of dates lined up. And well, you do. But this is the only one that you want. The panic creeping into your voice betrays you before you even realise it.

“No,” Choso replies, his tone quieter, “I really just can’t go.”

A weight drops in your stomach, heavy and cold. Is this what rejection feels like? The thought hits like a wave, leaving you breathless. Your heart’s flipping in your chest like it’s teetering on the edge of cliff, seconds away from freefalling into nothing.

You inhale sharply, steeling yourself for the words that are about to spill out.

“I want you to be my date for prom.” “I can’t go because I dropped out.”

The words slam into each other, and for a moment, everything freezes. Choso’s mouth has fallen open, the curve of his lips slack with shock. As though as someone’s hit the pause button on him, mid-thought. You blink at him, your brain becoming a skipping CD. Round and round, never quite catching the beat.

“What did you just say?” Your brows knit together in a sharp pinch, like your face can’t decide whether to wince or frown. But Choso just grimace, lips curling into a tight line as his shoulders stiffen.

“You first.”

Your fingers fidget around the cream Van Cleef that rests on your throat, tracing the cool edge of the pendant. It’s one of your mother’s newer gifts, the kind that comes with all the frills and none of the warmth. Her true transactional brand of maternal affection.

“I wanted to ask if you’d go to prom with me, as my date,” It spills out of you in a jumbling mess, like you’re tripping vowels and consonants over each other. Choso’s eyes widen, but you barrel on before he can interrupt, “I mean, I get it if you think it’s lame or boring, or you just don’t want to go. But I promise my friends are actually really nice, and you can sit with us.” The rest of your monologue trails off, crumbling to dust, “I just really wanted to ask you.”

You wish to sink into the floor, like the soft earth will swallow you whole. You can almost picture Satoru’s ridiculous proposal to Geto Suguru, no doubt involving fireworks or an airplane trailing a banner.

The air is so still, you can hear the faint crackling of Yuuji’s incessant doughnut quest from across the small house, his movements clumsy and unintentionally loud as he rips open cellophane for more than one sweet treat.

Choso’s shifting slightly, and there’s a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks. The pink hue is a stark contrast to his usual sickly pallor. Even his ears are a shade darker, and his jaw tightens like he’s chewing on something bitter and struggling to swallow it down. It’s hard to tell if he’s upset or just lost. Or somewhere in-between.

“You wanted to go with me?” His voice is low, hoarse, like the idea is too outlandish for him to even process. You don’t know whether to laugh or apologise.

“Mhm.” It’s all you can manage, your throat suddenly dry and tight.

“I dropped out of school two days ago,” Choso mutters, as he runs a hand through his dark hair. He’s glancing at you, with the ghost of an apology flickering across his expression, but the shock that you can’t seem to mask makes him wince, “Look, it’s not a big deal. And it’s nice that you asked, but…”

“Dropped out? Like, entirely out of school?” Your voice cracks, each word climbing higher like you’re stepping on a broken escalator, “Why? What happened?”

Never let anyone tell you that teenage love is simple, or wholesome. Full of first crushes, and sweet moments. Because this? It feels like someone ripped the floor out from under you, the air yanked from your lungs, leaving you stranded. And it’s not a pleasant feeling, being denied something that you want, for the first time in your life.

Choso shrugs, like he’s been answering this question a thousand times already. Though, you’re sure that this is the first time he’s said it to out loud to anyone, “Family stuff. Just had to.”

You try to piece this together, for this house does smell faintly of stale coffee, and the worn leather of the couch has clearly seen better days. You can tell, on some level, that something is off. That there’s no parental figure in sight for little Yuuji, just the harsh edges of whatever it is that Choso seems to carry on his own.

You can feel the words bubbling up again, stupid and reckless, “But you know you just can’t leave. You’ve got the top marks in the class, Choso. And you know that you were on a scholarship, right? For one of the most elite schools in the country? How are you ever going to get that again?”

The second they leave your mouth; you hear how self-righteous and insensitive you sound. You already regret it, almost reaching up to slap your hands over your face.

Choso’s expression darkens, his face tightens. Like a storm cloud rolling in, as his lips pull into a tight and angry line, “Back off,” he snaps, voice suddenly sharp enough to cut, “You don’t know a damn thing about my life.”

His sneer twists, not with malice, but something deeper. Harder, like he’s being chewed up by all the things he never got to say before, “Don’t worry, though. I’m sure they’ll make a big, shiny tiara for when they name you valedictorian. Maybe, it’ll match your prom dress.”

“Hey!” Your eyes well up, stupid heat of tears prickling behind your eyes, and swelling a thick lump in your throat, “That’s not what I meant.” You cannot believe that you’re tearing up, over this. Over wanting something that you can’t have, and someone who seems to have more to lose than you ever thought possible.

Choso’s lip curls into a half-sneer, but there’s a flicker of something else there. His posture shifts, as if he’s trying to fold in on himself. He lowers his voice, still low and uncomfortable, but careful. Careful, because his little brother is just down the hall.

“I don’t need your pity, okay? Or your help.” His fingers grip the metal of the net door, “I have to go now. Just look after Yuuji.”

The heavy clang of steel on mesh echoes in your ears, sharp and final. The sound lingers like a ringing in your skull as you stand there, utterly paralysed as your mind scrambles to catch up with the wreckage of what just happened. Your five-year crush crashing down in five minutes.

Your feet move, and you find yourself in the bare dining room. Yuuji’s perched at the table, with a doughnut half-eaten in his hand, a mess of pistachio cream smeared across his chin like a brave trooper. There’s an iPad, an old, scratched model, with a silicone tiger case, propped up in front of him. The screen is flashing with something, like blueberries. Bouncing in time with some peppy tune.

“Did Choso leave for work?” Yuuji asks, utterly oblivious to the emotional landmine that his brother left in your hands. His eyes are wide, curious, the innocence of a kid who still thinks the world works in neat, little boxes.

“Yeah,” you say, forcing a smile, “He works a lot, huh?”

“Oh, yeah,” Yuuji mumbles through a mouthful of pastry, sugar clinging to his lips, “He always gets upset when Uncle Kuna’ calls him in. Even after school.”

Choso has never mentioned an uncle. Or a brother, for that matter. But then again, why would he? You had never even asked for his number, never bothered to learn anything beyond what was right in front of you. You realise, with a strange pang of guilt, that you’ve built your entire image of infatuation with Choso, from incomplete sketches. Filling in the blanks with whatever fits into the tiny box you’ve kept him in.

“Hey, do you have Netflix?” Yuuji’s voice cuts through your thoughts, bright and eager. “I want to watch How to Train Your Dragon. It’s Fushiguro and Kugisaki’s favourite movie!”

The names are unfamiliar, but Yuuji’s excitement is infectious. You cannot help but smile at the boy, his messy hair and too-big shirt. It’s hard not to be fond of such a kid. You take the iPad from his sticky hands, logging into the app. All the while, chasing yourself around mentally with a baseball bat for the biggest fumble of the century.

If last night felt like a disaster, this morning was just the encore performance. And you were the unwilling star. Just the effort of peeling yourself out of bed felt like an Olympic event. And facing your reflection of swollen eyes and blotchy skin felt like punishment for sins that were way out of your paygrade.

Reluctantly, you’re tugging on your blazer, and clipping a barrette into your hair. There’s a sparkling, diamond tennis bracelet fastened around your wrist. All little things that you need to don like armour, to face your senior year, the student population and the empty locker that would remain untouched next to yours.

Satoru and Shoko are the first faces that you spot in the crowd, and Satoru’s practically bouncing down the hall, “Oh, yeah, I got it locked in,” he announces, cheeks flushed with an absurdly boyish grin, “I got it in the bag.”

He’s sliding his sunglasses down just enough to peer at you, wordlessly handing you his coffee cup, as is your morning ritual. The overly sweet, creamy warmth does nothing to ease the ache in your chest, and your lip-gloss stains the edge of the paper.

“What about you, eh?” Satoru chirps, but you must look blatantly devasted. Because your best friend’s grin falters, the corners of his mouth pulling down.

“Wait, you’re joking right?” His voice is marred with disbelief, and his eyes scan the hall like he’s trying to spot someone’s dark head of hair, “Where is he? Jughead Jones lookin’ ass? Shoko, do you know where Choso Kamo sits? Because I’m going to give him a real piece of my mind and —”

You cut him off, abruptly shoving the coffee back into his warm hands, “It’s fine. He dropped out school, anyway.”

Shoko hums beside you, her fingers absentmindedly twirling a strand of cinnamon-brown hair. The chipped polish on her nails catches the fluorescent light, “Prom queen and valedictorian in one year? Not a bad run for you.”

You glare at her, and Shoko’s doe-eyed expression softens. The breeze from the open window catches her sleek hair, making it sway gently, and she shifts. Voice dropping to something quieter, more thoughtful, “That really does suck, though. Sorry.” She sounds like she means it now, her usual flippancy up in smoke, “I didn’t even know you liked him like that. Not until Gojo told me, like, two hours ago.”

Your eyes snap to Satoru who, for once, has the good sense to shut his mouth.

Shoko’s voice is subdued, “I wonder if it had anything to do with him being called into admin.”

“Wait, when?” Satoru interrupts. He’s taking another long slurp of his sweet mocha, the froth giving him whiskers.

“Three days ago,” Shoko shrugs, “Some big guy rolled up to the office. Demanded to see the principal. No idea who he was, but he was important. And rich. Like you need to be super wealthy to call the shots in a school for the children of the top one percent.”

You must look tragic, because even Shoko pauses mid-chew. Her lollipop moving from one side of her mouth to the other. She looks at you, really looks at you. You can see the careful shift in her demeanour, as though she’s considering the most diplomatic answer that she can offer you to avoid making things worse.

“Well, you don’t have to go to prom with anyone, right?” Satoru says, the words hanging awkwardly in the air like a balloon that’s just lost its helium. His consolation is well-meaning, but a bit clueless. But now, his sunglasses are perched atop his head now, leaving his eyes exposed. Icy blue, framed by lashes so long that they practically flirt with his eyebrows. For once, there’s a flicker of real concern in them, clouds passing over clear skies.

“I know,” you gripe, your voice flat as you find yourself glaring at a group of juniors who are skipping by, with their phones out in unison, clicking away like it’s a competition. Fantastic. You can already see the gossip Instagram stories by lunch, wondering what happened to you. Rumours milling about the reason for your glum expression.

Shoko shifts her heavy bag onto her shoulder, patting your arm. “I’ll see you at lunch. My treat,” she says, turning her heel for the Chemistry building. Leaving you alone with Satoru, as Shoko quickly picks her pace up to catch her Honours class.

“So,” you start, keeping your eyes on him out of the corner of your vision, watching how his fingers twitch around the coffee cup, “How did it go with Geto Suguru?”

Satoru’s shifting, as though he’s trying not gloat, but clearly bursting to tell you, “It was nice,” which is an unusually subdued, sensitive explanation from Satoru. The one who can take five hours to tell a story that you could wrap up in ten minutes. “He was really friendly. More than I thought he would be.”

“That is nice.” You’re forcing some perk back into your voice, but it comes out rather weak, “Like, genuinely.”

Satoru crumples the empty cup in his hand, tossing it into a nearby trashcan. Then, he shoots you a sharper look, “Did you actually talk to Choso, like, in-person? How did that go?”

You exhale, “Turns out I was babysitting his little brother,” and Satoru’s eyes widen slightly, “He was fine. And then he wasn’t. I asked him to be my date, and told me he dropped out. I said something…stupid. And now he’s going to hate me forever.”

Satoru stares at you, his gaze sharp, as though he’s dissecting you. And you swear that he can see right through your skin, right into your bones. It’s moments like this that make you feel like maybe your best friend has a sixth sense, some secret radar for picking up on these things.

“Wow,” he murmurs, a touch of something in his voice, “It really got you bad, huh?”

You bristle, a mix of annoyance and embarrassment flooding your chest. You’re straightening your shoulders, but it’s all too obvious and so fucking frustrating, “Yeah, well, I don’t even know why it matters so much.” The bite in your voice is more directed at yourself, than him.

Satoru doesn’t flinch, just tilts his head, and he’s quiet. It’s a weird look on him, soft concern, “You genuinely really liked him that much?”

The truth sticks to your throat as your chest tightens, and your eyes blur. It would be nice to tell Satoru that you didn’t really care that much. That it was never fully that serious, but the lie won’t leave your lips. The lump in your throat is palpable, and all you can do is sniffle, “Yeah. I did.”

“Do you want to cry?” Satoru’s voice is gentle enough to catch you off guard.

You open your mouth to retort, something sharp and defensive. But before you know it, tears spill as your chest constricts. It’s sudden, like a storm that breaks on the horizon.

And just like that, your best friend pulls you into him. For once, the wild energy that crackles off him is gone, replaced by something quieter and more unwavering. You can feel his shoulder under your cheek, soft and warm, salt staining the expensive fabric. And if anyone does see you sob into Gojo Satoru’s arms, while the white-haired boy pats your back, no one says a word.

But to borrow a line from Bangtan Sonyeondan, life goes on. The next few months slip by like the kind of indie film that you’d see at film festival. It’s bittersweet, and there’s a melancholy that everyone can taste in the air, especially as you all realise that this last blue spring of youth is slipping through fingers like sand.

In this haze of time, you discover a few things that you didn’t expect. For instance, Geto Suguru is, in fact, far more than the tall and brooding figure that you once shrugged off. He’s the stillness to Satoru’s sharper teeth, the quiet that counters the blue eye of the storm. He’s soft-spoken, with an easy patience that tempers Satoru’s edges. He’s become a bit of a constant presence, as they always bicker and makeup in a sort of perpetual cycle.

Spring arrives like a first kiss. It’s hesitant, not rushing in. Just tiptoes around you, tentative enough as it coaxes you out of winter’s gloom. Before the flurry of sparkly gowns and speeches, there’s Utahime’s birthday to celebrate. It’s supposed to be a relaxed affair, she insists that she has no desire for fuss. But you all show up anyway, surprising her with a giant, pastel cake that takes up nearly half the table.

Her laugh is loud, and carefree, mixing with the salt of the ocean breeze on this beach trip. Her black hair whips around her face, even as she blushes at the attention. She’s protesting, but it’s swallowed by laugher, by the sound of waves breaking against the shores.

The awards and titles are all well and good, prom queen and valedictorian. A shiny, little stamp on your high school resume, a golden ticket to the next chapter of your life. But when anyone brings it up, or someone presses too hard on the subject, you shift uncomfortably, your fingers toying with the edge of your pre-med acceptance letter like it just might tear under the pressure of your grip. No-one talks about how you’ve been visiting your locker less and less.

Satoru, of course, loudly denies crying at graduation, even as salty, shiny tears tack to his cheeks. They’re practically immortalised in every digital snapshot that you take. But for now, he’s too busy wrapping everyone in a bear hug, clutching the group that it’s the last time he’ll ever see them. Nanami’s already peeling him off, shaking his head with a worn sigh.

It's late in the morning after the graduation ceremony, as you all pile into cars, driving to a riverside café. It’s one of those places where people with money go to prove that they have money, to prove that even their breakfasts are above the meals of the common folk. But you all sit there, with the graduation ribbons still pinned to your lapels. There’s the debate over who cried the most during the ceremony (Gojo, easily, though Haibara is a close second) and who’s the one who peaked in high school. Everyone unanimously votes for Geto, who sulks as he tosses his hair out of his face, ever the drama queen.

“Bullshit,” he’s grumbling, “Just you wait. You’ll see what I accomplish in ten years.”

Satoru grins, all teeth and lazy confidence, “Yeah, what? You’re going to start running a pyramid scheme cult?”

Utahime’s voice cuts through the chatter, her white ribbon flouncing as she leans towards you, blinking at the empty space in front of you, “Where’s your food?”

You wave her off with a smile, “It’s fine. You guys can go ahead and start, I’ll just go and check.”

You hear Satoru choke around a mouthful of food, already bulldozing half his way through his plate like a bottomless pit.

There’s a pretty glass display at the front, filled with delicate chiffon cakes that glisten in the soft light. You wonder if you should have just ordered one, perhaps to share with Nanami. You know he likes desserts like this.

“Can I help you?”

Your pulse stutters as you bite your tongue, heart crashing against the rocks. You soothe your tongue over the tang of iron that blooms in your mouth from the stupidly familiar voice.

Choso Kamo.

You’d like to say that he looks good, but the truth is, he doesn’t. The hollows beneath his eyes are far more accentuated than you remember, and his hair is pulled back into a messy knot at the back of his head. Even his pale skin has taken on a sicklier pallor than usual.

“Hello?” His voice cuts through the silence, sharper this time, carrying an edge that takes you by surprise.

“Oh, uh, hey. Choso. Just wanted to check on my order,” you say, like it’s a poor prelude to small talk. It sounds far too chipper, almost artificial.

Choso’s expression tightens immediately, in an ill-omen. It’s as if he’s irritated that you even have the nerve to recognise him, to stand there in his space. He doesn’t meet your gaze, his attention flicking back to the screen in front of him with a quickness that almost feels deliberate.

“Hello.” He’s muttering back, more out of obligation than any real interest. Like it’s a formality.

The sharp, hollow feeling in your chest expands, deeper than you’re willing to admit. The last time you saw him, you had been standing at his door, and he had slammed it in your face.

“What are you doing here?” Your question is clumsy, hanging in the air, and far too intrusive for a stranger.

“What?” Choso doesn’t even look up. But then he does, just briefly, his gaze flicking to yours with the same disinterest. He shrugs, as though the query is too trivial for any answer.

“It’s just…it’s been a while, yeah?” You’re not quite sure how to word and I want to know how you’ve been.

“I’m fine,” Choso replies quickly, dismissing your question with a wave of his pale hand, “Just working around here and there.”

It’s offbeat, landing wrong. You don’t think it’s unfair to think that everyone expected more of him. One of the smartest, most brilliant minds in your cohort, who had been a shoo-in for medicine, alongside you.

The bustle of patrons behind you intensifies, but you stubbornly dig your heels into the polished tile, “How’s Yuuji?”

The mention of his younger brother softens him, just a little. A small, bashful smile tugs at the corner of Choso’s pink lips, hesitant, like he doesn’t quite know how to let it show, “He’s good. Says you were the ‘bestest’ babysitter that he ever had. Even asks about you sometimes.”

You fight the urge to smile too openly, not wanting to seem too affected by the gentleness that suddenly lingers in the space between you two, “I’m glad. And…are you still working for your uncle?”

It’s as if you’ve thrown a switch, causing all the warmth to evaporate from his features. His jaw tightens, as his brow furrows. Settling a coldness over his expression, “Who the fuck told you that?”

You blink, surprised at the sudden harshness of his words. “Yuuji mentioned it,” you murmur, quieter now, careful. The hesitation in your voice isn’t feigned, and you realise you’ve broken the golden rule of ‘never push Choso Kamo about his personal life.’

Choso doesn’t seem keen on letting you explain, as his glare cuts through you, “If you wanted to snoop into my life, just ask me your stupid questions, okay? Don’t drag my little brother into it.”

The accusation lands like a slap, stinging you more than you expected, “What? I wasn’t snooping,” you insist, defences flaring open, “He told me that himself. I didn’t even ask him anything, and I didn’t ask anything else!”

He just stares at you, eyes burnished and unreadable, but he seems mollified by your answer. Like he knows that your explanation is sincere, but the chasm is nigh impossible to bridge, “Sure. Okay.”

You don’t know how to respond, opening your mouth to ask what on earth has made him so unreasonable. To dig the tips of your almond nails into his long sleeves, and demand that he treats you as adoringly as everyone else in your life does. But he interrupts you first, “Your order’s coming.”

Choso’s tone is clipped, colder. As though he’s already moved on, “And I’ve got a lot of other customers to serve. Nice seeing you again, or whatever.”

A dismissal, if there ever was one. The embarrassment rushes up your neck, hot and insistent, but you bite your tongue. You let your heels clack a little more loud than necessary, as you stomp away. You’re swivelling your head to deliver a final, withering stare but his gaze is no longer on you.

Choso’s looking at the table where everyone is sitting. Where your friends are laughing, leaning into one another as they snap their final graduation photos. Where Geto has his lips pressed to Satoru’s cheek in a rare display of affection, arms linked with Shoko and Utahime. Where even Nanami’s smiling, the sunlight leafing through his golden waves of thick hair.

There’s no anger in Choso’s eyes, or even that solitary, brooding stare. He looks almost…sad. Profoundly sorrowful, in a deep and aching way that makes your anger dissipate.

He’s looking at your friends, at their graduation certificates stacked in sleeves on the table, as though he’s lost something that he never had. It aches your chest tightly, a knot pulling at your heart.

Once, he was Choso Kamo — the quiet boy you liked in school. Then, he became Choso from the café. Soon, he'll be someone whose name you won't even remember in a few years, someone who's path you'll probably never cross again.

You find yourself blinking furiously, feeling as though you've just lost something yourself, but you fight back the salt that threatens to blur your vision before your friends see.

THREE YEARS LATER.

Your day had started off deceptively well, like a glass of water poured perfectly. Clear, refreshing, with no chance of spilling. The sun was shining, your skin looked like it was having its best day, and there wasn’t a cloud in sight. But of course, it didn’t take long for things to spiral, as they tend to do.

It was like playing a real-life Sisyphus game, except instead of a boulder, it was a series of small, dumb annoyances that you couldn’t dodge fast enough.

First, Satoru had texted to cancel lunch. And to be fair, you weren’t that bothered. He had been talking all week about a world-renowned professor dropping in on his fourth-years Honours class, something about nuclear engineering. And you knew that Satoru lived for anything involving theoretical mass and explosions.

Then, your favourite tote bag had decided it was done with you. The strap had snapped off with a surprising, sudden violence. Your beautiful new water bottle had hit the floor with a sickening, metallic thud. Pens rolled across the tiles like little soldiers. You had been kneeling, already late for class, muttering curses under your breath when your phone had rung.

Your mother.

And you already knew that tone well enough, that voice that could cut through steel.

“You missed the charity dinner? You know how embarrassing it is for your father and I to come up with excuses, just to explain your absence —”

Yeah, like you had personally insulted her by choosing to study for your exams, instead of milling around an event hall. You tried to explain, but it was like trying to explain Satoru’s quantum physics to the wall. Totally pointless, and not worth your time and energy. And naturally, her tone escalated, because that’s what she just tended to do. Nevermind that she was calling from some ritzy hotel in Europe, crackling over the phone.

And then, just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, the course coordinator paged you in for a meeting. You were still in your first few weeks of medicine, so you had been scratching your brain for what he could have possibly wanted, snapping gum as you rushed and clacked up stone steps, breezing through campus.

Now, here you were. Standing in front of his desk with your arms crossed, almost petulantly. The room smelled like old coffee, and expired textbooks as the man coughed, leaning back against his desk, littered with academic transcripts and stacked envelopes.

“Look, there’s no denying that you’re one of our most brilliant students. All the tutors and lecturers admire your work ethic,” and the professor stopped, and you grimaced. Ah, here it comes.

“But, you’ve chosen Ieiri Shoko as your partner for the past three years, am I correct in saying this?” His dark eyes are narrowed behind wiry glasses, as you frowned.

“Yes.”

Shoko had practically excelled in Pre-Med alongside you, surviving late night study rants, extreme caffeine dependency, and textbook-induced breakdowns.

“You work together well,” the coordinator adds, looking like he was trying to make this sound like a compliment, “But you need to branch out. Develop your versatility. In a noble field, such as medicine, it’s important to be able to work with others. Not rule and conquer.”

You blink at him, “Branch out? I don’t know how else to say this, but I don’t like anyone else in my class. And Shoko and I are easily the best.”

He ignores your comments, “So, I’ve thought it better to move you to a new stream. Instead of Tuesday’s clinical practice, I’ll have you attend the Thursday session, starting today. There’s a new partner for you, and I assure you, he is just as competent as Ieiri Shoko,”

You doubt it. No-one can handle the sight of infected perineum stitches like Shoko can.

It seems there’s only one card left for you to pull, “My grandfather paid for this entire wing of the building. His name is on the plaque outside.”

The coordinator doesn’t even budge, “That may be true. But you still need to grow. You will never learn if you just continue to stick with what is familiar.”

You leave the office with a sour taste in your mouth, clutching the crisp sheet of paper that’s already being emailed to your student account, no doubt.

“Collaboration,” you’re muttering under your breath, “Building character, my ass.” You’re squinting at the page, trying to decipher the name of your new stream partner, but it’s obscured by a hastily scribbled note with your classroom change.

The faint ache in your neck refuses to budge, and you roll your shoulders with a sigh. Pushing through the double doors to the anatomy facility. Immediately, the frigid air bites at your cheeks, sharp and unwelcome. These buildings always feel like high-tech mausoleums, with tables lined up like gleaming altars. Surfaces cold enough to numb your fingertips if you’re careless.

The faint, cloying scent of formaldehyde hangs in the air, sharp and chemical. It’s supposed to preserve the cadavers, but it has the unfortunate side effect of making your stomach growl at the worst times. Hunger, and embalming fluid. A combination so disgusting that you try not to dwell on it for too long.

Your lab coat is rubbing uncomfortably against your arms, and your Loewe sweater is bunched awkwardly around your elbows. It’s a long-suffering sigh that echoes the hall as you shove the heavy barred doors to the classroom.

The tutor is a stalk-like man, with perpetually knitted brows, glancing up at you as you enter, “Ah, yes. The transfer,” he’s brisk with it, “Got the note about you moving to my Thursday stream. Just sit over there, for now. Yeah, there. Your partner should be along soon. If he’s a no-show, I’ll reassign you to a different table.”

You nod wordlessly, scanning the room as you head to your non-descript, assigned corner. The faces at the other tables blur together, some curious and others indifferent. Most focused on pushing worksheets under steel clipboards.

Great. A room full of strangers with all the warmth of wet cardboard.

Sliding into your plastic seat, you pull your notebook out and flip it open, the pages crinkling and echoing in the too-quiet room. It’s a minute, maybe two of shifting uncomfortably in your chair, feeling the awkward hollowness of sitting alone at a two-person station. But the door swings open with a groaning creak.

“Perfect! Full class today, that’s what I like to see. Just head to your usual spot, and I’ll start passing the models around.”

You glance up, squinting at the figure who’s broad enough to cause a solar eclipse of the fluorescent light.

“Get out,” you blurt.

“This is my class,” Choso Kamo stares at you, equally bewildered. His bronze eyes widen briefly, flickering from your face to the lab tables, to the unaware tutor.

“Don’t care. Get out,” you scowl, speechless for a moment, “No. Don’t sit. This is my assigned stream. Don’t tell me that you’re my —”

“Partner?” Choso finishes for you, deadpan.

“Of all the people in this entire school —”

“I’m starting to feel offended,” Choso cuts in, already pulling out the chair beside you, and slinging his bag down with an air of resignation.

“What are you doing here?”

Choso’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t quite smile, “I’m getting an education. Obviously.”

Your gaze flickers away from his unfairly handsome face, following the motion of his hand as he shifts. There’s a single black hair tie, looped around his wrist.

But something just does not add up for you. This isn’t just any medical program. It’s the kind of rigorous, cutthroat, soul-consuming degree that requires three years of a top GPA from Pre-Med. It’s designed to weed out the faint hearted before the first semester is even over. Graduates here don’t just get jobs. They get titles, and invitations to Westminster where the British monarch probably bestows them with Dame, or Sir, or some other archaic title.

And Choso Kamo is a high school dropout, with nary a certificate to his name.

“You got into medicine?” It’s as blunt as you can get.

“What? Like it’s hard?”

“Don’t quote Legally Blonde at me,” You snarl, wordlessly taking the tray of silicone gashes from the tutor.

Choso blinks, as though he’s truly stumped by your hostile reaction, “Then don’t ask stupid questions.” He seems…different now. Sharper, and less apologetic. There’s a streak of confidence that’s as unnerving as it is infuriating. Is he taller? He seems taller.

You exhale sharply, a sound between frustration and resignation. It’s not like you can go up to the course coordinator now and say, ‘Oh, sorry! I can’t be in this stream because my new partner is the boy who broke my heart in high school. I cried and threw up on my best friend’s blazer for three days.’

But you’ve definitely given the group chat enough material to fuel their devious amusement for days, even weeks. You’re practically writing the jokes for them.

With a defiant swing of your arm, you hoist your bag onto the desk. The soft leather tanking against the sterile surface, like a gauntlet being thrown. You slide it firmly into position, the strap dangling just enough to make a point. That this is your line in the sand.

“Don’t move one centimetre over your side of the desk.”

Choso just rolls his eyes.

“They…modify bacterial ribosomes.”

“Wrong.”

You sigh and tap the edge of your notebook with the tip of your mechanical pencil. The rhythm is irregular, your thoughts too scrambled to produce anything like a steady beat.

“They inactive carbapenems,” you try again, your tone pitched with the kind of hope that knows it’s already on life support.

“Nope.”

Choso’s shaking his head, the movement loose and lazy, and it sends strands of his chestnut hair tumbling into his face. The harsh fluorescent lights above make his hair shine with an almost metallic lustre, and as he tugs a thick sweater over his broad frame, your gaze drifts.

The fabric of his white top is riding up, revealing a pale stretch of skin. There’s the faintest dusting of dark hair trailing downwards, and your eyes snap back to the textbook. Your cheeks flushed, for the briefest second as your resolve breaks.

“Just tell me the answer.”

Choso exhales, in a soft and patient sound, sliding the textbook your way. He’s tapping the page with his finger, his blunt nail landing on the highlighted sentence.

“Extended-Spectrum Beta-Lactamases hydrolyse a wide range of beta-lactam antibiotics, including third-generation cephalosporins. This contributes to antibiotic resistance.” His voice is smooth, but it carries that faint rasp that always makes it sound like he’s just woken up.

“I was close.”

“Close doesn’t get you any marks,” Choso replies, deadpan.

Your retort dies on your glossy lips, when a sharp shhh cuts through the air. You glance up, spotting a student two tables away, glaring at you over the rim of her stylish tortoiseshell glasses.

Your next sip of coffee is deliberate, making an obnoxious gurgle as you drain the bottom of your cup. Choso’s eyes flick to the order scribbled on the side, Caramel Crunch Latte, Extra Whip. His lips twitch, but what can you say? Satoru’s dropped a habit or two on you over the years.

This has become the routine over the past few weeks. The outright disdain you had initially felt had eroded, once you had realised that you were truly stuck with the man. It had become something closer to a begrudging truce, but ‘truce’ may be too generous a word.

The two of you found yourselves studying together. Regularly. Choso needed to interact more with people, and less with his old, dusty laptop. And you needed a study partner that could match your wits. Unfortunately, Choso seemed entirely oblivious to the reason you nursed an ancient grudge against him, choosing to accept your bad attitude in stride.

It doesn’t help that Choso is, well, hot now.

In high school, he had always been cute in that underdog way. Endearing, if not exactly the type to inspire confidence. He had been the subject of your sweet trope-like fantasy that you would nurture during long, dull classes.

You, the radiant prom queen, standing under a canopy of glittering lights, extending a perfectly manicured hand to him. The shy, awkward loser who’d clearly underestimated how gorgeous his messy hair and tendency to trip over his own words were. Ugh, now you’re not sure who had been the bigger loser.

But three years had passed, and the Choso that sat across from you now bore only a passing resemblance to that daydream. Time, it seemed had been suspiciously kind to him. Unfairly, even. His frame was lean but undeniably defined. His shyness remained, because you knew that he refused to correct the woman at the food trucks whenever she got his name wrong, but it had softened into something less clumsy, and more self-contained. Far less teenage angst.

The dark violet smudges beneath his eyes were still there, giving him that haunted and sleep—deprived look. And his hair was still the same stringy, chestnut mop that you remembered. But it was more of a deliberate statement now, instead of an oversight. It hung just over his shoulders, and you had heard many a passerby giggle and whisper about hot emos on campus. Like, get in line.

“What are you doing next weekend?”

The question comes so abruptly that your head snaps up like a spring-loaded trap.

“Huh?” You blink, the tip of your pencil teetering dangerously close to snapping against the page.

Choso stares back at you, his expression maddeningly neutral, “Like, are you busy?”

“It’s my friend’s birthday on Saturday, we’re going out at night,” you’re narrowing your eyes at him, already feeling your composure fray.

It’s Suguru’s birthday, and Gojo’s gone full-out with a surprise planned at some five-star restaurant. You managed to get your hands on a vintage vinyl turntable for him, courtesy of a Sotheby’s auction.

Choso nods, like he’s filing that away somewhere, “What about Sunday?”

“Sunday?” You repeat, dragging it out, “I’m free, I guess.” Against all reason, you find yourself answering honestly, even as some internal voice is screaming at you to lie and make up an excuse.

“Do you want to study at my place?”

There’s a pause, long enough for the air to grow heavy between you two. You wonder if he remembers the last time that you asked him to go out with you. Your eyebrows shoot up, and your mouth must be twitching in something close to incredulity.

Choso notices, for his ears go pink first. Then his cheeks, like someone’s spattered him with a splotchy watercolour paint. The flush sits pretty, just under the dark mark that crosses the bridge of his nose, “No, I mean, like really study. Just studying. It’s easier than being here…” He twitches, looking anywhere but you, “Yuuji would be happy to see you again, and stuff.”

And stuff. How ridiculous that two words make your heart trip over itself. Your three-year resolve to keep him firmly in the do not touch zone has basically cracked wide open. There’s a traitorous smile tugging at the corner of your lips, but you manage to suppress it. Barely. Playing it off with a nonchalant hum.

“Hmm. Sure, I’ll think about it.”

Choso lives in an apartment now. Not a polished high-rise with sleek fixtures and panoramic views, but a tired and unremarkable building with flickering yellow lights that cast long and ominous shadows along the stairwell. You clutch the slip of paper that he scribbled his address on, squinting at the nearly illegible scrawl. It’s barely decipherable, a penmanship perfect for prescriptions and indecipherable notes.

In your other hand, you balance a box of cream rolls from the bakery that Nanami swears by, their golden horns stuffed with airy dairy and dusted with cinnamon sugar. The smell is warm and sweet, a sharp contrast to the questionable stairwell.

The ascent feels longer than it should, each step accompanied by the faint swing of those tired lights overhead. But you bite back any judgement, you’ve made that mistake before.

Someone else is already there, a tall figure that knocks on Choso’s door with wide, lazy knuckles. Once. Twice. The man huffs, pocketing his phone and pulling out a key. There’s a practiced ease to the way he clicks the lock open, and for a moment, you hesitate, wondering if you’re witnessing a breaking-and-entering type of situation.

But there’s something familiar about the muted shock of rosy, pink hair that spikes over his head.

“What are you doing?” His voice is rough, deep, with an edge of irritation that makes you stand a little straighter. He looks over you once, and his eyes fall on the box of pastries in your hands. Disinterest giving way to a little bit of curiosity. It reminds you of Itadori Yuuji.

“Uh,” you clear your throat, “Choso invited me.”

The man’s eyebrows lift in surprise, and you’re fascinated by the tattoos that curl around his face. Even running along his jawline, and down his neck. There are silver studs littering his ear, and if you didn’t know better, you would say that there are real precious stones scattered among them.

“Didn’t know he had a date.” The man seems gruffly amused, and you stomp your heels, the sound snapping off worn walls.

“It’s not a date. We’re studying.”

“Don’t care. Didn’t really ask.”

With that, he swings the door open, stepping inside before you can. You linger in the doorway, before hesitantly following him, watching as he kicks the door shut with his heel. He seems to be making himself at home like he owns the place, peering through an empty fridge and rifling through cabinets. All before collapsing on the sagging couch like it’s his throne, sprawled out as he starts scrolling through his phone again.

You just perch awkwardly on the edge of a cold chair, as the space suddenly feels oddly claustrophobic. Your fingers toy with the edge of your notebook, as you wonder whether you need to call Choso, to see if this was all a mistake. Instead, your gaze flickers over to the man sitting opposite you.

You’re sure that he comes from money. You’ve spent enough summer holidays backstage at Milan and Paris shows to recognise the season’s latest pieces. And the crimson racing jacket on his shoulders is definitely a Dior piece that costs more than what you assume is the rent of this entire apartment complex. Plus, you had spent enough time flicking through Van Cleef’s catalogue to recognise the whirring, high-jewellery piece that sat on his wrist. A watch with an eye-like mechanism, studded with Burmese rubies. Easily the price of your penthouse.

“So, you friends with Choso?” He asks suddenly, lowering his phone. His eyes are sharp russet, locking with yours.

“We know each other from high school,” you say, trying to keep your tone neutral. It’s best to leave it at that, it’s safer that way. You’re playing Choso’s game, the one where you don’t share a thing about your personal life.

“Hmph,” The sound is more of a grunt than a response, and it makes you bristle. Why bother asking a question if you’re not interested in the answer?

“Did I leave the door unlocked?”

You hear Choso’s faintly bewildered murmur, almost to himself, before he catches sight of you. It’s cute, how a bashful smile creeps over his face again, almost embarrassed at the sight of you. But it darkens instantly, sharply. His bronze eyes are fixed on the man that loiters on his couch.

“Get out.”

The man is unfazed, “Why? Am I interrupting your date?”

“It’s not a date. We’re studying.” Choso’s mirroring your exact, previous words. His tone is stiff, like you’ve never heard it before. A snarl, with irritation bubbling underneath the surface.

“I don’t know how else I can stress this enough, brat. But I really do not care what you do to get off.” The man drawls, pushing himself off the couch. He’s absurdly tall, easily the height of the ceiling. You catch a glimpse of the tattoos trailing up his forearm, dark ink that winds around his wrist. A startling splash of red staining the sleeve of the pristine jacket. It’s dried up now, crusting the edges of the fabric. Sort of like…

Weird. And impossible.

Choso grunts, “Fine. Get up. Go,” and he’s gesturing towards a door leading into another room, his jaw clenched tight. The muscles in his neck are taut, the apology in his expression at you somehow mixed with a faint flicker of regret, like he wishes you weren’t here to see this.

What happens next is an absolute masterclass on being nosy. You’ve edged closer to the door, shifting on the couch so you’re practically perched on the armrest. You can hear the muffled thrum of Choso and the stranger’s voice through the door, but it’s not enough. Curiosity is clawing her sharp nails at you, and you wonder if you should text Satoru. Or maybe drop a quick message in the group chat.

You end up leaning in closer, ignoring the way that you’re teetering on the very edge.

The conversation is low, like the rumble of thunder in the distance, but the voices are gradually building until —

“What? You did not just fuckin’ throw something at me!” The man’s voice booms so loud that you almost jump out of your skin, “What is wrong with you? Can’t even have an honest conversation these days?”

Choso’s response is tight, simmering with frustration that you don’t understand, “Nothing you do is honest. And don’t break into my place then!”

“Your place?” The man’s scoff is almost a sneer, like he’s amused at the mere thought, “Brat, let’s not forget all the favours I’ve done you.” There’s a crash, something hitting the floor with a thud, and the man’s voice bellows again, “Oi! Put that down right now. Don’t you dare throw something else at me. Fuck, you’ve got good aim, I’ll give ya’ that.”

You can hear Choso shuffle, spit something sharp in response.

“You’ve done all these things for me before, eh? Why the hesitation now? Got tired of cleaning it all up?”

Choso’s response is firm through the thin walls, “I’m done with doing your dirty work all the time.”

The silence that follows is thick, suffocating, punctuated with a low and disbelieving laugh.

“You said that last time. But you came crawling back when you couldn’t handle looking after the kid all on your lonesome.”

“Leave Yuuji out of this!”

There’s another muffled scuffle, a loud thud that makes your heart race as the stranger growls, “Can’t believe you bit me.”

The door swings open with a suddenness that almost knocks you off your seat. Choso’s practically putting his entire back into shoving the man out with a sharp grunt, like he’s had enough.

The stranger turns, giving you a lazy, bored wave. Like he knows that it will simply irk Choso off even more. And he’s right. Choso, not having it for a second, snaps at him, “Get out. And don’t come back.”

The man rolls his eyes, but not before pulling out a pricey Italian wallet, slapping a wad of thick bills down on the kitchen counter, “That’s for this month. I’ll send a cheque next month for the little brat’s birthday.”

Then he’s gone, muttering something about bitchy, little bastard children, born on the wrong side of the sheets, with sharp teeth.

Choso’s whirling around to you, his expression unreadable and blank. Like the surface of still water that refuses to betray even a ripple of emotion. You school your features, meeting his gaze with a look of equal, quiet disinterest.

“Friend of yours?” You ask, your voice cool. But there’s questions dancing on the tip of your tongue, and you can taste them in the air.

He doesn’t answer right away. He’s flicking through the thick stack of bills that the stranger left on the counter. The sound of cash shifting in his hands is oddly loud, and you whistle low, almost involuntarily. It makes Choso look up, catching your appreciative gaze. His fingers tighten around the stack, his jaw clenching, as if to keep in whatever thoughts or words are threatening to spill out.

“Don’t say anything.” His voice is a low mutter, hard.

“I didn’t.”

Choso looks at you again, his hazel eyes softening just enough that you catch the flicker of something unsure. He lets out a low sigh, “But you want to ask.”

“Will you let me ask?” You’re pushing, your voice a little softer and coaxing than you intended. You can already see the signs, the slight stiffening of his shoulders, the way his gaze flickers to the door as if he’s considering an exit. Choso’s like a clam, snapping shut, as if there is a pearl that he’s not ready to share.

“What do you want to know?” He’s saying this like it’s a chore, as if it is the last thing he wants to do.

You make your way to the kitchen counter, “What will you tell me?”

If Choso is irritated by the vague, passive nature of your questions, he doesn’t show it. He simply tugs his purple sweater down, sharply. “Yuuji will be sad if his uncle didn’t send him money for his birthday. He turns ten next month.”

“So that was…Uncle Kuna,” you ask, murmuring more to yourself than to him. But Choso’s sharp gaze flicks to you, a faint confirmation in the nod that follows.

“Mhm.”

And just like that, something clicks in your brain. A conversation that you had overheard once, perhaps a year or two ago. A rare moment that both your parents had been home, still too distracted to realise that you were listening. The realisation hits you hard, like a small shot of adrenaline, “That’s not Sukuna, is it? Ryomen Sukuna?”

Choso’s amber look is like fragile glass now, “Yeah. How’d you figure?”

In a world such as yours and Satoru’s, it’s quite hard to avoid gossip, and whispers that float around in the backrooms of business meetings, or in the too-quiet halls of private clubs. For all the older business-clans, Sukuna is quite the upstart. A man who clawed his way to the top, not just content with money, but power and influence as well. Apparently, he made quite the name for himself, building an empire with wealth beyond measure.

And all at the low price of being wanted in more than thirty-five countries and territories. A businessman, a crook and a criminal. Your father said that Ryomen Sukuna’s ledgers were written in red ink, fresh blood for both personal and financial debts that were owed to him.

“Why did he say that you came crawling back to him?”

Choso’s eyes flutter shut, and you can see that he’s calculating whether it’s worth the effort to respond.

“He’s the reason I dropped out of school,” Choso mutters, the words low enough that almost don’t catch them. They land with a soft thud, the kind that makes your pulse stutter. You stare at him, with the kind of look that people give when a ticking time bomb has just been dropped in their lab.

Choso scoffs, eyes darting away, “Yeah. He’s always been sending money for Yuuji. And I was stuck doing his…favours.”

Suddenly, you’re back in high school. On Choso’s doorstep, watching him try to hide a cardboard box of surgical tools. There’s a little corkboard map in your head connected with red strings, as you pin other things on there. The latex gloves in the box, Choso’s general lack of squeamish misery when it comes to the stickier parts of medicine, and the bloodstain on Ryomen Sukuna’s Dior jacket.

It’s almost odd, in a morbid way, that a crime boss chooses the latest Vogue streetwear, instead of a dark Godfather suit and a cigar.

Your expression must betray the pieces that you’ve put together, because Choso’s eyes widen, like he can see the cogs turning in your brain. “Look,” he stammers, voice rougher now, with a nervous edge, “I didn’t do anything wrong. Never saw what he did. Not really. Just —”

You shush him gently, a hand reaching out to land on his, a little too quickly and a little too hot. The instant your skin brushes against his, there’s a sharp feeling. Like you’ve touched something that burns beneath the surface. His face flashes a faint pink, muscles stiffening as though your touch seared him in a way he wasn’t prepared for.

“Go on,” you hope that your tone is reassuring.

Choso swallows, his throat bobbing as his fingers suddenly curl around yours, “Anyway, I got tired of doing his dirty work, you know? Thought that if I dropped out, I could get a job. Work enough to support myself and Yuuji, without taking a single dollar from him.”

“But he’s your uncle?” Your question is tentative, like you’re testing the waters of a deeper pool, “Wouldn’t he support you, too?”

Choso’s sigh is deep and weary as he gently corrects you, “He’s Yuuji’s uncle. Yuuji’s my half-brother.”

Suddenly, Sukuna’s comment about ‘biting bastard children’ snaps into place with clarity. Oh.

You’re not sure what to say now, what words could possibly fill the emptiness that lingers between the two of you. What a misery it would have been. Being a teenager with such potential, forced to close off your own future for the sake of family, and those that you love.

You remember Choso’s face that day, after graduation, with his hollow expression as he watched your friends celebrate their youth. There’s a bitter lump in your throat, but for once, you keep it down. This really isn’t about you.

You frown, the thought sneaking up on you and settling in your chest like a splinter you can’t ignore. “He said you owed him favours.”

Choso exhales sharply, his shoulders stiffening as if bracing for something unpleasant. His voice is low, bitter. “You think high school dropouts pay their own way into med school without a benefactor?”

Right.

“So?” Choso’s voice cuts through the fog of your thoughts, and you blink at him, startled.

“So, what?”

Choso shifts, unease seeping into his posture. His calloused fingers are still curled tightly around yours, like he’s afraid that you’ll pull away and slip past him.

“Are you angry?”

You’re not sure whether to laugh, or sigh, “Why would I be angry?”

He’s hesitating, dark hair falling loose around his face, “I was a jerk to you.” The words come quietly, like they’ve been gnawing at him, biting at the edges of his thoughts, “At the time, I don’t know, I guess I was just angry. Everything felt unfair, and I didn’t want anyone else to be involved.”

You frown, not fully understanding what to say, “You were still a teenager,” you say slowly, like you’re trying to convince both him and you. You hesitate, unsure whether you’re underplaying things, so the worlds come out a little jagged, not quite as comforting as you wished. “I guess…” It feels weak as your words suddenly stagger off.

Choso’s eyes flicker to yours, searching, like he’s trying to figure if there’s something else, you’re not saying, “What?”

You can practically hear Satoru’s voice in your heard, groaning and whining about screwing the long game. But you puff a breath through your cheeks, worried you’ll lose the nerve, “You know, I really liked you, right, Choso?”

Choso’s mouth drops open, as his face flickers with disbelief. The same way it had three years ago, “Like, really?”

You nod, a smile tugging at your lips without even thinking, “Yeah. And you know, everyone else thought I was being, like, silly. But I really liked you. I just never knew what to say to you.” It feels so stupid, and obvious now. But back then, it had been a great chunk of your world. You force yourself to hold his bashful gaze.

Choso’s quiet for a moment, before he admits, “I couldn’t believe it when you asked me to be your date. I thought it was just a game you were playing, or there was no-one left to ask.”

And then, after a beat, “Who did you go with?”

You snicker, a little too bitter and honest, “No-one.”

Choso’s quiet, relieved ‘damn’ makes you laugh even more, threading your fingers with his.

“I just can’t believe he’s in your classes. What are the odds?” Satoru mutters, abandoning his sunglasses for the evening, his bright eyes flashing like sunlight refracted on water. He claims that his eyes are less sensitive today, but you’re certain it’s an excuse for him to freely rifle through your kitchen without obstruction. In the living room, the rest of your friends hover like a pack of starved hyenas, waiting for the snacks that Satoru is currently monopolising.

“I’m telling you, when I first saw him, my heart dropped straight to my ass,” you say, tearing open a bag of sour cream crisps with more force than necessary. The chips tumble into the earthenware bowl in a noisy cascade.

Satoru snickers, expertly arranging small platters on a big, oaken serving board, “I pity the lack of cushioning it got.”

You flick a stray crisp at him, the chip bouncing off his shoulder with a gratifying crunch. For a moment, his grin is steady, but it quickly turns rueful. That slight furrow in his brows, the way the corner of his mouth twitches downwards. There’s something else simmering under that veneer of carelessness.

“You’re not happy, Satoru?”

His expression hardens slightly, plucking a cluster of wine-red grapes, twisting them off their stems with methodical precision.

“Well, yeah,” Satoru admits after a beat, his tone uncharacteristically sober, “I’m glad that he’s, like, nice now or whatever. But he basically broke your heart, didn’t he?”

You glance away, your fingers tighten on the corner of another snack bag, “He had his reasons.” Your flat reply avoids his curious gaze, perceptive and knowing. You hadn’t filled him on the Sukuna-lore. You’re not sure what it is, but there’s bad blood between the Gojos and Sukuna, and you’re not keen to exacerbate it.

Oh, hey, Satoru! So, Choso is like Sukuna’s adopted nephew. And I think Sukuna forced him to like clean up people’s chopped fingers and arms, or whatever. But I have a big crush on him, yep. Right after I said that I wouldn’t catch feelings again.

Satoru scoffs, wagging a long finger at you. A glistening droplet of grape juice clings to his thumb like a ruby bead, “Don’t make excuses for someone hurting your feelings. You know better than that.” His tone carries the same theatrical lilt as always, but it’s underpinned with something firmer, genuine.

Before you can fire back, a new voice meanders into the kitchen, soft and unhurried, “Who hurt your feelings?”

It’s Suguru, propped lazily against the doorway, choppy layers freshly framing his sharp features. The dim kitchen light catches on the faint sheen of his silver rings as he crosses his arms.

Satoru grabs a bag of pretzels, lobbing it towards him, “Choso Kamo. Remember that emo guy I told you about?”

Suguru catches the bag with practised ease, without looking, his mauve gaze flicking to you. You silently curse Gojo Satoru for broadcasting your love life, or lack thereof, to what feels like half the city.

“What’s he look like again?”

You narrow your eyes at the tall man, “He was literally in our grade.”

Suguru shrugs, his palms raised in mock innocence, “I never saw him, okay? He was quiet as hell, never had classes with him.”

“He wasn’t that quiet,” you protest, but your words are drowned out by Satoru’s triumphant declaration.

“Hold up! I got visual aid.”

He’s whipped out his phone, unlocking it with a brief glance of his face, before shoving the dimmed screen inches from Suguru’s puzzled face. The photo, a grainy yearbook photo of Choso in junior year, gleams under the kitchen lights. You wonder if you’re going to need to fight for your life on the frontlines again.

For a moment, Suguru’s expression remains neutral. Unimpressed even. Then, as if someone’s flipped a switch, his eyes widen with dawning recognition, “This is Kamo? His girlfriend’s my neighbour.”

Half a grape travels down Satoru’s windpipe, “The villain!”

Your best friend’s exclamation ricochets off the kitchen walls, loud enough to silence whatever protest was forming on your lips. Not that you had much ground to stand on. How would you even know? Choso had talked to you about his family, not his love life. You saw him a few times a week, and then the two of you would drift away, back to your own orbits. And he was a grown man with a life that had surely moved past you.

You had told him that you had liked him, and he hadn’t said a word back that hinted at any mutual connection. How had you missed that?”

Satoru is still recovering from his near demise at the hands of fruit, “What girlfriend? You’re sure, Suguru?”

Suguru raises an eyebrow, looking like he regrets ever opening his mouth, “Hey. Don’t pin this on me. But he comes by, with a little pink-haired kid. His brother? And she’s like talkative,” and he gestures vaguely above his head, “Like, really tall. Blonde.”

Your eyes had drifted to the unopened case of vodka sitting on the counter.

Satoru clocks you immediately, “Don’t even think about it. We’re going to handle this like mature adults.”

“We?”

Satoru nods solemnly, looping his arm through Suguru’s leather jacket, “Yes. Your Choso loss is my Choso loss,” and he pulls Suguru closer, “Our Choso loss.”

Suguru sighs, not shaking him off as he looks at you sympathetically, “Why am I a part of this? No offense. You could skip all this misery, and I don’t know because I’m just spit balling here, ask him?”

The dark-haired man continues, “Or, and I know this is radical for two divas like you, you could just let it go and spare yourself the drama. If you’re going to be working in the same field, wouldn’t professionalism be better?”

Satoru scoffs, “Or! We do some reconnaissance. I mean, you’re the girlfriend’s neighbour, Suguru. Go snoop around.”

“Why is it always me?” Suguru’s pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Because it is always you. You’ve got the best sneaky liar face I know,” Satoru replies breezily, ignoring how Suguru mutters about the love he feels in this kitchen, “And you need to do this for the greater good. All that noble shit.”

Suguru shoots you a half-hearted glare, as if this is somehow your fault, and not Satoru pulling every string. You’re one more inconvenience away from slumping onto the counter, head in hands, a shot glass by your side.

Your mind flickers to the hair tie that Choso always wears on his wrist. It could be innocuous, sure, but the green-eyed monster claws itself up in your chest. You imagine this faceless girlfriend passing it to him, like an intimate, inside joke.

“What am I supposed to do? Corner him in the break room on placements, and interrogate him? Should I pull out the clan funds, and pay him to date me?”

“It’s what I did with Suguru,” Satoru quips, not missing a beat.

“Now who’s the liar,” Suguru murmurs.

The hospital’s looming ahead. A hulking mass of glass and steel that outline the bleak sky. It’s a bitter Monday morning, the kind that bites at your cheeks and sinks into your bones, no matter how tightly you bundle up. The drive has been long and so utterly tedious, the pale sunlight doing little to brighten the cityscape as you crawl along congested streets.

Now, on the far edge of the suburbs, you’re left squinting and fuming as you circle the parking lot for the third time. The situation is grim, spots are scarce, and every turn feels like an ill-fated gamble that only ends in someone else’s bumper.

You mutter curses under your breath, the heater in your car doing little to thaw your mood.

Choso’s already there, not a massive surprise, for his apartment is far closer than your waterfront residence, smack-bang in the city’s central district. His dark hair is loosely tied back, and he’s thrown an old hoodie over his scrubs. There’s a clipboard tucked under his arm, and a coffee cup in the other.

He extends the cup towards you without preamble, “Want it?”

You blink, catching on the incongruity of the gesture. But Suguru’s intel still echoes in your mind, he has a girlfriend.

You furrow your brow, the cup hovering between you, “Where’s yours?”

Choso shrugs, “I don’t drink coffee. Makes me jittery.”

This answer irritates you for no logical reason. Who doesn’t drink coffee? It feels like some fundamental character flaw, and you snatch the cup from his hand. Doing your very best not to unfairly glare at him, for the sole crime of having a life outside of you.

It’s hard to focus when he’s nailed your exact order. You lower the cup, the warmth seeping through the cardboard sleeve and into your fingers, doing little to melt the icy knot that sits in your chest.

Choso seems almost unnervingly chipper this morning, a far cry from his usual brooding demeanour. There’s no scowl etched on his handsome face, no trace of his typical stoicism. Instead, he wears the faintest trace of a smile, a subtle and almost tentative thing that pulls at the corners of his mouth as he glances over a nearly printed itinerary.

The sight throws you further off-kilter. It’s rare to see him like this, easy and unguarded, and you can’t help the way your lips twitch, the barest hint of a smile threatening to escape before you smother it.

“We’re starting in the ER for two hours,” he reads aloud, voice steady, “then, the paediatric unit.” He pauses to flip the page, his expression shifting to mild exasperation, “And then, paperwork in the break room.”

“Figures,” you grumble, tucking your hands into your coat pockets, “Free labour from the students, yeah?”

Choso glances at you, from the corner of his eye, an unimpressed but faintly amused look on his face, “Thought that you would start the day with a more upbeat attitude.”

You grunt in response, which only earns a shake of his head as he folds the itinerary back into his clipboard.

A beat of silence stretches between you, only punctured by the sound of light metal snapping as you clip a badge to your pocket, but he’s speaking again.

“You good?”

His bronze eyes flick to yours, clearly searching, and your pulse stutters, “Yeah. Obviously.”

Choso takes a deep breath, his chest rising and gearing up for something monumental. The way his fingers fidget against the clipboard betrays him, they tap out a staccato rhythm. There’s a flush creeping on the back of his neck, subtle but unmistakeable.

“Want to get dinner tonight?” He blurts, the words tumbling out so fast that they barely sound like a sentence.

You blink at him, confused, “Bless you.” Your automatic response, because he spoke so quickly that it sounded as though he had sneezed.

Choso’s scowl is immediate, “No.” He says it firmly, drawing out each word in exasperation, “I asked if you wanted to get dinner tonight. After this.”

Oh. Oh.

The realisation hits you like a jolt, and for a second, all you can do is gape at him. He’s looking at you now, an almost defiant sort of expectation in his gaze, as though he’s worried that you’re going to laugh at him. But before you piece together a coherent response, there’s a sharp rap-rap-rap of knuckles on the doorframe.

The ward manager is here, her expression brisk and no-nonsense, gesturing for the two of you to begin your shift placement.

Your head snaps back at him, mouth moving before your brain diplomatically catches up, “I don’t think that’s fair to your girlfriend, do you?”

Choso’s brows knit together, his expression shifting to something startled and indignant. Irritated, even, as you push past him.

He’s trying to speak to you. It’s painfully obvious, as he’s got that mildly dazed look. All that awkward, earnest attention is squarely focused on you.

You’re having none of it.

He steps to your side as you shuffle through patient charts, his broad frame taking up more than his fair share of narrow space, shadowing your elbow as you scribble furious notes. His mouth opens, probably to say something that you don’t want to hear, but you’re faster.

“Hey, Choso, what’s her blood pressure?” You interrupt, not bothering to look up from the faintly lined paper.

There’s a second of hesitation before he answers, “120 over 50. Just write that down. Got it? Okay, yeah, can you stop moving for a second and —”

You squint at the chart, cutting him off again, “Hmm, don’t you think that the diastolic is a little low?”

His shoulders slump, “Yes, but the doctors already know that. She has hypothyroidism, you told me that when you interrupted me like half an hour ago. Can’t you just —” Choso stops mid-sentence again, muttering a resigned oh my god, when you pivot away and head to the next room without so much a glance back.

It sets the tone for the rest of the shift. You make a sport of avoiding him, weaving through the emergency department like a fish slipping upstream, leaving Choso stranded in your wake. He follows, persistent in his mild-mannered way, but you’re relentless.

“Can you hand me that chart?” He’s trying again, as you’re elbow deep in filing.

“Oh, this one?” You sweetly ask, holding it just out of his reach, before conveniently remembering that you need to double-check something on it. He just huffs at you.

By hour three, it’s clear that Choso’s patience is wearing thin, and fighting a war against his professionalism. He corners you near the supply cart while you rummage for gloves.

“There you are.”

“Oh, are we low on size medium?” You cut in, loud enough to catch the attention of a passing manager, “Should we restock?”

Choso inhales through his nose, “We’re not low on gloves. We’re fine on gloves. Can you stop talking about gloves for one second?”

You flash him a smile that’s all teeth, “Gloves are important, Choso. Hygiene is crucial.”

This time, you see him run an exasperated hand over his face, before realising that now he’s just contaminated his own pair of gloves. Snarling at you as he rips the blue latex off and reaching for the size large box.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, once and then twice. Then thrice, as if whoever’s contacting you as something urgent to say. You ignore it, you’ll check it after placements.

The hours tick by, and your strategy remains the same. Stay busy, stay distant, and stay unreachable. Don’t make it seem like you’re irrationally bothered by Choso having a life of his own and having a girlfriend. Or that you actually had hope that this time round, his feelings for you were requited.

By the time you both stumble into the break room, Choso looks as if he’s experienced the full emotional spectrum, like he’s been knocked through the five stages of grief and landed somewhere in the resigned space of acceptance. He looks as if he’s clearly preparing to lecture you, to tirade you on professional conduct and —

Without warning, his phone buzzes.

You don’t even look up from cracking open your water bottle, the sound of plastic barely crinkles louder than the dull thud of your own heartbeat. Choso glances at you out of the corner of his eyes, a flash of alarm crossing his face, before he draws his attention back to the screen of his phone.

You hear the faintest scoff from his direction, and he’s shaking his head as you watch in mild interest.

“What?”

Choso doesn’t answer immediately, still scrolling through his phone.

“I’m not dating Tsukumo Yuki.”

Your mouth goes dry. You blink rapidly, wide-eyed as if he’s just spoken in an ancient, dead language.

“What?” You manage weakly, “Who? What? —”

There’s a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, and you fear the cause of this slow and curling chest is a meddling duo of two men, one with dark hair and the other with snowy-white.

Choso doesn’t even glance up at you, his voice tinged with something incredulous now, “Why is Gojo Satoru texting me? He says that you’re not replying to his or Geto Suguru’s messages. And apparently, this is super urgent, and he feels like he must do his divine duty by interfering before you do something stupid.

Choso pauses, finally looking at you as if he’s truly baffled, “And you all thought that I was dating Tsukumo.”

You’re crafting a list in your head. Twenty creative ways to kill Gojo Satoru and not land in prison afterwards.

Maybe you should ask Choso for Ryomen Sukuna’s contact.

“That’s crazy,” you say, the words tasting thin and hollow in a bitter, embarrassed lie.

Choso shakes his head at you, some dark strands of hair falling across his eyes, “She looks after Yuuji sometimes. I take him over to her place because Yuki’s adopted a kid, Todo. The two of them are friends.”

“Uh.”

Choso turns back to his phone screen, scrolling through whatever nonsense Satoru is feeding him, “Have you being icing me out all day, because you thought I had a girlfriend?”

“Will you hate me if I say yes?” You’re looking anywhere but him, focusing on the chipped, lilac paint on the break-room door. Or the slightly off-centre light bulb flickering above. Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you’re adding Geto Suguru to your kill list.

Choso’s voice is softer when he answers, almost too quiet, “Hey. You know I couldn’t hate you if I tried.” But there’s a strange mixture of amusement and disbelief in his voice, a bemused chuckle that lingers in the air, “Wow. Just wow.”

You grimace, fingers toying with the edge of the water bottle as you wrangle your thoughts into words, “Are you mad? I mean, look. I told you I liked you. And then you held my hands, so I thought you liked me back. And you got me coffee. But Suguru said you had a girlfriend, and you can’t blame me for being — Oh my god, I’m going to stop talking, you’re looking at me like I’ve gone crazy.”

Choso’s expression shifts, just staring at you. You don’t more than a split-second to process his strangely intense look. There’s no time to recover before he leans down, his hands surprisingly warm and gentle as they cradle the side of your face.

Your breath hitches, but before you can form another thought, his lips are on yours. They’re warm, deliberate and surprisingly firm. The scent of crisp green apples falls over you, as his hair envelops your face.

He pulls back just enough to study you, “Was that okay?” he asks, his fingers still lingering at the curve of your jaw, like he can’t believe he just kissed you. You can feel the sharp blush sting your face, as your heart practically goes into cardiac arrest, nodding quickly.

“Uh, I’m not really an expert in this field,” Choso murmurs, “But I can’t believe that I waited this long to do that.”

“You can do that again,” you say. Wondering if you should buy Satoru and Suguru a bouquet of flowers instead.

Choso, predictably, blushes deep enough that it nearly looks like he might combust. His eyes flicker away, avoiding your gaze in that way he does when he’s trying to sort through his emotions. But it’s hard to miss the warm flush that’s firmly planted on his neck.

“Can I do it over that dinner?” Choso murmurs, his voice dipping lower, before he quickly rephrases, “I obviously do want to kiss you now, again, that is, but if they catch us in the break room —”

You suddenly beam up at him, patting him on the cheek, “You can kiss me as much as you like over dinner.”

Choso looks as though he’s been struck with a metaphorical thunderbolt, as if he didn’t expect you to agree so straightforwardly. And then, as if he can’t help himself, he presses a quick and soft kiss to your forehead. For the briefest second, it feels as if you’re a teenager again, caught in the whirlwind of something simple and so sweet.

“Okay. So, is that a yes?” He asks, a little breathless, as if he’s not sure what kind of confirmation he’s just gotten but needing it to hear it anyway.

“If it’s a proper date, it’s a yes.”

Choso mutters under his breath, “You know Geto Suguru texted me with a five-paragraph apology, something about sneaking around my apartment. Stalking me this morning,” and here, he looks at you, utterly exasperated but fond, “Something about checking to see if I had a girlfriend. I mean, I don’t even know the guy. We never talked in school.”

You loop your arm with his, pulling him in slightly, “See, I always did say my friends were super nice. They’re going to be super nice, and normal. Trust me.”

ONE WEEK LATER.

“And to my brother-in-law, my brother-in-arms, my brother in the Constantinople Crusades of 1204,” Satoru hiccups, his words slurring together in a rambled mess, as he sways over the edge of Suguru’s arms, and for a split second, you’re worried the white-haired man is going to tip over entirely, “My new brother, Choso. We always knew it was going to happen, eh?”

Choso’s cheeks turn a faint shade of crimson in the sudden spotlight as everyone cheers, and he shifts awkwardly. Suguru’s shooting him an apologetic look, the corners of his mouth twitching as he props Satoru up, “He’s a lightweight. And we watched a historical movie last night.”

“I can tell,” Choso grumbles, his face flushed now as Satoru’s monologue drifts like an aimless plastic bag in the wind, his words growing nonsensical as you reach over to pinch at his cheeks. He yelps but continues to babble on about how he and Choso are going to be best friends now, and they’re going to go shopping together, and ice-skating, and fruit-picking. All nonsense burbles being strung together by the tequila shots that Satoru swore he could handle an hour ago.

You glance over at Choso, faintly embarrassed, but he just laughs, a sound that’s unexpectedly light and unguarded. His fingers slide into yours once more, and the motion is gentle and natural, as though this, you, are exactly where he’s meant to be. And he drapes the wide expanse of his aviator jacket over your shoulders.

Meanwhile, Suguru is wrestling with Satoru, pushing him back down from his impromptu toast to your boyfriend, before the bartender can usher you all towards the exit. The burly man is already giving Satoru’s drunken proclamations a nasty look.

Shoko, of course, is grinning at you, a tankard of beer glimmering in front of her. Her eyes gleam with the sharpness of someone who’s won a decent amount of money in a bet. And Utahime is standing back with a faintly judgemental expression that only veils her gossipy curiosity, and a glum look as she passes wads of cash into Shoko’s waiting hands.

“They really do like me,” Choso murmurs, his voice low and almost carrying the undertone of vulnerability, alongside some quiet self-awareness.

You laugh, brushing your thumb over the back of his hand, leaning in to press a quick peck to the dark mark that streaks over his face, “They all have no choice. You’re my boyfriend now.”

The words slip out effortlessly, and for a moment, they hang between you like something solid and unspoken, as though saying it aloud has made it feel real in a way it never quite did before. Choso’s eyes flick to yours, and something shifts in his expression — just a slight softening around the edges.

Then, without warning, you lean in, closing the distance between you, and kiss him. It’s slow, deliberate, with none of the frantic energy of your first kiss but instead the quiet certainty of something just beginning to bloom. You feel the faintest sigh from Nanami in the background, the sound of Geto groaning as Gojo whoops with drunken delight.

The noise from the bar fades into nothing as you focus entirely on the warmth of Choso’s shy lips against yours, the gentle pressure as he presses more into you, the soft thud of his heartbeat where your hand rests over his chest. For that moment, it’s just you and him, and everything else is an afterthought.

“Okay! I’ve had enough of the lot of you snogging and yelling in my bar! And take stupid Jack Frost out with ya’!”

[kana-daydreams]

hide 'n seek || sanemi | fluff | 1.1k

°*:･ᰔafter a few days of meticulous planning, you and zenitsu finally grasp the opportunity to execute your long-awaited plan—to escape the clutches of sanemi’s rigorous, soul-sucking training—or so you thought.

tags: demon slayer!f!reader. 18+ reader . established relationship. minor spoilers (hashira training arc—anime)

kny masterlist

In the hush of the serene midday that envelops the Wind Hashira's estate, a sudden sharp shriek pierces through. And the few birds perch on a nearby wall that had been basking in the accompanied comforting respite, scatter away at its ear-shattering volume.

“For the second time, where is she?” demands a male voice, deep and menacing like its owner’s fear-inducing wide eyes.

Then, as if on cue, crouched low and barely concealed behind that very wall, you sneak a cautious glance at the three familiar figures gathered a few paces ahead of you.

One of those figures being Sanemi’s whose purple eyes glower down at the quivering frame of Zenitsu huddled close to Tanjiro, seeking the boy’s protection from his impending doom. And who seems about ready to pass out from the stifling aura the Wind Hashira exudes. 

A sheepish expression colours your features as you observe the scene. One in which you could have easily been like Zenitsu on the receiving end of Sanemi’s nearly incurable anger. 

“Forgive me, Zen. I had no choice,” you whisper an unheard apology as you recall the prior moment of your treacherous act. 

An act you were sure Zenitsu may never forgive—unless you promised him your hand in marriage—and would forever taunt you with. The time when you’d hightailed it leaving him, your partner-in-crime, for dead in an exchange to save your own skin when you both caught wind of Sanemi’s thundering stomps growing eerily close towards the hiding place you two had sought refuge away from him—and his gruelling, barbaric training.

You clench your eyes, murmuring another apology, interrupted when your entire body suddenly jolts.

An involuntary reaction stirred by Zenitsu’s deafening shriek that escapes through his chattering teeth and past his quivering lips for the umpteenth time.

“Tell me where she is?!”

“I don’t know where she is!” Zenitsu snivels, feeling his soul slipping away from his worn body, inch by inch, at Sanemi’s threatening glare.

Sanemi narrows his eyes at his words, his annoyance surfacing in the form of a protruding vein etched into his face.

The frown he adorns curves lower. 

Was this kid tryna provoke him?

First he had the balls to sneak away with you, his woman, from training like a pair of eloping lovers. And now, he had the audacity to play him for a block-headed mule?!  

More veins decorate Sanemi’s face and his fingers curl into a fist. He snatches Zenitsu by the collar of his uniform in a vice-like grip, tearing him away from a hesitant Tanjiro, and hoisting him up to his level.

 “Oi,” Sanemi starts with a growl. “Spit another lie at me again, and training will be your least worst nightmare.” Zenitsu's breath hitches, shrinking back at the promised threat.

Immediately, his honey-brown eyes riddled with absolute fear flickers hesitantly around him.

They search for you.

You, who thought it would be best to remain a spectator of the scene in lieu of fleeing from the impending danger.

Zenitsu's inspection spans no longer than a minute, when his honey-brown eyes lock on to you. And you curse at your delayed inaction of not making a run for it.

Instead, you motion with a finger pressed against your lips and plead with doe-like eyes for him to keep his trap zipped.

Eyes wide, Zenitsu continues to look at you.

He blinks once. Then twice.

And lifts a weak finger, pointing at you.

Mother-fuc—

Sanemi’s petrifying gaze snaps in your direction. And you practically teleport, vanishing like a magician’s final act.

Beads of sweat dot your face as your already tired legs, exhausted from training sprint away from the scene as if one hundred man-eating demons were tailing you, their premium main course. 

You weave through a series of corners of the large estate, all while you murmur prayer after prayer for a successful escape.

Prayers, unfortunately for you, that go unanswered when you swerve around a corner, colliding face-first into a solid chest.

The whiplash of the impact sends you stumbling back. Though, before you can form a union with the ground, a hand shoots out, grabbing a hold of your wrist.

“Where do you think you’re running off to, you brat?!”

Your eyes that had instinctively clamp shut, shoots open to peer up at Sanemi looking down at you with his usual grim expression.

You glance down at his hand wrapped around your wrist, keeping you secured in place, then back up at him. 

“I-I...” you fumble in an attempt to find the right words to aid you in your defence. “I just needed to uh…um, stretch my legs a bit,” you lie through a toothy-smile. “I was planning to return to the dojo right after, I swear.”

Sanemi huffs at your weak attempt of a fib.

“Yeah, right. I’m taking you back to the dojo, and this time—” he leans down to your height, his lips stretching into an almost sinister smile “—if you try to ditch again, you’ll be having another playdate with Obanai's pet snakes.”

You flinch, shrinking back with a shudder as you recall the terrifying and slithering serpentine hardships you’d had to endure before given the okay to proceed to Sanemi’s training.

You slump your shoulders in defeat. “I promise I won’t run away from training again," you whimper, fighting the urge to break down in tears like a petulant child who didn't get their way, right there and then.

“Good,” Sanemi says, releasing your wrist before he turns around and starts heading in the direction of his dojo.

A prolonged silence settles between you two during your trek, your trudging footsteps trailing behind Sanemi's.

It bothers him: your unusual silence, and the cause of it.

He was more than aware that his approach to training was extreme. But it had to be, for your sake, and the others.

To grow strong enough to defeat Muzan and his army of demons, and most importantly—to protect yourselves.

He didn't want to witness any more lives perishing in this demon-infested land, especially yours.

You, someone who he never thought would become his beacon of light amidst the darkness that plagued this god-forsaken world.

Sanemi spares a glance behind him to see your gaze downcast, your face bearing a sad pout.

The sight makes his rigid expression soften. And you’re not aware when his footsteps slow to a stop until you lightly bump into his back.

You raise your gaze, confused on why he’d suddenly stopped.

“Sanemi?...Are you okay?”

Sanemi doesn’t respond for a good minute, his silence brewing worry inside you.

You slide out from behind him, attempting to catch a read of his expression from the front, but he turns to avoid your gaze.

“Do...you want to have some tea?” he eventually speaks. "Us, together, I mean?"

You blink in surprise at the question. “Tea?”

Sanemi nods before turning to meet your eyes and you notice the faint hue of red painting his cheeks. “Yeah. And that dessert you wanted to try last time?”

“What about training?”

“We can take a break. For now."

Your lips pull into a beaming smile as you reach a hand towards his own, twining your fingers with his. And Sanemi welcomes the pleasing comfort of your hand embraced in his with a gentle squeeze.

“Sure, l'd like that.” Sanemi nods, a small smile adorning his face at your content expression as the two of you make your way back to his dojo.

© 2024 kana-daydreams

[r0yalgrimmartz]

💎💛✨️💛💎

Ngl I like to think during season 2 of GX, where the entire school goes to Domino City, I imagine Kore and the other girlies just say "fuck it we need a break from this shit and cults, let's all go shopping >:3". Like I don't mean stereotypical clothes shopping, I mean yeah they also do that, but I just imagine my girlies going into so many random stores, probably also buying some dumb shit (hence why Kore now has like three mini cactuses on her desk), and just go roam around Domino City while also eating a lot of food and buying a lot of bubble tea. Hanae's suggestion about the bubble tea.

[CUT TEXT CAUSE I RAMBLE]

Hanae would be wanting to get food and drinks, along with Kore, but Kore also wants to check out the really random and silly figures in a certain store, plus just a lot of dumb shit (also buys a lot of silly cat figures). Cytherea and Miyu being babysitters of those two gremlins at this point, but they decide to do some clothes shopping and fashion seeing. I think Cytherea would just go off on her own at this point like "fuck these losers" and Miyu is looking for the latest book in a book series she's been heavily into (fantasy nerd). Probably ends up bumping into Bastion and is super confused as to why he's carrying an old man on his back.

My other two idiots Riley and Ilya...Ilya just feeding birds and enjoying the scenery and being a calm sweet lil boy when his other evil half ISN'T tryna plot on killing the girlies and the rest of the cast but...probably is plotting it. Riley just...went to the movies to see the latest new movie in some movie franchise he's into. Probably also went to also get a mini cactus. And thus now you see how tf Kore and Riley are related. Both stupid as fuck. Also Riley probably got police chasing after him for some dumb shit he's probably just done.

By the end of the episode when they all have to return to Duel Academy, Ilya is calm af and probably bought a little charm thing he found quite cute. The girlies rocking up with a shit ton of bags, Kore also having accidentally set fire to one of the stores so she's rushing to get back on the bus. Riley also following behind and racing back on the bus as police are still looking for him. Other than that they were oblivious to the shit that was going on during the whole time with Jaden and all that.

[wtfcraigslistnyc]

TRIPLE DIPPED IN FILTH

BY

UZIEGO AKA ZAC DÜNN

Triple dipped in the filth

A wealth of savage information

The cubicle walls had grown much too tall.

Like the zenith of JESUS casting his mighty stone glare upon the Neolithic moment the cave man saw his shadow. Uptown scrawling as the flies circle the remains. Cord on blue and brand spanking new, reevaluating incantations so sweetly spoken on knobby knees.

Corrosive fluids drip and create vast puddles the pedestrians slip upon, septic lines intercrossing the perimeter. Parabolas cascade choky fire man hole covers under the blankets. She has a wank then made a pound of bacon. The coffee is always BUSTELLO. Somewhere behind the dumpster lived a man of behemoth fragrance and fortitude. His name was DEMPSY.

He was born and raised in the OLD NORTH END.

After a tour in NAM he ended up back on the streets of the NORTH END. He tried to stay out of trouble, but trouble always had a way of finding him. Days turned into years in a blink.

One day panhandling, whilst inhaling a half eaten danish, a sweet lady had given him, a tall clean cut gentleman approached him. He asked him if he was hungry. DEPSEY looked back into his face with his cold blue eyes, chewing a chaw of danish.. SURE… The man motioned for him to stand up and follow him. DEPSEY did so…

They walked several blocks toward the lake and they came upon the man’s CADILLAC. The man unlocked the doors and they lumbered inside. The man offered DEPSEY a bottle of JOHNNY WALKER BLACK LABEL. DEPSEY gladly took the bottle and cracked the top. He looked out the window and cased his surroundings prior to lifting the jug of booze to his lips. He took a solid swill that lasted every bit of 5 seconds…

The man smiled and asked DEPSY if he’d like to make some money at his cabin entertaining friends. DEPSY had just come off a particularly ruff week. DOUGLAS DUCHARME had smashed in both of DEPSY’s front teeth then stole his backpack. The irony is that DEPSY had stolen the backpack from some bird who was doing her boyfriends laundry and was forgetful. He felt tuff rolling around in the pinstriped overalls and BEASTIE BOYS T SHIRT. Like one of the fellas out innit, tryna holler at girls and get a slice of the pie.

The man said he would need to “perform” again but DEPSY was beyond blind eyed drunk almost instantly. He closed the bottle and took a gruff snort. JUST SO LONG AS NO ONE TRIES TO RAPE ME I DON’T CARE… The man grinned then belted out a large chuckle in an almost

diabolical manner.

OH, NO RAPE OF ANY KIND, CROSS MY HEART.

The car sped onward toward to cabin on the other side of lake.

DEPSY awoke as the car pulled up to the palatial wooden cabin. The man spoke softly and said… WE’RE HERE.. DEPSY yawned as it was now the afternoon and the booze had given him desperately need vitality to soldier forward and command the fields of carnage that lay ahead…

The man slowly proceeded toward to front door of the cabin. It occurred to DEPSY as he staggered toward the cabin, that he was completely out of his element… Sadly his element was being exposed to the elements and the brutally of strangers, but it was his place none the less… He was utterly unaware of where he was or how he'd gotten there or where he was. He figured that where there’s one bottle of BLACK LABEL, there’s most likely another

Innit somewhere.

They stepped through the threshold and entered the massive, grand lodge of cabin. A giant mounted BUFFALO greeted them.

DEPSY asked for a glass and some ice. The man scurried off across the creaky wood floor to fletch an appropriate vessel. When he returned DEPSY had made himself comfortable on a giant leather sofa. He felt important clutching his bottle and receiving the heavy vessel with crisp ice cubes that clicked and clacked as he poured the sauce over the ice. He held up the glass so as to take in the room and savor the nectar he held in his paw. Suddenly a thud clapped the back of his noggin.

When he awoke he was naked. He was tired to a chair surrounded by naked people in hoods all muttering something. He tired to make out their words, but to no avail. His head felt like mud. His eyelids felt extremely heavy. It seemed immediately that he’d been drugged with something.., butt naked and high as a kite on some horse, tied to a goddaM chair…

WHAT KIND OF PUDFING DID YOU PUT YER PECKER INTO THIS TIME DEPSY.., he though, speaking to himself in 3rd person..

He’d done his dance with the dragon while train hopping and stealing cattle to escape the law in BOSEMAN.

It’s of relevance to note while DEPSY had effectively been vomited out of the MILITARY INDUSTRIAL COMPLEX into the bowls of the old NORTH END. Masochistically forced to March like all the other home bum zombies. Begging for change, eating free church meals grabbing what goods could be clutched up at all junctures.

He’d been raised by his father the traveling salesman. Selling aluminum siding and driveway sealant any moron could do themselves. The GRIFT ran deep in his blood.

The old man sold the Irish sweepstakes tricks back BROOKLYN on FLATBUSH AVE as kid.

His DAD had been a longshoreman. The docks were a blaze with debauchery and hi jinx galore. The trucks would pull up and the fellas all filled out like rabid hounds.

Tearing about the cans and looting anything and everything in sight. Whole trucks would just disappear and reappear. It was a different time. But the OLD MAN eventually drank one too many and knocked the ever loving puss outta some fella and killed em.

It was an accident but then he got upset and kicked the shit out of the dude to make sure he was dead before removing his member and urinating all over his blood splattered face.

It was a mess so he chose to burn the bar down and leave NEW YORK. He took a boat to the MALDEVES. A buddy helped him get on a crew with phony docs and he was gone. Like a rat on CANAL in the swarm at dawn. A ghost who served up the final ass wooping for an unwitting BAFOON. He too would turn into a ghost with his fists and lack of wits.

Once he hit land, he swore to never get on a ship again. He kissed the beach and cried for an hour. His eyes burned and he felt like he was falling because he couldn’t stop crying. The captain stood over him shaking his head briefly before leaving him to sob alone. Eventually a switch flipped inside him and he stopped crying and stood up. He walked to the tiny town. From there he found a work and wife before stowing passage back to the states several years later and moving BURLINGTON, VERMONT.

It was slowly becoming apartment to DEMPSY that his situation was most certain.. as the of JOHNNY walked away, he could hear the people muttering and start to have coitus all around him. The floor began to ooze and he remembered feeling dopey when his eyes opened..

The roar of undulating flesh and growling was relentless.. one lady in particular seemed determined to out do EVERYONE.. eventually he became aware of a very tall naked man with a giant BUFFALO head upon his shoulders.. he moved slowly with intent amongst the slithering round the room to trigger the invoication…

The magus took long, confident strides. Commanding the room as he moved closer to the alter..All the disgusting smashing abruptly stopped…

The magus spoke:

WE ARE ONE

WE ARE NONE

(the people respond in a shrill scream)

WE ARE THEY

THEY WHO LIVE TODAY

WE WILL DIE

BUT ONLY AFTER WE TRY

WHAT IS BORN

CAN NEVER DIE

THE LIGHT IN-EXTENTION

INSIDE OF ME

IS THE LIGHT

INSIDE THE TREE

As each phrase and response was spoken the people blasted out the words slowly and loudly. The resonance of the many voice drifting chaotically in and out of dissonant frequency.

WHAT IN THE ACTUAL FUCK…

DEPSY thought to himself. The invocation finished and all the people exhaled as one and collapsed to the filthy fluid kissed floor. The thud was followed by them grinding there faces into the floor. A low whimpering Bega in to bubble.

DEPSY was remarkablely calm through out this all, thanks largely to the THOROZINE and KETAMINE cocktail they blasted into his ASS..

GUYS, LOOK.. IT’S NOT SO BAD! YOU GOT EACH OTHER! QUIT CRYING! I DIDN’T CRY WHEN I CAUGHT MY BALLS IN MY FLY THE OTHER DAY. OH, SURE I LET OUT A YELP, BUT NONE A BOO HOO’E BULLSHIT!!! LOOK AT YOURSELVES!!

The wailing and sobbing intensified. Growing slowly to deafening roar.. The MAGUS stood watch over his flock. He lifted his left index finger and made a huge circle, then stepped through it. He clapped both his hands at full force in front of him, stepped forward again, closer to DEPSY.

The MAGUS began to speak in a brick hard tone.

YOU ARE THE FOOL

THE NEOPHYTE

BROUGHT BEFORE THIS

COVEN TO BARE WITNESS

TO CONSECRATE THIS

RITUAL AND EXTEND

OUR LIGHT FROM

THE VOID INTO

THE WAKING WORLD

WE TOAST YOU

ON MOST HIGH

YOU TOOK SO

MANY STEPS TO

GET TO THIS PLACE

WE MEAN YOU NO ILL

BUT INSTEAD INVITE YOU

TO CLEANSE YOURSELF

IN THE HEALING

WATERS OF OUR

HOT SPRING BATHS

The people grew quiet as the MAGUS spoke.

They rose like flowers growing in time lapse. He could feel sweaty flesh touching his hands and feet, unbending him from the chair. A voluptuous woman stood before him in all her glorious bounty. She extended her splendid hand to DEPSY and softly spoke.,

PLEASE COME WITH ME DEPSY

DEPSY gave his noggin a solid shake and pressed his heels into the wet floor to stand. He put out his weathered catchers mitt and placed it into her smooth, cool palm. She made a sound but it was like a delicate hum of recognition.

They slowly strolled out of the room which was actually a large barn behind the property. They walked with everyone else to the lake and another huge building with large glass windows. Inside they all slipped into the natural hot spring pools that were there. Looking out across the lake from the pool the MAGIS entered last. He circled the pool as the people began heavy petting. A gooie slaughshing and clapping of the liquid surface begin distrusted ensued. The people formed a loose GUYER and began to rotate and penetrate each other whilst circling DEPSY at the center of the MALESTROM.

The MAGUS slowly circled the people and the circumference of the pool. DEPSY was bathed in the fluids and mineral essence of the mountain. The sun hardened flesh of his face melted the years of struggle clean away instantly. His rickety knees, that normally buckled as he walked felt strong again. His stumpy hobbit feet clutched the coarse concrete surface of the pool. His piggies wiggled limber like a toddler’s.. he looked down into the gregarious mating-ball of human flesh undulating hypnotically around him. The woman who led him from the chair placed her fingers on his ear, then leaned in. Slowly biting the lower meat of his ear lobe where is small gold pirate ear ring was. She made the ring clink against her toungue piercing. She slowly recoiled and released her grip. Blowing a breath delicately back into his ear. She spoke in a delicious low and tender blanket voice.

THANK YOU DEPSY

WE TOAST YOU

ON MOST HIGH

YOU HONOR US

BY REMINDING US

THAT THE STEP

WE TAKE NEXT

WE TAKE INTO

THE LIGHT

BRAVE AND CLEAN

WITH HEARTS BRIMMING

WITH LOVE

AND HANDS

STRONG ENOUGH

TO PERRY THE

HEAVY LOAD ACROSS THE BADLANDS

TO CARRY THE FIRE

AS YOU HAVE DEPSY

THE RICH MAN

IS A PAUPER

WHO KNOWS NOT

THE EYES OF THE MOST MIGHTY MOUSE THST EVER WAS A MC WHO BRAVED THE WILDERNESS AND HOBO JUNGLE

WHO SHALL RAISE UP FROM THESE HEALING WATERS AND BE OUR KING

DEPSY looked deep into her eyes and grin as large as he could through his scruffy ginger mustache. He slowly leaned into her and gave her a long, slow, passionate kiss. He was recoiled and held her against his hersute naked frame. Taking in the splashing pool more like a bit of chummed waters with some REEF SHARKS having a nip and saying HELLO.

He took a long slow breathe knowing that he was free. Free of the maze he’d been born into. He was no longer an INVALID PERSON unworthy of pity or compassion. He was a KING. He hadn’t the foggiest what that meant but he was finally feeling the horse clop off to greener pastures.. He quickly clapped his hands and proclaimed..

YOUR KING

IS THIRSTY!!!

BLACK LABEL

ROCKS STAT!!!

YOU BUFFALO HEAD GUY

WHAT THE SHIT

TAKE THAT THING OFF

AND GET YOUR ASS

TO THAT BBQ

AND FIRE IT UP

DADDY’S HOME

AND HUNGRY

[mxtcha-tea]

domestic shiratorizawa

⊹summary; the life inside the dorms of shiratorizawa

⊹pilots; gn![y/n], ushijima, tendou, semi, yamagata, reon, kawanishi, shirabu, goshiki (pairings showed; yamagata x reader, goshiki x reader)

⊹genre; fluff, crack and some cursings (no proofread)

⊹flight details; i've once made a domestic imagines in my old blog so imma make a small reboot of it <3

random shopping

normal day, normal life. you could've seen yourself laying or even napping in your room while a compilation of minecraft songs plays in the background. but no. instead, you're inside an antique shop with Yamagata, Ushijima and Tendou.

you have no idea when, or how did the process happened but you surely is done with getting dragged inside the shop by Tendou and Yamagata.

while Ushijima's stuck on a section, you don't know where, but he's definitely stuck there, "[y/n]! look at what i found,"

Yamagata called you as you turned around to see him holding up a pretty heavy doll. you raise your brow, "what the hell is that?" walking towards him and taking a closer look at the object in hand,

"i think it's a, um, i think a matryoska doll? matroyska? is that how you say it?" "why're you asking me, i don't know jack shit about russian stuff,"

"ah you mean, matryoshka doll?" Tendou butted in, startling you two, "it's also called a 'nesting doll' and did you actually know that it was actually originated from china?"

Yamagata's eyes practically sparkled at that with a surprised look, "from china? really?"

you can only roll your eyes, "and how can you even know all that?" Tendou snickered and put on a smug face, "i'm actually very smart, y'know. ya'll just don't know about it," "says the person in class 2,"

"i blame the mathematic old hags for adding letters in math, and the apple that fucking hit my man Isaac," you tsk'ed and walk towards the next section. Yamagata passive aggressively put the matryoshka doll down and follow after you along with Tendou,

"also, we need to find ushijima, i think he's stuck in some section between here...ah there," you stopped walking and turn to your right where you find Ushijima reading a book.

Tendou skipped towards him and smack his shoulder, "you okay, wakatoshi-kun? you sure did took longer to look at the stuff here," while Tendou chats with Ushijima, Yamagata look up at the shelves as something caught his eyes.

he tried to reach it while tip toing but due to his height, he can't reach it. then, he jumped from his spot to grab the object but end up hitting his head onto the board, "AGH, FUCK!" which causes you all to look at him, watching him hold his head while shivering from the pain,

"are you okay, yamagata?" ushijima ask, putting back the book on the shelves, "yeah, yeah, i'm just tryna get that," he shakes his head before pointing up.

you followed his finger and caught a glimpse of an old polaroid. it's a little bit dusty but other than that, it looks new. Ushijima reached it from his spot and managed to grab it, "here,"

he hands it to Yamagata as he instantly recovered from his recent pain and snatch it from Ushijima's hand, subtly thanking him with a grin, "why do you even need a polaroid?" Tendou asked, leaning his arm over Ushijima's shoulder with one brow up,

"pfft, for journaling of course,"

a gust of wind went through you while staring at him with a poker face, the same with Tendou with a small cat like smile. Ushijima just looked the same,

"okay," "WHAT'S WITH THE TONE??" you blinked and just knit your eyebrows, "i mean, since when you started journaling? you're not even the type of person to do something aesthetic,"

he pouted and just crosses his arms, "so what? that doesn't mean i can't do it, right? have faith in me god darn it. and honestly, my journal looks good so far," "well, fine,"

you waved your hand at him and continue going through the other section. and just like that, "hey wait!" Yamagata tailed after you.

Tendou snickered at the two and focus back on Ushijima, who's still watching the display yet again, "have you thought of what to buy wakatoshi-kun?" "i'm not sure, there's a lot of interesting stuff here," "well, you've only been in this section but okay~"

studying

"agh, why did those idiots really have to call me at this time...?"

you groaned, slowly walking through the halls with a slouched figure. tracing your fingers along the wall with a dejected look. you're suppose to sleep today.

an hour or two long sleep. it's finally the weekend which means the time for you to sleep all of your problems away. drifting into slumber with fluffy pillows and warm blankets, enjoying your dream as long as you can.

until your ringtone annoyingly rings next to your ear. you answer the call, and again greeted by the most annoying human in the planet,

"[y/n], we need you at the gym right now!"

"huh? oh fuck off Tendou, i need to sleep right now,"

"nuh uh, you can sleep later after you go to the gym,"

"why? are you, i don't know, practicing or something?"

"you have to find out. if you don't move your ass from that bed, we'll send Hayato to wake you up~"

". . ."

and now, you find yourself standing in front of the door of shiratorizawa's volleyball gym. not only that Tendou wakes you up from your sleep, you also had to WALK all the way from your dorm to the gym,

"i'm gonna add more time to their practices after this..."

sliding the door open, you expect them to be doing serves or maybe spikes.

but instead, you're seeing them—as in the 3rd years—all sitting down at the middle of the court, with books around them.

and what's even more confusing is that they somehow managed to bring a table inside. no, not the flip-able table.

literally a whole ass table.

Reon looks up from his book and notices your figure standing on the door way. he waves his hand at you, you did the same but still with a confused look.

Yamagata was next to see you as he abruptly stand up from his spot, shaking the table in the process,

"Hayato! stop shaking the table," "oops, sorry. ah, wait, [y/n]!"

that caught all of the boys attention as they look at you, "what taking you so long to arrive?" Tendou asked, a pen rested in between his upper lip and nose.

Semi smacked him in the face���earning an 'ow'—before shaking his head,

"their dorm is literally far from the gym, and why do you even proposed your idea of studying at the gym anyway?"

you make your way towards them, Reon patting the empty spot next to him. you sat down on your spot as Yamagata did the same. seemed like he was waiting for you.

Tendou rubbed his nose and pouted at Semi, "this was the best place to study anyway! it have much more room,"

"we should've gone to the cafeteria OR the LIBRARY," Semi groaned, looking back at his book before writing on it,

"pfft, the cafeteria's no fun. and i got banned from the library," Reon looks at Tendou with confusion, "well, it's not surprising,"

Tendou shrugged, "i was also banned from the library," Ushijima said, not looking up from his notes as you knit your eyebrows at that,

"you're also banned from the library? Satori, what did you and Ushijima did—" "anyways, um,"

he cut you off, fidgeting with his pen before pointing it at you, "right, you need to tutor us on this subject~!"

you blinked, looking down at the book they're studying about, "haven't the teacher covered this already?"

"well, i'm sorry, class 6. but we have no idea how this thing works. maybe only Reon, but look at Semi,"

Tendou wrapped his arm around Semi's neck, practically head locking him, "he's from class 1 and i think you should teach him about this the most," "I'll rip your fucking head off, Tendou!"

while both of them tried to strangle each other, Yamagata caught your attention next,

"and also, it won't be fun without you, y'know," Reon nodded, "and don't forget that you can't leave me alone in this,"

"oh right," "hm? what was that?" Yamagata asked. you just shake your head with a defeated smile, "nothing..."

after clearing your throat, you snatched Semi's book away before flipping through the pages,

"okay you scumbags, it's time to learn,"

oblivious enough

the birds chirped from the tree, the hallway's as loud as ever. Semi and Tendou's leaning against the window, each of them drinking apple juice and eating yakisoba bread.

it was silence between them before Semi spoke, "hey, Tendou," "yes Semi-Semi?" "y'know,"

Semi turned his head to look at Tendou as the redhead did the same, "have you, noticed the relationship between [y/n] and Yamagata lately?"

the latter made a thinking face, before nodding, "hm, seems so,"

"do you think, either one of them ever noticed about it?" Tendou shakes his head at the question, "nope, i don't think they do. in fact, they might be completely oblivious to it,"

Semi snickered, "right, like that one time..."

"[y/n], do you think my lips are dry right now?"

you look up from your clipboard, seeing Yamagata pointing his lips, "hm, nah. they're fine, but if you want, i can but on some lip balm,"

his eyes sparkled at that as he nodded his head with excitement, "sure!" you walk towards your bag with Yamagata following you. opening the zipper and search inside it, you pull out your lip balm,

"here, hold still," you put a hand on his cheek while the other applies lip balm onto his lips. it was a slow process but he managed to not move at all while making eye contact with you.

once you finished applying, he pop his lips before humming, "mn, cherry," "let me know if you need anything else,"

he nodded with now flushed cheeks as he smile at you. you did the same, gently patting his arm.

from a distance, Shirabu looks at them with a disgusted look, "ugh, can't they be more subtle about it,"

Kawanishi shrugged, "just let them be,"

"how can i redo my memory? i don't need to see that this early," "well, what if it was us?" "i would be twice as grossed, i can put my own lip balm," "hm yeah, you're right, i honestly would be like that too," "good,"

"haha yeah, now that i think about it, they do it all the time right?" Tendou nodded at Semi's statement before hearing the all too familiar voice just a few meters away from them,

"[y/n]!"

you turned your head around while still sipping your drink. Yamagata stood in front of you, holding out his visibly crumpled necktie with a small smile,

"my necktie!" "ah again? whatever," you give your drink to him as he hold it for you.

grabbing the necktie from his hand, looping it around his collar shirt and started tying it with a concentrated look,

"i can't say that it'll be clean when i finished tying it," "it's okay! that's why i'm asking you to do it, messy or not, at least i have it on," "hm, yeah,"

after you finished tying it and patting it a little, Yamagata hugged you, "thank you!" "yeah, you're welcome,"

the aura literally radiates on the slightly crowded hallway as some of the students who passed you talked among themselves.

Semi and Tendou stared at you two, expressionless eyes but with a small smile,

'ah, right,'

Tendou sighed, intertwining his fingers together and lifting it up to his cheeks, "ah, young love~"

"we're all the same age,"

"young love~"

bonus; reliable kouhai

lifeless.

is what goshiki would say when he took a few glances at you from his book. you promised to tutor him about this subject he's struggling on. but didn't really expect to see your slouched form walking inside the library.

he's not even sure if you even hear anything you're saying right now, "get a shovel and two-" your head hit the table, creating a loud sound and catching the attention of almost everyone inside the library,

"[y/n]-senpai, um, are you okay??" you groaned and rapidly blink your eyes, covering your forehead, "yeah, 'm just..."

a yawn escaped from your mouth before you can even finish your sentence, "...tired. those stupid senpais of yours need help tutoring too even tho being grown ass men,"

goshiki closes his book and creating a small 'thump', snapping you out from your mind,

"well, if that so then you didn't have to come, you could've just tell me and i would be fine with it!" your hoarse laugh caught him off guard as a shade of red ran across his cheeks, "i can't break a promise, tsutomu. why do you even think i agree on tutoring you?"

"uh, cause you want to help me with my studies?" "one of it, and cause i enjoy tutoring you," he can feel his cheeks heating up more when you made eye contact with him, a small smile laced upon your face,

"and honestly, you're smarter than i thought. class 4 right? that's cool," he looked away, trying to calm his nerves down, "t-thanks! a lot of people thought i was in a lower class, so i, i appreciate it,"

goshiki took a peek at you, now burying your face onto your face, "also, senpai," "hm?"

"you should take a nap for now, i think i can start understanding this formula," you slightly look up at him, "you sure? i was prolly talking craps just now," "yeah! your health is more important anyway,"

you hum, offering him a warm smile, "thanks, i know i can count on you," you rested onto your side and close your eyes. lips slightly parted and just like that, you're deep in your dreams.

he pursed his lips, slowly leaning against the table to look at your face. it's calm, peaceful and beautiful, kissable lips. he wonder if he could lean in a little closer until you two-

goshiki instantly jolted up and hit himself on the head, face's covered in the color red, 'no! don't think about that, curse you Tendou-San for introducing me to those mangas...'

Tendou's faces ran across his mind as he grunted,

'why're they so pretty??'

[chaiscentedcandle]

Like You (George Weasley x fem!reader)

𝐏𝐚��𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: George Weasley

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Y/n can’t find anybody else like George

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭: none

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: lil angsty, cursing, mentions of food, gets happy towards the end!

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2,461

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this is inspired by my all time freaking favorite Doja Catsong, Streets, omg I love it, I also had a different idea for this song but as I was writing it just took a turn so I might write another one but it’ll be different, but anyways if you guys haven’t listened to Streets you should omgggg but you don’t have too!! Anyways I hope you guys like it!💗💗 I ONLY USED KATIE BELL AS DRAMA NO KATIE BELL SLANDER🤚🏼

Like you, like you

Like you, ooh

I found it hard to find someone like you

To say Y/n love life was sad was kinda far behind it, sure he’s dated boys in the past before, but the feelings never stayed. She dated boys and not men because back then her judgement never got the best of her. She did feel bad that after only a few weeks of dating she questioned her feelings, they’d gone so soon but why?

Like you, like you

Send your location come through

I can’t sleep no more

In my head we belong

Y/n always felt like she was doing something wrong when she broke up with them, it wasn’t their fault she lost feelings she just....did. Dating is hard, it’s very hard and no one will tell you that, all these other people make it look easy and fun but it’s just the exact opposite.

And I can’t be without you

Why can’t I find no one like you?

I can’t sleep no more

In my head we belong

Maybe dating was hard because your soul knew the person your with is not the person you want to be with. Maybe it’s hard because deep down you know you won’t have a future with said person and it feels like waisted time. Maybe datings hard because the person you want to be with is with someone else.

These thoughts plagued Y/n and George at night. In each other’s head they belonged together.

And I can’t be without you

Why can’t I find no one like you?

Baby, we tried to fight it

We all been there some days

Sometimes it’s not just hard for one party, sometimes it’s hard for the other party as well. Because George has been in love with Y/n for as long as he could remember, his best friend, and it didn’t feel weird to be in love with her, he tried to push his feelings down, so far down that he couldn’t feel them, yet the feelings are too strong.

Thought I need something else

And acted like I was okay

We just had to work it out

And baby, I needed space

George thought maybe if he dated someone else things would be okay instead of acting like it was okay. He needed to work things out, he gave himself space from Y/n which not only left her confused but Fred as well, he tells everything to Fred so why is he distancing himself from her?.

So when he started dating Katie Bell, it didn’t feel right. Something in his gut told him it wasn’t right and he shouldn’t be doing it, but how could he tell his best friend he’s in love with her? She probably wasn’t even in love with him, he wasn’t even Katie’s first choice.

Ain't nobody 'round here wrong

You love all yours so far away

You're pouring your heart out

I'm acting like I knew

George and Katie’s relationship didn’t last long, he refused to kiss her and only wanted to hold her hand, anytime she’d try to find way to kiss him he’d make a silly excuse to slip away. After a few months they finally split, he couldn’t deny how he felt towards Y/n anymore, he’s been denying it too long.

Late at night he would create scenarios where he poured his heart out to Y/n and she acted like she knew already, his words were moving and he didn’t stumble over his words and they’d share a fiery kiss. Every night he wished something like that would happen.

You held me so down

So down I never grew, oh

I tried to find out

When none of them came through

Before George could confess his feelings for Y/n she also dated someone for a span of months, Adrian Pucey. Adrian Pucey was well known around the school, being on the Slytherin quidditch team had its perks, but Y/n never knew why he was well known for it, other people had been on the quidditch team.

Adrian Pucey put Y/n in a corner when he asked her to be his girlfriend in front of everyone at the great hall, Y/n was speechless for a moment, of course it had to be in front of everyone, if she said no she’d be seen as a heartless bitch. Y/n convinced herself that maybe since George had dated someone else she should too.

Their relationship lasted shorter then George and Katie’s. Adrian had no idea what to do with a relationship nor how to treat a women, he was cold and mean to Y/n, he always backed her into a corner and called her names when she didn’t agree with him, so in a flurry of emotions she broke up with him in front of a decent sized group of people. She felt like he had held her down, she’s a delicate flower who’s trying to blossom into a beautiful hibiscus but Adrian was a slug who was holding her down from growing.

And now I'm stuck in the middle

And baby had to pull me out, oh

Like you, like you

Like you, ooh

George was beyond aggravated when Adrian had asked Y/n out, his Y/n, Fred tried to talk to him later that day in the common room. “Y/n is her own person and can date whoever she wants” Fred told him, “yeah, but it’s angering too see her with some prat as Adrian Pucey”. Ron had butted into the conversation to joke and say that the twins roles had been reversed and one was acting like the other, alas he was told to shut up.

Before Y/n had broken up with Adrian he tried to figure out all the things wrong Adrian was doing, he could’ve made a bullet point list of a few pages from the things he picked up on. He brought them all to Y/n’s attention, she didn’t deny them because, well, she already knew. She had no idea why she was with him. She was more than grateful that George had helped pull her out from the middle.

I found it hard to find someone like you

Like you, like you

Send your location, come through (Yeah)

Damn papa, you a rare breed, no comparing

Now that they are both single George thought it would be a great time to tell Y/n how he feels, but it’s harder done than said. Anytime he’d find a lull in a conversation or comfortable silence he could feel his heart wanting to tell her, wearing to tell her but his mouth just wouldn’t move and his brain just wouldn’t function.

Y/n also wanted to tell George how she felt for so long but could never come to either, whenever they’d be apart from each other she’d have other students or friends come find her then tell her George was looking for her, he’s always looking for her. Y/n thought most of the guys at Hogwarts were just like Adrian, but when she left Adrian she realized there was many guys way different then Adrian, like George, he wasn’t like anyone she’s really seen and it took her this long to realize how rare he is.

And it's motherfuckin' scary

Tryna keep him 'cause I found him

Let a hoe know, I ain't motherfuckin' sharing

I could take you to the parents, then to Paris

Rumors began to spread that Katie was wanting George back, people said she was very sulky and quiet. Her friends said all she brought up was George and how annoying it was getting. “She spends most of her time talking about George, she’s had a few nights where all she talked about was him, it’s quite annoying actually” recalled one of her friends.

This made Y/n jealous. She tried to not get jealous but George had said he was done with Katie. Her mother always told her jealousy is bad medicine. Y/n couldn’t help the way she felt, she knows not to surprise feelings so she embraced it instead, she was jealous and she had a right to be. She waited this long, she didn’t want to share.

You the type I wanna marry (Yeah) and keep you merry

I'll put the ring on when you ready

We play our fantasies out in real life ways and

Y/n’s friend group who consisted of George, Fred, Lee, and Angelina had been talking about the situation in the Gryffindor common room, Y/n was slumped in a arm chair with her arms and legs crossed. She wasn’t pleased to hear the situation again, the students at Hogwarts grabbed onto any drama like a leech. “Are you okay, Y/n?” Angelina asked her, giving a glance to her then to the fire “I’m fine” she mumbled

No Final Fantasy, can we end these games though?

You give me energy, make me feel lightweight

Like the birds of a feather, baby

We real life made for each other

The drama started to disperse, people started to find other things to talk about. Y/n finally felt like she could breathe and she didn’t have to hear someone mumbling about Katie and George. Of course it couldn’t last forever, at lunch everyone chatted about something in the Great Hall. Katie and her friends sat more towards the front of the table while Y/n and her friends sat more towards the middle, Y/n noticed how Katie couldn’t keep her eyes from wandering. Soon Fred picked up on what was happening.

“Oi! George! Looks like a certain someone can’t take her eyes off you” as soon as it passed Fred’s lips, Y/n had tightly gripped a piece of bread she had been eating, crunching sound from the crust and crumps falling to her plate. George nudged her “are you alright?” He asked,Y/n didn’t even look up “I’m fine, do I not look fine?” She snapped. George hadn’t said another word.

Y/n felt like she was stuck in a game she’s meant to lose. To her luck, Katie came wondering over to their part of the table, you could tell she was nervous and she was playing with her fingers. She stopped in front of George “u-uhm, George?” She said quietly, almost to quiet. George looked up from his plate, meeting her eyes “yes?” He said confused. Katie played with her fingers more “i....I just wanted to say that, uhm....I miss you, quite a bit actually” she tucked her hair behind her ear and casted her gaze to the floor “and I was wondering if we could possibly....try again?” George was speechless, and shocked, sure Katie is a nice girl but she’s not his, not when his flower is sitting next to him, clearly seething. However, George didn’t want to embarrass her by saying no, he didn’t want to embarrass her like that. “Uhm...I’ll-I’ll think about it” Katie gave a silent “okay!” With a smile and walked back to her spot, a slight skip in her step.

This only aggravated Y/n more, why couldn’t George be the one to give her so much energy from just a single glance that made her head spin, why wouldn’t he make Y/n feel weightless. Why couldn’t they be birds of a feather?, maybe thinking they were made for each other didn’t really mean they were.

And it's hard to keep my cool

When other bitches tryna get with my dude and

When other chickens tryna get in my coop

'Cause you're a one in a million

There ain’t no man like you

Y/n didn’t want to cause a scene but it didn’t take a fool to notice how affected she was by what Katie had done, especially George’s response. Grabbing her bag, she stood up from her seat hastily and speed walked out of the Great Hall. Her cold and hard stare could send shivers down your spine, she looked like she was ready to exploded any second.

Maybe it was just her head telling her that George was hers, they hadn’t really talked about it for that matter. George had watched her leave the Great Hall, he kept his eyes in the direction she left still, his lips pressed into a fine line, his brain was running around with what he should do. He didn’t move until Hermione said something “well, what are you doing? Go after her!” He didn’t give it a second thought and was out the door.

It wasn’t long before George found Y/n at a spot over looking the Great Lake. Her elbow rested on a ledge with her chin in her hand, she looked a little more calm. George stood next to her, Y/n glanced at him then back to the lake. “What’s wrong?” George said, Y/n gave him another quick glance before she spoke “I thought you said you were done with Katie Bell” she had nothing against Katie, not really, she was just jealous. “I am” George said, Y/n rolled her eyes “didn’t look like it” she replied. Y/n didn’t want to hear it anymore, she turned on her heel to leave but only making a few steps before George grabbed her arms and turned her towards him “I don’t love her!” George said defensively “why are you so jealous anyways?” Y/n scoffed, she wasn’t going to admit she was jealous “I’m not jealous” she mumbled “yes, you are! Why are you jealous?” He repeated “because you’re one in a million! There’s no man like you! I want you for myself” Y/n spoke before she could think.

Like you, like you

Like you, ooh

I found it hard to find someone like you

Like you, like you

Y/n and George couldn’t believe what she had said, George often doubted himself but to hear that from someone he loves. It was refreshing. “I don’t love her” George said again “I love you” the tension was so thick you could cut it with a butcher knife. One was waiting for the other to do something. Y/n’s hands had been shaking a little, George was playing with his pointer finger and staring at his shoes, it was so unreal to them that they both were dumb enough to not see they both fancied each other.

Slowly Y/n took a few steps forward, she wrapped her arms around George’s neck and pulled him in. He buried his face in her neck “it was hard to find someone like you, and I don’t want to let you go” Y/n whispered “I don’t want to let you go either” George added. They both pulled away to look at each other, looking each other in the eyes to find something. George placed a soft kiss on Y/n’s forehead then placed his on hers. Finally they got to have each other.

[gogoseijoh]

losing: pt. 2 - kageyama x reader x tsukishima

 summary: tsukki is taken with you, and your best friend is not a fan of that fact

genre: fluff, with a dash of angst at the end

warning(s): tsukishima’s self doubt, kageyama tryna fight

a/n: tsukki’s pov this time :))) i do be loving both of these men. also thank you for all the support i’m sorry it took me so long to get this out! this isn’t very long, but the next chapter will be :)) 

word count: 1.9k

part 1, part 3

Tsukishima counted himself incredibly lucky. He hadn’t thought that he would find someone like you in high school, so he didn’t even think to look, but here you were, stumbling into his life with open arms and sweet words that turned his ears the most vibrant red he’d ever seen. You left kisses on his cheeks that burned into his skin, and he would lay in bed after he walked you home, fingers brushing over the spots in belated shock that you wanted to touch him. And then there was the sweaters. You liked to wear them, the sleeves swallowing you, because his arms were ridiculously long. They made you feel safe, but you always gave them back to him at the end of the day, and when you did, he was always consumed by the scent of your skin. Tsukishima hadn’t expected himself to be so taken with a girl, but now here he was, looking forward to seeing you every day at school. Even on the weekends he saw you, when for years the only person he hung out with both in and out of school had been the intensely loyal Yamaguchi. Now, though, he shared his time with you as well, and it was lovely. He didn’t think he would ever forget the first time you hung out in your living room, a documentary on the television and his arm draped over your shoulders, wanting to pull you closer, but not wanting to push your boundaries. You were both so nervous to speak, instead feigning interest in the screen in front of you. You had never been alone like this together, typically meeting in parks or cafes, where the ambient noise of others chatting spurred on your own conversations. Here though, it was all up to you two, so you both resigned to the comfortable silence. When the documentary ended, you had turned to look at him, “I feel so safe with you, Tsukki.” At that moment, he decided that you two didn’t need words all the time.

Your first kiss was on your front porch. Tsukki had decided to take you on your first real date, and the two of you had spent hours talking at the coffee shop he brought you to. He walked you home, hands tangled together in between you as you made your way down the street. Tsukishima, not usually one for physical affection, found himself so taken with you that he couldn’t help himself. He never understood the appeal of kissing, and then he saw your lips, covered in peppermint chapstick and always looking so soft. His hand didn’t leave yours when you reached your house, and when you turned to him, the look in his eyes was one you hadn’t seen before. He looked nervous but happy, and before you could ask him if he was okay, his voice broke through your thoughts, “Can I kiss you?” He was overjoyed when you nodded, and suddenly, one hand was cradling the back of your neck and the other held the curve of your waist as he leant down to meet you. He saw your eyes flutter closed and felt your hands snake up to your biceps, and he let his eyes fall closed, too. It was a gentle kiss, only lasting a few seconds, shy lips pressed to each other. Tsukishima basked in the blush of your cheeks when he pulled away and thanked you for a nice day. You just beamed back at him, pulling him in for one last hug before slipping into your house. Tsukki walked back home feeling as if he as walking on air, a feeling only you could give him.

That was a Saturday. Tsukishima was back to being his typically distant and sarcastic self by Monday, preserving the most gentle parts of himself for when you two were alone. In the mornings, he walked to school with Yamaguchi, while you were always accompanied by Kageyama. Tsukishima had been loathe to admit to the feelings he had for you because of your choice in best friend, but he saw that you had the same effect on the setter as you did on him. Kageyama wasn’t exactly subtle about his feelings, and the change in his personality when he was around you was enough to make Tsukishima wary of him. Spending time with you allowed him to hear about the friendship shared between you two, and it helped him understand. Kageyama was your best friend, the only person in the world outside of your family that you knew would be there for you for the rest of your life. Your tie to him was impossible to sever, and you swore up and down that you knew him better than he knew himself. It was still scary, knowing that someone who despised him was so close to you, having so much influence in your life. Tsukishima despised the brunette too, but Kageyama had been in your life longer. Would Kageyama’s opinion of him be the end of your relationship? Tsukishima tried to soothe himself into believing that Kageyama cared enough for you that he wouldn’t do that, but there was still a fear in him. 

Tsukishima was always shocked by the way you looked at him. No matter where you were or what was going on, your eyes always held the softest admiration in them when you saw him. No one had ever looked at him like that. You looked at him as if he had put the stars in the sky, and he felt triumph when he noted that those eyes were reserved for him, not even Kageyama gaining your attention like he did. There was a sense of pride in him when you kissed his cheek in front of the gym before practice, and he watched with a smirk as Kageyama scowled and stalked by you two, not that you had noticed. Tsukishima knew that when it came to volleyball, he wasn’t as talented as Kageyama, but here, with you smiling up at him, he felt like he had finally won against the King. In his mind, he knew it was juvenile to think that. He knew you were no prize to be won, nothing to be paraded around like a trophy in front of someone who Tsukki considered to be a foe, but he couldn’t help the satisfaction that seeped into his bones when Kageyama was close by. There was a conflict in his brain, a battle between the part that wanted to make Kageyama’s life harder and the part that understood how it would feel if the roles were reversed. He grimaced at the thought of having to bare witness to you and Kageyama doing the same things he did with you, but he just couldn’t help himself. You hadn’t noticed the added tension to their relationship, or lack thereof, but the rest of the volleyball club had. For the most part, they were their usual selves, but both of their voices now held an extra edge when they jeered at each other. Tsukishima could feel Kageyama’s steely gaze cutting through him whenever he turned his back, and he returned it when the brunette sought you out after practice and you handed him a snack with a brilliant smile. Still, Tsukishima knew that at the end of the day, you’d be walking home holding his hand, no one else’s. It was the most comforting thing he had ever known.

After five dates with you, Tsukishima figured out how to kill two birds with one stone. He was going to ask you to officially be his girlfriend. It was perfect, because not only would it show you how much he cared for you and that you were paramountly important to him, but it would also settle some of his fears about not being good enough for you if you said yes. Tsukishima’s feelings of uncertainty in himself had carried over from volleyball to his relationship with you, which he wasn’t thrilled about, but his faith in you relieved a lot of that pressure from his mind. He knew you liked him just as much as he liked you, so why should there be doubt in his head about you saying no? 

That doubt festered when Kageyama approached him in the club room one afternoon before practice, scowl drawing deep lines on his face and making Tsukishima stand up from the ground when he had tied his shoes. “Need something, your Majesty?” Tsukishima sneered, one hand coming up to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“When are you gonna cut the act?” Kageyama snarled, eyes narrowing even further at the middle blocker. 

Tsukki scoffed, “What on Earth are you talking about?”

“I know you’re just dating (y/n) to mess with me,” Kageyama accused, taking a step forward, “Just leave her alone.”

“Wow, are you that conceded?” Tsukishima chuckled, shaking his head at the thought, “This may come as a shock, but everything isn’t about you, King. She has a life outside of you. I’m dating her because I like her, and, not that it’s any of your business, I’m going to ask her to be my girlfriend.” He didn’t miss how Kageyama’s face dropped at that, but he kept going, “Nothing I’m doing has anything to do with you. I seem to have underestimated your selfishness. I will never understand why she chooses to stick with you.” He began to make for the door but not before he turned and in his cool voice, he said, “And for the record, it’s not my fault she doesn’t want to date you.”

Before Tsukishima had a moment to step out the door, Kageyama surged forward, hand locking around the front of Tsukishima’s shirt, “I could say the same for you. She deserves so much more than you, and if you hurt her, I swear-”

“You’ll what?” a timid voice spoke from the door, and there you were standing, eyes widened to the size of dinner plates at the scene in front of you. Ukai had sent you to check on what was taking the two of them so long, and here you found them, at each other’s throats because of you. 

Kageyama let go of the taller boy, who turned around to face you. Both of them began to speak, sputtering nonsense that you couldn’t understand until you held your hand out, to which they both shut their mouths. “We will talk about this later. Go to practice,” your voice was barely a whisper and you wouldn’t meet either of their gazes, which Tsukishima knew to be your tells when you were extremely nervous, like before the grammar exam you had taken a week earlier, but you seemed less nervous and more so in a state of deep thought. You weren’t a stern person by nature, and this was the most serious he had seen you since the two of you had met. He tried to reach out to you, but you turned on your heel and were already heading for the gym. In a moment of unity, the boys shared a grimace before following you to what was sure to be a tense practice. They were in trouble.

Thoughts swirled in Tsukishima’s head as he made his way down the stairs to go to practice, thoughts he had been trying to put to rest. What did you see in him?

---

taglist: @kiritokunuwu​

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Handmaiden🌹4

Warnings: eventual dark elements ~ nonconsensual sex (more tags to be added as fic continues)

This is dark!(king)Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: Princess Madeline has left her homeland to marry a king. On her journey, she has brought her most trusted handmaiden. Little do either of them know how perilous their new home will be.

Note: Just to let you know, I am as much a disaster as anyone else and writing series gets a bit overwhelming so sometimes I do kind hop around and I apologize for that. I always appreciate that people take the time to read my stuff and that you follow along. I hope I can get my wits together and focus but I’m just tryna do what I can and that could be anything from chapters to one shots. Thanks for sticking by me, y’all.

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

You were relieved that his nobles kept him busy and allowed him little time between. King Steven met with several lords before noon and after, he led you to the council chambers. You could see his frustration as he glanced over at you and shifted in his chair as you went along the table to pour a goblet for each council member.

His jaw ticked as he took his cup and drank deeply. His blue eyes were sharp as they followed your movement. You set down the ewer and went to stand behind him as you had in his solar. He gripped the arm of his chair and leaned forward as he called the meeting to order. 

You fidgeted and stared at the door. Perhaps Madeline had returned and you would be called back to her when this was over. Steven had only requested your attendance for the duration of his business. Surely he had little excuse to keep you further.

It was more than an hour, closer to two. The men tabled an act you didn’t understand and discussed issues you never truly worried about. The king was restless as he squirmed in his chair and gave little but grunts as his response. When they finished, he dismissed them with a wave of his hand and didn’t bother to stand. He had drained two goblets of wine.

You watched the nobles stand and bow to their leader. They left in pairs and singularly. When it was just you and Steven he sighed and spun his empty cup in his hand.

“More wine.” He ordered.

You were quick to respond. He gulped and sat back as he watched you set down the pitcher. You turned back to him.

“Shall I return to the queen now?” You asked.

“You will do as I say,” He grumbled. “Hours of that nonsense. Those men need me to tell them to wipe their mouths when they dribble. Like children.”

You were quiet. His mood had worsened with time. You sensed it had little to do with the nobles or their papers.

“And you, all the while, standing over there like a preening bird,” He emptied the goblet and slammed it down. “I could have you on this table now, hmm?”

You bit your lip and looked to the door. He snickered and stood. He marched towards you until you were pressed against the wall. He grabbed your chin and forced you to look at him. He leaned his body against yours and wrapped you in his scent. His blue eyes searched you as his lips curved sinisterly.

“Very well, return to my wife but you will not leave tonight,” He said. “You will remain and listen to what I do to her…” He stroked your cheek with his thumb, “And know that I would rather do those things to you. That I will…” His fingers tickled along your jaw and down your throat. “I will have you and my patience is as rigid as my persistence.”

He stepped away as he raised his hand defencelessly. You shook against the stone and he sat once more in his chair.

“Go on, little mouse,” He goaded. “This feline can wait for his prey.”

🌹

With Barras away from the castle, you were the only to attend the royal supper. It was as any before; pour the wine, serve the plates, retreat, clear them. The difference was that you were strangled by the king’s presence; by his straying eyes and edged quips. Madeline trilled when she was amused, unaware of their true meaning.

When you returned from the kitchens, you helped Madeline undress. You unlaced her gown and helped her free of her corset. Steven remained in the receiving chamber as he finished his wine. His eyes were dilated and his voice thick from his day’s indulgence; a bottle at least, likely more.

You left the queen in nothing more than her shift. She seemed to have grown used to her task. She was pensive as she dismissed you with a nod and paced around the bed. 

“You might tell the king I am ready to retire and you may be upon your way.” She said.

“Your majesty,” You left her with a longing glance. Her hands felt along her hips through the sheer fabric.

You entered the receiving chamber where Steven sat, unbothered by your appearance. You stood across the table from him, the wood a meagre barrier between you. He finished the dregs of his wine and exhaled deeply.

“Your majesty, the queen says she is ready to retire,” You said. “My duty is done for the night.”

He scoffed as he stood. He wavered as he rounded the table. He grabbed your arm as he stopped next to you. He bent to whisper in your ear.

“I know you’ve not forgotten so don’t play coy with me,” He warned. “You shall sit,” His hand trailed up your arm and to your shoulder. He pushed until you were forced into the chair. “And you will not leave until I say.” 

He rescinded his hand and stood straight. He unbuttoned his high collar as he began towards the bed chamber.

“Be assured, you will hear it all, little mouse.” He swept through the door but you did not look back. You did not hear the door shut and the voices which followed affirmed that it had not.

Quiet at first, whispers met by Steven’s stern timbre. Then a surprised yelp, the groan of the bed frame, the tear of fabric. You gripped the edge of the table and closed your eyes. You tried to think of anything else; to be anywhere else. Madeline’s pained moans kept drawing you back; the king’s grunts and his gristled words. Those you’d never thought to hear.

You hunched over and covered your ear as your cheeks burned. You felt as if you would be sick; worse as if you might pass out. You stayed that way until it was over, but it wasn’t long until it began again. The queen was more resigned and her voice weaker until she was entirely silent. You could hear only the king and the bed. The heavy breathing and the beating of your heart.

You were numb when at last the chamber was quiet. Stunned, almost. Uncertain that it had truly stopped. Then the footsteps assured you and the king’s shadow was behind you. He wore his undershorts still but you dared not look to see if he wore anything else. He stood by the back of the chair and leaned over you.

“Go,” He said quietly and his hot breath touched the edge of your cap. You could smell the wine as it mingled with his sweat. “And if you find the night lonely, you might think of this.”

You stood so quickly, your head nearly collided with his. You scrambled to the door with a mumbled ‘your majesty’ and slipped through into the corridor. You closed the doors yourself and barely noticed the guards as they eyed you curiously. You shivered as you hurried for the next corner. You had to get away. Far away.

🌹

It was two days since that you spent with the king. You had been conscious to keep close to the queen and skirt around her husband as much as you could. She seemed not to notice as she fell quickly into the habits of court and the company of her ladies. A month ago, you would lament the lack of attention but now you were thankful for it. The less she needed you, the less you needed to be in her presence. And his.

That day, you were excused early to join the other lady servants at the river. Once a fortnight they would travel to the shore and wash. It was like any castle you’d been in and you looked forward to your time away from the stead. You walked with the train of women though you did so alone. Many knew each other for years and you were the handmaiden of the queen who never swept a chimney or scrubbed a dish.

You didn’t blame their resent or indifference. You were attuned to it from the years of Madeline’s favour. So you contented yourself with the chance to be alone, to wash away the dirt, both seen and unseen. 

You found a place not far from a group of four women who spoke as they bathed. You placed your clothing other a rock and dipped your toe into the cool water. You took your cloth from your bucket and scrubbed your skin. Then you dipped your head in and combed out your hair. Next you picked your teeth clean and rinsed your mouth. You felt better; your weeks of travel still clung to you after so long.

You finished but the other women lingered as they took their time and chattered to one another. You pulled on your shift and slid on your clog but opted to carry your gown so that you could dry fully. You slung the grey garment over your shoulder and took your small pail as you set off for the trees that divided the river and the castle.

The shadows grew darker as the sun sank lower. You shivered as you stepped between the oaks and the crack of twigs set you on edge. You looked around but your suspicions were quick to dissipate. You continued on but not far before a figure caught you off guard. The forest dweller stood between two trees and stuck his foot out into the path so that you nearly tripped. You backed away and turned to the stranger; but you knew him.

“Your majesty?” You gaped, “What are you doing here?”

His lashes flicked as he took the measure of you; hair loose and damp, shift clinging to your skin. He smirked but didn’t move any closer.

“When I was a boy, I would sneak to the river on the bathing days, although the first time I had stumbled upon the male servants. I never made the error again though I gave up the habit when the changes became less nagging.” He mused. “But those of servants rarely change, do they?”

“You would spy upon the lady servants?” You frowned.

“I would spy upon you,” He stepped closer then. “I would try to sate the hunger that does not relent. I would try to control my urges and yet now I’ve come and I see you thus, I do not know that I can.”

You found yourself against a tree as he closed in. You trembled and closed your eyes as he took the bucket from your hand and dropped it in the dirt. He slid the gown from your shoulder and let it fall as well. He touched your bare shoulders and his nose brushed your hair as he inhaled deeply.

“Shall I take you here? Perhaps one of the others would discover us?” His lips tickled your forehead. “But who can trust the gossip of servants?”

“Your majesty,” You quivered as you pushed against his chest.

“I could,” His hand began to bunch your shirts up along your thigh. “If you only knew how much I wanted to…”

His fingers slipped beneath the linen and you shuddered as you dug your nails into the tree bark. He pushed your legs apart and you shook your head but your ‘nos’ were nothing but air. He rubbed along your sacred spot and you twitched. He snickered and slid between your lips.

His fingers drew circles around your bud and you grasped his shoulder suddenly as your eyes snapped open. He leaned his forehead against yours as your breath mingled together. He caressed until an odd tickle formed inside you; until your legs shook and your skin tingled. You gasped like a fish; in shock and confusion. You’d never felt that way.

He slid further back and flicked along your entrance. Your thighs tensed and you tried to close them around his hand. His other hand went to your throat as he rasped. “Don’t.”

You hissed and he shoved his finger past your entrance. You squeaked and he snickered again. He pulled in and out and added another finger. His thumb rounded your clit and you tried to fight the rising pressure. You couldn’t resist the unusual storm that brewed within you. 

His hand only worked deeper and faster until you could feel and hear how wet you’d become. You turned your face away from him and he squeezed your throat. His breath was as harried as yours as he continued on. You could feel him watch you as you closed your eyes. You shook as a startling wave washed over you.

You clapped your hand over your mouth and he was quick to rip it away. Your cry rose up into the leaves as you quaked. He didn’t stop until you were weak and whimpering against the tree. He slipped his fingers out and dragged them down you thigh; a wet trail left in their stead.

He took a deep breath and stood straight. The tails of your shift fell back to your feet and he ran his fingers across his lip and tasted them. He smirked and squared his shoulders.

“I shall resist this day,” He purred. “For I am assured you are as much a maiden as your position would suggest.”

[the-phoenix-heart]

How would you sort the cast from Miraculous Ladybug ?

(I was gonna hold off on posting this until I was absolutely certain about the sorting, because sorting this show is like pulling teeth. But then last night I had a dream about Lila trying to ruin Marinette’s birthday with the usual lesbian subtext you would expect from two girls who hate each other and when I woke I had this second ask in my inbox so I figure the universe is tryna tell me something)

This is a hard one. There are some things we have to consider with Miraculous Ladybug. (warning this gets long)

1. It’s inconsistent with its characters on a good day. 

2. The creators are very much pushing an unhealthy-keep the peace and be nice to everyone including bullies and toxic people because they are people to-Badger primary narrative.

3. While it’s not unhealthy like the primary, the show also pushes a Badger secondary narrative. They like their Badger secondaries and what show wants to teach is that Pure Badgers are the best sorting possible. 

So it becomes hard to see what is an actual character moment, and what’s the creators using a character as a mouthpiece. Marinette gets fucked over by this because the show deliberately has her do things wrong so they can enforce lessons. This is especially hard with Adrien because he is the show’s golden boy favorite which means he does everything right and almost always spouts out the lesson of the day. It’s safe to say that if Marinette and Adrien aren’t already Badgers they have badger primary models. Adrien because showrunners, Marinette because Adrien’s peddling it to her.

(I wanna make it very clear that I’m not insulting Badger primaries in this post, but unhealthy Badger primaries where bad people get away with bad things just because they are people)

So MARINETTE DUPAIN-CHENG/LADYBUG...I think she’s a burnt Bird. She can’t be naturally a Badger because she has to constantly be told by people to act like a Badger. Give Chloe a million chances even if she bullied you for years and is horrible to everyone around her and has no desire to change. Don’t expose Lila for being a liar who gives out false promises and also wants to destroy Ladybug and teams up with Hawkmoth. 

It also explains her unhealthy Snake primary she has for Adrien. A lot of the time her motivation, her why, will be because Adrien! Why does she get Adrien to come with them on the trip to New York? Because if not he’ll be left alone with Lila and she’s jealous! And also I guess because Adrien should get to do fun things. Why did she choose Adrien to be Aspik? Because she’s in love with him and he’s perfect! But that’s not her, it doesn’t work for her. Part of that is the world telling her if she ever tries to pursue Adrien it’ll backfire in her face, but also it’s not natural for her. She fell for Adrien and because her primary is burnt she placed meaning in him, building a Snake primary for him-and then a drowned Badger primary model once he started lecturing her about it. 

And yes I do think her Badger primary model is drowned. She gives her all to everything, and is always convinced that doing anything seemingly selfish is bad (which is weird because the narrative also has Alya constantly trying to convince her to be selfish and date Adrien). She won’t let herself confess to Adrien because that will literally lead to the end of the world. She also gives up trying to pursue Adrien because she wants him to be happy with Kagami. She gives up a job opportunity to help save Paris (which was the right choice but doesn’t disprove my point). She is told by Mme. Bustier that she has to be an example and that she has to stay calm and keep the peace and give everything for other people. She is slowly over the series starting to drown. 

Now admittedly she could be a burnt Lion originally, we don’t ever see her before her burning. But, the reason why I say Bird is because she seems more eager for people to tell her what is right and what is wrong. What is true? Burnt Lions, I can say from experience, don’t like as much to be told what is right and wrong. They want to know of course, but there will be a part of them that is unhappy and when they are told by other people they’ll be more sad about it if it doesn’t gel with their gut. It’ll just be another reason why they’re wrong and they’ll stay burnt longer. On the other hand, Marinette is eager to be told what is true from people, she wants to know and when people tell her she takes it in and immediately follows it. I say she’s a burnt bird because she doesn’t trust herself to make the right decision unless it’s black and white, akuma v. hero. The snap judgements she makes are because she’s burnt and therefore she flounders when unable to ask what she should do and just does because if she thinks she’ll come to the wrong decision. So impulsive decision time. (Miraculous Ladybug is a really depressing show if you think of Marinette as a real person)

Or she’s a burnt Lion and I just went on a tangent for no reason. 

 Now you’d think think that sorting out her secondary would be easier, but NO. The only thing easy about her secondary is that she is definitely not a Lion secondary. 

Now she definitely has a two models. One of her models is a Badger obviously. She takes on projects and works herself to death. She also takes on a caring role usually and works as a leader. She manages to charm people almost instantly and then she has them on her side for basically forever. I only say this is a model because her plans never really include other people or calling in favors. 

But now I have to decided if she is a rapid fire Bird or a Snake originally and which one is her model. I wanna say that she’s a Snake originally. Her plans are usually incredibly under the fly. She’ll just look around the area, see what she has to work with, and then immediately have the plan. It’s not usually based off of prior knowledge (although that happens a fair amount to). She also does things like steal phones and bicycles a fair amount (classic Snake traits) and has on more than one occasion lied her way out of a situation. 

Now her Bird model is not unimportant. I say she isn’t originally a bird because she never has a back up plan. Plan A fails and she has to freak out for a bit before she makes a new plan on the fly. Her bird model is something she used to play with before she became a hero I think. She gained many skills in the art world-especially fashion-, baking, gaming, etc. just for the fun of it. Then she became a hero and used that planning skill to good work. How do I defeat the akuma and convince Chat Noir that I’m not Marinette? Obviously I’ll shrink myself down into many versions of me wearing all the miraculouses so I can climb in the kwamis’ mouths, take Chat Noir’s ring from him, get sucked into the kwami pack so I can break it from the inside with the Cat miraculous, then I’ll make an illusion of me as Ladybug getting the akuma and me as Multimouse taking off my miraculous because I’m just such a goof and then when Chat leaves I’ll capture the real akuma and transform back. 

Compare that to Chat’s plan of, say the school is a elementary school. 

But honestly it could go either way.

Adrien is much easier to sort compared to Marinette’s spastic characterization.

ADRIEN AGRESTE/CHAT NOIR has a strong Badger primary model, which is hilarious because he sucks at it. The boy is actually a Snake primary just like his father (he ALSO has an unhealthy primary but we’ll get to that). Lila lying to his class-his community-and giving them empty promises? He doesn’t care, he wants to keep the peace! He’s gonna be nice to her and try to sway her the side of good from the sidelines-wait what’s this? Lila made his friend Kagami jealous which caused her to be akumatized and also tried to get Ladybug killed? What an outrage! He’s not gonna try to be friends with her anymore! Wait, Lila got Marinette expelled through bullshit?! How dare she! Now he’s going to force her to take it all back so Marinette can be happy!

He doesn’t get upset when his community is threatened, he only gets mad when his people are threatened. In Chat Blanc he is forced to choose between killing his father or killing Ladybug (who is his girlfriend because it’s another timeline), which is a classic Snake problem. Chat doesn’t think about how if he kills his father instead he’ll save all of Paris, he just can’t decide and ends up destroying the world with his indecision. “Our love [destroyed the world]” he says to Ladybug. That’s very Snake primary and seems to me like an unhealthy Snake primary. His dream is to move away to an island alone with Ladybug, which says something about the differences between them. Marinette’s dream is have a large family with Adrien. 

His secondary is harder because I can’t tell if he has a Badger secondary or a Lion secondary. The thing is the way the shows treats the different identities is that Ladybug and Adrien are the masks for Marinette and Chat (I did not do this for Marinette though). That means that a more accurate reading for Adrien’s sorting should theoretically be looking at Chat. Chat definitely has a Lion secondary. His first instinct is always attack first attack attack attack. Most of the time the reason the battle drags on is because Chat is jumping in too soon. When he doesn’t jump in it’s because he’s pissed at Ladybug for rejecting him. Also, the one time we see him do a plan, the plan is dress up in a makeshift suit and attack the enemy. 

But he definitely has a Badger secondary model. How will he make Lila stop antagonizing Marinette? He’ll act like he’s her friend and let her model with him. How does he try to impress his father, by taking a bunch of classes and modelling for him. It’s a model though, one I think he built after his mother “disappeared” to try and cheer up his father. 

I know you probably wanted more so rapid fire:

ALYA CESAIRE is a Lion primary who makes impulsive decisions and only doesn’t when the plot needs her to. She’s got an immature Bird secondary as well, immature as in she gains a piece of information and her Lion primary then makes her go crazy over it. 

CHLOE BOURGEOIS is snake primary who cares about herself and those closest to her until she doesn’t, and a Lion secondary who charges in because she’s stupid with a shitty Snake secondary model she adopted from her parents.

GABRIEL AGRESTE/HAWKMOTH is a Snake primary who cares only about his wife, sometimes Natalie, and sometimes Adrien. Also a Bird secondary who makes big elaborate plans that always fail.

NATALIE SANCOEUR/MAYURA is a Snake primary who does things for Adrien and Gabriel because she loves them, and another Bird secondary who has a very nice skillset and and helps Gabriel with his plans. She does also have a Badger secondary because she works very hard and uses herself as a weapon, but it’s not her go to. 

(yes I know I didn’t sort Nino or Lila, but Nino is practically a non-character and Lila might have a Lion primary and I don’t wanna have to put much more thought into this post. Maybe later)

so...

Marinette Dupain-Cheng/Ladybug - Burnt Bird primary (maybe burnt Lion) with a drowned Badger model and an unhealthy Snake model for Adrien/Snake secondary with a Bird model (possibly switched) and a (possibly unhealthy) Badger model

Adrien Agreste/Chat Noir - Snake primary/Lion Secondary, double Badger model

Alya Cesaire - Lion primary/immature Bird secondary

Gabriel Agreste/Hawkmoth - Snake primary/Bird secondary

Natalie Sancoeur/Mayura - Snake primary/Bird secondary, Badger secondary model

Chloe Bourgeois - Snake primary/Lion secondary

[fndmxreader]

TITLE :   the end  |  part : one.   PAIRINGS :   broken up dean & cas ( in 2015 timeline ),  established poly!dean x reader x cas in present .   SUMMARY :  zachariah’s battle plan chances,  setting his sights on you, the angel sends you forward in time to 2015 to show you what lies ahead  .  takes place before dean visits .    INSPO :    it was a big big world, but we thought we were bigger, pushing each other to the limits, we were learning quicker. by eleven smoking herb and drinking burning liquor, never rich so we were out to make that steady figure. 

    "  YOU TAKE ME BACK RIGHT FUCKIN’ NOW,  ZACH “  you had gotten a lead from an a tore up photograph at bobby’s house of where to go,  however as of right now you were very much in the dark  .   the world had changed,  buildings crumbled,   shot up bodies laid out across the surface like an accessory .   so to say you were on edge was the understatement of the century  .  

    “ BUT YOU HAVE SO MUCH TO LEARN “  he doesn’t care,  continuing to read out the paper of the latest headlines,   you were seething with the narcissism and pride that radiated off of him,  it took everything in you not to slam his face against the dash board until blood poured out from his ears  “  you see,  you’re a problem,   getting in the way of dean saying yes  -  you aren’t meant to be here “  your eyebrows crease at the words,  your silence makes him continue  “ so this is to show you,  the longer you be a little pest,  the longer you pretend you actually matter to dean and... castiel “  the name like venom,  the cool exterior of the man fails to cover up the hatred of his brothers name  “ you’re only allowing this to happen,  in a way,  the world like this is your fault “  

    “ BITE ME “  you snapped,  fingers tightening on the steering wheel,  “ you and the whole fuckin’ armored up birds are so full of shi -  “  the fluttering of wings tells you he left,  you don’t even have to look at the passenger seat to feel the absence .  with a pent up frustration,  your fist smashes down on the wheel .  this wasn’t the first time an angel told you that you were in the way,   but it only made you want to stay more,  to push away the insecurities and stay beside your boys and never leave them,  you don’t care if it made you selfish,   you have been so unselfish your entire goddamn life,  put everyone first  :  gave creatures second chances when they don’t deserve it,  offering shelter to those in need no matter what the eyes hide .  for once in your goddamn life,  you’re going to be selfish so unapologetically that it becomes even more of a damn problem  “  put that on the heaven tabloid,  fucker “ you think,  already knowing that zach has your thoughts and movements on display like some lab rat running around in a maze box  . 

    THE DRIVE IS LONG AND LONELY .  the road seems to stretch out for miles,  your heart pounding all the way as you think back to photograph found,  dean and cas looked ... different,  older,  more warn out . it made your chest ache,  2015 certainly wasn’t expected to look like .... this,  even with the apocalypse,  you never dwelled on it too long,  ever trying to ignore the bad endings and simply think of what it would mean to succeed in stopping the apocalypse  .    your so out of it you swerve on the road,   thank god for the desertion,  otherwise a car crash would’ve certainly took place  .       

    YOU PARK THE CAR AWAY FROM CAMP WHEN YOU FINALLY GET THERE .   sneaking around as best you can as to not alert anyone from inside,  almost tripping on the stray tires and busted signs that scattered around the place,  avoiding the tripwires were an absolute chore,  you wounder how you managed it for a full ten minutes before finding an opening at the side .   allowing a sign of relief as you quickly dart towards he bused fence,  though your heart breaks at what you see ...  baby, completely torn apart  -  you know how much dean loved that thing,  by extension,  you couldn’t help but approach like it was your own,  bottom lip turning into a pout and your eyes borderline watering  “ oh,  what happened ?  i bet dean fought this every step of the way - “   you murmured,  hand slowly trailing over the roof of he car,  wincing at the texture of the rust underneath,  but not finding it in you to pull away . 

    YOU INSTANTLY STRAIGHTENED YOUR POSTURE AS YOU HEARD A GUN CLICK,    the cool metal pressed against he back of your head as a deep rumble of a growl hits ears  -  it’s familiar,  you know it,  never been on this side of it however and because of that your blood runs cold,  the hairs on the back of your neck standing as a wave of anxiety causes your arms to shake as you held hem up in surrender  “  actually,  it was deans idea  - “   

    “ ... DEAN “ you breathed out,  you know this isn’t your dean,  you briefly wonder where you are in all this -  your lips feel dry,  you turn around before he can threaten you again  -  you don’t miss the way his eyes widen with shock,  his mouth falling open before jaw tightens  “ THANK GOD,  it’s been a m - “ 

    “ SORRY ABOUT THIS,  DOLL “  he seems conflicted,  and you can’t help but resist the urge to ask when you could finish a damn sentence around here . though you didn’t have time to dwell on it much,  not when the butt of the gun collides with your head and knocks you out in an instant  .  

    YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW LONG YOU’VE BEEN OUT,  but when you come to you wake up in a dimly lit room,  your body locked in several places as you tried to move,  a low whine escaping your mouth in the absolute agony you were in,  the headache,  the body ache,  for a hot minute you think you’re in hell .  though there is one thing for certain,   you don’t need to look around the room to know dean is there,  he isn’t the type to leave a threat unattended,  out like a light or no   “  how lon - why the FUCK does my thigh feel like it’s been blown to shreds -  “   you body catches up to the pain,  eyes shooting open in shock as you did your best to sit up from the scratchy material beneath you .  

    “ COUPLE OF HOURS “   theres a scraping of a chair against the floor,  the floorboards squeaking with his heavy steps  “  'n i shot you while you were out,  salt gun  -  makin’ sure you weren’t a ghost,  done all the other tests too “   he didn’t have to shoot you,  in retrospect dean thinks that it was more for him that he did that  - to see you were real,  that you wouldn’t just vanish .  though you remain in the dark to those thoughts, but it was easy to detect a hint of remorse at the start of his words,  but he quickly closes off as your eyes squinted in his direction,  doing best to breathe evenly to get the pain under control .  

    “ I’D CALL YOU AN ARSEHOLE,  but you were only doing what you gotta,  damn deany ...  y’got an ice pack or something  ? “ 

    “ ENOUGH “ his tone made you jolt,  in both shock and ...  fear ,    suddenly very aware of how dry the back of your throat was,   eyes widening -  you could never handle the people close to you being angry,  you could take it from anyone,  any creature and any person  -  but sam,  dean ... castiel,  it made something inside you flinch  “  WHAT IS THIS,   what are you... ‘type of joke is this ? “  

    “ ZACHARIAH -  some sort of lesson,  i suppose “      “ CALL HIM,  RIGHT NOW “      “ if i could,  i would  -  i don’t wanna be here just as you don’t want me here “ the words hurt to say,  and you could tell that they struck a cord in dean,  though considering the intense pain in your ribs,  you wouldn’t let it eat at you...  not for another couple of minutes at least,  “ what... happened to you ?” 

    THE AIR WAS THICK,  SOMEHOW HE OXYGEN LEFT THE ROOM .  dean has never been more tense,  his eyes hardened but never before has he wanted to reach out to you,  to hold you,  cradle you and never let your timeline get you back .   his icy heart has never been colder,  but with you there he finally feels it beat  .   how does he begin to tell you what your life becomes  ?  him and cas have never been more apart ( basically broken up,  it was all too much ) between your death and sam saying yes to lucifer,  he broke,  collapsed  -   castiel having his break down over becoming mortal certainly didn’t help matters .  it was 2015,  nobody survives and nothing does .   so he gives you the shortened version,  the version where he doesn’t feel like there’s a knife in throat when trying to speak it  .  

    “ LUCIFER HAPPENED,  i didn’t say yes and sam did -   the croatoan virus ran rapid and now i’m just tryna help other people survive this mess “ a mess he feels responsible for,   a mess he wishes he could take back “  that about cover it  ? “  you only nod,   you feel like your head is about to explode with everything going on, you know he’s hiding more things;  but you can’t bring yourself to press it,  not when you’re having such a hard time trying to adapt to the current situation  “   good,  now you’re staying here,  i have to go on a run and the last thing we need is someone freaking out over seeing ...  you, when you’re out on a run “  he quickly adds the last part,  but you know its bullshit,  you can see the way his eyes cast a shadow  -  it seems this dean forgets how much you know him,  but you let it slide  (  he did just admit he thought you were a ghost,  so you can make an educated guess of what the hidden subject was ) .    you slowly raise yourself from the bed as best you can,  hissing at the pain that shoots through you,  blind from pain .  you miss the way dean twitches to help you .  

    “ SERIOUSLY ?  you can’t just keep me locked in a - “  as your eyes trail over his after you finally blink away the mist,  the look on his face makes you pause,  in fact the look he gave you made your features twist of that of a kicked puppy  “  whatever happened here isn’t my fault,  isn’t any of ours .  don’t punish me for the future shit,  i just got here “  it comes out stern,  even with the waver .    you know you break through to him,  but the walls are still there .  

    “ JUST ... “     it comes out as a sigh,  one hand raising to drag across his face, truthfully he just wanted to get away and fully register the situation at hand,  however to do that he had to get away  -  and by extension,  hide you so he doesn’t have to deal with questions about the situation before being ready  “ stop being stubborn -  “  turning to walk out of the door,  allowing a smile to cross his features as you utter  “says the most stubborn person on the planet.” 

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Also saw you're doing requests so yay!!. Any chance of jercy bakery au? Love your work sm hope you have a great day ☺☺

My Darling Anon how dare you make me fall more in love with Jercy???????? I squealed when i saw this and then promptly started writing even though i should be studying for my (ironically) Greek Mythology test.

i hope you love it because if i fail at least i know it’ll be worth it :) Also this was honestly supposed to be a quick drabble and it somehow ended up as 1,5K+ words so??? #isanyonesurprisedthough

Masterlist

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jason Grace smiled as the birds beside his head chirped and then swiped his phone to cut off the amusing sound. His fiery friend, and co-worker thought it was hilarious to steal his phone and change his alarm tone every few weeks. Usually it was something inane and silly like a cartoon laugh track or just a repeating “It’s time to get up BakerBoi” that gets increasingly louder. He had arrived to work with a scowl on his face only to see the shit-eating grin of Leo Valdez waiting at the door.

Now Jason stumbles out of bed, letting his limbs loosen as he pads softly to the bathroom, feeling cool tile and a winter breeze on his exposed skin. He loves mornings like this, when the world isn’t quite awake, and the sky hasn’t decided what colour it wants to be for the day. He knows in is baker’s bones that it’ll be cold and rainy, but he has time for a morning jog before the world starts crying.

“Good morning boss,” A bright eyed, fidgeting Leo greets as he steps into the bakery.

Jason had been there at seven thirty, pulling down the café chairs and cleaning the counters. He already had a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies and about three different types of muffins in the oven. The bread was waiting for the busy hands of Leo and Hazel who somehow always seemed to make heavenly fluffed, soft rolls and the deliciously crusty baguettes. Hazel jokes that it’s the New Orleans blood that flows through her veins. They’re all half inclined to agree.

“Morning Valdez, I like the alarm this week.” He tosses a grin over his shoulder before going back to his icing ritual. Mix, taste, mix, ice.

“I figured you would old man. Even though i much prefer my ASMR food audio from last week. What’s the specialty today?”

“We need to get beignets out and the pain au chocolats before the breakfast crowd. Also the fruit stuffed pastry twists and the honey bread have to be prepped before we open so we can bring them out hot in time for the brunch crowd. Specialty today is a new thing I’ve been working on. Blue blondie doughnuts with Oreo cream filling and sugar glaze.”

“Gods boss, you tryna give people heart failure?”

“Just trying to insert some sweetness into the world,” He winked.

Before Leo could give an undoubted snarky reply a bubbly head of dark brown curls and glittering eyes popped around the door.

“Goooood morning everyone,”

Jason couldn’t help the smile that graced his face at her cheeriness, “Hello Miss Levesque, glad to see a prettier face around here,”

Leo made a strangled noise of indignation from the other side of the kitchen but didn’t get the chance to voice his offense before the last member of their little group walked in.

“Ah there you are Miss McLean, I do wonder how you arrive with Hazel and still manage to get in after her.”

She gave him an exasperated look, “I have to say goodbye to my girlfriend before I come in Boss. You’re the one who banned couple calls in the bakery.”

“Well maybe if we didn’t have to hear you and Annabeth explicitly planning your night’s activities I wouldn’t have had to do that.”

Piper just rolled her eyes and went to grab her apron and a cloth to wipe down the tables.

"Everyone ready?" He asked, from the door of the kitchen an hour later.

"Ready for the storm boss," They all yelled back, as they did each morning.

"Then let's roll like thunder," He grinned, flinging the doors to Ambrosia Bakery open.

"Oh thank the heavens, I could smell the goodness from here and it was a struggle to keep the drool in," One Reyna Avila Ramirez Arellano breathed in deep.

"Good morning my favourite customer," Leo smirked from behind the counter.

"Jason tell your bread boy to stand down before I make him,"

"Is that an invitation?" Dark eyebrows wiggled in amusement.

"That is a threat," She growled.

"Well mark me down as scared and h—"

"Valdez I swear if you finish that sentence I'm putting you on wash-up duty for the next week."

A faint "you got it boss" followed Jason into the kitchen, where he allowed himself to smile. It was an ongoing amusement that Leo flirted with Reyna and in return she came up with increasingly terrifying threats.

"Jason, your sister is here to see you" Hazel said, gently shoving him out the way so she could take over rolling the pastry.

"Get the doughnuts ready for the fryer I'll be back soon, thank you!"

He maneuvered around a blushing Leo who had icing on his nose and a suspicious lipstick stain on his cheek, finally making his way to the confectioners stand.

"What's up loser?" He said by way of greeting.

"Hey you're only allowed to call me that if you come baring nice things." Thalia Grace frowned.

"I am nice things," He pouted.

"Not even on your best day." She snorted, "I want to know if you're coming to the gala this weekend. I need a date to steal extra bread-sticks for me."

"Why can't I just make you bread-sticks and we can sit in your lounge and watch bad reality TV?" He groaned

"Because I have to show face or the sponsors aren't going to sponsor. Besides you need a night out. You're gonna start smelling like bread if you don't take a break."

"It's insulting that you think I wouldn't want to smell like breadsticks."

She laughed at, that ruffling his hair, "Just be ready by seven. You better be wearing a suit."

And with that his sister had grabbed her daily croissant and cappuccino and vanished into the drizzling day.

Before he could make it back to his safe haven beside the ovens and marbled counter-tops a flash of black hair caught his eye.

Turning around he couldn't contain the grin that tugged at his lips; standing by the counter already staring intently at the newest creation was Jason's favourite customer.

"Hello Percy Jackson,"

"Jason," A dazzling smile revealed pearl white teeth and the tiniest dimple on a cheek the color of rich toffee.

"I see you've already found Neptune's Tridoughnut,"

A bright laugh escaped a wickedly beautiful mouth, "Oh I love that. How'd you come up with that one?"

Jason smiled softly, debating whether to tell the owner of the 5-Oceans Conservation Company that he was the muse behind all of his latest creations, hence the variations of green and blue.

Instead, as he did every time Percy asked, he lied, "My sister went to an opening ceremony for a new exhibit at the Education center all about Mythology so I thought I’d offer my services and well, they were a hit."

Piper who was walking past at that exact moment coughed something that sounded suspiciously like "Liar" but with a pointed glare she disappeared behind the counter.

"That sounds great. Guess I'll have to recruit you for all my functions," He winked, a small smirk playing at his lips.

Jason cursed his pale cheeks and hoped the blush he now sported wasn't too noticeable, "What can I get you besides a specialty doughnut?"

"Can I get one banana and walnut muffin, a dozen chic chips, and I'm gonna go see mom this afternoon so maybe a couple of caramel pastry twists and some blueberry muffins?"

"Sure. I guess Estelle is off her carrot cake faze?" He laughed, remembering how Percy had to stop at the bakery twice a week to grab carrot and pecan mini cakes just for his little sister.

"Ugh she's onto wanting fruit in absolutely everything now so my mom has been frantically buying boxes of peaches, strawberries and apples to cut up and send with her for lunch at school." Green eyes rolled in fake annoyance.

"Well if she likes fruit things maybe she should try the raspberry and orange pastry twists?" He pointed to a display stand piled with various pastries coloured by blackberry jam, apricot pieces, kiwi slices and mango syrup.

"I could kiss you right now!" Percy exclaimed rushing towards the display, unaware that the baker was frozen to the spot.

I could kiss you, could kiss you, kiss you, kiss...

Jason's brain had short-circuited, his neurons too busy having a dance party with his hormones to process the world.

I could kiss you.

A lazy, unconscious smile took over his face as he stood there in the middle of his bakery, arms slack, head lolled, and eyes crinkled.

"Jason?" A faraway voice called.

"Jason? Hello?"

And suddenly a hand was waving in front of his vision trying to get his attention.

He pulled himself out of his reverie, blinking back into existence, "Right yes the pastries"

"Didn’t get enough sleep last night?" Percy teased, slugging him softly in the shoulder.

He snorted at the implication, "Unfortunately I'm a bit of a grandfather. Sleep early, rise early."

"Oh guess you like morning activities then,"

He sputtered, head snapping up to stare into twinkling eyes, "N-no, I just meant—"

"I'm kidding Mr BakerMan," That brilliant, bright laugh again, "I know you're a homebody. Your sister likes to tell me how boring you are."

He huffed at that, "We'll see if she gets her pear tarts this weekend."

"Speaking of this weekend," A sly grin played at Percy's mouth, "Are you coming to the gala?"

"Yea," He sighed, "Thalia says she needs me to steal bread-sticks ."

Sea green eyes widened before Percy burst out laughing. In a matter of moments tears were streaming down his face.

If Jason wasn't so smitten with that gorgeous smile and those mischievous eyes he may have been inclined to laugh too. But Percy Jackson was a vision he half believed only his dreams could conjure.

When the laughter had mostly seized Percy wiped his eyes and managed to gasp, "That sounds exactly like something Thalia would ask. When we worked on the marine life project together she always stole the mints from every CEO’s office because she said they had enough money to buy a mint factory, they could afford to replace a single bowl."

"Yep, her life goal is to end capitalism. I swear if it wasn't for Annabeth, Thalia would be walking into office buildings with a sack like some reverse Santa Claus where she steals the office supplies and fruit bowls."

"Well I can't wait to see you stuffing your pockets with bread-sticks on Saturday so I guess I'll see you then," He gave another dazzling smile.

"Yea, and say hello to little Estelle for me. Tell me how she likes the pastries."

"Don't worry I'm sure I'll be back soon with a long list of request."

"Can't wait." He grinned.

Percy chuckled, "Me neither, see you Friday." And then he was gone.

Oh gods, Jason thought, how am I ever gonna survive Percy in a suit?

***

Spoiler alert past-Jason: you didn't.

[bates--boy]

Peter was just about done with work that day, cleaning the bottles for the infant animals when his phone buzzed in his pockets. He shut the sink off, yanked off the wet rubber gloves, and pulled his device out of his pocket. “Oh!” he chirped, seeing the name of the sender.

         [Naseem] Yo, Pete, it’s Naz. Was wondering if you have plans for lunch today? 

         [Naseem] I wanted us to do some extra rap practice and maybe go over the lines between Troy and Stefan before our big night

          Peter turned to sit back against the lip of the sink, hugging one of his arms across his torso as he typed. 

          [Peter] i have a half-day today so i’m free once i clock out at twelve.

          [Peter] i’d be happy to buy you lunch if you haven’t eaten yet. i know a great place to get a bite to eat.

          [Naseem] Bet. My break’s half past noon. See you at your work?

         [Peter] fine by me! see ya!

          Smiling at the screen before shoving his phone into his pocket, Peter finished cleaning the rest of the bottles, went to the changing area to wiggle out of the waterproof overalls, and then to the employee area to punch out at the time clock and fetch his hoodie and his copy of the stage play from his locker. He looked down at the practically beaten-up book, some pages curled in, corners folded, colorful tabs poking out of the pages: pink for Josef’s spoken lines, blue for Troy’s; green for Josef’s songs, yellow for Troy’s. Slightly crinkled from the times Peter shoved it into his bag to carry at all times, or when he had his quick bursts of sleep while reading over the thing.

          With a quick cleaning at the employee basin, Peter made a brisk walk back to the grounds, heading to the entrance area. He sent a quick message of his location and waited with the play lying open, quietly murmuring Josef’s verses. Soon, the familiar deep blue XC60 rolled onto the lot, with the Nigerian, Palestinian, and Swedish flags painted across the back. Naseem climbed out and waved as he strolled over, a leather messenger bag slung over his shoulder and his copy of the play rolled in his hand. When he drew close enough, Naseem said, “Wow, it’s been a while since I last came here.”

           “Ah, so you probably don’t know about the new aerial arts performance they have here,” Peter grinned as they walked back to the conservatory grounds together. 

         Naseem shrugged. “I have. And I’ve been meaning to come check it out, but, you know. Schedule..”

          “Well, the next time you’re free, come on over! I can even sneak you in for a show!” Peter nudged his shoulder against Naseem.

           “How are you gonna--” Naseem stopped once he saw the coy grin on Peter’s face. “Lemme guess: you’re the star?”

          “One of them.” Peter bobbed his shoulder and looked away in faux modesty. He giggled and patted Naseem’s arm. “Come on, I know a great picnic area we can practice in.”

          Peter and Naseem took the stroll to the benches, dodging giggling little kids darting everywhere to get to the next animal enclosure that caught their eye, and the wandering animals that escaped their habitats, mainly small bird and marsupial species. After Peter bought them both bottled smoothies at one of the snack kiosks, they settled at a table near the wooden fence post, drawing annoyed glances from passersby as they sat on the tabletop instead of the benches.

         “Which scenes do you want to practice today?” Peter asked before pulling a long draught from his bottle. “We can just do a couple so I can treat you to lunch.”

          Naseem skimmed the pages he had marked, going back and forth and shrugging. “Ones that have our characters singing so we can work these vocal cords. Let’s start with...” he consulted his shorthand notes. “Act III, scene 4. So, my character comes up to yours.”

          Naseem clambered down the picnic table, took a few steps away, and stomped back. The chills Peter felt may or may not have to do with the complete switch of energy Naseem made. Even his green eyes flared with fury.

          “Why the hell did you do that to Josef?!”

          Peter sighed as his character did, shifting on the table and leaning forward on his knees. So cool and unaffected, to the point of almost being despondent. Peter still couldn’t figure this Troy out, but he spoke his lines.

          “I didn’t do a thing to him, Stef.”

           Naseem crossed his arms and tilted his head. “Oh, really? So when he said no to that stage deal because ‘his mom’s gonna die alone in their apartment while he’s out singing for pocket change’, that wasn’t you?” Peter had to pause here, as Troy struggled to find an excuse. Naseem threw up his arms. “God, what is wrong with you?! What kind of a friend are you?!”

          “A realistic one.” Peter’s tone remained calm, stoic - a stoner too mellowed out to get worked up.

          Naseem rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right. Realistic. Jo finally had what he needed right in his lap, and you couldn’t even be supportive of him because you’re realistic. That’s bull crap, even for you.”

          “You can say whatever you want about me, Stef, but of all these people feeding him these wild dreams --” Peter swept his hand about, gesturing to a figurative crowd while a few eyes turned their way. He pointed to his own chest. “--I’m the only one looking out for him.”

           “No, looking out for him would be helping him with this. He has a chance to get a better life, but you don't want that for him!"

          "I don't--?!" Peter gave a scoffing laughing and rolled his eyes. "You're so far off, it's funny!"

           "Yeah? So all this time you kept telling him to don't do it, it's not because you know you're wasting your own life being some bum mad that you lost your trust fund and you're angry that Josef can make it?"

          "No!" Peter's voice started to boil, Troy's cool, arrogant façade starting to crack and chip. His free hand curled into a shaking fist.

          "Then why? Why are you being such a shitty friend?!"

          Out of the corner of his eye, Peter could see a uniformed figure walking up to them, parents trying to distract their kids from the argument.

          "Because this would break him just like it almost did me!"

          In a blink of an eye, and a sudden flush of heat on his cheeks, Peter was on his feet, too, feeling Troy's despair as he and Naseem were practically nose to nose. For all the anger, the anguish, and the overprotective adrenaline Troy was supposed to feel at that moment, Peter channeled the underlying heartache and exhaustion; he sounded tired.

          "Like it did my sister."

          "Er, excuse me," the uniformed man said when he came close enough, a hand reaching out to them. "Is there a prob--"

          Naseem stared at Peter for a breath. "Your sister?"

          Peter gave a soft, sad laugh. "Oh, that's right, I never told you about Anna, did I?" He silently filled his lungs with air.

You don't know the story of a boy and a girl Mommy pleasers destined to dominate the world

           The worker looked between the two men, casting an especially long glance at the singing one. "...What?"

Born to hold the dreams that Mommy tucked away Cause she got bare footed and pregnant Waiting on her someday

          The worker furrowed his brows. “What is--” he spotted the open scripts in their hands and lowered his own hand. “Oh... okay...”

         Peter felt a tickle of a grin almost appearing on his lips, amusement almost breaking his character. Almost.

Commercial deals, toddlers on every single ad Barely out of diapers, and we’re out there selling fads Taught to walk so we could tap dance and do a twirl And hold our hands out for all the gold, silver, and pearls

Yanked outta school when the lime lights calling us Daddy got you a gig, so you better not fucking fuss! Tuck in your gut, tilt up your chin, chest out and sing You’re gonna make it worth taking this diamond ring

What you do with heavy makeup and cameras flashing? Swallow cotton and pinch our cheeks red to stay dashing Seeing enemies in friends looking for a ladder to climb Trying to bring you to ruin when they find the right time To strike, like vipers on the hunt for your big juicy kill And the only way to stop the cracks is a tiny yellow pill

A tiny yellow pill A tiny yellow pill A handful of tiny yellow pills Until her heart went still

          Naseem slowly started to unfold his arms, his character Stefan hit with a world-shattering realization. “Oh...”

          Peter turned his face away. “Yeah...”

         Naseem shook his head and sighed. “Man, I’m... I’m sorry. But, see, here’s the thing...”

 I had never known you were crushed this hard Ruled by your fears, beaten, tattered, and battle scarred Now that I think it, so much shit start to make sense Is this why a little stage work gets you so incensed?

I hate that for you, all this pain you’ve been burdened Chasing a high and identity that doesn’t leave you hurtin’ But it’s unfair how you hurt Josef with your sister’s ghost Breaking a dream for someone else’s overdose

What does it do for the person on the other spectrum Piss poor, tryna get meds for his ailing, dying mum When even his close friend is robbing him of a dream Cuz he can’t stop himself from falling apart at the seam? Still blinded by phantom lights, suffocating at the gills? What about Josef’s mum little pills?

Her little pills Her life saving pills If she don’t get hers, then her heart will stand still.

          This was the part where Peter is stunned into silence, indignant, hurt, scrambling for more excuses, still trying to cling to the death of his sister -- the crux of Troy’s listlessness and indifference. But then a loud cry rang out around them.

          The crowd of mere picnickers grew during their rehearsal, it seemed, now cheering and clapping and whistling, someone even going “You tell him, baby!”

          Stuttering, Peter looked towards Naseem and exchanged smiles with him. They stood closer together, held hands, and took a bow.

          “Thank you, thank you!” Peter called out, waving to the cell phones held out. “If you want more, purchase tickets for Inner City Lights before they sell out!”

          “Written and produced by Gunnar Didig!” Naseem added, calling out the website to purchase over the hooting and whistling.

[neon-junkie]

Hi ~ May you write some KieranxBill fluff, if you feel so? May be somethig about asexuality and insecurity? Or whatever you like, I just love this ship and your writings so much 👉👈 Thanks a lot ❤

ahhhh this ended up not really being a ship fic, but kieran coming out to bill about him being asexual. I’m deffo gonna write kieran/bill in the future though!! hope this is alright in the meantime :^) ------

It's another pleasant eve at Clemens Point. The sky is a deep shade of orange, few clouds overhead and the air is still hot. The waters pleasant, lapping against the shore at a calm pace. Few birds fly overhead. It's a picturesque setting, and that's exactly why Kieran enjoys sitting where he is, overlooking the water on the outskirts of the camp. Sadly, this calm moment soon comes to an end as Kieran overhears heavy footsteps approaching. They're far too recognizable, and Kieran turns his head over his shoulder just in time to see Bill walking past, finishing his shift on guard duty, gun still in his hands. Bill had no idea Kieran was sat there, jumping a little as he notices the much smaller man sat beside the bushes.

"Kieran?! What'cha doin' out here?" Bill asks as he approaches. "Just mindin' my own business," Kieran replies. "What? Don't you get sassy with me, boy," Bill scowls, coming to a halt beside Kieran. "I ain't." "Well then, what is you doin'? You look upset," Bill questions, looking down at Kieran. "Nah, I ain't. I'm just thinkin', that's all," Kieran tells him, moving his gaze from Bill back to the landscape, his neck aching a little from looking up at the other man. "Oh... what about?" Bill asks. "Oh, it's nothin'," Kieran replies, swatting his hand softly as he brushes off his thoughts. "Now don't you say that," Bill begins as he takes a seat next to Kieran, crossing his legs and placing the gun down next to him. "I ain't the smartest fella, but I know somethings wrong when I see it." "You really that fussed about knowin'?" Kieran lightly laughs, turning his gaze over to Bill. "Course." "Alright," Kieran shakes his head, "well... erm... you know how when you like someone you tend to get a little... you know, towards em?" "Soft?" "No, well," Kieran laughs, "the opposite." "Hard?" "Yeah. I mean, you tend to get those erm... sexual feelings," Kieran explains. "Where is you taking this?" Bill narrows his eyes. "What I'm tryna say is... I don't really get that," Kieran shrugs. Bill pauses for a moment, the cogs in his brain attempting to turn. "I ain't got the slightest idea on what you're talkin' about." Kieran sighs, his eyes flicking to the landscape, then back to Bill. "Right. I ain't sure what's wrong with me. Normal folk, when they see someone they like, they get horny. I don't do that. Damn, I've only ever really been horny like three times in my life... I ain't got a clue what's up with me. I thought it would have fixed itself by now, but it ain't," Kieran huffs, fumbling over his words as he speaks faster than he can think. "So you don't get hard?" Bill questions. "Not usually. Well, I get hard sometimes, but I don't get the feelings attached," Kieran shrugs, surprised that Bill hasn't called him a few slurs and walked away. "So?" Bill shrugs. "So? What do you mean 'so'?" Kieran sighs. "I mean, so? What's wrong with it? They is just feelings," Bill shrugs again, not fully understanding why Kieran was getting so worked up. "Bill, I ain't right," Kieran rubs his face with his hands, groaning as he does so. "You know, I used to date this girl back when I was a teenager. Real pretty, real nice. She was a darlin'. Well, she started gettin' intimate with me, rubbin' on my crotch and all that. I felt kinda iffy but I figured I gotta at least try it. So I did. I had sex with her and I just felt sick the whole time." Kieran continues to talk fast, finally forcing all this weight off his shoulders. He wasn't expecting to ever have this conversation, especially not with Bill of all people. But here they were, so he might as well make the most of it. "You felt sick? Did you eat somethin' funny beforehand?" Bill asks, still not quite clicking on to it. "No, Bill! The sex made me feel sick. Sex makes me feel sick. I just... I just don't wanna do it. I don't wanna think about it. I don't want nothin' to do with it. But that ain't right, is it? It ain't normal for a fella to be put off by that stuff." "So you don't want nothin' to do with sex?" Bill asks again, finally clicking on to it. "Nothin'. Not one bit," Kieran shakes his head as he speaks. Bill pauses for a short moment. Kieran's eyes are fixed on Bill, watching his expression, trying to pick up on any signs of negativity. He's expecting Bill to start laughing, to humiliate him, to stand up and run back to camp telling everybody about Kieran's business. Instead, Bill says something that Kieran instantly feels stupid about. "Well then, just don't do it?" Bill states the obvious. "Huh?" "You heard me. If you don't like it then just don't do it," Bill laughs a little. He's unsure of why Kieran was getting worked up over something that he perceived as a small thing. "But..." Kieran stutters, ready to explain his reasoning but Bill's quick to cut him off. "You heard me, Kieran. If you don't like it, don't do it." "But it's sex?" Kieran asks, his words overlapping the end of Bills sentence. "So?" "What do you mean 'so'?" Kieran asks for the second time. "I mean, so. It's just sex, it ain't even that excitin'. There's a lot more to life than that stuff, I guess," Bill shrugs. "And you don't think this is weird?" "I couldn't give any less of a shit. No offense..." Bill pauses for a moment, trying to back-track his blunt response after seeing Kierans face drop. "I mean, maybe folk could find it weird, but it ain't their business. It's your business, not theirs. So why you gettin' so worked up over it?" Kieran looks back over the water, mouth parted, thinking about what Bill's just said. He's right. Why is he getting so worked up over it? So what? he doesn't like sex. Bills blunt mindset might be the right approach that he's looking for. Just shrug it off and move on with life. It's not Kierans usual style but if it works, then why not? "You're right," Kieran manages to reply. "I know." "Thanks, Bill," Kieran says as he turns back to him. "I wasn't really expectin' you to understand if I'm honest, but I'm glad you do. But could you just keep this between us?" "Sure," Bill shrugs. "Now, is you comin' back to camp? I heard Pearson shout that foods ready 'bout ten minutes ago." "Nah, not yet. I'm gonna stay here a little longer," Kieran kindly rejects his offer. "Suit yourself," Bill says as he stands up, picking up the gun by his side. "I'll see you around then." "Yeah. See you in a bit, Bill," Kieran gives him a gentle smile, watching the larger man make his way through the horses, back down to the camp. Kierans eyes move back to the water, enjoying the way the sun sinks into the lake. He never thought he'd have this conversation with anybody, and if he did, it'd be with someone caring like Arthur. But it's done. There's a lot of weight lifted off Kierans shoulders and a new path ahead of him. For the first time in a long time, Kieran feels content. He understands that he's not broken or weird, just a little different. But aren't we all?

[dhwjoonwoo]

hello! my name is chey (she/her, 21, gmt-5) and i’m bringing you kang joonwoo, your local peter pan. he’s not so thrilled to be here, but his writer is, so do with that what you will. i’ve got a pinterest board for him here, his stats page here & some plots coming soon! please do let me know if you’d like to plot orrrr just give this post a like and i’ll dm you asap!

joonwoo’s personality is quite similar to the disney version of peter pan  —  headstrong, adventurous, protective, brave, fun-loving, caring, mysterious, hotheaded, insecure, loyal, artistic, selfless, daring and charming are all words that describe him very well. there’s a childish arrogance to him at times that appears as a belief that nothing can truly harm him and he’s capable of anything (which often results in risky behavior), but overall, he’s... responsible? at times?

quite friendly & can get along with almost anyone, so long as they treat him decently. he has a strong distaste for hateful/cynical people, though, and will not attempt to be friendly if he knows it isn’t worth it. has a tendency to get into fights, but the reasons are always justifiable in some way. will not throw a punch just for fun.

in love, he has a reputation for being romantic but noncommittal/unattainable (iykyk). in other words, he’s a pro when it comes to handing out false hope. doesn’t necessarily intend to do this, but he loves to be admired and will happily bask in attention without making it clear that the feeling isn’t mutual. doesn’t really believe in love anyway because (1) while he is a rebel...... boy’s not tryna face tragedy and (2) every time he tries to date, his partners break up with him because he’s “fun for the moment, but has no long-term potential” which is.... fair.

is kinda flirty ~just for fun~ which is also...... not good.... but it is what it is.

he awakened as an infant due to the fact that he died of natural causes. somewhat similar to peter pan’s story, he was orphaned at a very young age because his parents had a second child who “took his place”. he was old enough to understand what was happening and consequentially has a distrust of parents (especially mothers), despite the fact that he eventually became a father figure for younger kids in the orphanage. also has abandonment issues + commitment issues but we don’t talk about that <3

in school, he was extremely loud and difficult to miss. he made his presence known, especially in his teenage years & frequently raised hell on behalf of mistreatment/bullying/whatever else he saw going down. kinda acted like a parent even in high school in the sense that if teachers were treating a student unfairly, he’d scold the teachers like an angry parent would LMAO. teachers didn’t like him much but that’s ok because he hates authority anyway.

also played basketball + ran track. anything to stay active.

has camping/survival skills such as building shelter out of twigs and branches, identifying plants/finding ones that are safe to eat, bird calls, naturally filtering water, tying knots, treating wounds with nothing but natural resources, etc. perfect camping/hiking buddy.

he’s current a grad school student! he’s studying childhood development + early childhood education. used to babysit for families on the island, but after obtaining his bachelor’s degree, he got a job as a part-time daycare supervisor. in between part-time work and part-time studies, he volunteers with exceptional children. mainly does big sibling type volunteer work but also volunteers with teaching on occasion.

obviously his world revolves around kids LMAO but he also likes things like hiking/camping (as stated above), playing guitar, playing games (video games, board games, any games!), telling stories. pretty enthusiastic guy, can appreciate anything.

the general perception of him is that he’s far too immature for a twenty-five year old man, but he’s still generally liked because of the fact that he never seems to mean any harm. known for being considerate and willing to go to great lengths to help others. the guy that people can come to when they need a smile, a laugh, or unbiased ears to listen to a story. will try his absolute hardest to brighten dark days and restore youthful enthusiasm for life.

while he is definitely immature, he’s not as immature as he’s made out to be. in fact, the way that he grew up made him mature very quickly and his current job demands responsibility. buuuuuut he’ll never argue when people claim he’s just an overgrown child; overall, that’s everything he aspires to be.

impulse, reckless, adventurous. come get into some trouble with him!