#AND AGAIN HAPPY LATE NEW YEAR TO ALL OF YOU

[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’!”

[bradshawsvinyl]

Everything Has Changed

Summary: In which Rafe and Reader find out they're expecting.

You hadn’t been feeling well for a couple of days. You were exhausted and despite your best efforts, you couldn’t keep food down. The scent of your favorite candle became unbearable and the smell of Rafe’s new cologne made you want to gag. 

“Are you okay?” Rafe asked after you finished throwing up for the third time that week. 

“I’m fine,” you replied while wiping your mouth.“It’s just a stomach bug or something. I’ll get over it soon.”

“I think you should go to the doctor,”. Rafe said while getting dressed for work. “You know I hate seeing you sick baby.” 

“I’ll be fine,” you reassured, “You need to leave for work now or you’ll be late.” 

“I know, I know,” Rafe replied. “I’ll see you later,” he said, giving you a kiss on the cheek and heading out the door. 

After Rafe left, you returned to the bathroom to finish your morning routine. You opened the cabinet below the sink to get a new tube of toothpaste when you noticed an unopened box of pads. 

“Shit.” You whispered to yourself.

You waited until Rafe left for work the next day to go to the pharmacy and pick up a pregnancy test. When you got home, you began drinking copious amounts of water to encourage yourself to pee. 

You were scared out of your mind. You knew Rafe had a tumultuous childhood and you weren’t sure how he would react to the prospect of bringing a baby into the world. Despite dating for 3 years and living together for 1, you and Rafe had never gone into detail about having children. Whenever the topic came up, you both spoke about it vaguely. You knew you had to find out if you were pregnant for sure before you started worrying. 

You ran to the bathroom with the box of tests in your hands. You peed on the stick and set a timer, pulse racing while you waited for the results. 

After the timer went off, you flipped the test over. Two lines tauntingly stared back at you.

You sat on the bathroom floor with the positive pregnancy test while your heart raced. You were scared, nervous, excited and panicked all at the same time. Your mind could not help but drift to how Rafe would react. 

When he came home from work that evening, you decided it would be best to rip the bandaid off and tell him.

“Rafe,” you said, voice almost in a whisper. “We need to talk.”

His brow furrowed immediately. He had been worrying about your health for the past few days. He couldn’t ignore your continued nausea. He had been urging you to go to the doctor for what felt like weeks but you had turned him down everytime.

“What’s wrong,” he replied urgently. “Are you okay?”

You nodded while holding the pregnancy test behind your back. “I know you know I haven’t been feeling well and I think I found out why,” you said while trying to keep your voice steady. You moved your hands from behind your back and offered Rafe the test.

His eyes dropped to the object in your hand that read PREGNANT.  He froze, looked at you, looked down at the test, and looked up at you again. “I-Is this,” he said shakily, “A-Are you-“

“Pregnant.” You finished for him trying and failing to seem confident. 

For a moment, Rafe didn’t say anything. Then to your surprise, he began laughing. “Holy shit,” he said running his hand through his buzz cut while pacing. “You’re serious?” 

You nodded watching his expression morph from worry to excitement. He put the test down on the table and pulled you into his arms. 

“You’re having our baby.” he stated, voice laced in wonder as his eyes began to fill with tears. 

“I’m having our baby.” You repeated.  “Are you happy or-“ you asked after a beat, trying to gauge how he truly felt about the situation. 

“Of course I'm happy baby,” he replied excitedly. “You’re going to be the best mom,” he continued. “I’m going to love this kid so much, just like I love you.”

You could help but begin to tear up at Rafe’s soft words. You felt a wave of relief wash over you. You had worried that maybe Rafe wouldn’t want to be a father. The fact that he had reassured you meant he was in it for the long haul. 

You both stood in silence for a moment, allowing the news to sink in. Rafe continued to hold you close. You could feel his heartbeat. It felt as if he didn’t want to let you go. 

“Okay,” Rafe said after a few minutes or hours, you couldn’t tell, “I’ve got you. Whatever you need. I’m not gonna let you do this alone. I promise.” He finished with a voice full of conviction. 

In that moment, despite the nerves and the what ifs, you knew everything would be okay. Rafe was on your side and he wasn’t letting go. 

Authors Note: I’m trying out a new format! Pls let me know if it’s hard to follow. Likes and reblogs are always appreciated!!! dividers from @anitalenia and photos from pinterest.

[cardo-de-comer]

finally an art summary. Doesn't seem like much changed though...

in the end of this year, I stopped liking my art entirely. Lately I don't even want to think about drawing but it also applies to pretty much everything... It's most entirely likely due to my worsening mental state though so hopefully it'll get better.

But on the bright side, when I got so sad about my art, I decided to pick up 3d-modeling again and I feel like I really got better in it. Still proud of my Devil model >:]

Also met a lot of cool people this year. Hello to my mutuals :)

happy new year, i guess, and thank you all for your support <3

[verus-animus]

Hot Massage

"P-Please... S... S... Stop..." Jeremy tried to plead desperately, but his numb lips and face made it incredibly hard.

"Shhh... Don't speak. You'll only waste your energy." I shushed the handsome hunk that laid beneath me. Opening another bottle, I poured out the clear serum and massaged it into his firm chest. It quickly began heating up and his skin soften slightly.

"W-Why....." He asked. I could tell he was trying desperately to make his large muscles move, but unfortunately all it did was twitch his fingers.

"Why? I don't know, Jeremy... Maybe it's because of all those years back in high school that you bullied me and completely ruined my reputation and any chances of me getting into a good college, or maybe it's because of the 'accident' you caused which burned half of my face off... What do you think?" There was definitely a hint of anger within my voice, but I quickly calmed down and continued massaging his warm pliable chest.

"...I-I'm s-sorry...." He really meant it this time. Unlike all those other times he said it in front of his peers. But it didn't matter anymore.

"A bit too late for that, Jeremy... Even if I have forgiven you for all those years back then, the serum has already reached its full effect. There's really no going back now." I smothered my hands against his rippling skin and felt how they slowly began sinking into him. Into his flesh.

"...no...ah..." He gasped, as he felt me invade his very flesh. My elbows disappeared as I got closer and closer to his anguished numb face.

"Don't worry, you won't feel a thing. Once I push my head inside and overlap my brain onto yours, you'll never have a thought of your own again. From now on I'll control your every movement, your every breath, and your every heartbeat. It'll be my rugged hands running across these perfect pecs, my juicy ass squeezing dildos deeper inside, and my handsome scar-free face hungrily licking up all the residue from the bathroom mirror."

I gave his glazed-over eyes one last look and pushed my lips against his soft ones, before I plunged my entire head inside his. His fingers clenched together and he began gasping for air, as I moved around inside him and positioned myself correctly. As soon as I settled down my mind suddenly exploded with all of Jeremy's memories, dreams, and aspirations. I felt them embrace me and flow into me, until I felt myself own them as if they had always been mine.

I opened my new eyes just in time to see the last of the rippling effect on my new large chest settle down. As it did, I felt a torrent of unbridled cum unleash itself underneath the warm blanket.

It was done. Jeremy had taken everything from me back then; my life, my reputation, my future, my face... Now, I've taken it all back; the successful life, the promising future, and even the perfect face. This was a brand new start for me, the new Jeremy...

Happy New Year everyone! Thought I'd pop by and let you all know that I'm still around. I haven't been feeling very inspired lately, and with a lot of things going on in life I haven't really taken the time to properly write. Still, I thought I'd give you all a treat with this older draft I made a while back. Hope you all enjoy it, and perhaps you'll hear more from me this new year! /Verus <3

[kingofbodyrolls]

Taehyung fic recs 2024 🥳

🎉 Guess what day it is? That’s right—it’s Taehyung’s birthday! 🥳 Of course, I haven’t forgotten. How could I?! While my monthly rec lists are taking a permanent vacation (they deserve it), I’m still determined to shout out incredible stories on each member’s special day. Because why not celebrate with fanfic love? 💜✨

So, buckle up for my Ultimate Favorite Taehyung Stories of the past year! 🚀 Have I hyped these up before? Oh, absolutely. Will I keep screaming about them? 100%. These stories are just that good! 🌟 A massive THANK YOU to the genius writers who crafted these masterpieces—you’re all legends, and I’m forever in awe of your talent 🥹💐 Every fic here is etched in my heart, and I couldn’t be more excited to share them again.

⚠️ Warning: Most of these fics are either spicy as hell, or tread into darker territory, so minors, this is your cue to dip out. DNI.

✨ Pro tip: If you fall in love with any of these fics (and you will), take a moment to shower the writers with love—whether that’s a comment, a reblog, or just a heartfelt emoji 💌 These small gestures mean the world to them, trust me! Plus, there’s no better way to say, “This fic made me feral, and I’m forever grateful.” 🥰

Need more Taehyung goodness? Dive into the rec library, check out last year’s birthday rec list, or peruse my 2023 recs. Happy reading, and let’s give these amazing stories (and their creators) all the love they deserve! 🫶

[index] → jan | feb (jhs) | mar (myg) | apr | may | jun | jul | aug | sep (jjk)(knj) | oct (pjm) | nov | dec (ksj)(💜) |

Emoji meaning → angst = 🌩️, smut = 🥵, fluff = 🥰, comedy = 😂, yandere = 😈, thriller/dark = 👻, fantasy = 🪄. 

⭐Sing for Me @exoticarmyofcrowns [6.6k]  // kth x f.reader // roommates to lovers // 🥵🥰😂

📝 you have been living with your roommate for well over a year and the unresolved sexual tension between the two of you finally comes to a head.

🗨️ how the fuck doesn’t this have more notes than it does?? 😭 It was so fucking amazing. I’m not kidding. It’s was perfection! Perfect amount of funny banter with a heavy sprinkle of spice. So fucking good. It good me feeling things. Tingles. Yes. It was so good. Another one for the faves ✨💜

⭐Tanzanite Treasures @kth1 [11.8k]  // kth x f.reader // s2l, fantasy!au, mermaid!au // 🥵🥰🪄

📝 you’re met with a handsome man who hands you back your missing necklace given to you by your late grandmother. What you didn’t know is that the necklace holds such a powerful secret about life under the sea. 

🗨️ this was so fucking cute— I can’t 😭 I love it, and the world building was so cute and detailed too— so magical 🥰

⭐Fanservice @bangtanintotheroom [30.8k]  // kth x f.reader // s2l, camboy!au // 🥵

📝 every Friday night at 10 PM was dedicated to your favorite camboy. When he hosts a contest and you end up the lucky winner, you’ll have to brace yourself for your unexpected debut.

🗨️ wft 🥵 This is just shy of 31k and I feel like maybe 5k of this isn’t smut, the rest of this is pure unadulterated, filthy smut 🤤 And it is amazing! Really good and loved it.

⭐Kodachrome @hobivore [9k]  // kth x f.reader x jjk // threesome, est. relationship // 🥵

📝 an unexpected encounter on Valentine’s Day brings back an old memory: after discussing some fantasies with your boyfriend, Taehyung, you can’t help but think it’s almost serendipitous when an old friend comes into town.

🗨️ This was so fucking good 😭🥵 I really loved it!!

⭐Bodyguard (there’s a pt 2) @yoonpobs [2.1k] // kth x f.reader // e2l, bodyguard!au // 🥵

📝 you protect taehyung from people but forget about the biggest threat. yourself.

🗨️ omg 🥵 This extremely good, so enticing and there was just all the build up sexual tension at the end— ugh! So good! 🥵 There wasn’t any smut in it, but damn it, it was still very lustful (I love those undertones). What’s not to love? It’s short, sweet and sensual ✨💯 There’s even a part two that I haven’t read yet!!!

⭐New Tricks @geniuslab [10.1k] // kth x f.reader // dog trainer!au, s2l // 🥵😂🥰

📝 when your newly adopted puppy turns out to be a lot more work than you expected, a cute dog trainer comes to the rescue. You soon become friends, but you begin to realize friendship might not be all you want.

🗨️ awww this was so fucking cute and fluff, I loved it so much 💖

⭐Gold Rush @ditttiii [4.4k]  // kth x f.reader // s2l!au // 🥵🌩️

📝 kim taehyung is a walking heartbreak waiting to happen. all narrow eyes and long nose and devilish smirks, he is everyone’s dream. after months of sharing an elevator with the man who makes your heart race until you can scarcely breathe when the chance finally comes; are you willing to risk it all for his touch? 

🗨️ OMG— I finally got to read this, and FUCK. SHIT. It is INSANELY beautiful (and sad too 🥹). But goddamn it, the love OC has for Taehyung, oh my. And the bittersweet feelings are what makes this hauntingly beautiful 💖 Again, I have a hard time coming up with words, words for how beautiful this masterpiece truly is 😭 Just— perfection 💯 Also, because it was so bittersweet, I really love the open ending, like getting to imagine whatever you like for this couple 😭💜

⭐Waterloo @kinktae [13k] // kth x f.reader // s2l, photographer!au, art!au, slowburn, romcom // 🌩️🥵🥰😂

📝Taehyung is a famous but pessimistic art prodigy who doesn’t believe in love. You are an art student studying in Paris, who sees the world through rose-colored lens and is a certified cheesy romance film enthusiast. And this is your love story. Or, “Well, it is the city of love. Maybe you just need to fall in love.”

🗨️ such a beautiful love story 🥹😭 I loved everything about it, how oc was not giving a shit about Taehyung, and how that in fact drew him in 🥰✨ And damn the ending, I loved it so much 🥹💜

⭐Long Black @jamaisjoons [6.5K]  // kth x f.reader // established relationship // 🥵🥰

📝 you knew exactly what you were getting into when you decided to tease taehyung at his best friend’s wedding. what you didn’t expect was what came after. 

🗨️ filthy, this was so filthy. The beginning was just thick with tension and lust, and, and— omg. The smut was so incredible and then the ending! Damn. I loved it enough though it turned soft at the end 🥹💜

⭐Wannabe Photographer Chronicles (AO3) @gimmethatagustd [18.8k]  // kth x f.reader // frenemies to lovers, sex work, dub/sub themes // 🥵

📝 you’re so tired of Kim Taehyung’s hipster, wannabe-photographer ass. You’re so tired of Kim Taehyung’s stupid smile and stupid jokes and stupid way of getting under your skin and sticking in your brain.

🗨️ not gonna lie, the smut had me dripping 🥵 So fucking perfect like the rest of the series! If you haven’t read it or the series… GET TO IT ✨

⭐A Christmas Fix one & two @yoonia [54.7k]  // kth x f.reader // christmas!au, secret baby!au, second chance!au, s2l // 🥵🌩️🥰😂

📝 one-night stands are supposed to be nothing more than just. It shouldn’t have involved seeing those two red lines looking back at you weeks later without a name or a contact number linking you back to your mystery man. Nothing more but his face. The unforgettable face that would sometimes appear in your dreams at night. So unforgettable that you immediately recognise him the moment he walks into your family home at Christmas, hand-in-hand with your older stepsister.

🗨️ this is VERY DRAMA— but fuck I loved every single fucking line in this 😭 My heart was beating fast in my chest at time, times where I was flat out crying or wanting to pull my hair out. But that is exactly what I love about fanfiction and why I can’t recommend this enough!!! The plot was just exceptional, the storytelling was on point ✨

⭐Any Way You Want It @noteguk [6.6k]  // kth x f.reader // childhood bf to lovers // 🥵🥰

📝 in which your best friend, Taehyung, finds out about your unsatisfying sexual experiences and decides to put an end to that track record himself. 

🗨️ fuck this was so cute, and fuck the smut was so hot 🥵✨

⭐Rent-a-BoyfriendTM + drabble @jimlingss [12k]  // kth x f.reader // s2l, fake dating!au // 😂🥰

📝 left intentionally blank by the author.

🗨️ fuck this was so freaking cute and fluffy with a small sprinkle of angst. Perfection 👏🏾 🥰

⭐Pour Up @jungkxook [14k]  // kth x f.reader + jjk x f.reader // fuckboy!au, threesome // 🥵

📝 sleeping with both notorious frat boys kim taehyung and jeon jungkook doesn’t sound so bad ━ especially when you’re drunk and faded.

🗨️ omg omg omg omg 🥵😭 So much smut, so beautiful and so freaking detailed, WHAT!? This was incredible, okay, if you haven’t read this one yet, please go and give it a read 🥹

🌟 Welcome to my little fic corner! 🌟 While I don’t write as much these days (I’m usually too busy devouring other people’s amazing stories 📚), I’d still love it if you gave my work a peek.

No pressure, though—your eyeballs, your choice! 👀💕 But hey, if you do decide to read something, know that it would make my day (and probably my week, let’s be real 🥰). Either way, thanks for stopping by, and happy reading! 💌

Moonglade / one-shot / strangers to lovers / 15.4k - 🥵🥰🪄😂 You’ve always been captivated by the sea—a love as deep and endless as the tides. But when tragedy strikes, that love turns bittersweet, and you find yourself drawn to the very thing that stole a part of your soul. Night after night, you pour your sorrows into the embrace of moonlight and whisper your pain to the stars. Then, one fateful evening, a merman surfaces from the depths—a being of myth and wonder. Will you dare to believe in fairytales and the magic of second chances? In hope, love, and the possibility of forever? Perhaps, he’s here to show you that even in the darkest corners, beauty and light can still thrive.

→  Moonglade (part of the '7 Summers at the Sea’ series)

✨ As a little bonus treat, here’s a handful of fics I haven’t had the chance to dive into yet—but OMG, I’m absolutely buzzing with excitement to read them! 🚀💖 The anticipation is real, and I can already tell these are going to be amazing:

Definition of Love @taegularities

Away from the Sun @inktae

It’s You All Along @lavienjin

When Fire Meets Frost @luxekook

Just One Week @byeoltoyuki

Seoul Town Road @luaspersona

Hot Boy Summer @kth1

Holding You Like This @jimilter

Perfectly Wrong (series; completed) @xpeachesncream

Slowdance on the Inside @floralseokjin

🎉 Happy Birthday to our jazzy, snazzy, utterly dazzling winter teddy bear, Taehyung! 🎷🐻💜✨ Another year of breathtaking vocals, mesmerizing artistry, and a vibe so smooth it could melt butter (and armies’ hearts) 🥰

From your boxy smile to your soulful saxophone dreams, you’re a walking masterpiece, Taehyung. 🎨🎶 May your day be filled with all the jazz, joy, and Kim Taehyung-level elegance the world has to offer! 🥳🎁 Here’s to more adventures, more love, and, of course, more of you being unapologetically iconic 💫

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Drunk N Nasty PT. II 🥂🩷✨ (poly!Pro!Bakusquad x Black!Fem!Reader NYE 18+ One Shot)

✨Pairing: poly!Bakusquad x Black!Fem!Reader

✨Synopsis: In which you and Mina didn’t learn your lesson the first time about pushing your boyfriends’ buttons, so you decide to once again do something you’re not supposed to at a boring NYE party when their attention is adverted somewhere else instead of on their pretty girlfriends. But they’re on the exact same type of time you and Mina are, so why not celebrate the new year in a way only they know how AND teach you a lesson about being good girls too?

✨Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINORS GTFO); Aged-Up!Bakusquad (Late 20s-Early 30s); Black-Coded!Reader (but anyone can still read this); Polyamorous; Established Relationship; Alcohol Consumption; Drunk Sex; Dubcon; Groping; Thigh Grinding; Dry Humping; Spit Play; Edge Play; Girl on Girl; Mutual Oral; Bondage/Tape Play; Shock/Electro Play; Daddy Kink; some DDLG; Spanking; Choking; Hair-Pulling; Facefucking; Spitroast; Degradation/Praise; Multiple Creampies/Throatpies; Facials; Some Aftercare

✨Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

✨Writer’s Note: Happy New Year & (almost) 2025, sweeties!!!! Sooooo I remember how much fun I had writing "Drunk N Nasty" so I decided to do one for NYE. I hope y'all enjoy it! Idk if I did as good of a job, but I still hope it's enough to scratch the deviant itch that y'all have like me lol. This one is still very NASTY tho -Jazz 💋💋💋

Read PT. I HERE!

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“Baby?” Bakugou asks in that raspy, gruff voice that never fails to send tingles up your spine. “Yeah, babe?” “If you don’t want me to lift up that dress and embarrass you in front of all these people, I suggest you take your hand off my knee.”

The blonde, looking so scrumptious in his burgundy suit and undercut, is serious about his threat and you know it. He truly doesn’t give a fuck.

His lewd threat sends shockwaves throughout your body and makes the most forbidden part of you, the part of your body you should NOT be focused on at the moment, throb. Slowly, you slide your hand off of your boyfriend’s knee despite wanting so desperately to run it up his muscular thigh and grip his— 

“That too, Pinkie,” Bakugou growls, not even looking up from his menu for the party. “Hands off. Now.” Your perfect, pretty, pink pro hero girlfriend, who currently looks delicious in her backless mint green gown, begrudgingly takes her hand off Sero’s thigh. He, too, looks delicious in his suit just like the rest of your boyfriends sitting at your assigned table. 

“So bossy,” she pouts, her glossy lips puckered. Sero shrugs, grinning wolfishly at Bakugou. “I dunno…I kinda liked it. A lot, actually.” The platinum blonde glares at him over his reading glasses which only makes you hornier. Bakugou looks so goddamn good in glasses. “You’re a perv just like her,” he grunts. “Usually, I don’t give a fuck who sees us, but I’ll be damned if All Might looks over here and sees a hand on my cock.” 

He gives you a side-eye that makes you flush hot despite the gorgeous strapless red gown you’re wearing as part of tonight’s festivities. “So lewd,” you tut. “And you complain about us.” 

Suddenly, you smell familiar Gucci cologne and your stomach flips. “He’s not the one gropin’ you though, is he, naughty girl?” Denki asks, his lips suddenly at your ear. “Mmm-hmm. I saw that aaaall the way at the punch bowl.” The honey-haired blonde, along with Kirishima’s sexy, redheaded ass, sit on your left while Bakugou occupies your right. 

Sero sits across from you with Mina who is about to drop her head into her shrimp salad. “Spiked, I hope,” she mutters. “This party is soooo boring!” 

You silently concur. As a fellow pro hero, you were invited to attend the Heroes’ Annual Christmas Party along with your partners to celebrate all heroes and the holiday season. Though you feel extremely glamorous in your dress with the thigh slit and your gold Jimmy Choo heels with your face beat for days and your skin smelling intoxicatingly sweet, this party is anything short of “glamorous”. 

Despite all the famous pros and important folks being here, and the ballroom being swaddled in gorgeous Christmas trees, centerpieces, and expensive o'devours, you have never been so fucking bored in your life. Hence why you’ve been teasing your boyfriends for the past hour since you’ve been here. 

“What the hell did you expect, mamì?” Sero asks, nudging Mina with his elbow. “It’s a NYE party where very important people, like us, are in attendance, including city officials.” He pops a shrimp into his mouth and you zero in on his lip piercing. And the rings adorning his fingers that you’d love to feel wrapped around your neck right now. 

Curse your boyfriends for being pierced up, tatted up, and hella sexy! Why the fuck would they choose tonight of all nights to look so damn good? Why couldn’t you go to the club, get drunk, sloppily make out on the dance floor, and then go back to the crib to “celebrate in private”?

Or stay home and spend NYE fucking until the sun came up? 

Or fuck in general?

You wrinkle your brows at your advanced horniness. You can’t remember the last time you were this aroused and in need of your boyfriends’ attention. Perhaps it’s because the busy holiday season has brought too much work and not enough play that now you and Mina both are feening for some dick that your men aren’t free to give at the moment. 

The rush of the holidays and working overtime for more money to buy gifts and still pay rent has affected all of you to the point where you and Mina are teeming with arousal and desperation, and your boyfriends are overcome with exhaustion. Too exhausted to dom their pretty babies and give them the attention they so desperately need.

“But no alcohol though?” Denki scoffs, his tiny hoop earrings glistening in the soft glow of the lights above. His honey-blonde hair, streaked with one single black strand in the shape of a lightning bolt, is styled back in a man bun for the special occasion tonight. “C’mon, they’ve gotta be kiddin’ with that one! Do the party planners know a single pro hero?” 

“You don’t have to drink to have fun, Denks,” Kiri criticizes, mouth full of steak. He looks absolutely mouthwatering in his tailored suit, his long red locks cascading down his broad shoulders. “You’ve just got a problem.” You tut, rolling your eyes at the redhead. "Says the one who can chug five beers in one sitting,” you giggle. “And then pass out.” 

Mina, Denki, and Sero laugh at your little quip while Kiri gets a playful fire in his crimson eyes. “Don’t try me, baby. I’ll show you your man can do six.” Unlike Bakugou, he doesn’t ignore the flirty energy that is emanating from your smile or eyes rimmed in mascara. You reach across the table to take his big hand in his, an electric shock coursing through you at his touch. 

He must feel it too because his body visibly tenses and his pierced tongue juts out to lick his lips. “Fuck, you look good,” he sighs. “Both of you do.” He turns to Mina and her hooded, inkwell eyes, the sexual tension becoming more obvious with the unwavering look she gives you and Kiri.

“Mmm, agreed,” Denki sighs, swallowing so hard that his Adam’s Apple bobs. “It’s taking everything in me to not pull you both out of here and tear these dresses off of you.” 

Boldly, Mina takes her glass of punch and slowly drinks from it, making it a point to play with the straw with her tongue. “What’s stoppin’ you?” she purrs. Your cunt throbs impatiently under your dress, needing so desperately to feel her tongue in other places. You want to be between all of them, feeling each ridge of their muscles and caressing their warm skin.

“Stop flirting,” Bakugou grunts, his eyes flaring at the pink-haired pro. “You can do that at home.” He puts his menu down and turns to you, making your blood run hot with the seething intensity and lust in them. “And when we’re there, you know you two are gonna get it, right?” 

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, hoping that he promises. And you hope that you all can go home ASAP to make up for the weeks of constant missions, patrols, and paperwork that kept your Daddies away from you and Mina. You girls can only get so much satisfaction out of each other and while sex with Mina is always great, you miss Bakugou’s hand gripping your throat while he’s fucking you into the bed or Kiri’s touch as he litters your body in kisses where he left bruises. 

Sero obviously sees the molten lust in your eyes and smirks. “Seems like that’s the plan,” he chuckles. “You know how these two operate, Kats. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” The look he gives you and Mina is enough to make you explode. 

“Can’t we just go home now?” you tiredly suggest, pouting. “No offense to All Might and the others here, but this party is damn near putting me to sleep!” Kiri chuckles, aiming those damn crimson eyes your way. “Or maybe you’re just desperate to get home so we can put your fine ass to bed. Is that it, little lady?” 

You suddenly feel his hand ghosting over your knee and do your best to hide your gasp. Every slight touch is like kryptonite to you. Bakugou is gripping his glass so tight that you’re afraid he’ll break the thing. “I said cut it out!” he growls at the redhead. “I can see your boner from here!” 

Kiri blushes as red as his hair and places a tablecloth on his lap to cover himself. You wither at the loss of contact and sexual chemistry, needing so much to feel both.

“This is probably the only time I’ve ever sided with Bakugou,” Denki huffs. “As much as I love the sexy game-playing, ladies, I really don’t wanna be walkin’ around with a stiff one if you catch my drift.” 

Kiri sighs, staring down at his lap. “Same here. With my quirk, it’s much worse.” Now your mind has drifted to think about their boners. Could you dare to take a peek under the table and see for yourself? Are you bold enough to reach over, grab their hard cocks, and stroke them through their pants until— 

“Well, can’t we hit a club around here and then come back before the midnight toast?” Mina suggests, snapping you out of your nasty, depraved thoughts. “I mean, it’s New Year’s Eve! We’re supposed to turn up!” 

“After the party,” Bakugou firmly says, rubbing his undercut in obvious frustration. “It’s a charity event and we’re doin’ charity. Now both of you brats pipe the fuck down before I really give you somethin’ to complain about.” Anyone else would be damn near pissing themselves at the hot-blooded look Bakugou is giving, but you and Mina know better. He is just as worked up as you are. 

You both turn to each other, sharing a playful smile with one another. Kiri, Denki, and Sero watch on, all equally turned on by the bratty energy emanating from you and Mina…especially Mina. That girl isn’t afraid of anything and won’t stop until she’s a writhing mess after too many orgasms and spankings. “Like what, Kats?” she quips. “Are we gettin’ you hot and bothered too?” 

Feeling your girlfriend rub off on you, you take a hand and slyly squeeze Bakugou’s thigh, making his knee hit the bottom of the table. He turns to you, cheeks flushed and bottom lip pierced with snake bites caught between his teeth. “You little fuckin’—“ 

“Ohhh, look at this!” a sudden voice interrupts. You jump in surprise and turn to the balding city official standing by the snake table nearest to you. “It’s my favorite hero couple all here together! You must come and meet the other officials! They’re big fans of Dynamight and Red Riot, apparently, so I said I’d bring you guys over.” 

Kiri, for one, is happy for the distraction before Bakugou possibly tackled you to the ground, ripped off your dress, and fucked you dumb in front of all of these poor people. “Sure! That’s what we’re here for!” 

Bakugou stiffly gets up and walks over to the city official, obviously hard, while Denki and Sero trail behind him. You and Mina share a look, neither one of you wanting to socialize and pretend to be interested in anything other than sex with your boyfriends. “We’ll stay back and finish eating,” she tells Mina with a smile. “Don’t worry, babe, we’ll keep your seats warm.” 

Kiri fixes you both with a “you’d better behave” look before he walks off to be the buffer for his boyfriends. You sigh, placing your nails, glossy, red, and almond-shaped, under your chin. Mina does the same, running a hand through her pink curls. “Are you as bored and as horny as I am?” she deadpans. 

“Hell yes,” you reply with a scoff, “but as much as I wanna leave, I don’t wanna ditch the guys or make them angry.” You already know that this is what Mina is going to allude to, just like the last time you two didn’t get enough attention. “Oh, who cares about that?” she scoffs, waving a hand at the idea of your boyfriends being pissed at your decisions. “They’re bored and horny too, but just don’t wanna give us what we want. I don’t appreciate being denied.” She gives you a devious smirk that will only lead to trouble. 

As much as you enjoy the idea of teasing your dudes for the night, you also know that ditching them just to entrap them wouldn’t be the best idea on NYE. “Well, we only have an hour until midnight,” you say, checking your phone. “We can just get some dessert, gossip with Uraruka and the girls, and—“ 

“Oh, you two are still her!” Kiri says, pleasantly surprised. You turn to see him back now, holding a new glass of punch in his hand. “I was sure you ditched us.” You grin up at him, hope blooming in your chest. “Never, baby. How was the meet n’ greet?” 

The usual chipper and bright redhead rolls his eyes, exasperated. “Fuckin’ annoying and my social battery has just about reached its limit. How about we leave in say…” He pauses, checking his Rolex. “Twenty minutes?” 

Mina groans in happiness, dramatic as usual. “Oh, yes!” you reply, grinning happily. You could kiss your Red Riot because you’re so damn happy to finally be rid of this party and get dicked down before midnight…and after. Kiri laughs at you and Mina’s cute antics as he pulls out his phone. “I’ll tell the guys in the group chat and—“ 

“Oh, Kirishima!” Fat Gum hollers from across the room, waving a pudgy hand. “Come over here! These girls wanna meet you!” He points at the girls in question—three very pretty, modelesque, and expensive-looking ladies who look very interested in meeting your man. 

Kiri looks wearily at you and Mina before sighing, apologizing with his eyes. “Twenty,” he mouths to you and Mina, but you both know that this won’t be twenty minutes at all. When he leaves, you huff in frustration and turn to Mina who suddenly produces a tiny vodka bottle out of her purse. “Good thing I bought this,” she giggles with a mischievous wink. “Don’t tell the guys, okay?” 

You smirk at her, passing your cranberry juice over to her for some of that liquid confidence. “Only if you pour me a shot.” Your girlfriend is happy to oblige and discreetly pours you a glass under the table, spiking your drink. When you take a sip, you feel your bones melt and your face flush from the strong vodka mixed with the sweet, tangy cranberry juice. 

After thirty or so minutes of drinking, you and Mina are good and tipsy. You can tell from the way she keeps giggling at nothing and your erogenous zones are more sensitive than usual. Your nipples feel puckered, tight, and flushed while your pussy throbs insistently for attention. You desperately turn to search for your boyfriends and find them still chatting with the three girls. 

Only this time, there are more than three. More women have seemed to gravitate over to your Dynamight, Red Riot, Chargebolt, and Cellophane, gushing over their hair and their quirks. One of them blushes as she asks Sero for an autograph on her napkin, placing a hand on his arm in gratitude when he takes out a pen. 

You also know that you’re tipsy when you begin to feel quickly irritated at seeing another hand that isn’t yours or Mina’s on your man’s arm. Your jealousy and illogical anger only intensify when you see a blonde with long legs standing between Denki and Kiri for a photo.

The blonde’s hands are placed dangerously low on your boyfriends’ backs…any lower and she’d be cupping their asses. “Are you seein’ what I’m seein’?” Mina whispers, irritation in her voice. You slowly nod, barely even looking at her. You’re too focused on the bitches all over your men. “Yeah, and I don’t like it.” 

Another fan, a ginger with a curvaceous body and a beautiful gold gown, is chatting Bakugou up, her hand placed on his shoulder as she laughs. Why is she touching him like that? Why is he allowing that? You know that your boyfriends are quite popular among the female population, but shit, don’t they know that these four sexy men are off-limits? 

Flushing with envy that would make anyone green in the face, you begin to search for something. A distraction. A diversion. Something to catch your boyfriends’ attention. You find it in the emerald eyes that are currently staring you down from across the room at another table. The eyes belong to a handsome lizard hybrid with scaly skin, claws, a tail, and a tongue that you’ve heard can do wonders. 

Next to him sits another pro adorned in piercings with spiked, black locks and eyes the color of molten silver. He waggles his ringed fingers at you though his eyes are pinned on Mina. There is no doubt in your mind that the two haven’t been watching you and your girlfriend all night despite you clearly having dates. Then you get a very bad, very stupid idea. “I’ve got an idea,” you mischievously giggle. “Follow my lead.” 

You rise from your seat and Mina follows, the both of you slowly strutting across the room over to the two pros. They drink you in with every step, their lips curling up into pleased smiles at the sight of you and the pink-haired pro. You know you shouldn’t be doing this. The alcohol has made you too reckless…but it also feels kinda good, like being on a rollercoaster and waiting at the top just before the drop. 

“Well, it’s nice to see some familiar faces here,” you say, making your voice as flirtatious as possible. The lizard hybrid smiles up at you, drinking a glass of punch. “H/N and Pinkie,” he greets in his raspy voice, on the same exact time as you. “I almost didn’t recognize you without your boyfriends.” 

“Lizard and Slipknot,” Mina giggles, nodding at the grey-eyed pro. “What are pros #12 and #15 doing here at a party like this? I figured you two would be out hunting for some pretty girls to celebrate NYE with.” 

Lizard and Slipknot are known for their monthly (if not weekly) girlfriends and hookups, having been trending on social media many times for being snapped coming out of hotels. “You make us sound so predatory, Pinkie,” Slipknot scoffs, pressing a hand to his heart. “I’m a little hurt…unless those pretty girls happen to be you and your girl.” 

He gives you each a flirty, almost lecherous smile that Lizard wipes off with a punch in the arm. “Dude, don’t push it. Don’t you know who they’re with?” 

You look across the room at your boyfriends who are still annoyingly occupied. “Oh, you don’t have to worry about them,” Mina replies. “They’re busy.” Slipknot quirks a brow in interest. “And left you two alone?” he huffs. “Lucky for us, I guess.” 

He and Lizard share a secretive smile with each other that you’re too drunk to question. “That being said, you guys wanna have a drink with us?” you suggest. “And maybe…talk?” It’s the most you can come up with. The vodka has started to make your head throb and your mind sluggish. But the duo are more than happy to agree to your suggestion of shots and chatting. 

Somehow that “talk” leads to you, Mina, and the two hot guys who aren’t either one of your boyfriends leaving the party early to go to a club two blocks down. If your boyfriends notice then you don’t realize it. 

The cold air is thick with anticipation and excitement for the new year as the men lead you and Mina down the street, stumbling around and loudly laughing from the alcohol. As soon as you’re in the popular, crowded, and sweltering nightclub, more alcohol starts to flow, shot after shot coming thanks to Lizard and Slipknot’s wallets. 

It’s only a matter of time until all of the flavored vodka shots—birthday cake, caramel, and sour green apple—start to collide and work their effect on you. The world comes softer and fuzzier as your vision starts to blur, but the music blasting from the speakers overhead sounds sharper. You can feel the bass pumping and throbbing in your head as you stand on the dance floor with Mina. 

Speaking of which, your girlfriend has never looked prettier. She danced to the music in her gown, hiking up the skirt over her toned thighs as she winds her perfect ass. She turns to you, eyes aglow and slightly hooded from the vodka. “Now this is a party!” she laughs. You giggle with her, agreeing. The loud music, crowded dance floor, flashing strobe lights, and endless alcohol are exactly what you need. 

You slip your phone out of your clutch and hold it up to get you and Mina in view. “Let’s take a photo!” you shout at Lizard and Slipknot who have been surrounding you two like vultures since you came to the club. 

Slipknot tosses up a middle finger and makes a show of leaning in towards Mina’s shoulder while Lizard hugs in close on your left, one hand on the small of your back. He lets it linger there even as you snap the photo, the white flash capturing your big smile and the drunk look in your eyes. 

Quickly, you post the photo on your private IG, smirking to yourself. Maybe that will make your boys pay some attention to their pretty girls and make them remember what the fuck they have. 

Mina’s eyes grow soft in the glow of the colorful lights as she gazes at you. Nobody but you despite the two hot pros you came here with. “Come here. Dance with me, Y/N.” 

In one hand, she holds a cup of drank while she takes your hand with a free one. Interlacing your fingers, she invites herself into your space and presses her back flush against your front. Her ass presses against your crotch, grinding back into you as the music glows to a chopped and screwed R&B classic that would definitely get the whole floor pregnant. 

Lizard has long since taken his hand off of your back, but he still lingers behind you, watching you and Mina dance with a predatory look in his reptilian eyes. You can’t pay close attention to him because Mina is tossing a sultry look at you from over her shoulder, swishing the alcohol in her cup around. “Want a taste?” she whispers, her tone soft and low. 

It makes your pussy throb something awful. All self-control and the ability to make good decisions gone, you nod and allow her to carefully tilt the cup into your mouth, giggling apologies when some of it spills onto your bosom. You’re surprised to find that it’s fizzy champagne that makes you feel bubbly the moment it goes down your throat. 

“Lemme get that up for you, darling,” Mina purrs before turning around to slowly lick each droplet of champagne off of your chest. Her glossy lips stick to your skin, leaving stains of Fenty Gloss on your throat and chest. You softly moan at the contact, so drunk off of her and the alcohol that you can barely comprehend that you’re doing this in public. 

And with an audience. Lizard groans at the sight. “Fuck, you two are too hot,” he groans. Mina giggles, giving you a mischievous wink. “We know.” 

Slipknot corners her front, the lights flashing against his glassy, drunk eyes and sloppy smile. “What I wouldn’t give to take you both home with me.” His hands graze Mina’s waist, trying his luck, but the pink-haired pro steps out of the way to press closer to you. “Uh-uh, Slip, watch it. Our boys could be lurking in any dark corner right now!” 

Your stomach drops and reality barely breaks through the comfortable, glittery wall that the alcohol built for you tonight. Any one of your boyfriends could be in this club, couldn’t they? They could’ve arrived at any point and are watching this.

Suddenly, you have the urge to call either one of your men. They must have that urge too because when your phone buzzes, it’s Bakugou calling, his fine ass popping up on your caller ID. You begin to nervously sweat, unsure of whether you should answer or not. 

Lizard bumps into you by accident, inching a little closer to you to stand behind you. You notice that he has gotten closer. Extremely close. He’s so close that if you were to lean back, you’d be right against him. You turn to face him, your throat clogged. “That your man?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at you. 

You should say yes. You should stop this recklessness and answer your boyfriend like a good girlfriend should. But the alcohol and the urge to be a brat win. “No,” you reply, ignoring Bakugou’s call, but you keep the phone in your hand. 

Lizard smiles, pleased. “Good. You’re here with me right now.” He inches closer to you and begins to sway to the music that has picked up to a song you’ve heard a thousand times on TikTok. “So what’s up for the night after this?” he whispers.

Under the lights, you see the seductive look in his slits of eyes. You can’t find the words to speak. You don’t want to say yes because hello?! You’re dating people! Four very hot, very famous people who will most definitely kill you tonight. 

The urge to call one of your boyfriends and apologize for your behavior returns, sobering you up. Luckily, your phone buzzes again and it’s Kiri. You give Lizard an apologetic smile and put up a finger for a minute. As you strut off of the floor, Mina calls you, mindlessly dancing by herself while Slipknot watches her. “Y/N, get off the phone!” she hollers above the music. “This is our song!” 

“Hang on!” you reply, raising your voice enough to be heard. You stand against a nearby wall away from the writhing bodies on the floor and press a hand to your other ear to hear your boyfriend better. “Yeah?” you shout into the phone. 

”You two are in big fuckin’ trouble,” Kiri growls. Your stomach flips at the irked, seething tone of his voice that dips into a low rasp that usually occurs when Kiri is very pissed off. “Where the fuck are you?” 

You smirk to yourself, glad to have riled him up. “Oh, you’re startin’ this by arguing with me?” you scoff. “Now I’m glad we left.” Kiri scoffs to himself, obviously done with your ass and your brattiness. “You’re lucky it’s me callin’ you and not Bakugou. He just about blew a hole in the wall at the party.” 

You stifle a laugh, picturing your hot-headed blonde shooting a hole into one of the ballroom walls after finding you and Mina gone. You picture all of them losing their shit, sweating over the whereabouts of their girlfriends, and then growing angered at the photo on your IG. 

“Good! Maybe then you’ll start listening and attending to your girls instead of entertaining your big fans.” You can’t keep the venom from leaking out of your voice. Kiri pauses, assessing the damage and the sound of your voice. “Y/N, you been drinkin’?” he asks, slight worry in his tone. “I can hear it all in your voice.” 

He should be worried. Leaving his poor, horny girlfriend to search for excitement on her own is not the kind of treatment you deserve. “Yes,” you pointedly answer. “And I plan on going back to doin’ just that with my pretty girlfriend. We’ll explain everything when we get back.” 

Kiri makes a sound between a laugh and a sigh, making your smile slip from your face. “Oh, you can explain everything to me now, baby girl,” he says. “‘Cause I’m right here.” 

Confused, you begin to look around the room, squinting into the flashing blue and purple lights that illuminate strangers’ faces, clothes, and bodies. Finally, your eyes land on a pair of big dress shoes standing inches away from the club entrance. Your eyes trail up their thick, muscular legs and broad, tall build to their red locks and handsome face frozen in a steely expression. 

Shit.

Kiri stands there with his arms crossed over his beefy chest, his lips pursed in a thin line…which means he isn’t happy. Fear and anxiety sober you, plunging you back into reality like Superman crashing headfirst into Earth as your six-foot-something boyfriend begins to walk toward you. People ogle in shock at him, snapping photos of Red Riot in the club for NYE. But Kiri keeps his eyes locked on you, the hot red of his irises stirring something inside of you. You already know what is in store for you tonight…or do you? 

Finally, he stops in front of you, inches away from you. You drop your phone from your ear, stunned. You can’t speak. Words evade you. The corner of Kiri’s mouth turns up into a knowing smirk. “What’s the matter, mama?” he asks, condescending and smug. “Ya look like you just see a ghost.” 

“Y-You’re here,” you squeak. 

“And you’re in very deep shit,” he replies without missing a beat. “You and that other brat. Where is she, anyway?” Before you can even utter a breath, Mina is dancing up to you with her curls sweated out and her cheeks flushed from dancing. “Y/N!” she laughs, waving her phone at you. ”Slipknot just gave me his number! I can’t wait to see the looks on the boys’ faces when I—“ 

Her smile instantly fades when she sees Kiri standing there glaring at her. The situation only goes from worse to worser when suddenly, your phones are snatched from your hands as if out of thin air….but not thin air. From two translucent shots of tape that can stick to anything it wants because of how strong the user is.

“Busted!” Sero cackles, snatching your phones away and pocketing them in his suit. He, too, looks very irritated, but also more excited for tonight’s plans than Kiri does. “Now let’s get you two sluts home where you belong.” 

You can see flashes of cell phones snapping pics and videos of your private situation, making embarrassment flood inside of you. Mina stands next to you, her head bowed and her lips wobbling nervously. “Boys,” you begin. Like a flash of light, Kiri and Sero’s expressions grow darker and firmer, their eyes flashing with a hot wildfire. “Who?” they question. 

You swallow hard and look around, noticing the eyes and the whispers. You know that people can barely hear over you the music, but God, if this isn’t humiliating! “Daddies,” you whimper, gripping your clutch so hard that your nails dig into it. “We’re sorry.” 

But your boys aren’t swayed. In the blink of an eye, Kiri is hiking you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “Save it for the bedroom, mamas,” he sighs. “Now let’s go before Bakugou gets in here.”

Sero does the same to Mina, making her squeal once and then twice when his hand slaps her hard on the ass. “Wait!” she shouts. “Where’s Lizard and Slipknot?” You look around for the two pros too, now realizing that they are nowhere to be found. 

“Nowhere you need to worry your pretty head about,” Sero replies, walking in stride with Kiri through the club. “Only thing you need to worry ‘bout is us.” But as you pick your head up from Kiri’s shoulder, you see them: Lizard and Slipknot tied up in Sero’s tape in the corner of the club, sitting back to back.

You have no time to feel anything but humiliated as Kiri and Sero carry you and Mina through the throng of clubgoers who stare like you’re some exotic animals being hauled off to the zoo. You suppose that this is what you deserve. Pissing your boyfriends just for good sex? Only the brattiest bitch alive does that! 

Finally, outside in the bitter winter cold, Kiri and Sero lower you and Mina onto your feet and hand you the fur coats that you left at the party. Bakugou’s sleek, black Range Rover sits in front of you along with your two other boyfriends in the front seat. The passenger window rolls down and your heart jumps at the sight of your other two partners.

“Got ‘em!” Denki joyfully hollers, smirking wickedly at you. Bakugou twists his head to glower at you and Mina, his look dripping with promises of endless torture. “Get your asses in the car now,” he demands, his tone not up for discussion. 

With your heads hung low, you and Mina crawl into the backseat of the Range Rover only for Kiri and Sero to crawl in behind you and force you both onto their laps just as the door closes and locks. You are trapped. Denki turns the volume to the music up just as Bakugou hits the gas, and the car zooms down the street away from the club. 

You have to grip the car door and Kiri’s thigh to keep from falling forward due to the speed. It feels like Bakugou is going about ninety, especially without a seatbelt. Kiri tuts as he squeezes you in his lap, your ass sitting perfectly on his cock. “You two just won’t learn. What are we gonna do with you?”  

The bass to the music pumps through your ears and shakes the windows just as Kiri snakes a hand down between your legs, hiking up the skirts of your gown. He begins to palm at your thighs, his calloused fingers snaking across your skin. You do your very best to keep your thighs closed, not wanting him to expose your secret. 

You turn to look at Mina who is sitting in Sero’s lap, biting her bottom lip as he presses sloppy kisses to her neck and plays with her tits outside of her dress. “You wanna explain yourselves?” he asks, sneaking a glance at you.

Before you can open your mouth, Bakugou hits the gas harder and the car accelerates down the highway, now going about one hundred. You would lurch forward and probably end up in the front seats if Kiri didn’t tighten his hold around your arm.

“Bakugou!” you shriek. “Please slow down!” The platinum blonde’s crimson eyes shift to yours in the rearview mirror, silencing you with the level of irritation in them. “Don’t tell me what the fuck to do in my car,” he growls. 

Kiri’s knee has begun to slide between your thighs, unfortunately rubbing against your pussy. The speed of Bakugou’s driving and the slight bumpiness of the street help to stimulate you against your boyfriend’s knee, no doubt staining it in your juices. Denki tosses an arm over the passenger’s seat to look back at you and gasps, a wicked smirk curling onto his lips. “Ohhh, I know why she wants you to slow down,” he giggles. “Just look down.” 

Kiri and Sero look down at you where, sure enough, a slight peek between the slit of your dress gives you away. “Jesus Christ,” Kiri hisses, ogling at your bare cunt rubbing against his knee. “No wonder your ass looked different from the back!” 

He turns to Mina who is now sitting with her legs forced open by Denki, her bare, pink pussy, freshly shaved and pierced with a tiny hoop, is on display. “No panties, babies?” Sero mockingly gasps. “Shiiiit, you two were askin’ to get fucked tonight by anyone, weren’t you?” He snakes a hand down to toy with Mina’s pussy, earning a soft moan in response. 

Kiri does the same, two of his digits slowly sliding along your slit and up to circle your clit. Your body tenses at the slight yet torturously pleasurable touch, all of your senses coming to life once you finally, finally, get your man’s hands on you. “N-No,” you whimper. “Never.”

Mina whines in agreement as Sero begins rubbing her clit, playing with the cute little clit piercing she has. Denki watches like the pervert he is, damn near having a nosebleed. 

“Then why the fuck were you in the club with those two extras like you were plannin’ on fuckin’ em, huh?” Bakugou snarls, gripping the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles turn white. “You tryna get a rise out of us? Because you’ve got it.” 

Kiri has begun to kiss your neck while he toys with your clit, so words evade you. It’s up to Mina to save your asses. Sero nibbles on her earlobe, continuing to play with her exposed cunt on his knee. “Open that mouth up, slut,” he growls. “Answer the question.”

Then one finger sinks inside, making her choke on a moan. “W-We just wanted to have some fun!” she whines. “W-We—oh, fuck!—we weren’t gonna fuck those guys, ‘Suki, we promise! We love you!” 

“So much,” you add, pathetically moaning as Kiri bounces his knee up against your cunt as Bakugou stops at the red light. “Well, you can show us how much when we get home,” the redhead hums, smiling almost wickedly at you and Mina. “You can prove it to us like we know you can.” 

He uses his other hand to pry your thighs apart, keeping one leg firmly spread away from your cunt as his fingers play away like one would with piano keys. You moan, your voice drowned out by the music and have the urge to grind your hips in Kiri’s lap. Your pussy is throbbing and gushing around nothing, desperate for more. 

But a sharp smack on the thigh stops you. “Ah-ah, puta,” Sero hisses at you, still fingering Mina. “No grinding. You just sit tight and don’t you dare try to touch that pussy either. This is what you fuckin’ get for your choices.” You whimper pathetically, doing your very best to keep your body still despite the rippling pleasure inside of you. 

“And if you two whores even think 'bout cumming now, you won't get to later,” Bakugou growls, glaring at you and Mina in the mirror. “Trust me: I’m not playing.”

You know he isn’t and that scares you…scares you because there is no telling what kind of torture he and the boys have in store for you until they finally make you cum. That could be all night or not at all. 

As soon as you get home to your beautiful and expensive penthouse, luckily not getting pulled over because of Bakugou’s reckless speeding and swerving, Sero and Kiri are carrying you and Mina across the threshold of your bedroom like brides. Once you’re there, the duo toss you and Mina onto the bed in your gowns, making you squeal as you soar through the air before landing on the soft, king-sized mattress underneath you. 

And there you and your girlfriend are, trapped in your own bedroom because of the four big, tall, and sexy pros that stand before you, surrounding you like predators. Their gazes are hot and lustful yet intimidating, promising you a night of endless punishment and possibly orgasms until you cry and beg them to stop. 

“Now don’t you two look adorable,” Denki coos and then taps his finger against his chin. “But somethin’ is missin’…” Bakugou snorts, crudely cupping his crotch where his cock has begun to harden and chub against his slacks. “It’s those damn dresses. Sluts don’t wear clothes, especially expensive ones.” 

The look in their eyes is damn near evil as they pounce on you and Mina, yanking down the zippers to your dresses and nearly breaking them just to get your dresses off as quickly as possible. You gasp as Bakugou yanks the gorgeous red number off of your body, leaving you in just your heels, the same as Mina. “Leave the heels on,” Sero hums, staring hungrily at your and Mina’s slender feet. “I like ‘em on.” 

“Mmm, me too,” Kiri hums, kneeling before Mina’s pretty feet in her strappy Louis Vuitton heels. 

A hiss whistles through the pink-haired pro’s teeth as Kiri begins kissing over her stomach and down her thighs, his big hands grasping her ass to hike her legs up. He tosses them over his broad shoulders as his pink lips cascade over her inner thighs, earning soft moans in response. He lifts his gaze to her, locking eyes. “You like my kisses here, Mina, baby?” he murmurs. 

Mina slowly nods, lips parted and panting, just as Denki kneels by her head on the bed. “Y-Yes, Daddy,” she whimpers. The honey-blonde is now shirtless and just in his briefs, his hard cock chubbing against his Calvin Kleins. He produces a bottle of champagne from behind his back, grinning down at Mina. “You’ll like this too.” 

Pop! The cork of the champagne bottle pops off and Denki successfully catches the champagne fizz into his mouth before leaning down to transfer into into Mina’s mouth. You watch the two messily makeout as Kiri begins to dive into her pussy, gently nibbling on her pink pussy lips before his tongue drags across her clit.

Your watching is interrupted when you suddenly feel Sero’s mouth on your pussy, the cold metal of his piercing melting against your hot pussy lips. “Hope I ain’t interruptin’ you,” he teasingly murmurs against your mound. “You just looked too good, mamì.” 

You moan and writhe against the bed as your boyfriend lashes your pussy with his tongue, caressing your clit and your lips, sucking on each one before dragging his nose up to lightly brush against the needy button of your clit.

Beside you, Mina is caught in the rapture of pleasure as Kiri dribbles champagne onto her pussy and greedily sucks it up. Sero catches on and takes the bottle from him, pouring the fizzy alcohol onto your soft, wet cunt. You jump at the cold sensations of the liquid hitting your hot, sensitive skin, wetting you up. 

“Goddamn,” Sero sighs, his eyes hooded and dazed as he stares at your cunt dripping in champagne. “I swear this pussy was made for me.” He goes back to greedily sucking and lapping at the alcohol as he drinks in your pussy, making you nearly arch off of the bed.

Bakugou hovers over you now, his vermillion eyes drilling holes into yours. He is semi-naked, the same as Denki, each muscle rippling with veins and power. Your eyes indulge in his tattoos–one on his right pec, one on the left side of his neck, and the others trailing across each toned arm in sleeves. 

He smirks down at you, so close that you can feel the heat radiating from the tent in his Armani briefs. “Ya like whatcha see, baby?” he murmurs. You nod, answering with a sweet moan as well when Sero swirls his tongue over your entrance, messily eating your pussy. “S’good,” he moans into you. “So fuckin’ good f’me.” Bakugou places a hand on your throat, forcing you to pay attention to him. “Tilt your head back for me.” 

You do as you’re told and he snatches the champagne bottle from Sero before taking a swig from it. He then places the bottle aside on the nightstand and leans down to press his lips to yours. The cold liquid pours out of his mouth and into yours, forcing you to swallow all that he gives you before his tongue caresses yours, swirling and dancing in the middle of a very messy, very sloppy kiss. 

When you suddenly feel Sero’s finger prying your asscheeks apart and the familiar, bulbous tip of a butt plug, you hurriedly pull away from Bakugou. The metal tip is cold against your asshole and though isn’t inside of you, your body reacts as if it is. “A-Ah!” you gasp. “Wait, don’t—“ 

“‘Wait, don’t’ nothing,” Bakugou growls, gripping your throat and briefly restricting your airwaves. “Whores like you don’t get a choice in this. Are you dumb?” He squints down at you like this is the first time he is realizing it.

Denki laughs, pinching Mina’s nipples while Kiri is still lapping, sucking, and slurping away, her heels pressed against his back muscles. “Obviously if she thought she was gonna get away with tonight.” Denki glances at Bakugou, mirth in his eyes. “They complained all night about the party, fellas. I think we should give ‘em somethin’ to really complain about.” 

The excited and greedy glow in your boyfriends’ eyes is the stuff of nightmares as you share a withered look with Mina. 

You can only wonder what the four pros have in store for you and your girlfriend for the rest of the night until the dawn of 2025 hits the skyline.

Will they bend you over and take turns filling you up with their cum until you’re begging them through tears to let you cum? Will they not fuck you at all and instead spend time between your thighs, eating your pussy until it’s falling off the bone and overly sensitive? Will they spank your ass until it’s coated in their handprints and force you to deepthroat them until you choke? 

None of these thoughts even come close to what they do to punish you and celebrate the coming of the new year. You come to know what true pain and suffering are when you and Mina are forced onto your hands and knees with your wrists and ankles tied in the sticky tape that Sero’s quirk produced for the occasion. “Now don’t move too much, mamìs,” he chuckled as he wrapped your ankles up. “This won’t come off even if ya squirm. Don’t want you hurtin’ yourselves before we have any fun.” 

But that isn’t even the worst of it. All four of your boyfriends make it a point to strip buck naked in front of you and Mina’s excited eyes, each article of clothing falling to the floor making arousal stir inside of you. Your wide pupils glide over each vein in a hand or forearm; each muscle jumping under a thick thigh or a bicep; each patch of hair on their chests or on their toned lower bellies that are in need of some licking. 

Your eyes lower down, down, down to their bulges, each one different in size or shape but still the very things that you breathe for at this moment. Kiri notices your pitiful expression and coos at you, his hair tickling your face as he leans down to peck your lips.

“Is my baby feenin’ for somethin’?” he asks, his tone saccharine and almost mocking. You nod, leaning your cheek into his hand as he presses it against your face. “Well, that’s too bad,” he chuckles. “You’re gonna have to wait a little longer to get what you want, baby girl.” 

Somehow, Denki finds it funny to give both of your pretty, plump asses spanks that are sparked with electricity, causing painful sparks to pop against your skin with each fall of his merciless hand.

Spank! Spank! Spank!

He cackles like a madman while Bakugou and Kiri kneel behind you and Mina, both of them fucking your pussies with their tongues while rimming you with matching butt plugs, all slick with cherry-flavored warming lube. 

You feel tears cling to your lashes at the mixture of pain and pleasure, your hands writhing in the binds that Sero created for you, your ass shamelessly tossing back to fuck Bakugou’s face. “F-Fuck, ‘Suki, please!” you cry out, desperate to be released from the hold he has on you. 

“S-Shit, Kiri!” Mina whines beside you, only growing louder when Denki yanks her up by her hair. “Please, please go faster! Please–”

Her pleas are silenced when Denki pulls his briefs down with one hand and shoves his throbbing cock, flushed with arousal, into her unprepared mouth. He hisses at the contact, strands of his hair falling into his face. “Goddamn, Mina,” he groans. “You talk too fuckin’ much. Had to give your pretty mouth somethin’ else to do.” 

Sero hums in agreement, his own cock now throbbing and pulsing in front of your eyes. The sight of it makes you wetter, much to Bakugou’s enjoyment. “Want me to fuck your throat too, babes?” Sero asks, tilting your head up with two fingers under your chin. You silently nod, your mind too blank to reply with coherent words. 

With a moan, Sero slides his cock into your mouth just as Bakugou’s tongue rolls around your clit while your asshole clenches around the buttplug. All of your holes are played with as you sit on all fours between Sero’s body, hardened by years of training and hero work, and Bakugou’s wicked, pierced lips and tongue. “Fuck, mama, yes,” Sero hisses, his fingers digging into your hair, wrapping your braids around his fist. “Wanted to do this to you all night.” 

“Mmm-hmm,” Kiri moans into Mina’s pussy, pulling away with a wet, smacking sound. “Me too. I would’ve done it at the party though that wouldn’t have been too manly.”

His cute little response probes some giggles out of you and Mina, causing Sero and Denki to shudder at the vibrations that travel up the bases of their shafts. “Even your laughs are hot!” Denki groans, in full goon territory for his girls. “How the fuck are you both this fuckin’ sexy?” 

He and Sero each pull their cocks out of their mouths and hold them together, side by side, slick with your and Mina’s saliva and their balls heavy with unreleased cum. “Go on,” Denki sniggers. “Give us a kiss.”

You and Mina each lean over to press sloppy, open-mouthed kisses to your boys’ cocks, moaning like you’re straight out of a porno…but that comes naturally since Bakugou and Kiri won’t let up behind you, tonguefucking your pussies until the both of your moans reach a crescendo. 

Mina pulls away from the sloppy makeout session and Denki’s cock to cry out in desperation, her pink curls bouncing around her face. “O-Oh, my God!” she whimpers. “I-I think I’m gonna–” 

“No, the fuck you’re not,” Bakugou growls, tearing himself away from your pussy to glare at the pink-haired girl. “You’re gonna wait ‘cause you didn’t get permission yet.” He swats you across the ass, sending sparks of pleasure throughout your core. “That goes for you too, slut. What, you think I can’t feel that pussy tightenin’ up?” 

You whimper pathetically as Sero taps his cockhead against your soft, wet lips, applying his own kind of stickier lipgloss to them, moaning at the feeling on his sensitive head. “I-I can’t—h-ha—help it, ‘Suki,” you stammer. “I-I….oh! I need to–”

Abruptly, you stop when you feel Bakugou’s cock slap against your wet pussy, making your jaw drop at the immense pleasure that the slight little thwack gives you. 

“Nah,” Bakugou huffs as Sero moans, still sliding his cock against Denki’s and your lips for some relief. “What you’re gonna do is cum all over my dick when I tell you to. You know why?”

He circles a hand around your throat, squeezing harder than he did before, as his lips ghost over your ear. “Because you’re mine,” he whispers. As soon as the last word is uttered, he is sliding that gorgeous cock inside of your soft, wet, velvety pussy, stretching you out in just the way you’ve been craving. 

From beside you, Mina lets out a high-pitched moan that is almost worthy of a Grammy when Kiri slides inside of her. You turn to watch him grasp her hips with his big hands, digging them so deep into her ass that he is surely leaving bruises, as his own hips begin to rock against her.

His cock plunges in and out of her cunt, his balls swinging between his muscular thighs, just as Denki inserts his cock back into her mouth. Mina looks so small between them, each of your boyfriends towering over her as they fuck each of her holes with a plug still plunged snuggly between her asscheeks. 

And then it’s your turn. Sero finally slides his cock into your mouth just as Bakugou begins to fuck you from behind, slamming his hips into your ass that bounces with each mind-blowing thrust. “Fuck, baby,” he grunts, using one hand to massage one of your drooping, gorgeous tits while the other toys with your ass, spanking it as much as he sees fit. “You fit me so perfectly. Such a good girl for me, aren’t you?” 

Kiri laughs, the sound like an aphrodisiac to your ears. “This one is too.” He nods down at Mina who is bouncing against his thick cock like a remote-controlled bunny, split between the buff redhead and Denki as he ruts into her mouth, cackling when her body thrashes at the feeling of his electric fingers tweaking her nipples and sending shockwaves throughout her body. “Think you good girls can cum for us soon?” Kiri pants, his handsome face flushed as red as his hair. 

You frantically nod while Mina whines in response, each of you unable to speak ‘the English’ right now. “Bakugou, quit hoggin’ her,” Sero angrily grunts, his hand laced in your scalp. “You’re not the only one who’s fuckin’ her. The hotheaded blonde looks at the black-haired pro like he just insulted him. “You’re lucky I’m even lettin’ you fuck her, dickhead,” he growls. “Just try to keep up.” 

Unfortunately for you, Sero can and he does. He and Bakugou fuck you between them like your body is going out of style, using your pussy and your mouth as much as they want and need. It doesn’t take long for Bakugou’s cock to stroke your insides and massage your G-spot so fucking well that you reach your first peak of the night. Bakugou feels you squeeze around his dick and grips your throat, massaging Sero’s cock down your throat in the process. 

“Give it to me, babe,” he demands, using his other hand to twist the plug inside of your asshole. “Cum for me. Show these extras how good of a girl you can be.” 

“You too, cutie pie,” Kiri coos, petting Mina’s ass the way she likes as he continues to rail her from behind. “Cum on that dick and be my good lil’ slut, hm? Don’t disappoint us now.”

Mina whines around Denki’s cock, spit dripping from her lips and all over the bedspread. You can’t help but stare at her as you feel pleasure ripple through you the more Bakugou fucks your cunt, making you see dozens of stars with your eyes wide open. 

When your orgasm hits, it hits you hard like a freight train or a villain’s punch. ​​Your eyes close and you see the entire galaxy, planets and all, as the first wave of total bliss hits you and submerges you in pleasure. Your pussy grips Bakugou tighter than a vice as you gush all over his cock, stroking and milking him of all that he is worth. Your voice is loud enough to worry the neighbors as you moan and cry around Sero’s cock, the sounds of your release as muffled as they can be during such an intense orgasm. 

Mina cums in unison with you, the both of you coming undone on your boyfriends’ cocks just as the clock hits midnight. As your sweet moans echo throughout the bedroom, filling the walls with the echoes of your pleasure, the sounds of distant cheering from the penthouses next door and fireworks popping somewhere in the distance explode from all around you. In your delirious mind, you think that these people are cheering because you were finally allowed to cum. 

“A-Ah, fuck!” Denki gasps, gripping Mina’s hair as Kiri grips her ass, pressing himself flush against her. “She just latched onto me tighter!” Sero breathlessly laughs, pressing his cock deeper down your throat as your lips tighten around the base, his balls flush against your chin. “So did this one. I bet they needed that.” 

“And I fuckin’ need it too.” Bakugou grips you tighter as he begins to slam his cock into you again and again, turning your cunt into silly putty around his throbbing length. Your mouth falls open at the sensations, the pleasure almost agonizing. Your pussy is so sensitive from the orgasm that it quivers and clenches around Bakugou who fucks you like he’s trying to fill you with his kids. 

“Not done,” he grunts, groping your tits and tweaking the sensitive peaks of your nipples. “Gotta fill you up first. Teach you a fuckin’ lesson about fuckin’ with me.”

Kiri begins to fuck Mina at the same breakneck pace, his big body mounting her tinier frame as he pistons his cock into her again and again. “Oh, fuck, this is gonna make me cum!” he warns, making Mina bounce on him like she’s on hydraulics. “You gonna take it, Mina, hm? Like a good lil’ slut?” 

“Yes!” Mina gasps, her moans and sobs of pleasure broken because of the speed Kiri is fucking her. “Yes, Daddy, I promise!” Denki quiets her down by slipping his cock back into her mouth, making sure he is nice and snug in her throat before thrusting in her face. “Don’t leave me out,” he groans. “I’m about to bust too.” 

“M-Me too.” Sero slips his big dick in your mouth, collecting saliva from your bottom lip before swishing it around the inside of your mouth with his cock. “‘Bout to fill this pretty neck up,” he pants, fucking your face like he would a toy. “You’re gonna be feelin’ all of this shit for days, mamìs.” 

You know that, and you couldn’t be more prepared to feel the rawness in your throat and the soreness in your muscles after this. You let your boyfriends use your body, see-sawing you between their cocks as they use and abuse your holes like they were made for them and them alone. Their rough fucking causes the bedsprings to bounce and creak below your bodies, no doubt signaling the neighbors below that you are, indeed, fucking. 

When your boyfriends’ moans begin to grow louder and more intense, you know that they are right at their peak. And so are you. Because your wrists are still tied, Bakugou has to reach down to rub your clit with his calloused fingers, quick and precise. “Cum with me,” he demands, his voice all in your ear. “Cum with me right fuckin’ now. Gimme another one, baby.” 

With a muffled whine, your second orgasm roils through you just as Bakugou’s body tenses and he stills. With a guttural moan of pleasure, he fills you up with his cum, flooding your insides with a week’s worth of nut. Sero cums too, spilling curses in Spanish as he slams into your throat with one final thrust. His spunk coats your tongue and spills down your throat, forcing you to take every ounce of it down your throat to your tummy. 

Beside you, Kiri and Denki’s moans are loud, unabashed, and extremely verbal as they get closer to their end. Chants of “M’gonna cum, m’gonna cum” and “Take it, baby” escape them as they finally fill Mina to the brim with their streams of spunk.

The pretty, pink pro takes it all as she shudders between them and thrashes against Kiri’s hips, her own orgasm taking control. Her eyes roll to the back of her head at the intensity of the orgasm, her long, doll-like lashes fanning across her cheeks as she closes her eyes at the bliss. 

“Oh, my God,” she sighs, her tone breathless and soft. “That was amazing.” 

“And you’re not done yet.” Bakugou slows his fast, rough thrusts down to a slow, gentler yet deeper pace, stroking your sensitive pussy walls. You feel like running from him at this point. “We’re not finished here yet, little girl,” he whispers, his voice low and raspier than usual. It makes your cunt throb around his pulsing cock, making the pleasure almost agonizing. “We’ve still got plenty of tonight to punish you little whores.” 

“And celebrate 2025,” Kiri chuckles, stroking Mina’s ass before giving it a firm, open-palmed smack. “I can’t think of a better way to ring in the new year than makin’ these cuties cum over and over again.” 

Bakugou presses his hand against your cheek, making you turn to look at him over your shoulder. With his hips still rolling sweetly against your ass, plunging his cock into the wet depths of your pussy over and over again, his hooded vermillion eyes lock with yours, daring you to not look away.

“You can handle that, can’t you, sweetness?” he asks, cheeks flushed and muscles clenched from the force it takes him to not cum. “You can go all night and take what we give you without question, right?” 

“Mmm-hmm,” Sero hums in agreement, sliding his cock out to wetly tap against your tongue. “After all, you and Pinkie still got some apologizing to do for earlier.”

He reaches over to give Mina a smack on her ass, making her moan against Denki’s balls that he’s got in her mouth. You stare up into Sero and Bakugou’s eyes, melting under their hot gazes. “Yes, Daddies,” you answer for both you and Mina. “We promise.” 

Mina tears her lips away from Denki’s balls as he strokes his cock in her face, ogling at the way her ass looks squished against Kiri’s toned lower abdomen. “Just please fuck us!” she whines, tears glittering across her thick, black lashes. “We promise we’ll be good girls for you, Daddies! Just don’t tease us!” 

The four pros smirk at each other, each one planning their own bullshit for their pretty little brats. Anything to force their babies to understand the error of their ways and take responsibility for their actions. Anything to make very sure that you understand that if you even look at another guy, you won’t be able to walk for days afterward. 

Fortunately for you and Mina, your private NYE celebration lasts for several hours where your boyfriends and Daddies put you in every position possible to fuck more of their cum into your holes.

After Bakugou’s cock, you get Sero’s and then Denki’s and then Kiri’s, each of them spreading you out and dicking you down the way they see fit. And then each one of them fills you up with their spunk or coats you in it, decorating your ass, tits, and face in their cream the same way they do their kisses and bruises. 

Finally, after what feels like all night, you and Mina lay on the bed, naked, exhausted, and covered in cum. You heavily pant next to each other, exhaustion taking over. Your makeup is destroyed, running mascara coating your cheeks, and your hair is a sexed-out mess. Both of your tinier frames twitch from your orgasms, your pussies leaking with spunk and your assholes clenched around the butt plugs still nestled in your asses. 

Your boyfriends kneel over you with their sweat-soaked muscles and flaccid cocks, watching their girlfriends tap out for the rest of the night. Supremely satisfied but absolutely winded and sore. Bakugou reaches down to grab both your and Mina’s chins in his rough hands, his crimson eyes intense and stern.

“So,” he rasps, “you two lil' bimbos gonna fuck around and act up like that again?” 

You and Mina share a soft-eyed, dazed, and cum-drunk look before you look back up into your man’s eyes. “No, Daddy,” you answer in unison. “We promise.” 

Until next New Year’s, at least. 

THE END.

[yamumsyadadd]

We meet again

a/n: talks of homophobia, ignore this if that isn’t your thing.

happy New Year’s Eve, it’s 9pm where I live so this will be my last fic of 2024 ;) stay safe, have fun!

It was a warm evening in Barcelona when I saw you again. I still loved you, not that you ever really knew, or maybe you did. 

You were sitting there in the restaurant with your friends. I was there too, waiting for a guy I barely knew but was giving a chance because my father had begged me to. 

It was the same routine. Giving them a ‘chance’ knowing I’d stopped talking to them. I started to realise that I was waiting for you. A forbidden love. 

You hadn’t noticed me yet, I of course noticed you, I always did. My date arrived and we sat down. He was different to you, they all were. Blonde, clean cut, men. I tried not to glance over at you. 

I engaged in conversation, I smiled, I laughed. I did everything you’re supposed to do on a date. But I couldn’t help stealing glancing at you. 

You got up to use the bathroom and as you walked by my table, that’s when you finally saw me. You stopped dead in your tracks, then slowly made your way to me. 

“Hey I’m sorry for interrupting, I didn’t see you walk in. How are you?” You asked, eyes genuine, truly curious. 

“Oh I’m good. I didn’t see you either!” I laughed even though it was a lie, somehow I find you in every room, every stadium. 

You look at my date and introduce yourself, you never need an introduction, everyone knows who you are but you do it anyway. “I was just heading to the restroom but let’s catch up soon.” You smiled, the kind of smile that isn’t real, just polite. 

“Yeah let’s.” You walk away, and I allow myself to breathe again. I smile at my date and we continue on. I keep thinking about you, I must be a horrible person. A good looking, well educated man sitting in front of me and all I can think about is you, you with the tattoos, the long black hair and cocky smile. The fingers that can make me forget my name. 

When you get back to your seat, we make eye contact, you smile then turn back to your friends. I recognise them all, how could I not. Alexia sits with Olga, Irene with Lucia, Patri and Claudia huddled together listening to whatever drama Maria and Leila have to share. 

There’s this weird thing about loving someone who you never got to love openly. A frightening feeling that your feelings won’t be shared. And a harbouring desire to scream them at you. 

It becomes suffocating knowing it is everything you want but wanting to protect your heart because you’re tired of people not feeling them same or being ashamed. Jenni loved the same way you did, loud, unapologetic and all consuming. No man your father picks could do that. Because no man was Jenni. 

Because of that, it becomes easier to stay quiet. To love from afar, scrolling through her instagram late at night, the shared photos, the messages. To love from a distance is to play it safe. 

My date eventually comes to an end. We get up and walk out, you’re still there laughing loudly. I look back at you one more time and then leave with him. 

I say goodbye to my date, thank him for dinner. He’s a nice guy, and will make a girl happy but he isn’t you. No one is. I don’t know what I’m waiting for, I guess I’m always waiting for you, I shouldn’t though because you won’t come. You never do. 

As I continue my walk home, my phone chimes with a message. I pulled it out, expecting it to be from one of the girls asking about the date, but it’s from you. You texted me a simple ‘get home safe.’ 

I smile, eyes skimming past our last exchange. I text back a simple ‘I will thank you.’ I watch as you start to type more, then it disappears. I convince myself it’s nothing and continue on home and I think about you. I wonder if you think about me too. 

—————————————————————————

It was a tumultuous relationship. Plagued by fighting and jealousy. You were young, only 20 when you met her at some gala your parents were throwing. She was older, closer to 30 than you were to your teenage years. 

You’d seen her before, at one of the many parties your parents had through. She always excluded the same energy, she knew she was hot, and that made her cocky. Always with the same group of people, who you’d come to learn was the football team your parents loved. 

It was the third party they attended that you finally met. You were forced into conversation at the bar, you knew from that first interaction that you were doomed. 

Being gay wasn’t something that was spoken about within your family, they all knew but chose to ignore it. The phrase ‘you just haven’t met the right man’ was burned into your brain. Maybe you hadn’t, but you didn’t want to wait and find out. 

After the last party of the year, that happened to be the Christmas party, you left with her. the way her hand felt on your lower back, the grip her fingers had on your exposed skin, the way she made you chant her name like she was a god. It was addicting. 

Your friends hated her. While she was never outwardly rude to them, you’d always run to them after a fight. Telling them everything she said, leaving out how you were just as bad. But that’s what friends were for, right? 

Most of her friends discouraged the relationship, Jenni loved loudly and unapologetically, you did not. It was two different words, she was a star footballer, older and wiser. You were just some rich kid who had barely started their adult life. 

After a toxic and bitter end to the 18 month relationship, she left for Mexico. Not even bothering to say goodbye. Your heart shattered into pieces. The final words she spoke to you playing over in your mind for months. 

“I’m done loving someone who won’t love me back.” It’s not that you didn’t love her, the opposite in fact, it was that you never said it. She said it within the first few months, and every time it filled you with a sense of dread. 

How would you explain it to your family? The consequences of your love would outweigh anything else, so you kept quiet. 

The multiple parties a year continued on, the Barcelona players continued to come and you’d do everything in your power to steer clear of them. Occasionally it wouldn’t work and you’d be stuck with some of them for a photo or whatever. Alexia and Irene watched you sympathetically, you hated it. 

————————————————————————

Jenni’s pov 

The air in the restaurant was charged. Like two magnets trying to join each other but I couldn’t figure why, until I saw you. 

At first I didn’t think it was you. It had been two years since I last saw you. You were older now, more elegant, still as beautiful as ever maybe even more. But then I realised you were with someone. 

A man, who was the complete opposite of me. He was blonde, no doubt rich, clean cut and probably reached of over priced cologne.

I realised, half way to the bathroom that I’d have to walk past you to get there and took a chance. 

“Hey, I’m sorry for interrupting, I didn’t see you walk in. How are you?” I asked. 

“Oh I’m good! I didn’t see you either.” You laughed and looked down. You were lying. Anytime you lied, you would look down and fidget. It was your tell. 

I introduced myself to your date, wanting nothing more than to be polite but I couldn’t help but feel jealous. For the entire 18 months of our relationship, this is what I wanted. To take you out on dates in the fancy clothes and enjoy the overpriced wine. But he got to instead. 

“I’m just heading to the restroom but let’s catch up soon.” I said, giving a small smile. 

“Yeah let’s.” I turned around and continued on to the bathroom. Gripping the sink tightly to calm myself down. It was ridiculous that after all this time, after all the girls, I still wanted you. I still loved you. 

When I returned to the table, I couldn’t help but look over at you and to my surprise you looked back at me. As I turned back to the girls, all I could think about was you. How it would feel to love you loudly like you deserved, to show you off to everyone. It wouldn’t happen though, it couldn’t. 

Most nights, from the comfort of my apartment in Mexico, I’d scroll through your burner instagram account. The one you parents didn’t know you had, it only had a select few on it and I’d like to think you kept me there for a reason, but it was likely you just forgot. 

I watched you leave with him, his hand sprawled across the small of your back like mine used too. You looked back a final time and then you were gone. Out of sight, but not out of mind. 

I took a few minutes before pulling out my phone, rereading the last few messages we had sent each other before sending a simple ‘get home safe.’ You replied quickly, you always did. I wanted to say more, tell you everything that had happened in the last 2 years, how much I still loved you, how no one was you, but I couldn’t. 

When Leila made a joke about me texting a girl, I shook my head and put my phone away. Alexia must’ve seen, giving my shoulder a squeeze and a sad smile. 

You were the one that got away. Maybe it’s better to love you from afar, I wish you nothing but happiness, even if that means finding happiness from someone else. 

—————————————————————————

The first party of the summer had arrived. As always it was a full on affair. Your parent’s house was decked out, over the top in your opinion. The older you got, the more insufferable these parties became. 

Other businessmen bought their wives and children, both the men’s and women’s team were there, celebrating the end of the season and their spectacle winning run. 

Tuxedos and ball gowns littered the main floor and the garden but you were stuck upstairs. A heavy weight weighing on your heart. You knew, the minute you went downstairs your father would try and introduce you to a man, your mother would be making comments about your appearance and your aunts would join in. 

The sound of knuckles on the door pulled you out of your thoughts. A few seconds later she was there, leaning on the doorway. Her usual cockiness was gone and replaced with what seemed to be anxiety. 

“Thought I’d find you here.” 

“What are you doing here? I thought you’d be in Mexico already?” 

“And miss this? Absolutely not.” She studied you with ease, reading you like a book, “your father is waiting for you. He has some guy he wants to introduce you too.” 

“Of course he does.” You stood up, smoothing down your dress. 

“Why don’t they stick?” Perhaps it was a thought she meant to keep in her head or she was actually curious. 

“What?” 

“The guys your father introduces you too? Why don’t they stick? You’re smart, elegant, attractive, so why don’t they stick?” 

“I don’t know.” You looked down towards the floor again. You knew, she knew, but she wanted you to say it. 

“You’re lying. Why don’t they stick?” She cocked an eyebrow, waiting for your reply. 

“Because none of them are you.” 

It was her turn to ask, and with bated breath she did, “what?” 

“None of them are you Jenni! You think I didn’t love you but I did! I do! My father can set me up with a hundred men but that’s a hundred people that aren’t you. So that’s why they don’t stick, because they aren’t you.” 

Her long legs crossed the room in what seemed to be milliseconds. Her lips smashed onto yours, hands holding your face tightly. It took a moment to register what was happening but when it did you couldn’t help up pull her closer. 

It could’ve been seconds or minutes that you were stuck in this battle of tongues and teeth but when the door opened you shoved her away from you, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. 

Your aunt Elsa was standing there, out of all the people she was the best one to catch you. Her own family, your father, considered her the black sheep of them family. Never fitting into the mould, wild and free. Loving whoever she wanted, loudly and unapologetically. It’s what you admire the most about her. 

“Your father is about to come up here and get you. You have two options.” You stared at her, confused, “option 1, you leave this room, separately and go enjoy the party. Option 2, you leave this room together, your father would be mad, your mother disappointed, the countless men waiting to meet you too. If you chose option 2, I have a friend in Mexico who can give you a place to stay, because you’ll need it. The fall out from this won’t be good. If you chose option 1, then we can walk out together, I won’t say anything ever and we’ll just pretend.” 

“I don’t want anyone else.” You blurted out, “I’ll have nothing. If I leave I have nothing.” 

“You’ll have me.” Jenni spoke up, “I can support us both, you can live with me.” 

“What if this doesn’t work out? What if it’s too good to be true?” 

“You won’t know unless you don’t try calabaza. If it truly doesn’t work out, then I’m still here. Being the black sheep.” Your aunt winked at you. “Take care of her Jennifer. I have a lot of money and can find you very quickly.” With that she left, you could hear her in the hallway, ushering your father back downstairs. 

“I’m scared.” It came out as a whisper. 

“I know. I am too. But we can do it together. If you don’t want to come to Mexico, you can stay at my apartment in Madrid or we can figure something out. Please just give us a shot. A proper shot.” It wasn’t often that Jenni begged for anything, usually she’d flash her charismatic smile and people would do as she asked. 

“Okay.” 

You left the room, together, hand in hand ready to face whatever was going to happen. The unknown is terrifying. You didn’t know how it would work with Jenni, what the future held, but she was there in your ear calming you down. 

When your father pulled you away she followed, when he exploded saying the relationship wasn’t right, she was there. She stood up for you against your parents, that’s when you realised you shouldn’t have waited so long. 

At the end of the day, all you needed was Jenni. It didn’t matter that your parents barely spoke to you, or that you were outcasted from your family. What mattered was right in front of you. 

[nightunite]

Sooooooo…how does that conversation with Konig go? That there’s a bun in the oven? 👀👀👀👀👀

Sincerely Agent L

🕵️‍♀️

I'm gonna take this ask and gently cradle it before destroying everyone with angst at some point, so here goes. With any luck this gets posted before the New Year, so let's all mentally hold hands and beg for a better 2025 because holy shit was 2024 rough. @itsa-me-lily @beloveds-embrace eat up yall

Konig cannot handle crying women. Despite growing up with both fists firmly latched onto his mama's skirts and an older sister who refused to give him peace, he never figured out how to respond to a woman sobbing that didn't end in them crying harder or turning to rage. The best responses he ever got were them crying themselves dry on his shoulder, all while he sat there offering platitudes that he felt were insincere despite wanting to provide comfort. This is why he feels a lead weight settle in his guts when he hears muffled sobs and sniffling coming from the cellar. It's late, everyone in bed (or supposed to be) and the barony still, candles dim if not extinguished. The only reason he was up this late was to have a soothing cup of tea, a mid-afternoon nap putting him behind schedule for the rest of the evening. Well no matter, as the 'man of the house' as his mama liked to joke, he would handle this. He grabs one of the nearby lanterns, glad the candle inside is still lit, and opens the door, the sobbing growing louder without the barrier- Oh. It's his ricke. She's curled up on the floor, face damp with tears as she wipes at her nose, looking up at him in shock. "Mein liebling, what has happened? Are you hurt? Is it the baby?" He's checking her over, eyes scanning for even the faintest trace of blood or bruising. His overprotective nature has only grown since she began to show, the fear of anything happening to her outweighing his anxieties about being too bold in entering her space. "No, no it's just-" She cuts herself off, hiccuping and taking in a shaky breath, starting to hyperventilate. "Breathe, mein sonnenchein, you need to breathe." Konig gently grasps her hand, pressing it to his chest to encourage her to breathe with him. His pulse is steady underneath, and his heat passes through the fabric of his nightshirt to warm her fingers. It takes a few minutes, the two of them sitting in the dimly lit room surrounded by stores of food, breathing together. When she's back to normal, he gently pulls her hand away from him but continues to hold it. He fishes out the handkerchief he always keeps in his pocket, sending thanks to his mama and sister for forcing him to always carry one as a child, and gently tilts her head into the light. Lightly wiping away her tears, he asks her again "What happened, mein ricke? You were so happy this morning?" (It's a startling contrast, how euphoric she had been this morning. A tint to the apples of her cheeks, her eyes alight as she came bounding into his office. He was seated at his desk and checking his ledger, ensuring the staff would receive a nice pay for the holidays, especially as a handful were briefly returning home to handle personal affairs. His lumber yard was doing well this season, keeping his coffers plenty fat with coin. "Lord Konig, the baby is kicking! Would you like to feel?" Before he could respond, she had already grabbed his massive paw of a hand, her dainty fingers settling his palm over the curve of her stomach. He felt a nudge against his palm and blinked, surprised at the force, before looking up at her and feeling his breath leave him in a rush. Konig had never been too religious, between his birth and the battlefield he was disillusioned with the concept of a God watching over them. In that moment though, seeing how the light danced in her eyes and across her face, her smile making his heart skip a beat, he could see how mankind believed in angels.) To see her here, tucked away in a dark room to hide her cries, it wrenches at something in him. Like a fox digging for mice in the dirt, his chest clawed open and his heart plucked by something with fangs, leaving him to bleed out. He continues to wipe her face clean, cradling it and running his thumb over her cheekbone.

The very tips of her lashes brush against him as she looks down, trying to compose herself.

"I am happy, I promise. I was in my room thinking about the baby, and feeling them kick and it just feels so real now." She sniffles, cradling her bump, "I knew it was, but it felt far away. But now it's here and I-"

The tears start up again, her cries nothing more than wheezy exhales but heartbreaking all the same.

"I can't do this on my own." She lurches forward, throwing herself into his lap and wetting his shoulder, her own shaking. Konig wraps his arms around her, settling her fully onto him, careful not to press on her stomach or lower back. "You are not alone. You have the others, they are excited for the baby, ja?" He reaches to rub her back but hesitates, unsure if his touch would be welcome in this way. She shakes her head, "Not like that. They can't protect my child from what others will say." "Is the father refusing to step up?" He has his suspicions on who the babe 'belongs' to. "He doesn't know, sir." She croaks out, coughing from her raw throat. "Why have you not told him?" "It would change nothing." She is resigned to this fact, immutable from the moment she suspected the affair would bear fruit. Such is the way of their world, where a man's station reigns supreme above all else, no matter the cost. "The baby's father...it is Duke MacTavish's then?" He feels her stiffen, nails digging into his sides like a spooked cat, but she doesn't scramble away. Instead she tucks her head into his shoulder, hiding further from the truth unfurling. "Yes, my lord." She whispers, eyes clenched shut. God above, she begs in her mind for the Baron to not cast her out, to not tell society at large how she has lain with her employer, been so loose with her morals that she now carries his bastard inside her. "You were so scared, that first day. When I mentioned him, you startled so harshly, like a deer spotting a hunter. Easy, ricke. There are no hunters here." Propriety be damned, he runs his hand along her spine, the solid weight easing her nervous shiver, his fingers trailing up and down while his mind races back to his own family. (He knows all too well the curse of being born a bastard, his fate sealed the moment his eyes opened and were the wrong hue, his hair too fiery. Nobility granted only because of what was between his legs and not what ran through his veins, despite the fact that all men bleed the same colors when split open. Sent away under the guise of gaining valuable skills in the military, of becoming a true man when it was merely a punishment for his mother daring to love another. His mother, who bore the brunt of her husband's wrath, standing strong against his hatred like a mountain in a storm. Shielding him as best she could from the cruelty of their neighbors, their hypocrisy and delight at finding someone beneath them to point and jeer at. She refused to bow under the pressure, brushing off the scorn in public with an ease he wished he had, resting once sequestered in her chambers. Her shoulders downturned, face weary from the brave front she put forth, a war waged without a physical blade in hand whose wounds spill crimson all the same. His sister, tangentially tainted by his arrival. Forced to watch as the man she loved turned his back on her in favor of a better life, one free of scandal and strife. So easy to simply toss her aside, to leave her sobbing and chase the skirts of a woman with greater privileges, a weightier title. He had watched as she gave everything she could to him only to be discarded once her utility was done, her own reputation tarnished by rumors. Konig had never felt like less of a man than when he let the man escape with his teeth intact, choosing to be a pillar for his sister to lean on rather than a battering ram.)

Forced to watch as the most important people, the most important women in his life suffered consequences for actions of men, he can't help what slips free of his mouth. "Marry me." She wrenches herself backwards, hands slipping round his front to fist his nightshirt, red-rimmed eyes wide. "What?" She gasps. Surely he didn't- "Marry me." He repeats, the idea taking shape in his mind. "I-my lord, that's-I couldn't-" "You need a father for the babe. I need a wife and heir. Protects us both, no?" He didn't care what attacks they levied at him, he could endure, but he would be damned thrice over before he let one of his workers (perhaps his favorite) suffer the way he had. "But your reputation! You're a Baron! I could never!" The scandal of it all! She stands, wringing her hands, breath coming quick at the thought. Her, a Baroness, how absurd! A spit in the face of their society, a simple maid ascending to a position of power, however small it might be. And yet, he only shrugs, rolling his massive shoulders as though he's commenting on it raining later. "They gossip anyway. Let them. What do I care for their opinions?" From what he'd witnessed in his time here, all nobles were the same; using their status to take from those 'below' them, then absolving themselves of their sin by blaming their victims when denial failed. "I do not ask that you love me, mein ricke. Nor to share a bed with me. Only be my wife and mother of my child" He stands, keeping his distance as to not loom over her. The candle in the lantern flickers, ready to sputter out, casting them into darkness for a moment or two. Maybe it's the stress or the pregnancy causing her to not think through this harebrained scheme of his. Perhaps it's the reminder that there's no father waiting to enter from the wings to save her, a knight in shining armor on bended knee. It could even be the late hour, the darkness elevating her fears and twisting them into something that will make her regret her decision when daylight stretches it's fingers across the sky. Or maybe she's just tired of having to be strong on her own, and here is a man, a good man, offering his hand to her, a refuge from the animals lurking beyond the door. "Yes." It slips from her mouth like a gentle tendril of wind through a crack in a wall. When he tilts his head, she swallows down the apprehension as best she can, wincing slightly at the sting in her throat. "Yes, my lord. I will marry you." And so it is sealed here in this crevice, tucked away from the rest of the barony (never mind the rest of their pompous neighbors, tucked cozy in their beds amongst their secrets as numerous as the thread count of their sheets). A Baron marrying his maid. As the flame dies out, he opens the cellar door, gently ushering her out and towards the kitchen. It would appear that night-time tea would be accompanied with much discussion. He would make sure there was enough tea for the three of them. Translation: Mein ricke - My doe Mein Liebling - My darling Mein sonnenschein - My sunshine

[madaboutmunson]

Fluff

For @strangerthingswritersguild prompt : ‘Fluff’

Word count: 3824

——————————————————-

Eddie parked up and took a few grounding breaths before leaving his vehicle.

He knew he, Steve, was gonna be here today, and today he was gonna ask him out. It had been ten years and times had changed a little, and he now knew Steve wasn’t the kind of guy to knock him out if he found out he was gay. After Robin revealing her coming out to Steve story.

And, he’d totally wait until one of them was leaving so it didn’t have to be awkward.

But this was Eddie, and never mind the path of true love, none of his paths ran smooth and if it looked like it was, he’d better watch out for the sudden long drop to sink hole he was about to plummet into.

So when Eddie checked himself over in the mirror one last time, and was giving himself a pretty intense pep talk in it, he didn’t catch the dark green Jeep Cherokee pull up next to him.

He also didn’t see 1996 Steve Harrington hurry in to the building arms laden with things.

Eddie grabbed the card with wad of cash in it, for the new happy couple. He’d been doing pretty well for himself lately, and Dustin and Suzie were only just reemerging into the world after being in the academic world for so long. He wasn’t even sure if they had any intention of leaving it.

He hopped down out of the van and smoothed over his suit which he had to compromise on, suit he could do, but tie and buttoned up the collar? Absolutely not!

But as he slammed the door shut and locked up, he heard a way too close.

“What’s up, nerd?” Followed by a sweet laugh Eddie would know anywhere, and he knew full well that laugh continued because Eddie had jumped out of his skin.

“Steve!” Eddie can’t help the way his face lit up at the sure and happy smile directed his way, “Good to see ya man,” he beamed and stuck out his hand.

Steve looked down at the ringed hand between them, pulled a face as he scoffed a laugh, grabbed Eddie’s hand and pulled him in for a hug.

“Good to see you again, man. Sorry I hadn’t been in touch more,” He said squeezing Eddie tight and releasing him to step back and look him over, “Wow, you haven’t aged a day. Oddly strange to see your forehead,” Steve chuckled.

Eddie touched his forehead at the mention of it, “Couldn’t keep the bangs if not even Hetfield and Dickenson could keep ‘em,” he mumbled with an irrepressible smirk, “Glad to see a decade hasn’t flattened yours,” Eddie looked up at Steve’s much shorter at the back, but still elegantly swooped over hair.

“Yeah, at least I held onto all the good things from back then,” Steve smiled, “Well most of them. Where’s your date?”

“Ah, yeah, no date for me, for the wedding I mean, I can get dates, lots of them in fact when I’m not all caught up with work,” Eddie cringes internally, and tries to make a save, “Yours?”

“Inside,” Steve chuckled, and Eddie’s heart shattered.

“Cute is she?” Eddie tried to pull a distraction with conversation, whilst his inner minions swept to the shards in his chest cavity.

“The cutest!” Steve beamed, his smile was wide and bright, making his eyes narrow and sparkle. Eddie didn’t think he’d ever seen someone more happy. Maybe his uncle when Steve arranged a secret Eddie trade, after all the upside down business, to get him out of Hawkins and its pitchfork wielding residents.

Eddie nodded as they entered the main building, “I’m happy for you, man,” he said sincerely, because though he wished it was him, Steve really did deserve a happy ending.

“Hey I’m just gonna hit the bathroom before I get into the festivities,” Eddie juts a thumb at the sign in the wall, figuring he can use it as an excuse to reset and start the night over with a different ambition, “I’ll catch you inside, man. You can introduce me to your girl,” he said fondly.

“Yeah! We’d love that. I’ll save you a seat with us. Oh wait a second-“ Steve says back with way too much excitement. He must really like this chick, or maybe everyone else here hates her? But before Eddie can escape Steve is way too close. So close he’s inhaling his cologne, and obviously it’s exquisite.

“You had some fluff in your hair,” Steve smiled and handed Eddie the offending debris.

Eddie chuckled genuinely this time, “Ah, perks of the job free fluff with every stuff.”

Steve wrinkled his nose up adorably in confusion.

“I make toys, teddy bears, Eddies’s-“ Eddie starts to explain, but Steve’s eyes are wide with excitement and he’s pointing and talking over him.

“Eddie’s Teddies! That’s you? Oh my god! Oh my god . My baby loves those. I must have gotten her at least four from the fairytale collection. No more than that. We got some of the professionals' collections too. We’ve got the sailor, the baseball player, the stunt driver, the movie star, and the,” Steve pauses and his words slow down, “and the ice cream man.”

Steve is just staring like he wants to say something but the words won’t come out. Eddie swallows and quickly breaks the tension, “Yeah that’s me. listen I gotta go take a leak, I’ll be right with ya.”

Eddie’s hurries inside the cubicle, screws up his eyes and thumps himself against his head a few times. Idiot. Now Steve is gonna feel fucking awkward all night knowing Eddie had a decade long crush on him.

No. He could save this. Eddie could save this. He’d say it was a thank you. Yeah, a thank you for saving his life. Ok, cool. He was gonna go with that, and meet the love of Steve’s life and then get lost in the party, so he can avoid them for the rest of the evening.

With an emptied bladder, washed hands and an extra fluff check, Eddie entered the main room.

He is mobbed by a large section of the guests, leaving the other seventy percent of the room wondering who the hell he was and maybe he was famous or something. He catches up and then finally gets to congratulate the happy couple and heads to the bar to grab a soda.

He felt a tug on his bracelet.

“Gee mister, that’s pretty shiny. Where’d ya get it?”

Eddie looks down to follow the voice and is met with two huge blinking hazel eyes in a flurry of brown hair.

“I made it, when I was a kid,” he smiled.

“You made it?” the kid asked in awe, pushing the mass of brown bangs out of her eyes for a closer look.

“Sure did. Bit of chain, bit of leather, some snaps and Sabbra Cadabra a bracelet,” he smiled.

She giggled, “It abracadabra, silly!”

“Oh is it now? My mistake. I better go call up Ozzy and tell him.” Eddie played along with a sad sigh.

“Who’s Ozzy?”

“Only one of the greatest heavy metal singers of all time!” Eddie enthused and threw up the horns and made a silly face, which only further plunged the little girl further into the giggles.

“You’re silly. Like daddy, but you’ve got long hair like, uh, elif cub,” she smiled up at him.

Eddie looked around the immediate area and there did not seem to be anyone he would label as a Daddy in the vicinity.

He knelt down to her level, “Speaking of Daddy, shall we go find him?”

“Yah!” She said stretching her arms up to Eddie, which he took as a queue to pick her up, “I’ll show you him.”

And when this little girl points directly at a sweating, out of breath, clearly distressed Steve who was hurtling their way. Eddie’s heart couldn’t decide to soar for his friend being a parent or sink for himself as a kid meant this was serious.

“Honey, you can’t run off like that, ok?” Steve says softly though he was clearly very worried.

Eddie handed over Little Miss Harrington, to Steve, and he immediately relaxes with her in his arms, “Thanks Eddie, I had a bottle mishap and turned away for a few seconds and she was gone.”

He can see the way his brow creased that Steve felt like he really fucked up.

“Hey, it could happen to anyone, man. Kids are so fast, and if I’m anything to go by, very sneaky and creative,”Eddie offered him a friendly smile, and he watched as Steve’s shoulders relaxed one more setting, “How about I come over and meet your date and I can sit with the kid whilst you go get cleaned up and the bottle done, yeah?”

Steve looks confused, but walks towards a table in the corner which it’s strewn with toys, books, pacifiers, an open jar of applesauce with a spoon sticking out of it, a bag full of diapers and wipes and creams, and a spilled baby bottle.

But no one else was there.

Eddie sees the deep blush hit Steve’s face as he places his little girl in a high chair, and quickly tries to tidy up so Eddie can sit down.

But he can’t have that.

Eddie pushes Steve firmly into a seat, then cracks open and puts a soda in his hand as he begins to tidy up his own space. Making it all a show by pretending to sample the bottle and applesauce and finding them disgusting, much to the amusement of the little girl. Even reading passages from the books as if performing on stage. ‘A is for apple’ is performed with such dramatics, with Eddie propping on foot up on a chair, flailing his arms around, even Steve started to laugh.

Once he has two Harrington’s giggling he sits down with a big ‘mission accomplished’ smile. As he raised his eyes, they meet Steve’s sparkling ones, but this time maybe they’re a little for him too.

“Eddie, let me introduce you to my date for the evening. My daughter, Georgina,” Steve gestured to the little girl in the high chair currently chewing on the corner of a book.

“Hey sweetie, This is Eddie. He makes the teddy bears you like,” Steve beamed, but Georgina couldn’t be less interested, in Eddie right now, because the main lights had dimmed to make way for more colourful ones moving around the dance floor.

Eddie wants to leave it there. Accept the facts Steve is a family man now. Move on. But the way he’s looking at him, making him feel like a knight in shining armor, Eddie can’t help himself, and he has to know for sure.

“So-“

“There is no one,” Steve shouts quickly over the music and immediately shrinks back in volume, “I mean, I’m not dating anyone or married or anything. I really wanted to be a dad, and relationships just were not working out, you know,” he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, “So I got a surrogate,” he beams at Georgina, who is clapping her hands and kicking her feet to the music, but quickly casts his eyes down, “But being a parent is a lot harder than I thought.”

“Hardest job you’ll ever do, if you believe my uncle, who technically didn’t sign up for it,” Eddie smiled and Steve mirrored it, “But she’s happy and confident, you’re doing great.”

“Thanks,” Steve says quietly, and Eddie can tell he doesn’t believe him, so he opts for a change of subject.

“Who is Elif Cub?”

Steve’s eyebrows spring up, “Uh, well,”

“Hey man, you don’t gotta say, Gina, said I had long hair like them. I was just being nosy,” Eddie waves the question away, “You want me to grab you another drink or something to eat?” Eddie says standing up.

“It’s you,” Steve blurts out and in response to Eddie’s confusion, “Elif Cub. Has long hair like you because they are you. In a photo on my wall. From the hospital when we snuck people in to play d&d for a few hours.”

Eddie smiles in realisation, “Elif Cub. Hellfire Club.” He puts his hands on his hips and leans into Steve’s space with a smirk, “You have a lot of pictures of me on your walls, Steve?”

Steve’s Adam’s apple bobs in his throat, “Just the one,” he confirms, and Eddie leans back, “But-but I’d like more. I mean we should hang out more.”

Eddie raised his eyebrows in surprise, and slowly sat back down. He looks between Steve and the table a few times and taps on it, before asking, “Is this a pity thing because of the bears?”

A gorgeous smile erupted across Steve’s face and he laughed, “No, but I can’t believe I didn’t realise until today. Robin’s right I am a dingus.”

Eddie’s freshly glued back together heart is pounding ferociously in his chest, “So, by, more photos and hanging out. Do you mean, like, friendly hanging out?” He asked cautiously.

“Well of course it would be friendly we’re friends aren’t we?” Steve said with a furrowed brow.

Eddie was struggling with words, which was extremely rare. He wanted to know if there could be something more but also didn’t want to make Steve feel awkward, if it was a no.

“Ok let me preface this by saying I really love the idea of being closer friends, that is a definite thumbs up from me. Big fat yes,” Eddie laughed a little nervously mostly talking to the table, “But I wanna be transparent about something.”

He raised his eyes and Steve looked like he was hanging on Eddie’s every word, until-

“Daddy? I’m hungry,” Georgina asked sweetly.

“Oh my gosh. Yes. Yes! I’ll be right on it sweetheart, just let me find the… Damn I need to heat it up. I mean darn,” Eddie watched Steve deflate opposite him, and he reached across the table and took his hand.

“Hey, that was my fault, talking your ear off, ok? I’ll entertain Gina the best I can. You sort out whatever you need to ok? You’re doing great,” Eddie smiled at him.

“It was just. I’d just got used to the bottles and jars and now she’s on, like real food, which should be way easier right?” Steve shook his head as he searched through the bag retrieving a few Tupperware boxes, “I won’t be long youre a lifesaver Eddie, thank you. There is some fruit here, honey, ok? Steve said setting the tub of chopped up fruit and vegetables on the high chair, which her little hands plunge straight into, and she starts munching away.

Eddie watches her shovel the beautifully carved fruit into her mouth. Each piece perfectly sized, cut into stars, hearts, rainbows, even some melon balls carved to have a rose like texture.

Steve hurried back from the kitchen area wafting a small meal on a plate, trying to cool it down.

“Ah those Dino chicken nuggets never go out of style,” he smiled at Steve, who gave he a sweet sigh of defeat.

“I honestly tried to avoid them but she really likes them,” Steve shrugged.

“Steve, I see what you’re doing, and you're wearing yourself out doing it,” Eddie says gently. He wants Steve to know he’s not judging him, but he does care about how stressed he seems.

Steve turned his eyes up to his, “Is it that obvious?” He said a little defeated.

“Listen, all these cute things you do for her are great and they are special but make sure you’re in a space to enjoy them too, you know? That beautiful melon ball got chomped on just like the carrot stick in her fist.” Eddie pointed out, “And yeah sometimes I guess you gotta make food fun for kids to get into it, but it doesn’t have to Michelin star carvings every meal.”

Steve scoffs, “Come on it’s hardly-“

“You know what I’m getting at, Steve, and I think I know why,” Eddie said gently reaching over the table, “Your making two childhoods here, right?”

Steve looks at him a little guilty, but Eddie only smiles in response, “Nothing wrong with wanting to give your kid all the things you wanted as a kid, but not at detriment to your stress levels. Kids are emotion sponges. You get anxious, they might get anxious. So try to relax. You’re doing a great job, Steve. Maybe you don’t hear that enough.” Eddie turns his hand reaching across the table palm up.

He watches Steve carefully. Watches him stare at his hand the breath catch in his chest and suddenly how his hand tentatively reaches out and takes his.

He looks up at him, and Eddie knows he’s searching for what it all means, but Eddie just holds his hand, soothingly rubs his thumb on the back of it.

“It’s why I make the bears.” He smiled over at him, and looked out at the dance floor as he continued to talk leaning over the table so Steve could hear him, whilst Gina dunked her Dino’s in their ketchupy demise.

“I had a teddy bear when I was a kid. I took that thing everywhere. It used to make my mom laugh. She called me her Eddie-bear. When I lost her. All I had left was my bear. I couldn’t hug her anymore, so it was all I had,” he swallowed thickly, “You can imagine it got a little grubby and torn, but my Dad didn’t fix him up or wash him. He picked him up and threw him in the trash one day when I was at school. I cried my eyes out. Couldn’t find the thing. He got me a plastic truck to say sorry. Which wasn’t the same, but if you knew my Dad, you’d know that was him trying his best.” Eddie laughed and shook his head as he turned back to Steve, “So that’s why I make the bears, and every bear we make, I keep the instructions to make it. So if my business ever failed, or when I’m not around anymore. No one has to be without their bear. They can get an exact replacement. So I guess we’re both trying to heal our childhoods in different ways.”

Steve nodded, “And the outfits?” He said with a light smirk and a slight sparkle to his eyes.

“Hmmm, let’s just say when I got a little older, I found a different Teddy Bear I wanted for myself, but I wasn’t exactly sure if he would want me back,” Eddie shifted his glance between Steve’s eyes and the table, “And it’s absolutely fine if he doesn’t because-“

“The thing you should know about that Teddy Bear is, they don’t make them like him anymore. He’s a little fragile, and frazzled. A lot of wear and tear. Especially here,” Steve gestured to the centre of his chest, and looked at Eddie with a nervousness he had never seen before.

“So if you want him he’s yours, on the understanding that, he’s a pretty busy bear, and he’s looking for someone to care for, long term. He can’t have any more casual owners, especially not one like you.”

The air got heavy between them. Eddie hadn’t counted on making big promises so fast. He hadn’t counted on Steve singling Eddie specifically out as someone special. What if he screwed up or it turned out they didn’t like one another as much as he thought they might?

It was almost like Steve could sort of read his mind, “But if you’re not looking to keep him for a long time, maybe if he’s still alone in a few years, and gets fixed up a little. Maybe he could handle a play date?” Steve’s eyes had not moved from Eddie’s.

“No. He’s perfect right now. He always has been. I guess I’m just worried because he’s so rare and valuable to so many. To me. What if I accidently damaged him, or wasn’t the good owner I thought I’d be?”

Steve’s face relaxed at Eddie’s concern, “it’s not about predicting the future. It’s about intention.” Steve smiled, and released his hand.

Eddie sipped his drink and mulled it over. Half sort of impressed with the grace Steve is giving him to think about it. If it were the other way around he’d be gnawing on the table between them, in anticipation. Instead Steve cleaned up Gina and her plate.

Then as he looked around the room and his eyes fell back to Steve the answer was so clear, he couldn't believe he took a few minutes to think about it.

He got up out of his seat and walked towards the bar.

Eddie saw Steve’s face and shoulders drop for a second as he walked away, but his smile at his daughter didn’t falter.

As he pushed through the crowd he found Robin, “Hey, how well do you know Steve’s little girl?” He asked, unsure of the situation.

“Uh pretty well, you could say. I designed her last Halloween outfit. I had a ticket to her nativity. Basically co-parented when I watched Steve put a spoon of salt in his coffee and then drink it!” She responded with such affronted sarcasm that Eddie knew he had asked the correct person.

“I wanna ask Steve to dance. Would you watch her for him?” Eddie asked hopefully.

Robin’s eyes went wide, “Finally!” She added with a wide smile and yanked Eddie back towards Steve's table and basically shoved him into him.

“Uh, Steve, do you maybe wanna dance?” Eddie extended his hand out towards his dream guy.

Steve looked at Eddie’s hand and then at Robin snuggling Georgina tightly to her as she shooed him away with her hand like she was annoyed they were still there.

Steve nodded and took his hand.

It wasn’t exactly the slow dance Eddie was hoping for but it was close enough for him to hold Steve like it was.

“I’d really like to give it a shot if you haven’t changed your mind. I mean I’m not perfect, there will be challenges, but I promise,” he said holding their joined hands to his chest, “I will work hard at every single one to keep you safe, happy and in my arms.”

Steve smiled softly, “I haven’t changed my mind,” he said gazing at Eddie.

“I hope you realise this is going to cost me a small fortune now though?” Eddie teased lightly as Steve’s chest pressed against his own.

“What do you mean?” Steve laughed a little confused.

“Well now I’m going to have to make a new bear to look after the original model.” Eddie grinned as Steve rolled his eyes and they swayed to the music.

[heartzfromel]

undercover

detective!agnes x fem!model reader

summary; the nypd has been tasked with protecting a murder target in a high profile case. with detective o’connor being the most attractive in the department, she must ditch her rough around the edges look for girly glamour as she goes undercover. but what happens when agnes falls for the young model? will she love her for who she truly is under all that makeup?

tags; suggestive, depiction/mentions of murder and injury, violence, age gap, touchy agnes, sexist jokes, rio as a meddling side character as always

a/n; i love writing this!! also fyp i imagine tony to look like howard stark

chapter 1

agnes was late for work this morning. she’d had what was most likely her worst experience yet on the metro, with some couple arguing loudly next to her at half past six, left her keys on said train and wasted twenty minutes trying to find them, and then missed her second train. safe to say that she wasn’t in the best mood.

her mood was made worse by the teasing from her co-workers as soon as she got in, but they shut up quick after she gave them a warning look. she might’ve got on well with them all, but that didn’t stop then from being scared of her. by the time agnes got into her office, it was near enough nine o’clock. she pulled her chair out to sit, and what couldn’t have been ten seconds later, her office door burst open.

“o’connor!”

oh great. agnes thought to herself, as the chief barged in.

“chief vidal.” she nodded, trying to sound somewhat happy to see her. the look on vidal’s face told her it didn’t work very well.

“what time do you call this?” she snapped, pacing around agnes’ office, “i have been calling you for an hour!”

“listen, chief, i had a rough morning, okay? won’t happen again.” agnes replied. she realised she didn’t sound very professional.

“oh it better not, or else theres a job back on ticket duty with your name on it. now come on, i’ve got a case for you.”

agnes wanted to respond, to snap back in some quick witted way, but she knew vidal wasn’t joking about those parking tickets, so she kept her mouth shut.

•☽༻¨:·. ──── ₊☽◯☾₊ ──── .·:¨༺☾•

“so,” vidal began, pacing around the room once again, showing off a case file, “three murders so far, all highly paid models, all y/h/c, all around the same age, all with the same associates. all the victims were killed by a single shot to the head, and each victim had the next ones initials carved into their wrists. they were all also killed during big fashion and beauty events, and obviously the miss u.s.a. pageant is coming up this week. we believe that our killer is going to strike again at some point in the week of the pageant, so we crosschecked the initials carved on the wrist of our third victim with the names of the girls competing in the pageant. three names were flagged, but we took a look at their photos, and only one of the girls matches the description pf our previous victims. her name is y/n y/l/n, she is 27 years old, and is currently miss texas. our unit have been tasked with keeping an eye on miss y/l/n, and ensuring that she is safe until our killer is caught. any questions about that?”

“yeah, uh, cheif vidal?” agnes’ partner, tony, asked, “how exactly are we gonna keep an eye on her?”

“ah, yes, thank you accardi, i was just getting to that.” vidal replied, “someone’s going undercover. we need someone who could win miss new york. she’s gotta be pretty, but also strong and can keep her cool. so who’s up for it?”

the room seemed to have gone silent. it was painfully obvious that none of the people in the room were overly keen on going undercover, and it was made worse by the fact that there were only three women, excluding vidal, in the whole unit.

“well i vote o’connor,” one of the men said, “i mean, if she wasn’t for the ladies i’d totally hit that.”

agnes shifted uncomfortably in her seat, eyes confused, wondering whether or not to take that as a compliment.

“jones.” vidal warned, before turning back to the group.

“i’m with jones on this one, chief. she could win miss new york, easy.” another officer agreed.

“i could see that.” another agreed.

“you are really pretty, agnes.” one of the female officers added.

agnes was stunned to say the least. she had never ever thought of herself as pretty, though it had never seemed to bother her.

“right then, it’s settled,” vidal confirmed, looking agnes up and down quickly, “you’re going to need a bit of a makeover.”

•☽༻¨:·. ──── ₊☽◯☾₊ ──── .·:¨༺☾•

“you know, hon, you really should consider going blonde.” your agent remarked, grimacing at your current hair colour.

“thanks marv, but my current hair colour seems to be making me enough money right now.” you replied, rolling your eyes.

you were currently sat in your hotel room, your agent, marvin, sat on the bed, whilst you were at the vanity, hair in rollers as your nail tech finished up your manicure.

“just a suggestion.” he replied. the sound of emails on his computer was irritating you.

“do you have to type so loudly?” you snapped, frustration painting your features.

“well excuse me for trying to book you another vogue cover for next month!” he replied, slamming the laptop closed.

“you know, marv, it’s getting late maybe you should go.” you sighed, feigning tiredness.

“alright. fine.” he mumbled, the nail tech leaving behind him.

you leapt onto your bed and sighed peacefully. you wanted nothing more than a morning to yourself, with a lie in and no marvin yelling in your ear about what to wear and what not to wear. it’s not that you didn’t like your job, you did. it was everything that came with it. the agent, the fame, the scandals, the staged relationships with men you despised, doing anything just to make the front page.

you wondered if you’d ever be in a relationship and fall in love. out of all the relationships you’ve been in, albeit they were all fake, the men always seemed to fall for you. what you couldn’t fathom is that you couldn’t find it within yourself to love them back. all you wanted in life was love, yet you seemed to have everything but it.

•☽༻¨:·. ──── ₊☽◯☾₊ ──── .·:¨༺☾•

agnes didn’t recognise herself when she looked in that mirror. tony’s jaw had dropped, and vidal smirked, knowing now that agnes was the perfect choice. she looked like a supermodel. tony let out a wolf whistle and agnes rolled her eyes at him, shaking her head.

“who even is that?” she asked, eyes finding her reflection once again. her hair was down and curled for the first time in what must have been 15 years, and contained so many extensions that she thought there must be more of them than her own hair. her lips were painted a deep shade of red, complimenting her pale skin perfectly. her eyes now sported a flirty set of falsies and a shimmery dark shadow, and she was currently showing more skin than she had ever shown before, the deep purple dress showing off her collarbones and cleavage, but stopping just above her ankle. she looked beautiful, but she wasn’t agnes.

•☽༻¨:·. ──── ₊☽◯☾₊ ──── .·:¨༺☾•

the flight felt longer than it was, and agnes was increasingly uncomfortable in the dress. she wondered how people wore things like this on a daily basis, it was so itchy. the flight seemed to last longer for tony and vidal, who had to come along, vidal because she’s nosy, and tony to be agnes’ fabulous assistant. they were quite the trio, both tony and rio threatening to throw themselves out of the jet if agnes complained one more time.

•☽༻¨:·. ──── ₊☽◯☾₊ ──── .·:¨༺☾•

the hotel was stunning, agnes had to agree. her bag was heavy, and she wondered what could possibly be in here. she had no idea. vidal had just sort of thrown it at her, and wished her luck, before disappearing to the bar. tony had walked her to the room.

“oh my god, what is im this bag?” he whined, throwing one onto agnes’ bed. agnes threw the other up.

“i don’t know, and i’m afraid to find out.” she replied, grimacing at the thought.

she flipped the bag over as she unzipped it, “oh my god!” she exclaimed as she saw the inside. there wasn’t a pair of pants in sight. the thing was full of short dresses and revealing shirts, bottles of perfume, makeup, and what looked like 8000 dollars worth of heels.

“welcome to washington, agatha harkness.”

•☽༻¨:·. ──── ₊☽◯☾₊ ──── .·:¨༺☾•

taglist; @hannah-0730 @m1vfs comment to be added !

[bo-reo]

To your DOOM!

I had so much fun drawing this, I honestly think he came out too pretty but maybe that's just me.

Oh and I'm trying out a new style again because I'm indecisive :D

Anyways enjoy wedding Elliott! And a late Merry Christmas, Happy New Years and all holidays you celebrate!

[jamieroyjamieroy]

Not what I intended to write but here is a little snippet of Buck's NYE

Buck should have begged to take the extra shift, yes he has been working more because there is only so much baking he can do, but Bobby was being unreasonable in denying him.

Maybe he should have agreed to go to Hen and Karen’s party but celebrating this year doesn’t feel right. It certainly had its wonderful, incredible, mind-blowing moments but the last few months have been terrible. He can only fake being ok for so long and tonight he has no energy for it.

Instead of being around people and pretending he is fine, that he is moving on Buck sits alone in his loft feeling like a ghost haunting the place where he died. Buck sits in the dark, his TV putting out the only light on this cloudy night. Even the moon wants to stay hidden he thinks.

Buck casts his eyes to the room where his life changed twice this year. He wants the first one back. Rubbing a hand down his face and trying to halt the tears he knows are inevitable he reaches for his phone. He texted Maddie earlier to say he wasn’t going to the party and then placed his phone on Do Not Disturb to delay the well-meaning lecture he would get for spending tonight alone.

Buck’s heart stutters, he has missed so many calls and texts. Maddie, Chim, Hen, Karen, Athena, Bobby, even Eddie who is in Texas. That is never a good sign especially when the majority of them came in the last 20 minutes. Something has happened. Before Buck has a chance to find out what there is urgent knocking on his door. Whatever has happened has found him, he doesn’t need to look at his phone.

Buck moves quickly to open the door, needing to bad news to be ripped off like a band aid. “T-T-Tommy?” He can hardly believe who is in front of him, what has happened for Tommy to be the one to find him?

“You weren’t at the party” Tommy says. “Your team orchestrated to have me come by after my shift but you weren’t there” Tommy’s tone almost accusatory.

“I didn’t feel like celebrating” Buck’s reply comes distracted by all the thoughts of why Tommy is here. “What’s happened? Just tell me, is it Maddie? Is she..”

Buck is stopped by fingers on his chin and lips pressing into his. Buck’s worry melts away as he opens for Tommy and drags him inside slamming the door shut with his foot. When they finally break apart Tommy asks “So that was ok?” His hesitant voice still close, neither of them wanting to lose the contact.

“No” Buck replies gripping Tommy’s shirt as he feels him start to pull away. “It’s a few months late. Better kiss me again to make up for all the time lost” he smiles before pushing Tommy against the door and kissing him. Tommy tries to pull away again to speak but Buck stops him “Talk later, kiss now” he demands. Tommy isn’t about to turn that down.

“Happy New Year baby”

[crystalmagpie447]

HELLOHELLO @sulfadimethoxine!!! sorry im a bit late, BUT ITWAS ME!!!

ur secret santa all along >:))

I HAD SOMUCH FUN DRAWING YOUR DESIGNS!!!! Def wanna draw them again some day,, i adore their color pallettes!!!

couldnt really think of something silly but

they knitted him a scarf! :)🎉🎉🎉🎉 Hope you had happy holidays and have a happy new year!!!!!!

[bambisbraingoespop]

Happy New You

It had been weeks of intense brainwashing and conditioning. She had often slept with a VR headset on, so that her last and first sights were of the pretty swirl her Master had set up. And of the memory triggers he'd slowly been installing.

Countdowns, dumb downs.

Dropping and dropping until she didn't remember her own name most days.

All to make her publicly forget it all. The ultimate sacrifice of all she was for her Master.

And the night had finally come:

New Year's Eve . . .

Only minutes away from the final countdown now.

All of his hard work was about to pay off, and she'd understand the meaning of being owned — a doll to be rebuilt how he pleased.

"A few more minutes now, pet. Are you excited?" he asked, stroking a fallen piece of blonde hair behind her ear.

"Yes Master," she whispered as their mutual friends partied and celebrated the year around them. "I'm so grateful I met you this year. You've given me everything. I am who I am because of you."

Thoughts of returning to work invaded her mind, and the stress of the coming week clung to her. She didn't want to think about her worries, but they were often hard to ignore these days.

A girl, Emily, stumbled into her then, her drink sloshing around as she flicked her red hair. "Omgosh you guys are so cute together," she beamed. "I knew introducing you would just be perfect, Bethany."

Beth smiled at her best friend, nodded, and then turned back to her Master.

Since they'd turned up the intensity of her conditioning, and hypnosis, it'd gotten harder to take her attention off him. She needed to be attentive, needed his approval. Even in the company of her childhood friend.

Her Master stepped in. "You have my thanks," he said as Emily frantically trotted away to find her current boyfriend as the countdown neared.

"Will I . . . remember you, Master?" Beth breathed, her heart racing as the final countdown started.

60 seconds . . .

"Of course you will, we've been over this. I'm the only thing you'll remember or know, the only comfort, doll. It's too late to change your mind now, isn't it?" He allowed her doubt. It would be the last time she questioned him for as long as she lived.

40 seconds . . .

Beth hesitated. "But what about my friends, my family?"

"Perhaps I'll allow you moments of clarity. Perhaps not. It's not up to you now. You wanted to be my toy, my object. Property doesn't have family or friends, they have owners. Don't they, pet?"

She nodded, her thong immediately clinging to her as she grew wet. "You're everything I need, Master. You know best..."

Beth's words began to slur. Her mind felt fuzzy. Her body ached.

Her picture-perfect childhood fizzed into nothing. Education, gone.

Past lovers and boyfriends no longer existed.

One by one, her memories were taken.

Every second of the countdown prepared her mind for a new life.

A toy's life.

Whimpers escaped her lips.

It was like her very cells were transforming. Coded. Each one branded with his stamp.

20 seconds . . .

"That's my good girl," he whispered in her ear, drawing his slave close and pressing a kiss against her neck. "That's my good doll."

5 . . .

4 . . .

Beth . . . No, that didn't sound right. The girl — the doll — swayed on her feet, held up by Master.

3 . . .

Her mind receded until her surroundings became a flury of noise and movement. People were happy, celebrating but she couldn't understand why. What event was she at?

It didn't matter.

2 . . .

All she knew and felt was her body pressed against Master. How safe he made her feel. How she needed to please him. How nothing had come before him, and without his approval, she couldn't breathe.

Suddenly, there was no past.

She had been created by Master and for Master. No future beyond her given directive.

And it felt peaceful.

1 . . .

Master's lips crashed against hers. And the lingering confusion turned to pure joy and contentness.

She could breathe again, knowing he was pleased.

The doll looked up at her Master as he pulled away. "Is there anything else you desire Master?"

Before he could reply, a redhead stumbled between them and pulled the doll into a crushing hug.

The doll immediately wanted to pull away and step closer to her Master, but he didn't appear disturbed by the stranger grabbing his property, so the doll allowed it to happen.

"Happy New Year, Beth!" the drunk girl yelled in the doll's face before throwing herself back into the crowd.

"Happy New Year, Emily," Master called after the stranger.

Wide-eyed, the doll took the opportunity to seek safety on her Master's arm before some other stranger grabbed her. "Who is Beth? Who was that girl?" She furrowed her brow and sought answers.

"Don't worry about it, Doll. You know how forgetful you can be." He laughed. "I think it's time we returned home."

The doll looked up at him with her doe eyes and smiled, blank and docile. "Yes, Master."

They stepped towards the exit, snaking around drunk and excited people. Doll's mind was empty, only thoughts of her Master and how to best please him.

And just as they reached the doors, someone shouted. Again and again.

"Beth! Beth, wait!"

But the doll never turned back. Beth didn't exist anymore, and to the doll, she never had.

[wings-of-ink]

I wanted to stop by and wish you all happiness for the coming year!

I hope that 2025 is a year of hope and strength for you, even during low times.

I'm looking forward to more IF fun and shenanigans and enjoying our little community to the fullest.

The new year is a reminder of how time passes and how we can start again. Just remember that new beginnings can start any day and any time. It is never too late to try something new or find who you are.

Be safe, find your happiness, and keep it close to you.

Now, if you'd like a peek into my personal new year...

These two handsome gentlemen joined our family today.

For those of you who have read some earlier posts, you may remember that I've had difficulty opening my heart after losing Shadow. That wound is still there, but these two needed a home. Similar to Shadow, who was found under a dumpster at a Pizza Hut, they were lost kittens living under pallets at a dollar store.

A kind couple caught them and had them neutered for a catch and release program (hence the snips on their ears), but they had such good temperaments that they couldn't turn them back out. They got them on track to gain some weight and get accustomed to housecat life while they searched for a home. These two really needed to go together. The black one is outgoing, but his buddy is terribly shy, and they support each other.

They're still getting used to the new environment but are very sweet boys. We haven't chosen names just yet, but once we get a feel for their personalities, they'll get christened, lol. We have some ideas, of course (the grey and white one looks like a little college professor to me).

🐈‍⬛️^_^🐈

[nakylvr]

going to nyc for new years to watch the ball drop and kissing sophia when it hits 12🙈

well yes!

— NEW YEARS KISS ⚓️

warnings/tags: fluff, established relationship, gn!reader, non-idol!au, slightly suggestive jokes

when sophia told you that she had plans for new years with you, but didn't specify specifically what, you were a little anxious. she had a tendency to hide certain things from you when holidays or your birthday was approaching, not wanting to ruin the surprise of your face when you realized what was happening.

like now, standing in the airport, beside your girlfriend as she checks the bags, looking like a deer in headlights. it was loud, that was the first thing you noticed. there was a lot of people was the second thing you noticed, the whole airport bustling with people rushing to get to their destinations or catch flights.

you were never one to enjoy flying. every time it felt like you would throw up as soon as you stepped off, and to fly for a long period of time only made that more difficult. but, when sophia told you that you would be going to new york for the new years, you told yourself that you could do it.

now, you were starting to panic. a little.

"yn? honey?"

you were broken out of your thoughts when you hear sophia's voice, looking down at her. "huh?"

"are you okay?" she looks at you with a subtle worried expression.

"yeah," you nod slowly, swallowing the lump in your throat. "i don't know how you do this from home to l.a."

"it will be better once we're on the plane, i promise," she says, grabbing your hand and pecking your lips. "our bags are checked so all we have to do now is get on the plane and then we'll be there, okay?"

"okay," you nod again, a little smile on your face.

"c'mon," sophia kisses you again before starting to pull you along with her through the mass of people.

opening the door to the hotel room, you couldn't believe how happy you were to see a room that wasn't yours. after a long 8 hours of flying, you were exhausted. sophia was doing a lot better than you were, seeing as she'd been on much longer flights. but you felt like you were going to pass out as soon as you hit the bed.

dragging your bags into the room, you set them down on the couch and rub your hands over your face, groaning quietly.

"how do you do this?" you grumble out.

"it takes a lot," sophia answers, putting her bag down and wrapping her arms around you from behind, resting her chin on your shoulder. "but at least you can sleep in tomorrow. plus, i heard we have some really good room service."

"oh?" you say, turning your head a bit to look at her. "is it as good as what you cook?"

sophia's face flushes red at your words, shaking her head and giggling softly. "honey, i am far from a professional."

"but everything you make is amazing," you smile at her. "you could totally open your own bakery or something, y'know?"

"maybe," she smiles back at you. "but for now, let's get changed and go to sleep, it's nearly midnight."

"no fun," you grumble, turning around and wrapping your arms around her waist. "i was hoping we could have some fun before the new year." your hands move under her hoodie she was wearing, fingers grazing against her skin.

"very funny," sophia playfully rolls her eyes. "maybe tomorrow night."

"so you're saying there's a chance?" you say with a teasing smile on your face.

"whatever you say, dear." sophia pats your shoulder.

the next (late) morning, you were sitting on the bed looking at your phone trying to find things to do before going to times square later that night and see the ball drop, but that you didn't know yet. hearing the bathroom door open, your eyes flicker from your phone to sophia, a smile instantly rising on your face.

"how do you manage to look great no matter how freezing cold it is outside?" you say, putting your phone down as she walks towards you.

"it's not that cold outside, don't be a baby," she replies, stopping in front of you and resting her hands on your shoulders. "where's that beanie i got you? you should wear it tonight."

"somewhere in my bag," you answer, wrapping your arms around her waist and pulling her closer to you. "are you gonna tell me what you planned for today or are you going to leave me in the dark like every other vacation?"

"well," sophia starts, her fingers fiddling with the material of your shirt. "i was thinking we could walk around, get something to eat, come back, and then go to times square to watch the ball drop." she smiles down at you.

"the ball drop?" you raise an eyebrow at the filipina. "like, the ball drop?" the excitement is heard in your voice as you question her, your eyes bright as you look at her.

"mhm," she hums, her smile growing bigger at your response. "you've made me watch it two years in a row, so i think it's time you actually get to see it in person."

your hand grabs hers, tugging gently which makes her sit down on your lap, your other arm still around her. "you're so amazing, you know that?" you say softly. "i love you so much."

"i love you more." her hand cups your cheek.

"impossible," you respond, leaning in and closing the gap between you two.

by roughly nine p.m. you two got to times square where everyone was at the same time. it was difficult to get around the area, but when you spotted a bar on a not so busy side of the crowd, you felt better and less anxious once you had a couple of drinks in you.

now you stood in the middle of times square, some stupid little hat on your head that said 2025 on it, with your arm slouched over sophia's shoulders not really paying attention to the performances happening on the stage in the center.

"what time is it?" you ask the filipina, leaning down a bit.

sophia looks at the watch on her wrist before looking at you. "eleven forty-five," she says. "why? don't tell me you're gonna pass out already."

"i was just asking," you reply, shrugging your shoulders and leaning closer to her. "maybe so i have an estimate on when i'll get you back to the hotel." you press a little kiss on her neck.

"if you can keep your hands to yourself you might have a chance," she responds, but tilts her head to the side a little.

a quiet chuckle escapes your lips as you pull away to look down at her, a fond smile on your face as the lights around you shine across her face. it's as if there's no one else around you, like it's just you two as you peer at her. "thank you, for doing this," you say quietly, your voice barely able to be heard over the commotion around you. "i'm so happy to do these things with you."

sophia's eyes soften at your words, looking up at you with pure love and adoration as her hand reaches up and cups your cheek. "of course, my love. i wouldn't want to do it with anyone else."

"i love you so much," you murmur.

"i love you too," she smiles at you.

the countdown then started, and everyone in the area started shouting the numbers as they counted down the minutes. you found yourself counting down as well, failing to notice sophia's gaze on you as the lights flickered in your big eyes from how excited you were. her arms wrap around you into a hug, and when you look down and smile at her, it's like the whole world stopped.

you cupped her face in your hands, smiling down at her as the chanting fades out behind you. you can briefly hear the counting down from ten, to nine, to eight.

"i'm gonna marry you one day miss laforteza," you say, your thumb drawing circles on her cheek.

"you better," sophia whispers.

"i will."

just as the countdown hits zero, and the clock turns to midnight, and the giant ball hits the bottom of the podium, you lean in and kiss the girl of your dreams. the fireworks erupting around you in the city, the cheers from everyone exclaiming 'happy new year!', the sound of clapping all around you, none of it seemed to matter as much as how nice it felt to have sophia's lips on yours. it was far from your first kiss, but it felt just like the first time.

pulling away, you smile down at the filipina. "happy new year, baby."

"happy new year." she smiles back at you.