#I hope ur doing well n I’m sending you kisses!!

[seijorhi]

rhi, my love!!!

i know. its been too too TOO long 🥲 how have you been?? i hope life is treating you beautifully because you deserve nothing less. i am at the icky part of life where all i know are job apps and job interviews yuck.

i have to chime in on this one because..?

now. you’ve heard me wail about this many many times, but i will never get over your characterization. i loved how you separated the trio’s interactions with the reader’s cousin and how distinct their reactions were? kuroo maintaining his superiority in the office. akaashi being his overly cool self and inviting the biggest threat to them to dinner for a casual bowl of ramen (the way he was just redirecting everything and reminiscing too was *perfection*). and ah. bokuto. i can’t help but think kuroo and akaashi sent him to take care of sato because they /know/ he’s the one who can get too excited. too passionate. too physical.

makes for a more painful experience for the one threatening to ruin the perfect world they’ve built.

also, everytime i think your writing can’t be more painful, more complex than the last, you outdo yourself. the reader herself coming out to tell her cousin to back off? lie to the cops? excruciating. exquisite and excruciating, miss rhi.

lastly, as someone planning to study law, it was an absolute delight to see the justice system get bashed lmao

thank you a million times my love 🥹 you know kuroo’s my fave so it’s always treat to see my fave character written by my fave author <3

i love you!!! - 🐦

Oof, bby you have my condolences, the whole process of searching for a job is just the worst. Fingers crossed for you tho!!

And thank you!! Initially in the early stages of planning this fic I wanted to write from one of the boys’ pov’s to switch it up but I genuinely couldn’t pick who I wanted to choose because all three are so vastly different! It was fun jumping from kuroo’s smug antagonism to akaashi being super unnerving behind all that polite nonchalance, and then, of course, to my favourite ball of crazy, Bokuto.

And you’re absolutely right. Even if Bokuto had have calmed down after sex with the reader and decided to let it go, those two would’ve been in his ear reminding him of all he had to lose, how kisumi was gonna take her away. They were winding him up and setting him loose on kisumi. Problem, meet solution ehdhdhdjdkkdk

It’s very much a two birds one stone situation because it also serves to hammer home to the reader that while they’ll never hurt her like that, her family and loved ones are absolutely fair game.

[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’!”

[azzifuddslover]

༯ OFF THE COURT — CHAPTER EIGHT 𝜗𝜚

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

themes: fluff

word count: 2.3k

tw: swearing

a/n: final chapter (kinda like an epilogue) wooyooooo! i actually love this chapter so much, i could genuinely cry about how much i love them. i really hope u guys enjoyed off the court, please lemme know all ur thoughts on this series 💞 enjoy reading

“when do you think we should tell them?” azzi tilts her head up to paige while they’re lying in bed one night.

it’s been three weeks since paige and azzi made their relationship official, and life has never been better for either one of them. paige finally got her girl— the girl she’s wanted since she was 15 years old. and azzi got hers.

paige intertwines their hands, peering down at the brunette. “whenever you’re ready.”

“i’m ready now.”

paige raises an eyebrow, “oh yeah? we’ll tell them after practice tomorrow then.”

azzi’s lips tug into a small smile, “deal.”

paige lets her eyes roam azzi’s features, taking in her beauty. god, she’s the most beautiful person she’s ever seen.

“like what you see?” azzi’s grin grows as her cheeks redden at the blonde’s attention.

“fuck yeah i do,” paige answers, eyes darkening. she hoists azzi up so their lips connect in an electric kiss— it was gentle yet consuming, sending shivers down her spine, making her heart race.

when azzi presses a featherlike kiss to paige’s neck, gently brushing her blonde hairs behind her ear, paige feels an overwhelming tenderness she can’t explain. she’s always been amazed by how azzi’s touch feels like coming home— steady, soft, full of quiet affection. in that moment, with azzi’s breath warm against her skin, paige figures she can never love azzi more.

paige has yet to express her love to azzi— it’s not that she’s scared of how azzi might react, or that she doesn’t believe in what they have. it’s more of the weight of the words feels too heavy, like once spoken, there’s no turning back. paige doesn’t want to risk losing what they already share, even if she knows, deep in her heart, she loves this girl— irrevocably, immensely. but instead, she keeps the words locked inside, atleast for the time being.

practice ran smoothly, like usual, with the team doing short workouts, dribbling and shooting drills, as well as 5v5 matches.

back in the locker room, azzi feels a knot in her stomach, the anticipation of telling her teammates about her relationship making her palms sweat. she understands it’s important to be honest with them, but the thought of how the others will react fills her with unease. what if things change between them and her friends?

azzi glances at paige, seeking much needed reassurance. paige’s lips twitch into a gentle grin, before slightly nodding at the younger girl, calming her nerves. the blonde strolls over to her girlfriend, closing their distant.

“guys, me and azzi have something to say,” paige announces, making heads turn in her direction.

azzi spots a few of her teammates throw curious, sneaky looks at one another. the brunette clears her throat before saying, “we’re dating.”

azzi lets out a shaky breath, waiting for their reactions to come. what she does not expect, though, is kk to smirk and turn to ice.

“ice, you know what to do,” kk holds out her hand, her smile only growing.

paige’s eyebrows furrow as confusion sweeps over her features. what is she doing?

ice lets out a groan, then begins rummaging through her backpack, opening pocket after pocket in search of something. she pauses before taking out a crisp twenty dollar bill, hesitantly handing it to her friend.

azzi’s jaw drops— “you guys betted?”

a giggle leaves ice’s lips, followed by laughter from kk. soon, all the girls joined in a collective laugh, causing paige and azzi to stand there, silent and baffled.

“babe, we all knew something would happen between you guys; it was only a matter of time,” kk says, “so yes, me and ice betted a twenty on when you’d announce it. obviously, i was closer.”

with azzi’s mouth still agape, she turns to look at the blonde, who is equally as shocked at their teammates reactions.

breaking eye contact, paige scoffs at her teammates, specifically kk and ice. “you guys are unbelievable.”

azzi lets out a cute laugh, all of her nerves disappearing from her stomach. paige intertwines their fingers behind their backs, away from the team.

“no funny business in front of us though,” jana notes, eyeing the two girls.

a mischievous smile tugs at paige’s lips, before she pulls azzi’s body flush against hers, placing her hand lightly on the brunette’s hip, connecting their lips in a firm, tender kiss.

frustrated groans arose from their teammates, “what did i just say!”

it’s been two months since paige and azzi became a couple, and the blonde is afraid. they’ve grown so close, that the thought of potentially losing azzi, her azzi, terrifies the shit out of her. everytime she thinks of something going wrong between them— her screwing something up and pushing azzi away— anxiety eats at her until all she can do is cry.

paige was curled up in a blanket, sitting on her bed, when her girlfriend walks in with bag of donuts in her hand. azzi has a major sweet tooth, paige has noticed early on in their relationship.

azzi immediately notices paige’s red-rimmed eyes and tear stained cheeks. she frantically sets the donuts down on a nearby table, and rushes over to the blonde.

“baby, what’s wrong?” azzi asks, eyes wide with concern.

“no, nothing, it’s stupid,” paige looks away, embarrassed azzi caught her in one of these moments.

“i don’t care, tell me,” azzi insists, gaze locked on paige while she cups the sophmore’s face in her hands.

paige lets out a shaky breath, “i’m just.. scared. scared that i’ll somehow lose you, that something will happen and you won’t be here anymore. i’ve never felt this way about anyone, and i don’t know what i’d do without you.”

a lone tear spills quietly down cheek, to which azzi quickly wipes it away with her thumb. “paige,” she begins, her voice steady and warm, “i’m not going anywhere, i promise you. i can assure you i feel the exact same way— i’m terrified to lose you, too. but i’m not leaving you, not now, not ever.”

she pulls paige into a gentle embrace, holding her close. “we can’t control the future, paige. we only have right now— and right now, i’m here with you. and i will be, for as long as you need me.”

azzi rests their foreheads together, still cupping the blonde’s cheek lightly in her grip. “i’ll always need you,” paige whispers, then in a small, wryly voice, “i love you so much.”

azzi’s heart stutters at paige’s words, her breath catching as she pulls her girlfriend a little closer, her forehead still pressing against hers. “i love you too,” she murmurs softly, her voice thick with emotion.

paige inhales a deep breath, her hands trembling slightly as she reaches up to hold the brunette’s face. it’s the first time paige and azzi communicated those words to each other— even though both girls felt it ages ago.

paige leans forward, pressing her lips against azzi’s, then pulling away, their faces barely apart. “there is no me without you,” she says, her voice raw yet certain. “i can’t imagine my life without you in it.”

and it’s true. paige’s world doesn’t spin without azzi in it. azzi is paige’s world, as a matter of fact.

azzi’s heart swells in her chest at the softness of paige’s words. god, she loves her too much.

for a moment, neither of them speak, just existing in the quiet space between their lips.

azzi’s hand slides to the back of paige’s neck, her thumb tracing light circles against the skin there. “i can’t, either,” she whispers, her voice steady. “everything i am, everything i want, it’s all with you.”

paige closes her eyes, leaning into the touch as her heart pounds in her chest. “god, i love you,” she peppers short kisses all over the brunette’s face, “i love you, i love you, i love you.”

azzi lets out a giggle, “i love you, more than you’ll ever know,” she responds, voice laced with certainty. with that, she closes the distant between them, kissing paige deeply— a kiss full of promises, of forever.

love has never looked better on a person more than it looks on paige. it’s as if the moment she let herself fall into it, she began to glow from the inside out. the soft curve of her smile, the way her blue eyes seem to light up whenever she talks about azzi— it’s almost contagious for everyone around her. she’s become more at peace, more alive. the walls she used to keep so carefully constructed have crumbled, replacing them with a quiet sort of confidence.

there’s a depth to her now, a sense of security and purpose that wasn’t there before. love has settled into her like it was always meant to— steady, quiet, unwavering— and in turn, it’s made her stronger than she ever realized she could be. she’s still the same paige, the girl who wears her heart on her sleeve, but now there’s a new warmth to her, an undeniable sense of belonging to the world.

and it’s all because she’s loves, and has been loved in return. in the way she holds herself, the way she speaks— you can see it. she no longer fears being open, being vulnerable. because in this love she shares with azzi, she’s found a new version of herself she didn’t believe she was capable of.

it quite simply looks perfect on her.

azzi closes her eyes, trying to ignore the buzzing nerves in her stomach. it’s the NCAA women’s basketball championship, and they’re playing against iowa. uconn has gone undefeated all season long, so it was no surprise to see them make it here.

azzi has had an impressive freshmen season, averaging 18 points per game. her 3 shots have been consistent, as well as her ability to stay calm under pressure like this. but this one is different— it’s the final minute of the game, uconn is down by 2, and iowa has possession of the ball.

as expected, iowa holds the ball, letting the clock run to 40 seconds left. azzi feels the weight of the moment pressing down on her. her gaze meets paige’s, who doesn’t show her anxiety on her face, yet feels it more than anyone on the court.

iowa’s famous caitlin clark throws up a 3 pointer, azzi’s heart leaping in her chest— luckily, it bounces off the rim, landing in the hands of paige.

the blonde runs the ball up the court— 30 seconds remaining. azzi meets paige at the 3 point line, who tosses the ball off to her and sprints to a corner.

the squeak of the sneakers on the hardwood floor, the roar of the fans, even the heavy breath of her teammates; they all blur into a single, sharp focus— the ball in her hands.

azzi dribbles the basketball repeatedly, running the clock until only 5 seconds remains. she takes a breath, and before she knows it, the ball leaves her fingertips in a smooth arc, traveling with perfect precision towards the basket. time seems to stretch as it sails through the air, the whole arena holding its breath.

the buzzer goes off.

the ball swishes through the net.

and in an instant, azzi feels it— everything she’s worked for, every drill, every practice, every sacrifice, culminating in this single moment. the crowd erupts, her teammates rush towards her, but she stands frozen for a split second, staring at the rim, heart pounding in her chest. she did it— she won the championship for her team.

paige is the first to reach azzi. her eyes are wide, a mixture of pride and awe in them, as she pulls her girlfriend into a tight embrace. “you did it,” paige whispers in her ear, voice shaky with emotion, as if she can’t quite believe it herself. “oh my god, az, you did it.”

azzi laughs against paige’s frame, still riding the high of the moment. azzi’s feet lift off the ground as paige hoists her up, making her laughter grow and her cheeks redden.

“i love you so much,” paige says quietly, only loud enough for azzi to hear.

the freshman feels her heart swell at paige’s words, the intensity of everything crashing over her like a wave. she clings to paige, unable to stop smiling, the adrenaline still coursing through her veins. and for a moment, it feels like they’re the only two people in the arena.

paige gently lowers her girlfriend to the ground, letting her hands settle lightly on her hips. “i love you more,” azzi breathes, voice laced with raw emotion. she can feel the warmth of paige’s body, the closeness grounding her, making everything feel more real. “i couldn’t have done it without you.”

paige’s eyes soften, “you’re so fucking amazing,” her gaze never leaving azzi’s, “i’m so proud of you, baby.”

before azzi has a chance to reply, paige grips her jersey, pulling her into a kiss, tender and slow, not caring about anyone around them seeing. the crowd may still be celebrating, but for them, it’s just the two— attention’s solely focused on one another.

as they hesitantly pull away, both of them breathing a little heavier than before, azzi feels a shift, something deeper than the adrenaline the game gave her— something unspoken but undeniable. their eyes lock, and for a brief moment, the world around them seems to fade. there’s no pressure, no expectations— just the silent understanding that this, right here, is more than anything they could’ve hoped for. azzi smiles gently, a warmth spreading through her chest, and for the first time in a long time, she feels she’s exactly where she’s supposed to be.

azzi then realizes it’s not the championship that matters. it’s the girl, her girl, standing in front of her, through every high and low. the one she once resented, pretended to resent, at least— the one she thought she’d never need. but somewhere along the way, things changed, and now it feels like there’s no one else she’d rather have by her side. and that’s the real win.

[hyunsvngs]

lowkey college has been kicking my ass big time 😭

all i can do to stop myself from having 8 mental breakdowns an hour is thinking abt college bf minho <33

like imagine you'd come back to ur dorm stressed after exams and he would just fuck you senseless until all you could think about was him <3

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 - college au!lee minho x fem!reader

wc: 2k

cw: SMUT MDNI.

synopsis: your cutie college student boyfriend agrees to help you into subspace to take your mind off of your stressful exams.

a/n: idk. i just dont know this happened and i’m not apologising. enjoy. smut warnings under da cut as per!! this is just a lil one but i hope u enjoy<3

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

sw: d/s dynamics, oral (f rec), mating press position, unprotected sex, creampie, subspace & mentions of domspace, petnames: kitty & jagi, HEAVY dirty talk, mentions of pubes (as per)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You could barely see the streets on your walk home, eyes bleary with tears and giving you absolutely zero navigation skills. The only saving grace was knowing that your boyfriend, Minho, was in your room and readily awaiting your return. He was lucky to not have any exams this term, only assignments, and you were unlucky to have controlled exams in every single class.

The exam you’d done that day had been the worst thus far. You knew nothing. The whole exam you’d been sat there, hand on your temples just trying desperately to remember something, but nothing had come to you. You’d ended up writing absolute nonsense before packing up your stuff and leaving, crying the whole way home.

Minho was perched on your bed when you entered. His glasses were round, perched securely on his sharp nose and he was casual, hoodie and joggers both grey and clean. There was an anime playing on his laptop, and he was staring at it while shoving crisps into his mouth. When you entered, a small sniffle giving away your return, Minho’s eyes snapped immediately to you.

“Oh,” He blurted, immediately rising to sit up. You dropped your bag on the floor and Minho’s hands went straight to your hips, still covered in some salt from the crisps he was eating. He pulled you into his lap, settled on his thick, dancer’s thighs. When he pushed the hair out of your eyes, it almost broke his heart. “Oh, jagi. Jagi, why are you sad? Did it not go well?”

“Hmph, no,” You sniffed, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. Minho sighed, rubbing your back over your t-shirt. “I knew nothing.”

“You may have done better than you think, y’know? Don’t stress too much,” Minho’s voice was low, soothing, intertwining with the anime still playing on his laptop. “What can I do to help? Do you wanna watch this with me?”

“Mm, don’t have the attention span right now,” What else could he do? Your thoughts immediately went to the sewers. You were settled on top of his thighs, and you could feel them, clenching and unclenching and… yeah. You knew what you wanted to do. “Min. Could you… take my mind off of it?”

“Take your mind off of it?” He repeated, eyes soft when you finally emerged from his neck. He gazed into your eyes, a loving, fond look in his own. Then, the penny dropped. He blinked, and then he was smirking, hands starting to stroke over your hips instead. “You want me to fuck you, jagi?”

“Please,” You nodded, hands gripping the fabric of his hoodie. “Do that thing, the thing where you�� make me feel all fuzzy, ‘n stuff. The thing where I don’t think.”

Minho tilted his head to the side. “You want me to dom you, pretty girl? Send you into subspace?”

Well, when he says it like that… “Yes.”

“On your back.”

You were quick to oblige, stretching leisurely onto your back on your little twin bed. The downsides of having a dorm room, you supposed, but at least your flatmates were fine with you having Minho present constantly. Minho shut his laptop, and then he was looming over you, a strong figure of authority despite having such casual clothing on.

“You know what to say if you need me to stop,” He mumbled, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. “Say it.”

“Red,” You felt out of breath already when his lips trailed to your neck, sucking marks into the skin with eagerness. Minho was gorgeous, and he was even better in bed, especially when he got like this - his dom headspace was the sexiest thing you’d ever seen in your life, and you’d swear by that. He was experienced with it. He knew what he was doing.

You were convinced even more so of that when his lips met your earlobe, his tone low as he pulled your jeans down. “I’m going to eat this sloppy cunt, and then I’m going to fuck you until you don’t know your own name. Got it?”

“Oh my God, please-“

“Stop whining like a little bitch, or I’ll treat you like one,” He nipped your earlobe with his teeth, and then he was moving to position between your thighs. Your underwear wasn’t exciting, just a simple white cotton, but the way Minho looked at you made you feel like a supermodel. He was staring directly at the wet patch starting to soak the fabric, and you shifted, wanting his mouth on you, like, yesterday.

As if he could read your mind, his nose pressed into your core and he inhaled. It was such a strong scenting that you could hear it, his lips parting to let out a small sigh afterwards. Then, his tongue was pressing over the cotton, soaking it with his spit.

“Mm, it’s good. Maybe I need a better taste, yeah?” You nodded at Minho, making him chuckle. He reached up and hooked his thumbs into your underwear, pulling it down and exposing you to the room. You knew your folds were wet and could feel as much when the air hit them - your clit was engorged and poking out of your pussy, begging for attention.

Minho clearly felt pity on you, because his lips were instantly wrapping around your clit and sucking. You gasped, hips bucking up into your touch, and he was quick to pin them down into the mattress with one small hand. From this angle, you could see where half of his body laid off the end of the bed, knees planted on the floor to be closer to you. His tongue laved over the button between your legs, and when his dark feline eyes looked up at you, you knew you were done.

“Min- Min, please, can I have fingers, too? I- I need, need to cum, need-“

“Will you shut up?” Minho pulled away, licking his lips. You would’ve been shocked, but Minho knew him being mean was a sure way to send you into that headspace you so desperately needed to be in. “I know how to make this pussy cum, so don’t fucking tell me what to do.”

With that, he was lowering his head back into your core. Both hands splayed across your hips to keep you grounded, and his tongue swiped through your folds, collecting the slick that had accumulated there. You let your hand drop down to his hair, enveloping the dark strands and pulling slightly against them. It made Minho let out a deep, brief noise, and then he was eating you like a man starved.

The way he was licking between your folds and against your clit had your eyes rolling back, fingers gripping the sheets. It was so, so good, you felt so sensitive, and your head was feeling fuzzy already. He was just so good in bed. His tongue started to trace circles on your clit, and you whined, heavy breaths tumbling from your lungs.

“Gon’ cum,” You slurred, licking your lips to try and bring you back to reality. “Gonna- gonna fucking cum, Min, I can’t-“

“You’re gonna cum?” He pulled away, thumb now rubbing your clit to keep you on the edge. “You know you can’t though. Not until I say you can, yeah?”

You whimpered, thrashing around. “I needa. Need to cum, need to be good, good kitty, am I- hng, am I good kitty? I can’t hold it, I can’t! ���S too good-“

“Be a good fucking kitty and hold it,” He had shifted now, you realised, face now close to you again. His thumb continued to circle your clit and you gripped his arm tightly, toes curling into the sheets. It was too much. You were going to cum. “Fucking hold it. Do as I say. Do you want my cock?”

Your eyes flickered down to the bulge in his joggers, huge and pulsating. You nodded eagerly, trying your best to focus on anything that wasnt the ache in your core and clenching of your thighs. Then, Minho moved, yanking down his joggers and boxers to position his cock at your entrance. You wanted to cry at the feeling of your orgasm dissipating.

“I’m going to fuck you,” Minho said, forearms supporting him above you. “I’m going to fuck you, and you’re going to cum on my cock.”

“Yeah, I’ll cum,” You mumbled, eyes bleary - although now for a different reason. Minho smiled at you, and then he was pushing in, thick length stretching your hole in the most delicious way. You moaned, hands moving to grip his biceps again as he immediately set a blistering pace.

“Legs up. C’mon, be a good kitty,” Minho pushed your thighs up, and you obediently wrapped your hands around them. He was deeper like this, chest pressing your legs into your body and cockhead ramming against your g-spot. The smattering of hair at his base rubbed against your clit in an awkward, yet satisfying friction, and before you knew it, you were on the edge again.

“‘M close again, Min,” You whined, lips parting. You were drooling, you could feel it, but you had to wait until he said. “Kitty needs to cum.”

“Kitty needs to, does she?” He scoffed, but pressed a kiss to your forehead nonetheless. “Well, kitty better soak my cock then.”

Your jaw dropped in an incoherent moan as you clenched around Minho’s cock, walls pulsating as you let yourself go. The orgasm was white hot, building in your core and travelling down to where your toes curled and up to where your back arched. You could feel it gushing, soaking Minho and the hair that adorned the base of his shaft. Minho groaned, and then he reached down with one hand, squishing your cheeks together to look at him. His pace didn’t falter, still bullying into your g-spot.

“You alright, jagi?” He asked, thumb stroking your bottom lip. You hummed, letting your body be jostled by the forcefulness of his thrusts. It felt like you were floating on a fluffy cloud, even more so after your orgasm - you couldn’t even remember what you’d been so worried about. “There we go. That’s it, you just float like that for me. You don’t need to think about anything, kitty.”

“Need cum,” You murmured, huffing when Minho laughed at you.

“I’m gonna give you my cum, kitty, I’ve got you,” He pulled your hips up, and then he was fucking up into you like you were a fleshlight. You tried to force your eyes open, and you didn’t regret it when they did. Minho’s body was covered in a sheen of sweat, soft dew on his honey skin and his eyebrows furrowed as he ploughed into you. The feeling was almost enough to get you to cum again, if you really focused, but you couldn’t. All you could think was Minho, Minho, Minho. “Let me fuck you like this. J-just, nice and hard, and I’ll-“

“Cum,” You repeated, shifting to fuck back onto his cock. You whined as he gripped your hips tighter, and then he was gasping, eyes widening. He was curled over you, jaw dropped.

“I’m gonna cum, gonna fill this fucking cunt, oh- oh, jagi-“ He was nearly whining, making you clench in approval of the tone of his voice. Minho collapsed over you, hips jolting in a staccato rhythm as he filled you up with his cum. You could feel it in your hole, wet and dripping. He pulled out of you with a now-softening cock, eyes following the leaking of his cum out of your abused pussy. Instead of moving, he collapsed on top of your body, nuzzling at your throat.

“‘M so relaxed,” You giggled, letting Minho kiss your nose.

“I bet,” Minho hummed in response. “I’ll let you float like this for a bit, but then you gotta come back to me, ‘kay?”

“Mmkay,” You chirped. “Cuddles.”

Minho chuckled, moving to lay by your side to pull you close. “Of course, jagi.”

[neuvistar]

GAMER ! BLADE HEADCANONS!

— featuring ┊blade x f!reader

— warnings / content warnings ┊both suggestive + kinda fluffy yup yup ! use of nicknames, oral (m!receiving), pathetic loser gamer blade is my favourite blade, he spits in ur mouth.. like once, mentions / implications of vaginal fingering, overall suggestive content | 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

— a/n ┊thx 2 the anon who sent an ask abt gamer blade, ily mwah </3 this is inspired by ur ask angel ! ♡ whaddahell it didn’t work the first time let us pray it works this time

GAMER ! BLADE who would have an adorable girlfriend like you. honestly, he didn’t expect to have a girlfriend because of how pathetic and how much of a loser he is. you’re probably his first relationship too because he’s a loser who can’t communicate with women but that’s besides the point! i t’s his first time, give him a rest! for his first time being in a relationship, blade would surprisingly be a good boyfriend to you, he’s trying his best, really. he wants the best for you and him so he would try his best to spend time with you rather than his pc, bladie has such a huge puppy dog crush on you he probably kisses the ground you walk on.

GAMER ! BLADE who is actually pretty clean and organized, he’s a total hottie too.. that’s a bonus. his desk and room is always clean, and he actually looks hot for a pathetic loser. blade would get flustered every single time you called his loser ass hot because in all these years of his life he’s never been called such thing, and being called hot by you? that’s a blessing to him. i think he’s not confident about his looks much since he’s pretty much.. a sore loser! but when you came into his life, he changed his mindset about himself! a lil realization in his head while looking at the mirror after a long shower like.. “.. oh. i’m kinda attractive.” he would say, looking at his reflection with a towel around his waist. i bet he’s pretty muscular too, extra bonus points!

GAMER ! BLADE who would try and be secretive about his relationship with you from his viewers (if he even streams) but if the time comes that you both are ready to reveal your relationship, his viewers are sending shocked and funny comments, half of them saying how they never expected blade to even bag a pretty girl like you, hyping him up and telling him how lucky he was (he really was! he really was lucky to have a pretty girlfriend like you).

there are times where he likes showing you off and flexing to people how pretty his girlfriend is while sometimes there are moments where he doesn’t like showing you off, ooh. possessive much. i mean, can you blame him? he can’t have another guy trying to win your heart over! this isn’t a video game, he thinks!

GAMER ! BLADE who would spend hours on end playing games, maybe even streaming as well. he would take his sweet time on his games that he wouldn’t even notice how much time passed already, how late he was to dinner with you when he promised to be down in a few minutes. well, i hope he likes his food cold because you’re not making him more as payback for making you wait so long. blade would apologize to you by dropping his games and devoting his whole time on giving attention you, a lil bonus if he fucks you too as an apology, consensual ofc!

“that’s it, angel.. fuck.. you feel so good.” he mumbled against your neck, biting down and digging his teeth into your skin. “‘m sorry, baby. fuck! how many times to i have to say it, hm? mmh.. can i fuck it in your pretty head? mhm? ‘wanna make you realize just how sorry i am.. cmon.”

GAMER ! BLADE who would ask you to play horror games with him, i mean.. it’s not like he’s afraid he just wants you to accompany him. most of the time, it’s you screaming on his lap with your hand clasped around your mouth nuzzling against his neck, trying your absolute hardest to stifle any more screams from leaving your throat! he would tease you about it nonstop.

“why were you so scared? it wasn’t even bad.” if he’s feeling a little extra, he would ask if he could.. calm you down in a more intimate way.. of course you’d accept! but there’s something so erotic about how he slides his fingers inside your shorts while teasing your slit with the base of his fingers, trying to calm you down while he whispers praises and dirty things in your ear, so erotic. there’s something so good.. so erotic about that. “calm down, will you? that stupid monster’s not gonna get you, baby. i got you.”

GAMER ! BLADE who would ascend to heaven the moment he sees you kneeling under his desk, resting your cheek on his lap. he knows this, he knows your tactics.. he knows what you want from him. he would have his dick sucked under the desk from time to time, running his fingers through your hair.. it’d be even more riskier if he was streaming, trying his best to stifle his moans and hold himself back from completely fucking your mouth. it’s embarrassing enough that some of the viewers noticed his odd behaviour and commented if something was wrong. fuck, he knows it’s hard when you’re there swirling your tongue around his cocktip, stroking the parts of him you couldn’t reach. blade couldn’t take it anymore.

he would mute his mic and turn off his camera, grabbing a fistful of your hair while bucking his hips against your mouth with such force, tears beginning to form on the corners of your eyes because of how rough he is with you! “that’s it, sweet thing. keep sucking me off like that.. fucking naughty girl you are, huh?” he pulled you up from the ground, forcing you to open wide for him before spitting in your mouth. “you’re such a slut for my cock, aren’t you? couldn’t even wait when i was done streaming, hm?” he forced you down on your knees again, cupping your cheek. “you want me to fuck you infront of everyone, angel? you want everyone to see how much of an impatient whore you can be, hm? is that what you want? because i’ll gladly show every single one of these fuckers how much of a slut you are for my cock.” damn. he’s so.. mean sometimes.

GAMER ! BLADE who would finger you occasionally while he streams to ease up a bit! he knows it’s risky, you know it too. but he just can’t get enough of the feeling of your hole pulsing around his digits, he just.. can’t control himself when your hands are roaming all around his body, caressing his toned stomach, his biceps, everything. you sat on another chair, legs spread with your sweet pussy displayed for him, plunging his fingers inside over and over again, hitting your sweet spot. he’s so.. mean! blade told you to keep quiet.. he doesn’t want a sound to even leave your lips. but you know it’s impossible, he knows too. but.. i guess you have to try, you wouldn’t want his viewers finding out what he was doing to you behind the scenes, would you? </3

[muniimyg]

4: the cold // series m.list

note: reblogging w fic taglist cos the limit is annoying n my posts keep glitching </3 sorry for the long wait! i literally finished c2u and was working on c2u's extras as well as attempting to keep my life together LOL . this jk is literally GETTING INTO IT YUHHH . hope everyone is enjoying the story ,, i'm so excited for the rest ! we're halfway thru :( if u missed aao jk ,, lmk ur fave moment of his as of now huhuhuuuu

taglist request: send a request with the title of this fic “aao” // DO NOT comment here or on the masterlist . it gets confusing and i prefer answering and tagging through asks !!!

🏷️ permanent taglist: @joonsjuice @taetaecatboy @pb-n-juju @miss-rainy-days @firesighgirl @whoa-jo @vantxx95 @pamzn @kakixaku @casspirit0705 @tae165 @defzcl @sopebubbles @leefics @ggukkieland @bebebutbetter @yoongimentita7 @boraength @era-genius @4ksj @vampcharxter @miss-jupiter @floweryjeons @taegijns @jeonqkooks-main @ellesalazar @jkslvsnella @parkinglot-nights @kissyfacekoo

//

Picture this. 

Jungkook sent you a text, claiming to be sick. He said:

jungkook (liar) 3:09PM: no fr i get so dizzy standing up lol

jungkook (liar) 3:09PM: deadass i’m wearing like 7 layers and i’m chilly af .. need the warmth of ur arms, baby 🙏🏼

jungkook (liar) 3:10PM: do u think u can come by w some medicine? i’d owe u like… my whole heart

jungkook (liar) 3:10PM: nvm gave that to u already 😘✋🏽

Your natural response to his concerning text messages was to call him. When you called to check up on him, you noted how he coughed at every perfect pause... How his voice was toned groggy with a hint of pathetic. 

Just as pathetic as his lie. 

Does he think you're dumb? Fine. Two can play this game.

The second Jungkook opens the door and is greeted by his friends, grinning goofily with alcohol in their hands—he feels the urge to shut the door at their face. “Ah, for fucks sake—”

“Not so fast!” Hobi squeals as he grabs your wrists and tugs you from the back of the crowd to the front. Offering you to Jungkook, Hobi winks, “I believe this belongs to you.”

Jungkook’s eyes soften at the sight of you.

Lowering his head, he purses his lips for a kiss. You blink at him, letting him stand there like a fool. A few of his friends chuckle at the rejection, but it doesn’t dishearten Jungkook. Instead, he lifts his head and carries on. 

Hey, the kiss was worth a shot. 

With a patient tone, he tries to talk this out. “I thought it was just going to be you coming over...”

Shrugging at him, you answer; “And I thought you were sick.” 

"Well, what can I say? I always feel better whenever you're around." Jungkook chides.

Unimpressed, you tsk at him. “Nice try, buddy.”

Your hunch was right.

Jungkook wasn't sick.

There was no eye bag in sight, no cough to be heard, and with the short amount of time it took him to answer the door; he doesn't seem dizzy at all. If anything, he looks freshly showered and prepared.

For a sick man, his 5PM fit was rather suggestive. He's wearing jeans, and a white wife beater with an off-white button-up unbuttoned. He must know he's hot, right? He wore this on purpose.

"A little dressed up for someone who should be pretending to be sick..." you poke his chest.

Jungkook grins, instantly shrugging his button-up off. "Oh, my bad. Here, I'll undress and—"

"Jungkook!" you gasp as you tug his button-up back on. "Your friends are here! Don't be so shameless—"

"Whose fault is that?" he laughs. "___, was I not clear when I asked for you? You. Not the circus.”

“Hey!��� Nam Joon cries from the crowd. “Are you calling me a clown?”

Jungkook lifts his head and shakes it. Smiling at his hero, he assures Nam Joon; “Not you, hyung. I love you.”

Earning a few laughs, the moment ends when Jin interrupts and pushes past you. Jungkook places his arm in front of your body, gently moving you against the wall. He shoots Jin a glare but Jin doesn't seem to catch on. He makes one final comment before inviting himself into Jungkook's home; “Stop sucking Joon's dick and let us in!”

As his friends cheer and begin to invade his home, you stand still and laugh at them hustling in. As they make random remarks, Jungkook warns them not to touch certain things in his living room and that his bedroom is off-limits. Walking in, his friends can't help but feel out of place when they spot the homecooked meal Jungkook prepared for you two. The table is all set up. The projector is ready to go in the living room corner, accompanied by the ever so comfy set up of pillows and fuzzy blankets on the couch… The fuzzy blanket on the couch that Taehyung and Hobi have now wrapped themselves in.

Yeah..

Jungkook did not see this coming. He groans at the very sight. His plans were ruined.

Once Jimin gets his little ass inside, you take that as your cue to head in. You duck under Jungkook's arm and just as you think you’re about to get away—he stops you. He takes a step back and swoops his other arm around your waist.

“Not so fast.”

You huff. “Okay. I’ll walk in slow motion—”

“___…” Jungkook says in a warning tone. “Yah, I said I was sick and you show up here with my friends?”

You poke his chest. “I had a feeling you were up to no good. I brought reinforcement.”

For the most part, Jungkook likes to think he has you figured out. Then, you pull shit like this and he is completely tongue-tied.

Jungkook can’t help but applaud your move. It’s petty and nonchalant… It’s well played. Yet, he feels bittersweet at the very realization that you’ve outsmarted him so early on. 

To be fair, his main moves are centered around lies. 

… Is it so wrong that he thought he could at least get one last good lie before facing the truth?

The truth is that he has grown to like you so much he has completely lost control of his words and thoughts. Every time he’s around you—that’s it. That’s the entire moment. That’s his entire world. He doesn’t know how to keep it that way, you know? He hasn’t figured out how to freeze time and just be with you. So, he lies. He lies in an attempt to make the moment last just a second longer. 

He knows he could have you with a simple conversation and his bunny smile. He knows he’s kindhearted and would be a great boyfriend if you let him… He’s just having a hard time navigating through all the feelings. They consume him faster and fiercer than he expected. The only way to keep up is to keep you near, and the only way to keep you near is to keep making excuses. 

Thus, this week’s excuse. 

He huffs at you. "A home-cooked meal, a movie on my projector, and comfy blankets... Means I'm up to no good? Come on, ___. This is ridiculous!"

"You've been so mischievous ever since—"

"It was just the ice skating thing!" Jungkook defends himself.

"It was also the pocky thing—"

His eyes light up. Jungkook’s lips curve into a smirk. "Ah... Thinking about our kiss, huh?"

Now you feel sick.

Was he serious? How does he do this to you? He says everything so bluntly and out of pocket, your tummy has no choice but to flip upside down and feel all the butterflies flutter.

"N-no!" you panic.

"Pucker up and prove me wrong," Jungkook insists, shutting his eyes and pursing his lips at you. "Like you said, I'm not sick. Kissing me won't get you sick—love sick, maybe..."

You cross your arms at him.

"Jungkook."

Opening his eyes one at a time, he puts his hands up and lets you go. He'll admit defeat here. Clearly, you aren't happy with his moves...

He'll try this.

He'll try honesty.

“___," he smiles, attempting to lighten the mood. "Hey, I was trying to—”

“Flirt?” you finish his sentence. “Yeah, sure… Has it ever occurred to you that you can flirt with me without lying?”

His eyes widen. 

“Does it bother you that much?” He asks, feeling like he is completely messed up. “I’m sorry, baby. I thought it was harmless—”

You shake your head, denying his accusation. It was deeper than that. It is the principal and the root of his lying being a habit in your relationship.

“It’s not that it bothers me that much… It's just... Y-you don't have to do all this, you know? I like getting to know you, but it feels like it's impossible. You keep setting up scenarios for yourself to look good in or for me to take care of you in. I'd do it regardless if you're hurt or not. You know that, right?"

"I do," Jungkook agrees. "I just..."

You look at him with sincere eyes. "Jungkook, I'm just not understanding... Why? It’s just weird to me that you were so confident and honest when you confessed. To be honest, I really admire that part of you. B-but now that you’re… That w-we’re…. Uhmm—it's different. You're acting differently. You can flirt with me all you want. It's whatever... But maybe try something else? I'm tired of you lying, Jungkook.”

He gulps.

"You want honesty?" Jungkook begins. "Here it is... I like you too much. Like, so much that I don't know what to do with myself whenever you're around—not to mention it's even worse when you're not. I want your attention. All the time. Everything about me for everything about you."

"Jungkook—"

"Can you wait for me?" He asks you unexpectedly. "Wait for me to get it right... Because I know I can. I will get it right."

When you two join everyone inside, Jungkook’s apartment is filled with so much chaos it’s difficult for him not to A) partake and B) be upset about everyone crashing his date night (by ambush). 

Honestly, Jungkook’s been pretty busy lately. He’s been neglecting his social life as school, work, and you (not that he’s complaining) have been taking over. In a way, he finds it sweet that you ruined his plans with yours. Especially since you came in with all his friends. It was a nice surprise. He will definitely take note of your sneaky ways too. 

By the time everyone gets hungry, there’s barely any space for anyone to eat. Some friends are sitting on the floor, eating off the coffee table or parts of the couch. Others are eating standing up, and the rest crowd over his tiny kitchen island and dining table. There are a few girls you’ve invited here and just as usual, you all went to the bathroom together. As you all enter back into the scene, there is absolutely no space. 

“___!” Jin calls you over. “Eat with us.”

You look at the girls and exchange laughs. They tease you before pushing to towards the dining table. As you approach, you realize there’s barely space let alone a seat. Without much thought, you gravitate towards Jungkook who is sitting and eating. Squeezing your way through, he notices you and nods towards Hobi. Hobi then responds by handing you a plate of food Jungkook set aside for you. Taking the plate, you thank Hobi. Jungkook then pushes his chair back and just as he’s about to get up from his seat to give to you—

“No, it’s okay. Sit.” You insist. 

“But you don’t have a seat—”

Then, it happens so naturally.

You place your plate on the table next to his and take a seat on his lap. When you do this, all the boys exchange looks but say nothing. Their eyes almost pop out of their head and Hobi even chokes on his food. He tries to hide it and turns away so you don’t think twice about it. They’re all aware of how shy you are and this? This was a big thing for Jungkook that they couldn’t ruin. You were finally coming out of your shell.

Thank god.

Meanwhile, Jungkook feels winded. 

He can’t believe this. 

He can’t believe you.

But given the circumstances… He might just have to. So, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he smiles at you warmly and tells you that he put all your favourites on your plate. He tells you to eat everything and that he ordered strawberry bingsoo for dessert. 

“I love strawberries!” you gasp. Looking up, you bat your eyelashes and tease him, “yah, you make it too obvious you have a crush on me… You know that?” 

Jungkook squints at you, followed by scrunching his nose. You lean against his forehead and mimic his little stare. 

It takes everything in him to not lean in and kiss you.

Slowly but surely, everyone leaves. The only ones left are you, Jungkook, and the other 6 clowns. Yoongi and Jin went out to start the cars while Joon, Taehyung, Jimin, and Hobi finished up taking the trash out or washing the dishes. 

You and Jungkook are tidying the living room. He thanks you for organizing the little get-together and apologizes again for lying to you about being sick. You tell him it wasn’t that serious—it was just built-up confusion and frustration. Further, you tell him that you don’t want him to see you as someone that he has to jump through hoops to spend time with. You tell him you want it too. You want to spend time with him too. You want to get to know him too. 

You want to fall in love—

"I can do that," Jungkook nods, understanding where you're coming from. Your thoughts are interrupted as he fluffs the final pillow and grabs your hands. He squeezes them and then lets go. "But only if you stop being so oblivious. At least try, you know? It's hard for me too. Like, we're dating and I'm trying to woo you and shit—"

Dating?

Woo you?

Shit.

Your heart skips a beat.

"Wait," you pause. "Jungkook, a-are we dating?”

Just when he opens his mouth to speak, Hobi interrupts. 

“___, let’s go! Jin wants to race Yoongi!” 

Jungkook blinks at Hobi. “You’re not racing when ___’s in the car. Are you mad?”

Hobi lifts his hands. “Shit man, I’m just the messenger!”

Without skipping a beat, Jungkook turns to you with stern eyes. “I’ll drive you home.”

You decline. “You’re already home. Relax, it’s Jin. He’s all talk and no bite.”

“___…”

As a compromise, you promise him; “I’ll ride in Yoongi’s car.”

He thinks about it for a moment. Then, he realizes he has no other practical choice. “Fine. At least if you guys do race, you’ll be in the winning car.”

Hobi coughs. “Yo, what the fuck? I’m riding in Jin’s.”

You laugh and tell Hobi you’ll meet them out the door in a second. Hobi leaves immediately, yelling at Jimin to trade spots with him so he can ride with Yoongi. Once he’s out the door, Jungkook’s apartment falls in silence. 

“.... I better get going,” you breathe. “I’ll see you around?”

Scanning his apartment, you smile at the sight of everything being tidy. Picking up your feet, you head towards the door. Like a sad puppy, Jungkook trails behind you.

As you head out, Jungkook feels an urge in his stomach to make this moment last longer. “Oh... S-sure. See you at the library tomorrow?”

“You hate the library.”

“No, I don’t—”

“It’s also Saturday tomorrow.”

Jungkook blinks at you. “I love spending my Saturdays in the library.”

Giggling at his awful attempt, you remind him, “hey, we just talked about you and your fibs—”

“Sorry, sorry,” Jungkook surrenders. He puts his hands up and tilts his head. Pouting as you put your shoes on, he continues to ramble. “See what I mean? I say the wildest things just to be with you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, plopping back up. Jungkook then helps you put your jacket on and gives you your tote bag. “Whatever you say, liar.”

He rolls his eyes at you. As you open the door, you face him with a silly face. He ruffles your hair as he bids his farewell, “Goodnight. Text me when you get home, baby.” 

Then, just like that, the door shuts and Jungkook is all alone.

As he turns away and finally feels like he can catch his breath after everything that happened between you two tonight, he hears the door knock. Turning back, he reaches for the doorknob, opens the door, and sees you standing there. 

“Did you forget something?”

“Goodnight kiss.”

He draws a blank. 

“What—”

Jungkook’s heart skips a beat as you tiptoe and reach for the nape of his neck and pull him close. Leaning in, you press your lips against him and kiss him softly. Without hesitating, he kisses you back and chases your lips the second you pull away. 

You pull away too fast for his liking.

“Okay, goodnight—”

He kisses you again, deepening it as much as he can. When you pull away to catch your breath, he sneaks in one last kiss. Then, he kisses your cheeks and turns you around. Before sending you off, he teases you one last time. 

“Go away. I hate you.”

Laughing at his words, you realize that sometimes—they aren’t so bad.

Him and his lies.

You and your reading in between lines.

[xoxopuffsz]

ok this is p specific but i love ur smut and i would like to request a fic where azul is in a relationship w yuu, and during his mating season he sneaks them off to a classroom for a quickie, but idia is watching it through the cameras and jerking off 🙏🙏🙏🙏 PRETTY PLEASE

AN: when I read this I had to stop for a moment and think but I mean YOU SAID PRETTY PLEASE SO SURE 😓 — MINORS DNI, all chars are aged up, f!y/n and well creepy Idia, Azul being an absolute crazed maniac, enjoy!

❤︎ — “Can you hear me? Can you see me?”

Although most people would’ve relatively catched on in the frantic Azul, his urges were something he usually was able to hide pretty well, and of course, who said that at the end of the day his pretty girlfriend wasn’t going to.. help him?

As you carried a dirty tray to the garbage, a small kiss is pressed on your cheek by an alone Azul, who had wondered off when his two eel companions weren’t looking. “My dear, can you.. come with me for a second?” He mumbles in your ear, the single breath of his voice sending shivers down your spine.

it’s not until he locks you in the nearby classroom that he realizes what’s going on, his lips finding yours frantically as his hands unbuckle your belt, practically ripping them off.

“Fuck me,” he whispers “I’m sorry. ‘m sorry I’m being so vulgar my dear but I’m begging you I need some type of release.” He mumbles, kisses making the heat pool in-between your legs as he quickly takes them off.

Although, it’s seemed maybe Azul wasn’t the only one enjoying the experience.

Idia had made a habit of checking and placing cameras all over the school, for his own pleasure of course, to either keep intel of people or maybe see them goof around when his games are getting updated,

But seeing the only girl in NRC getting rammed by her boyfriend, and club mate of his? Now that was gold.

His first impression? Maybe get off the cameras for a while and check if there was anything better to do, but yet he couldn’t help notice the sounds emitting into the cameras speakers, the moans coming from both you and his dear friend Azul, and the way he quickly discarded of his belt to be able to push in his member into your underwear, a quickie, it seemed.

Idia was.. well, turned on to say the least, and no one usually came into his room, so the best thing that came to his mind was to get off of the person he usually got along with and the pretty girl he’d watch from a distance, slender and pale fingers touching his own member to get off, and of course, once the shame sits in his pink hair emitting a pretty light as he lets out a groan, his hoodie covering his own mouth, as he watches you and Azul.

Oh and as for you two, sevens was it good. Azul was always against things like this, he felt is was ‘unprofessional’ and ‘unsanitary’ but oh did it feel good. His hips pressing onto you as the cloth of your pantries rubbed against him, and the way his tip pressed against your sensitive clit, his lips felt so.. so good against yours.

His hands gripped your thighs, tongue tied against yours, and he had the audacity to moan into your mouth, small “s’good” and “need more”s being heard as he finally came into your stomach.

As for the one watching you two, his hand slowly dragged down his tip and girth, pathetic whimpers escaping his mouth as he watched the both of you move, moans entering his ears from his headphones, the delicacy and richness of the audio giving him the impulse to finally cum, getting on his pants.

Until he listens to Azul say,

“You ever feel like we’re being watched?”

— ❤︎ AN: I hope you like it chat it took me like an hour and also my head is killing me 🙁

[whyse7vn]

OLD YOONGI -

[ min yoongi x reader ]

YOONGI :3

you have 1 miss call from yoongi :3

yoongi: i’m killing myself

you have 2 miss calls from yoongi :3

yoongi: do you want me to kill myself?

y/n: send a picture of ur face rn

yoongi: why didn’t you answer??

y/n: shut up and send

yoongi: why?

y/n: cuz i asked

yoongi: you demanded

y/n: ur into that

yoongi: shut up

y/n: :p

ur face

rn

pls

yoongi: no

ur just gonna say something weird

y/n: i won’t

yoongi: whatever

y/n:

got me twiddling my thumbs and shit🥰

ur such a cutie

let’s do a blood bond

no joke i’m so hard rn

yoongi: …

y/n: want proof????

yoongi: talk to me like a normal girlfriend

y/n: hello amazing beautiful boyfriend

yoongi: ew???

y/n: pookie??

yoongi: leave me alone

y/n: you literally called me?

yoongi: and you didn’t answer

y/n: just say ur obsessed with me…

yoongi: going to the coffee shop

y/n: WITHOUT ME???

fucking snake oh my god

yoongi: what do you want??

y/n: 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

yoongi: ur making me sick

y/n: stop being mean to me

yoongi: sorry :3

what do you want pretty

y/n: your mouth against my mouth

yoongi: ok bye

y/n: boooo ur boring

yoongi: don’t be upset with me when i come home with no coffee for you

y/n: what are you getting

yoongi: vanilla latte

7 espresso shots

y/n: bro????????????????

you might as well do cocaine what the hell

yoongi: who is bro?

y/n: i want to fuck u rn

btw

if you didn’t know

now you do

yoongi: ur real strange

y/n: i can be strange in bed

yoongi: no thanks???

y/n: just tell me to shoot myself in the head fuck

yoongi: wtf are you even talking about rn

y/n: yoongi don’t you get tired of pretending ur not deeply in love with me and would literally ask how high if i said jump

yoongi: what do you want from this fucking coffee shop oh my god

i’m almost there

y/n: ur so in love with me it’s actually overbearing

yoongi: i’m blocking you

y/n: what would you do if i kissed namjoon

yoongi: ????

why would you do that??

stop asking me stupid questions

y/n: i just want to know

yoongi: stop talking

y/n: if i stop talking that means i’m dead

yoongi: i can’t wait till that day comes

y/n: ummm what the hell

ur literally gonna die first

ur 30……

yoongi: how do you know i’m gonna die first

you god or something??

y/n: baby ur 30

yoongi: i’m aware

y/n: im gald you understand

yoongi: ?

whatever

getting u a iced caramel frappe thing ok??

don’t want it don’t care

y/n: when he knows ur order 😍

yoongi: nvm i’m not getting it for you actually

y/n: when he’s broke and ugly 🤬

yoongi: 😐

y/n: i’ll lick you head to toe

i lied i’m sorry

ur not ugly

AT ALL

yk that baby

yoongi: but i’m broke?

y/n: maybe idk

you not wanting to buy me the drink says a lot….

yoongi: whatever don’t care anymore

y/n: you’re a liar

you literally almost cried just now

yoongi: no i didn’t

y/n: you did

yoongi: not

y/n: i love u

yoongi: ok

y/n: say it back stupid bitch

yoongi: i love you

y/n: <3333333333333333333

yoongi: this is toxic

y/n: me and namjoon are toxic

yoongi: there is no you and namjoon

y/n: can i dream in peace

yoongi: shut up

cuz what if i said

y/n: NO DON’T SAY ANYTHING

OH MY GOD IM GONNA TJROW UP

DONT PLS -£/££/£2&:&:£:£.£

😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😞😞😞😞😞

BABY 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

ILL LITERALLY CRY IF YOU SAY ANOTHER WOMANS NAME

yoongi: but you can talk about namjoon??

idk this doesn’t seem fair love :/

y/n: don’t even know a namjoon

is that a fruit or something????????

yoongi: that’s what i thought

y/n: shut the hell up

yoongi: :3

y/n: random question but are you single lol

yoongi: no

y/n: damn that’s crazy

i hope she dies

yoongi: me too

y/n: WOOOOOWWWWW

yoongi: idk what you expect me to say

y/n: dni rn

yoongi: ok

y/n: ur interacting i told you NOT to

fucker

ok

good

stupid idiot loser bitch

UGH

sighs

so like…

*tucks hair behind ear*

you come here often?😍

don’t ignore my flirting what the hell

yoongi: what do you want from me

y/n: some love and appreciation would be nice idk..

yoongi: at the coffee shop standing in line now

y/n: bet the way you standing is hot as hell

yoongi: ??

tf is actually ur issue

y/n: don’t ?? me

ur making me look insane

yoongi: you are insane

y/n: this yoongi would never treat me

like this

yoongi: ew

never show me that again

y/n: but you look so silly and edible :33

i remember the day you took this so clearly

you sent it to me and begged me

to tell you if it was ok to post or not

SIGHSSSSSSS

wow miss old yoongi

now ur just a slut whose naked all the time

yoongi: i am not naked all the time

y/n: SIGHSSSSSSS

what happened to my little lover boy

who would tell me he loves me 475 times a day

yoongi: i tell you i love you all the time

y/n: ok but you say it like i have a gun to ur head

yoongi: i love you

y/n: not convinced

yoongi: whatever

y/n: SIGHSS

the old yoongi wouldn’t of given up so easily

yoongi: i love you there is literally nothing more to say

y/n: old yoongi would have more words

yoongi: i reallllly love you

y/n: SIGHSSSSSSS

yoongi: babe…

y/n: looks left looks right

sighs

yoongi: you are great

i love you

i appreciate you

i want to kiss you

y/n: i could cry

best day of my life

i’ve never seen you this emotional yoongi

kinda off putting

you on ur period or something 💀

yoongi: ?????????????

stop talking to me

—

tags: @piw6n @92jinnies @birdie-vhs @kooksmilitarywife @hob3loveofmylife @jujubiism @bloopkook @ratchetpizza1 @myntalks @arloo00 @watamotee33 @y2kcy3brz @taiwan0618 @indigobsessed @freyadanvers @gguksbeloved @raetf @bbsantc @winuvs @medicinemybish @bxnnyhime @leleluvsbts @baetukki @zyaaaszn @thelilbutifulthings @yojaschill @k4ngelz @jmnscutie

[m1ckeyb3rry]

hii!! First of all ur theme is so aesthetically pleasing and I love all the nagi. I like binge read all of your event works and *chefs kiss*. Could I request a piece for karasu with the theme of like academic rivals/classmates? No worries if not, hoping ur doing well and taking care of urself!

On an unrelated note I saw that post about rude comments and im so sorry that’s happening to you! I honestly don’t know what drives ppl to bother leaving nasty comments esp when it’s not like they’re being forced to read anything T-T Hoping to send you a bit of love to counter those trolls!

Synopsis: Crows are clingy birds, and Tabito Karasu’s feelings are hurt easier than you realize. (part two here!) (part three here!)

Event Masterlist

Pairing: Karasu x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 9.1k

Content Warnings: academic rivals to lovers, karasu is an asshole, reader is also an asshole, jealous karasu 😍, hiori randomly pulls up at one point for some reason??, yukimiya requests to follow one (1) person and accidentally causes the most dramatic pseudo breakup ever

A/N: anon i used to pray for times like these 😭😩 LMAOAO karasu is my fav (behind nagi ofc) but i’ve never gotten around to writing him so getting this request made me SO excited HAHA. i haven’t done anything rivals/enemies to lovers before so fingers crossed this doesn’t feel too awkward or unrealistic or rushed anything!! and yayyy i love my little nagi theme (and also nagi in general) i’m glad you like it too!! and my writing too, you’re so sweet 🥹 there will always be jerks unfortunately but lovely people like you make it all worth it 💖 thank you again and i hope this is kind of what you were looking for 🫶🏻

Additional: part of my 500 follower event! see the event description and rules to make a request of your own.

ONE: POISON IT

You could hardly contain your smile as you sauntered up to Tabito Karasu’s desk, your exam held behind your back. He was sitting by himself — his seat partner was sick this week, from what you had heard, so he had taken the chance to spread out his things and stretch his legs. When he noticed you, he raised his eyebrows, mouth tugging into a frown at your amusement.

“What?” he said. You brandished the paper in front of you, irises sparkling as you leaned over to rest your forearms on the desk.

“I got full marks on the last Chemistry exam,” you said. Karasu made a face at you, snatching the test from your hands and scrunching his face up as he inspected it.

“Seriously?” he said.

“Seriously,” you said. “What did you get?”

He crossed his arms and looked away. “Not telling.”

“You definitely failed!” you said in delight, taking back the exam and laughing at him. “How embarrassing. You failed the easiest test of the year, and yet you consider Chemistry to be one of your best subjects? I can’t wait to see how badly you do during finals week.”

“I did not fail,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I got a ninety-eight.”

“Ninety-eight! That’s even worse than outright failure,” you said. “You were so close to perfection, and yet in the end, you fell short. It must sting for things to work out like that.”

“Yes, I’m positively wounded,” he said dryly before batting his eyelashes at you. From anyone else, the rapid switch in demeanor would’ve left you reeling, but the shifting mood was to be expected from him. “Will you give me a kiss and make it better?”

You rolled up your test and smacked him on the head with it. “No.”

“Anyways, my overall grade in the class is still higher than yours, because rankings were updated today and I’m still number one, so I’m not sure what cause you have to be boasting,” he said.

“Hm, but did you notice who’s number one in Modern Literature?” you said, pulling out your phone and opening the school’s app, which listed each class’s rankings in every subject. “Yup, that’s right, me.”

“Good job, Y/N!” he said, clapping mockingly. “Shall we have a party? It’s a big occasion — the mediocre number two has finally done something of such note that she’s number one for the first time in her life.”

“I’ve been number one plenty of other times!” you snapped. “For your information, I’ve been first in the class in mathematics and history every year since middle school, so who are you to be acting like this is a first? If anyone’s mediocre, it’s you!”

He raised his hands in the air innocently, his trademark smirk gracing his features once more now that he had succeeded in irritating you, as was his typical goal.

“Alright, alright, no need to be upset,” he said. “It’s not good for you. Clouds your judgment.”

“In what way?” you said.

“I mean, somehow, you got the two of us confused,” he said. “And we’re nothing alike.”

“I did no such thing,” you said.

“Well, I seem to recall you calling me mediocre, but between the two of us, the subpar one is obviously you,” he said, flicking your forehead. You slapped his hand away.

“You — the bell is going to ring, so I’m going to go back to my seat, but just so you know, you’re way more mediocre than me, Mr. Two-Percent-Short!” you said.

“Stellar comeback!” he called out. “My ego is bruised beyond healing!”

“Good!” you called back, ignoring the sarcasm. “Maybe it’ll return to a more normal size. Your head has grown too big, it’s almost as ridiculous as that hair of yours!”

“Leave the hair alone!”

During your free period, you decided to go to the library for some peace and quiet to work on your homework and find some of the sources you needed for your next research project. For belonging to a high school, the library was surprisingly extensive, and you had managed to find relevant information for every other project you had ever done in it, so you had high hopes. Unfortunately, it seemed this latest assignment was more obscure than anything you had completed before, so on your second lap of the shelves where the books, if they existed, would be located, you resigned yourself to giving up.

Just then, a volume caught your eye. The cover was shiny and pristine, the spine still unbent with newness. Crouching, you pulled it out, and when you saw the title emblazoned across the cover in bright yellow lettering, you began to laugh, making a beeline to the checkout counter with it tucked under your arm.

“Hey, Y/N! How was your morning?” your best friend said as you set your things down next to her in the cafeteria. You hummed in agreement, searching the room for a familiar head of dark hair. “You good? Looking for someone? Let me guess: your secret boyfriend that you’re keeping from the rest of us.”

“Yeah, I’m looking for Karasu,” you said before the rest of her words registered. “No!”

“You’re finally coming out and saying it?” she said, holding her hands to her heart and pretending to swoon. “I’ve been waiting for you to confess.”

“He’s not my secret boyfriend that I’m keeping from everyone, I’m just looking for him!” you said.

“Could’ve fooled me,” she said. “What do you need him for, anyways?”

“I got a book for him in the library,” you said.

“Right, and this is the guy you hate? Your ‘mortal enemy’ or whatever?” she checked.

“Yes,” you said.

“But you…got a book for him from the library, and now you’re looking for him so that you can give it to him?” she said. You scoffed.

“When you put it like that, it sounds different than it really is,” you said. “Trust me, this isn’t a nice gesture or anything. You can consider it revenge.”

“When are you going to get over this stupid rivalry?” she said. “He’s not even that bad, you know.”

“Not even that bad? Not even that bad? Are we talking about the same Karasu here? I’m referring to Tabito, not his older sister,” you said.

“Ah, I think so? He’s a nice guy,” she said.

“He is the spawn of the devil! And he’s the one who started it, so I’ll stop hating him once he apologizes and means it,” you said.

“Do you think he even remembers that?” she said. “It was in middle school.”

You glared at her. “I remember it. If he doesn’t, well, that’s just more of a reason for me to dislike him on principle.”

“Okay, okay, whatever you say,” she said. “Sorry for complimenting him. He’s awful and rude and mean. I think he’s sitting outside with some of his soccer friends, if you still want to find him.”

“Thank you!” you said, instantly forgetting that you were upset with her for taking Karasu’s side instead of yours. “Watch my stuff, okay? I’ll be right back.”

“See you soon,” she said. “Have fun. Actually, maybe it’s more realistic for me to just tell you not do anything that’ll get you expelled.”

You waved her off as you marched out to the courtyard where Karasu and his friends were lounging, their chairs positioned in the shade so that they did not overheat while they ate. None of them noticed you approaching until you were tapping Karasu on the shoulder and smiling at him sweetly.

“Y/N? What are you doing here?” he said, sounding oddly flustered. One of his friends snorted, and more than a few chuckled, but you ignored all of them in favor of setting your bag on the armrest of Karasu’s chair.

“Hi, Karasu. I was in the library earlier and I saw this book that reminded me of you, so I took the liberty of checking it out,” you said.

“Oh,” he said. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“You’re so considerate, Y/N!” one of his friends said.

“We’re all so jealous of Karasu here,” another friend, the one who you believed had snorted, said. “You’re way too pretty for him.”

“Shut up,” Karasu said, sticking up his middle finger at his friend, though none of the group paid him much mind. In fact, it seemed to egg them on more, as they continued to hurl jabs at Karasu while simultaneously incessantly complimenting you.

You didn’t respond to any of them, instead pulling out the book and handing it to Karasu, interlacing your fingers and waiting for his reaction. At first he seemed confused, and then dismay dawned upon his features as he realized what he was holding in his hands: a copy of Chemistry for Dummies.

“What the fuck?” he said. You patted him on the shoulder.

“It’s only suitable,” you said. Suddenly, his expression cleared, and he beamed at you, which caused unease to brew in your stomach. You knew for a fact that he was about to say something infuriating, and you mentally prepared yourself to respond.

“What a roundabout way of telling me you need tutoring! Of course, I’m happy to help you anytime you want,” he said, tilting back in his chair so that he could cross his arms over his chest arrogantly.

“Why would I want tutoring from someone who does worse than me in the class?” you shot back, crossing your own arms in retaliation.

One of his friends whistled. “She got you there, Tabito.”

“Enough out of you,” Karasu said through gritted teeth. His friend winked at you and mouthed ‘nice one.’

“Look, man, all I’m saying is that if you want to ask out such a beautiful girl, you’ve gotta have a little more finesse than that!” he said.

“He can have all the finesse in the world, but I’d still say no,” you said. His friends hollered with raucous laughter, which caused Karasu’s face to turn red, but you only pressed the book into his hands. “It’s due in two weeks. That should be long enough, right? Make sure you return it on time, please, I don’t want late fines.“

“I hope you go into debt because of this stupid book,” he said.

“Aww,” you cooed. “You’ll be the one paying it off, so it doesn’t matter to me. See you around, Karasu — or, hopefully not.”

TWO: SHOOT IT

You and Karasu had met in middle school. The two of you had been assigned to work on a presentation together, and he had told you during your first meeting that because you were a dunce, you should just listen to him and do whatever he said. Ever since that day, you had done everything you could to show him how much better than him you were; for his part, he found great joy in getting on your nerves and so took part in every argument with pleasure.

You had long ago proved his middle school self wrong, by anyone’s standards, but at this point it was a habit for you to hate Tabito Karasu as well as a habit for him to hate you back. And of course, habits were hard to form but harder to break, so you would probably continue in that manner until the day you graduated and left him behind for good.

It was just the two of you who did not get along. Your friends were cordial with him and his ilk, and you did not really mind his little group all that much, crude though they sometimes were. After all, it was just in the manner of teenage boys, and when they were not taking advantage of your presence to make fun of Karasu, they were actually a pretty agreeable sort.

In fact, your friend groups tended to coexist most of the time, even having lunch together every now and again — though they were always careful to ensure that you and Karasu were kept entirely separate, or else you both were guaranteed to ruin the cheerful camaraderie with your sharp tongues and quick tempers. The measures they took were admirable, but unfortunately, they were not always enough. After all, what were precautions when compared with inevitabilities?

“Oh my god!” you squealed. “Guys! Oh my god, oh my god, I can’t believe this is happening?”

“Can’t believe what’s happening?” your best friend said, speaking for everyone at the table. They were all tuned in to you now, wondering what the big news might be that would bring about such a reaction from you, given how put-together you tended to be.

“Do you remember that one model I happened to meet while I was out last weekend? Kenyu Yukimiya? He just requested to follow me on social media!” you said.

“No way!” your best friend said.

“Way!” you said. The only warning you got was an arm pressing against your back, and then your phone was abruptly snatched from your hands. You gasped, spinning in your seat and scowling when you realized that the culprit was none other than that scavenging crow, Tabito Karasu.

“What the hell? He’s average at best, why are you so excited?” he said, scrolling through Yukimiya’s profile, his eyes narrowed critically. “Y/N, don’t you have any standards?”

“You’re probably the only person in the entire country who doesn’t find him gorgeous,” you said, exhaling dreamily as you took your phone back from him and stared at the artful manner Yukimiya was posing in for his profile photo. “He was even better looking in person. And sonice, too! They don’t make men like that often.”

Karasu frowned and swiped at your phone again. You held it out of his reach, reaching across the bench to press your foot against his chest, effectively holding him back from further attempts at thievery.

“Let me look at him again!” he said.

“Um, no,” you said. “I don’t need you making more fun of him. I know you’re jealous, but expressing it like this only makes you uglier, just so you know.”

“Looks like they’re back at it again,” one of your friends said, massaging her temples.

“Yup,” one of Karasu’s teammates said.

“Ugly? Ugly? You’re calling me ugly? Have you looked in a mirror recently? Also, get your gross shoe off of my shirt!” Karasu said.

“I have looked in a mirror recently, actually, and incidentally I’ve also been keeping an eye on my follow requests. Guess what? I’m obviously good looking, since a legitimate model wants to follow me! How many celebrities request to follow you, huh? I bet the answer is zero!” you said, though you did do him the favor of swinging your leg back, allowing him to brush himself off in disdain.

“Lots of soccer players want to follow me,” he said. “I’m quite good, you know.”

“That doesn’t count,” you said. “It has nothing to do with how you look. They’d request to follow you no matter how hideous and poorly styled you and your hair are.”

“Are they seriously arguing about which of them is worse looking?” Karasu’s teammate said.

“I suppose so,” your friend said. “They’re both really hot, though, so I don’t know what the big deal is…”

“Geez, they’ll take any excuse to go at it, huh?” Karasu’s teammate said.

“Pretty much,” your friend said.

“Guess all of that tension has to go somewhere,” his teammate said.

“Exactly,” your friend said, shaking her head as she finished up her lunch.

“That model probably only works for horror magazines!” Karasu said. “It barely even counts!”

“He was in Vogue Japan,” you said smugly. “Look it up, stupid.”

“So what?” he said.

“So he’s handsome,” you said. “Like I said, it’s okay if you’re envious of him, as long as you accept it instead of doing this whole weird denial thing. I don’t blame you for it — in fact, I thought you would be. You don’t have much going for you overall, do you? In all honesty, it’s only natural for you to feel like this when faced with what you lack.”

Karasu’s eyes widened, and then he stood abruptly, picking up his bag with one arm and haphazardly pulling it onto his back. “Goodbye.”

“Bye,” you said, not really caring one way or another what he did with himself. Actually, you would prefer it if he wasn’t there, interrupting your meal and your daydreaming about your impending romance with Kenyu Yukimiya.

“Wow, Y/N,” your best friend said once Karasu was gone. “You’re kind of dumb, you know that?”

“What are you talking about?” you said.

“It’s not her fault,” another one of Karasu’s teammates said. “He’s not much better.”

“Huh?” you said.

“Never mind,” your best friend said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I have a migraine now.”

“Want some ibuprofen?” Karasu’s teammate said. She accepted it gratefully, and nothing more was said on the subject. The rest of lunch passed in a peaceful manner, though strangely, Karasu did not return.

It should’ve made you happy. You wondered, then, why it felt so odd without him there, like there was a gaping maw sitting in the place that should’ve been occupied by him.

THREE: DROWN IT

Ever since the day that Yukimiya had requested to follow you, you and Karasu hadn’t spoken. He refused to make eye contact with you in the few classes the two of you had together, keeping his gaze lowered to his work and his shoulders hunched away from you. You didn’t even try to talk to him; something told you that it would not be well-received, and you weren’t anywhere near confrontational enough to bring up his odd behavior, so the time without him dragged on and on, seemingly without end.

At first, you were happy, and you told your friends as much. It was a much-needed break from the constant aggravation he brought you, and you found your classes without your competition to be almost boring in their simplicity.

“The more you say you’re happy that you and Karasu aren’t talking, the less it sounds believable,” your best friend said, taking a sip from her juice box.

“Believe it! This is what I’ve been wanting since middle school,” you said.

“Is it?” she said. “It sounds like you’re kind of upset.”

“Am not!” you said. She shrugged.

“Sure,” she said, drawing out the word. “Definitely not.”

“Why would I be upset?” you said.

“You tell me,” she said.

“I’m telling you that I’m not upset. You’re the one with the theory, so give me some evidence to substantiate it,” you said.

“Fine,” she said. “You talk about him all of the time, even when you guys are getting along — or, at least, your twisted little version of being friendly, which isn’t friendly by anyone else’s standards but it seems to work for you two, so I won’t comment further. You keep telling us that you’re so delighted he’s leaving you alone, but you do this thing with your face when you say it that makes it super obvious you’re not. It’s not the kind of behavior you’d display when discussing someone you hate as much as you claim to hate him. Finally, there’s a reason half the school thinks you guys are dating, and it’s not just the obvious aesthetic appeal of that match.”

“What? I thought you were just trying to bother me when you brought that up!” you said. She shook her head.

“No, it’s a common misconception. It’s why no one’s ever asked you out. They all think you’re already taken. Actually, the other day, a guy asked me if I thought he might have a chance with you now that you and Karasu had broken up,” she said.

“What’d you say?” you said, half in horror, half in fascination.

“I told him probably not, and that you and Karasu hadn’t broken up, because you were never together in the first place,” she said.

“Oh, okay,” you said.

“Should I have said something else?” she said. You shook your head.

“No,” you said. “What else would you have said?”

“Dunno,” she said. “Look, you need to cheer up. I’m sure that if you just try to talk to him, things will go back to normal in an instant. Then you can return to complaining about him like usual.”

“Talk to him? About what?” you said. She gave you an incredulous look.

“You were pretty mean to him the other day, Y/N,” she said.

“It wasn’t any meaner than what he says to me on the regular,” you said. “And what I say to him in return. I don’t see why he’d be more or less offended.”

“I think it was a little worse than what you typically say,” she said. “Plus, the context was different.”

“How so?” you said. She shook her head.

“That’s for him to explain, not me,” she said. “Come on, don’t be stubborn. Work things out with him. I miss hanging out with the guys.”

“Ah, so that’s why it matters to you,” you said. “Sorry to say it, but I don’t have any plans at attempting conversation with him anytime soon. Like I said, things are finally calm and stress-free for me. He’s the one being immature, as always, so why’s it up to me to make things better?”

“Immature?” your best friend said. “You’ve held a grudge against him since middle school.”

“And?” you said. She squinted at you before pursing her lips.

“Well, I guess the two of you really are made for one another,” she said.

“What?”

The next week would mark the beginning of the swimming unit in PE class, which you were actually looking forward to. You loved to swim, you had ever since you were a child and your parents had brought you into the water for the first time, and the thought of getting to earn a good grade for something you liked doing in the first place was an agreeable on.

In preparation, you decided to stop by the pool after classes were over so that you could acclimate yourself to the motions of the strokes once again. The swim team’s practice had been canceled, and no one else ever used the pool, so you would have the place to yourself, which was just about the closest thing to heaven you could imagine while still living on Earth.

Changing into your school-issued bathing suit and putting your things into a locker, you tied your hair back so that it was out of the way and stepped into the steaming indoor pool deck. The water was a bright cerulean shade, the lanes split by lane-lines which alternated colors to match your school’s emblem. When you dipped your toe into the deep end, you found it was warm, not cold like you had feared. The school didn’t splurge on heating the water of the rarely-used pool, so usually, it was all but freezing. You supposed that they must’ve had complaints from last year’s PE classes, so they had restarted the heaters in order to ensure that no one had any cause to whine about the temperature this year.

For a moment, you just sat on the tiled edge, your legs swishing about in the water, the heels of your palms pressing against the lip of the pool as you closed your eyes and luxuriated in the tangy scent of chlorine. So lost were you that you almost didn’t notice the door swinging open, but the clang of it shutting was unmistakable. Thinking it must’ve been a confused swim team member showing up to a practice that wasn’t happening, you opened your eyes, your lips parting to issue a reprimand that died before it could take shape.

It wasn’t a swim team member. It was Tabito Karasu, wearing a pair of swim trunks and nothing else, his jaw taut and his fists clenched as he inched towards the water. He hadn’t even noticed you, and you didn’t feel inclined to announce yourself, so you let your elbows dig into your thighs, your chin resting in your hands as you observed him.

You had known that he played soccer almost as long as you had known his name. It was the entire reason he was so popular and well-regarded in the school, and an inextricable part of his identity, but until now, you hadn’t quite considered what that actually meant. After all, you only ever saw him in the loose, modest clothing of the school’s uniform, so why would you jump to the conclusion that he was so — so — well, you were loath to admit it, but he had a striking body, and, now that he wasn’t being all cocky and maddening, you could appreciate that even his face was of a similar quality.

Blinking, you cocked your head as he extended a graceful foot towards the first stair leading into the shallow end. Water splashed against it, and he yanked it back like he had been scalded. You could not help yourself from giggling as he did this once and then twice again. On the third attempt, you forgot that the two of you weren’t acknowledging one another and cupped your hands around your mouth to amplify your voice.

“What are you doing?” you said.

“Who — Y/N? I didn’t realize anyone else was in here!” he said, stepping back from the pool and straightening his shorts, though there was nothing wrong with them that required straightening. You sprang to your feet and walked over to him, leaving wet footprints in your wake as you peered at him curiously.

“I was just going to do some laps to ensure that I’m at my best for the swimming unit next week. Did you have the same idea?” you said.

“Something like that,” he said.

“What’s with that whole ritual, though?” you said. “It’s not that cold. You should just get in.”

“Definitely not,” he said. You furrowed your brow.

“Okay,” you said. “Why are you at the pool, then, if you don’t want to go in the water?”

“It’s nothing you need to be concerned with!” he said. “Why are you so nosy? Just go away.”

“I was here first,” you said.

“Fine,” he said, spinning on his heel. “I’ll go, then.”

“Wait! Karasu, wait,” you said, grabbing onto his wrist as he made to leave. “Look, we don’t have to talk to one another or anything. We’re experienced enough at ignoring each other, so there’s not an issue in both of us being here.”

“Is that what you want?” he said.

“Yeah, sure,” you said. He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing, and you thought he would say something, but he only nodded curtly.

“Fine,” he said. You gave him an expectant look, but he did not move from the spot he was rooted in, so you thought that you might as well take the initiative. Looping around to the deep end, you inhaled and then dove into the water headfirst, staying under for as long as you could before finally surfacing and allowing yourself to settle into the familiar undulations that came with swimming.

After a few laps, you took a break, peeking up over the concrete to look at Karasu, who was still standing stubbornly in place, his nose wrinkling whenever he glanced at the pool.

“Hey,” you said. “Are you scared of the water or something?”

He froze. “Who told you that?”

“No one?” you said. “It’s pretty easy to tell as an onlooker. Were you planning on trying to get over your fear by coming to swim when no one was here? That’s dangerous if you don’t know how. You could drown.”

“I’m not scared of the water,” he said.

“Really? Then why’re you just standing there?” you said. His mouth opened and closed a few times, and then finally he hung his head in reluctant defeat.

“Whatever,” he said. Judging by the way he tensed immediately after the confession, he was expecting you to say something cruel, but you only boosted yourself out of the water and tapped him on the shoulder.

“I can help you, if you’d like,” you said. “I’m good at swimming.”

“Why would I want your help? And why would you even offer it in the first place? This is just one more subject you can beat me in, and that’s all you care about, so save it,” he said. “Congratulations, Y/N. You get to be number one this time.”

He looped a dry towel around his neck and left you standing alone, shivering and dripping pool water, a puddle forming around your feet as you gazed at the door he had vanished through.

The class rankings updated again after the swimming unit was over. You were in first place. Karasu didn’t even make it to the top ten. You wanted to celebrate the victory — it was the first time you had beaten him so thoroughly, after all — but for some reason, it didn’t really feel like something worth celebrating.

FOUR: STONE IT

School without Karasu was lonelier than you thought it would be. You hadn’t realized just how much you relied on him until he wasn’t there anymore. Without him, there wasn’t anyone you could exchange looks with across the room when somebody said something ridiculous in class. There wasn’t anyone who you could talk to in the minutes before the period began. There wasn’t anyone who made you push yourself to be better. What was the point of being first if Karasu wasn’t on your heels, ensuring that you stayed on the top for fear of losing to him? It was boring and lonely to try if he wasn’t doing the same.

You and he were still one and two, but it didn’t matter much anymore. The rankings were just numbers. They didn’t mean anything when Karasu still refused to even exchange pleasantries with you. Why would you want to compete when the other party didn’t share your interest? Now, if you managed to pull out ahead of him, it felt more like you had kicked a dog that was already down than if you had actually won anything. When he got first over you, it didn’t fuel your ambition any. You just wished he would come over and gloat instead of sitting there so solemnly, like none of it had ever mattered to him in the first place.

You couldn’t understand why he was so angry. What had you said that was so egregious? You hardly remembered the conversation you had had with him, it was that thoughtlessly done. You really hadn’t meant much if anything by it. One second, the two of you had been squabbling as you were prone to doing, and the next, he was so furious that he couldn’t bear to interact with you even still.

The day you were ambushed was nondescript. It was just like any other Wednesday, and you were walking back home from school when you were forced to stop in your tracks. A tall man — no, he was a boy, probably a year or two younger than you based on his soft and innocent expression — was barring your way, his arms outstretched and feet planted firmly in the ground to prove the depth of his conviction. He had pale hair and sky-colored eyes framed by the longest eyelashes you had ever seen on anyone, man or woman, with a small mouth pinched into an expression of discontent and lines like tire tracks between his eyebrows.

“Who are you?” you said warily, reaching for your phone, though you hardly knew who you would call. The setting was wrong for this to be a mugging, as it was sunny out and you were on a well-traveled street, but you didn’t really know what else to expect from the stranger, who could certainly outmuscle you if it came to it despite his lovely appearance.

“Yo Hiori,” he said. “I play on Bambi Osaka with Karasu. You’re Y/N L/N, correct?”

“Oh, one of the soccer guys?” you said. “Uh, hey. Yes, that’s me. Is something the matter? I’ve never seen you before. How do you even know who I am?”

“I’ve been watching Karasu for a while,” Hiori said with the utmost of seriousness, his hands dropping to his sides now that he was sure you weren’t going to run past him. “He’s a pretty fascinating person.”

“I’m sure,” you said, thinking to yourself that this Hiori kid was more than a little weird. Did Karasu know that he had acquired such a shadow? You supposed he must’ve. He had always been the observant type, so there was no way someone like Hiori would’ve escaped his keen notice.

“He’s been kind of down in the dumps recently, though. Even our coach noticed it. His playing hasn’t suffered too dramatically, but he’s the captain of the team, so he’s the guy everyone relies on for a funny pep talk or a word of advice when things are going south. Nowadays, however, when he’s off the field, he just sulks,” Hiori explained.

“I see,” you said. “That’s terrible.”

You meant it, too. Karasu without his asshole quips and ready jokes was a different person entirely. A person who you missed more than you could let on, even to yourself.

“It is,” Hiori said. “I took it upon myself to do some digging, and I’ve come to the conclusion that the reason is you.”

He was definitely a freak. You vowed to bring it up with Karasu, if he ever talked to you again. Even if he was already aware, it felt like a moral or civic duty of yours to ensure that he was fully informed about the extent that this child was inquiring into his life.

“What kind of, uh, digging do you mean?” you said, neatly avoiding the second thing he had said.

“It was pretty simple,” Hiori said. “One of the guys asked Karasu if he was acting off because he broke up with his girlfriend or something, and he got so mad that he left practice early. I opened up social media as soon as I got home and saw that you’re the only girl he follows, so by process of elimination, I figured the two of you were having some trouble in your relationship.”

“Relationship? I think you’re misunderstanding,” you said. “There’s no relationship. You could hardly even consider us friends.”

“Oh!” Hiori said. “I’m sorry. He’s mentioned you once or twice, so I just thought — and given what he said — and his reaction and all — no, I really am just sorry. It was wrong of me to make that assumption in the first place.”

“It’s alright,” you said. “I’m told it’s a relatively common misconception, so I can’t blame you. At least, it used to be. We haven’t really spoken in a while, so I guess everything thinks that it’s over, even though it never began in the first place.”

“You haven’t spoken in a while?” Hiori said. “Why not?”

“I think I said something that offended him, and we haven’t been on good terms since. Not that we ever really were in the first place,” you said.

“You did? He’s a pretty rational person, so it must’ve been something terrible for him to still be angry about it,” Hiori said.

“Maybe, but I don’t remember saying anything like that,” you said.

“What if you tell me how your last conversation went? Maybe I can help you,” he said.

“Sure, since you’re apparently the resident Karasu expert,” you said. “Wanna walk with me? I was heading home, but we can go to the convenience store and get some snacks or something instead. I don’t want to get in trouble for standing around in front of some random person’s house for too long.”

“Sounds good,” Hiori said. “There’s one a couple of minutes away, so we can head in that direction and keep talking as we go.”

“Great,” you said. “Okay, so the last time we talked…I think it was when Kenyu Yukimiya requested to follow me.”

“Who’s that?” Hiori said.

“He’s this model I met while I was shopping one day. Absolutely breathtaking,” you said. “Just really a stand-up guy. We’ve hung out a few times since then, he introduced me to the girlfriend I did not know he had, the works.“

“Yikes, unrequited love?” Hiori said with a wince.

“It was more of a celebrity crush. His girlfriend is super sweet, though, so I can’t complain. Anyways, I would consider them both casual acquaintances. The type you call to have a coffee with, but not the ones that help you move into a new apartment, you know?” you said.

“Uh, sure,” Hiori said in a tone which suggested he had no idea what you were talking about but was too scared to inquire further.

“Moving on, Yukimiya requested to follow me, and of course this was at the peak of my celebrity crush, so I started fawning over him, which prompted Karasu to take my phone and start insulting him,” you said.

“Interesting,” Hiori said.

“Then I called him ugly, and he called me ugly — that’s pretty standard for the two of us, so don’t look so shocked! After that, I said something about how I had expected him to be jealous of Yukimiya, since he didn’t have much going for him overall, so it made sense,” you said. “That’s when he left and things got weird.”

“Okay, I think I get it,” Hiori said. You waited for him to explain further. He smiled at you pleasantly.

“Right, so are you going to share with the class or am I meant to read your mind?” you said after a moment.

“I don’t want to give anything away that I shouldn’t,” he said. “But it’s a pretty simple issue to fix. Try thinking about what you said from his perspective.”

“He has a dumbass perspective. It’s impossible for me to think that way,” you said automatically.

“Do you think that he dislikes you?” Hiori said, taking two bottles of Yakult down from the shelf, handing one to you and keeping the other for himself.

“I’m not really sure how he feels about me, to tell you the truth,” you said.

“I don’t think he does,” Hiori said. “So, try thinking about someone you like and then imagine them saying to you what you said to them. Would you be inclined to be nice to them after that?”

“Well…” Your tongue was heavy and leaden in your mouth, and you ducked your head as you searched through your wallet for money. “No, not at all. I’d probably hate them for a really long time. Maybe forever.”

“That’s possible,” he said.

“Do you think he’ll hate me forever?” you said.

“Most likely not. Like I said earlier, he’s a rational person. I think that if you say sorry and sincerely mean it, he’ll forgive you. There’s a chance he won’t, though; you’ll have to listen to what he says and accept it,” Hiori said.

“But when? I hardly have the chance to see him in school. He just avoids me, and the building’s so big that it’s all but impossible to track him down!” you said.

“We have a soccer game in the evening today,” Hiori said. “I’m heading over there in a bit. Wanna come? You can talk to him once it’s over.”

“Am I allowed to?” you said.

“Why wouldn’t you be?” Hiori said. “If anyone says anything, just tell them I invited you. Here, I’ll give you the address and time now, and you can decide if you want to show up.”

“Okay,” you said, typing out his instructions in your notes app. “Thanks a lot for your help, Hiori.”

“Anytime!” he said. “Hope to see you at the game!”

“Even if I don’t go, I’d still like to meet you again. You’re a pretty cool kid,” you said, reaching up to ruffle his hair. “Kind of weird, if I’m being fully honest, but cool nonetheless. Karasu’s lucky to have a teammate like you.”

He grinned, and it was a tender, shy thing, as if he was earnestly seeking your praise or approval — like how a cat would bring a dead rat to its master or a child would show their parents a treasured drawing. “Thank you. Even if you don’t try to talk to Karasu…maybe you can still come anyways?”

“Alright, then,” you said. “Since you asked so nicely, I guess I have to. I’ll be there.”

FIVE: TAME IT

The sun was nearing the horizon, but it still had not officially begun to set by the time you settled in the bleachers on Bambi Osaka’s side. Besides a couple of women your mother’s age and an elderly man who must’ve been someone’s grandfather, there weren’t any other spectators. Hiori had mentioned that this wasn’t a particularly serious game, as they didn’t even need to beat the team to make it to Nationals, so it was more like a friendly exhibition game than anything — hence the low turnout.

“Hello, dear,” a woman said when she noticed you sitting by yourself. “Are you friends with one of the players?”

“Yes. Um, Tabito Karasu? I’m his classmate,” you said. Technically, you were there on Hiori’s goodwill, not Karasu’s, but for you to not mention Karasu would be like a betrayal. You weren’t sure if it was him or yourself that you’d be betraying, but either way you did not want to chance it.

“You’re one of Karasu’s friends? Lucky you, then,” she said. “He’s a delightful boy, or so I’ve heard. This is my son’s first year on the team, and he was really nervous to join such a prestigious organization, but ever since his first day, all he can talk about is how amazing his captain is. Karasu’s tough on all of the players, but he really works hard to make all of them feel welcomed, too.”

Bambi Osaka’s team took the field, and you smiled when you saw Karasu in the front, his name across the back of his jersey, a pair of black gloves covering his large hands, an insolent leer on his face as he greeted the other team’s captain. He had not noticed you yet, and you were not sure if this was for the better or worse, because you wanted him to see you, but you didn’t want him to be distracted and play poorly as a result.

“He’s a wonderful person,” you agreed. “He’s the only one in the entire school who can keep up with me, academically or otherwise. I didn’t realize until recently how much I admire him for that.”

The woman’s eyes crinkled around the corners with the ease that came from a lifetime of happiness. For some reason, you thought that she knew something you did not, or could not, but it wasn’t uncomfortable that she did. It seemed to you that being left in the dark was just your lot this time around, and you found that oddly enough, it felt acceptable.

“Is this your first time coming to watch him?” she said.

“Yes, it is,” you said.

“You know, he has this habit before every match of scanning the stands, like he’s looking for someone. I thought it might be his parents, but at the last match, just about his entire family showed up, and he still seemed disappointed,” she said.

“That’s a shame,” you said noncommittally, not sure what else you should say. The woman shrugged.

“Well, I wonder what it’ll be like today,” she said. “There he goes.”

True to her words, Karasu was craning his neck towards the Bambi Osaka side, his eyes darting from person to person until they settled on you. You raised your hand hesitantly, waving at him, knowing that he probably wouldn’t reciprocate.

He turned away almost immediately, but not before you saw him fight back a smile — not the smug type he generally donned, but one you had only ever seen on him once or twice. It was one that made him seem charming and boyish and sweet, that made you want to take back every negative word you had ever said about him. Only now could you understand that it showed who he really was, that at his heart Karasu was that kind of person, not anything like the facade you were so accustomed to, which he showed you for the sole reason that it was what you unconsciously demanded of him.

You had judged him to be horrible, and so he became the bane of your existence. You had told him he was good for nothing, so he disappeared like he really was just that. Everything you said, Karasu went along with gamely, and you wished you could’ve known that earlier, so you would’ve spent less time hating him and more time comprehending these intricacies, which entranced you in the way a spider’s web entranced a butterfly.

“Looks like I don’t need to worry about that child any more,” the woman said as the referee blew the whistle to signal the start of the game.

“Pardon?” you said. “Were you talking to me?”

“No, no,” she said, shaking her head. “I was just musing to myself. Ignore me. Let’s watch the game; I have a feeling that some of our players are going to go all out today.”

Bambi Osaka completely annihilated the other team. Maybe the match didn’t matter, but none of them played that way; instead, they were aggressive and focused, with Karasu at the forefront of every goal they made, commending his teammates and deriding his opposition in the same breath.

That was something you had not expected — he had a massively foul mouth when he played soccer. You had thought that he was rude when he spoke to you, but the things you overheard from him whenever he ran by within earshot made your conversations seem tame. You couldn’t help but pity the poor defenders that he shoved past and spat barbed-wire abuse at.

He was merciless and beautiful and you could probably spend a dozen more hours watching him play without even a trace of boredom, but by the time the sky had turned gold and the sun had dipped towards the ground, the game was over and the members of Bambi Osaka were packing up their things to leave for the night after yet another landslide win.

You snuck onto the field once you were extremely assured that nobody would be upset with you for it, making your way over to where Karasu was chugging a bottle of water.

“Hi,” you said when he was finished, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and tossing the now-empty bottle into his bag. “You played really well.”

“Thanks,” he said. There was impatience but also longing in his voice, like he wanted you to say something so badly but he knew you would not, would never, and so he would rather get the conversation over with and move on with the business of his life than stick around and waste time with you.

“I’m sorry,” you said.

“What?” he said.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “Karasu, I’m really sorry. I don’t think that you have nothing going for you. I don’t know why I said that. Well, I do, it’s because I wanted to have the last word like I always do, but I don’t mind if I don’t have it this time. Or any other time. Or ever again.”

“What?” he repeated, as though he had been rendered dumb by your confession.

“I miss you,” you admitted. “I didn’t believe I could, but apparently, I can, and I do. A lot. I know that I’m unpleasant and disparaging and haughty when it comes to you, but I won’t be that way anymore if you forgive me for my vices one last time. If it means you’ll talk to me, I’ll be a fool. I’ll be in second place. I’ll be an idiot. But please, please forgive me.”

He took a deep breath. You handed him the bottle of kombucha that you had bought on your way to the game because you saw him drink it so frequently that you figured he must like it. He accepted it gingerly, holding it with the delicacy of a newborn, unscrewing the lid and sipping on it pensively.

“Alright,” he said.

“Alright?” you said.

“I’ll forgive you,” he said. “But on one condition.”

“Anything,” you said.

“You better not do anything as dumb as trying to be mediocre on purpose because you think it’ll make me feel better. What the hell is that proposition, huh? It’ll make me feel worse if anything! I like you because you’re unpleasant and disparaging and haughty and whatever else you said, not in spite of those qualities. I’m sure you heard me while I was playing…anyone who isn’t you would probably be terrified of me when I’m like that,” he said. “Just, y’know, I’m a person with feelings, too, so keep that in mind if you can. Oh, and don’t wait so long to say sorry next time, because it’s seriously annoying for me to feel all out-of-sorts for ages!” he said.

“That’s it?” you said.

“That’s it,” he said. “Hug?”

Ordinarily, you would’ve said no, but you were so weepy at the reconciliation that you nodded and let him embrace you, his arms caging you against his chest, holding you to him so that you could not escape.

“Ew!” you shouted when you registered what he was trying to do, shoving him off of you as he cackled and released you without much of a fight. “Gross, Karasu, you’re disgusting! Get away from me! I can’t believe you did that!”

“I can’t believe you fell for it!” he said as you frantically tried to wipe yourself off, though it was largely in vain. In your emotional state, you had forgotten that he was still drenched with sweat from the game, and you were now reaping the consequences of your poor decision making.

“You’re a bad person,” you said.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “Whatever you say.”

“I probably deserved that one, though, so I won’t hold it against you,” you said.

“Smart decision,” he said. “Wait. Unrelated, but whatever ended up happening between you and that model dude? What was his name again?”

“Yukimiya? He has a girlfriend,” you said. “Oh, well. What can you do, right? I’m not upset about it. Besides, everyone and their mother thinks I have a boyfriend already, so it’s probably for the best that it worked out like this. I wouldn’t want his modeling career to be ruined by home-wrecking allegations or anything.”

“It must be a pretty serious not-relationship you’ve got there, if it’s the career-ending type,” he said.

“I’d say it’s pretty serious, yes,” you said. “He’s an awesome guy. You’d like him.”

“I’ll respect it, then,” he said. “But…if you ever find yourself not-breaking up with him, then, uh, let me know. I’ll take you on a date somewhere. We can argue and reminisce about the day we met over dinner or something. It’ll be super romantic.”

He said it casually, but you were more familiar with him than either of you ever could’ve predicted you’d be. He was secretly nervous about how big of a risk he had taken, fiddling with the zipper of his soccer bag, avoiding your eyes while he waited for your response. You let the silence stretch on for a minute, just to make him squirm, and then you poked him in the ribs.

“Karasu,” you said.

“What’s up?” he said, and he must’ve been trying very hard to keep his cool, but his anxiety transmitted through the endearing crack of his voice.

“I have to tell you something,” you said.

“Go ahead,” he said.

“I’m not-single now,” you said. “So. Will you take me on a date this weekend?”

He lit up, so bright that you were all but blinded by the brilliance of his joy. Then he cleared his throat and pretended to check the non-existent watch on his wrist.

“You’re in luck,” he said. “That works for me. I’ll pick you up on Saturday for dinner.”

“Great,” you said. “I look forward to it.”

“Hold on, don’t go just yet,” he said. You paused, about to ask him what else he needed when he stooped over and pressed his lips to your cheek. “Thanks for coming to my game. I’m not really sure how you knew I was playing, but I’m glad you could make it either way.”

“Um — uh — Hiori told me, he told me you were playing, and, er, where to go and what time and all,” you stammered, trying to wrap your head around what had just happened, replaying it in your mind over and over.

“Hiori? I should’ve known he’d be the type to meddle like that,” he said. “I’m not even going to ask how you know each other. The answer will probably make me feel vaguely discomfited, so I’ll abide by an ‘ignorance is bliss’ policy.”

“That’s probably for the best,” you said, composing yourself, though internally, you were imagining what it would be like if you had turned your head, if instead of your cheek his lips had landed somewhere else. “Okay, I should go now. See you on Saturday?”

“One last thing. You’re pretty transparent, you know,” he said, grasping your chin in his left hand and leaning in. Your eyelashes fluttered shut as he grew closer and closer, but right when his mouth was a hair’s breadth from yourself, he chuckled. “Also, pretty gullible.”

Instead of kissing you like you had anticipated he would, he tackled you in another hug. You squealed in protest, but he held fast, his body rumbling with laughter as you simultaneously struggled to escape and clung onto him as tightly as you could.

“I hate you,” you said when your half-hearted efforts proved to be entirely futile.

“Sure you do,” he said.

“You’re the worst,” you said.

“Absolutely,” he said.

“I’m being serious here. You smell!” you said.

“Well, that’s plain rude of you to say,” he said, messing up your hair in what you were sure he deemed to be a punishment, as if being crushed against his sweaty form wasn’t punishment enough.

“Let go of me, you idiot crow!” you said.

“No can do,” he said. “Crows are clingy birds, you know. Even the idiotic ones. Ask me again in twenty years and maybe we can revisit the issue.”

“Karasu!”

[lis-likes-fics]

w1sh u were here

Pairings: Hobie Brown x Reader Word Count: 809 words Kink: Sexting Warnings: NSFW, sexting, sending nudes, technically pornography?, swearing, dirty texting... A/N: I lied, I am posting today bc I managed to pull something out of my ass. I hope you enjoyed this short fic bc the hardest thing about this was making all of Hobie's texts. I am a firm believer in Hobie being a terrible texter bc he doesn't commit to one style, and I hate him for it. Enjoy this fluffy smut. <3

hobes: I can’t stop thinking about you, luv.

you: oh yeah? what are you thinking about?

hobes: jus wonderin wut ur wearin 😘

you: your hoodie

hobes: and?

you: nothing.

You sent an image.

hobes: fuck… hobes: You look fuckin amazing in my clothes babe

you: thx bby

hobes: you’d look even better without em tho. Just sayin

you: you tryna get me to send nudes, perv?

hobes: Maybe…😉 hobie: w1sh u were here rn

you: me too

you: what would you do if i was?

hobes: i’d kiss you. a lot. i’d never stop kissing you luv hobes: And, after that, I’d play with your nipples and listen to you start to moan. I’d be so hard for you, sweetheart…

you: yeah?

hobes: yea. id suck on ur tits and feel how wet u were for me.

you: how would you touch me?

hobes: Id put my fingers in your tight pussy, feel you up nice and good, rub at your little clit. hobes: You’d be fucking soaking, I know it. I’d eat you up, darling. hobes: tell me wut u want me to do to u luv

you: everything you said. want you to kiss me, want you to touch me, want your tongue on my tits and your fingers in me.

hobes: want me to eat you up?

you: yes

hobes: I’d make you feel so good. You’d be moaning so loud for me.

you: i wanna ride your face, hobie

hobes: i want you to ride my face

you: guess what?

hobes: wut?

you: i’m touching myself.

hobes: fuck. for me?

you: all for you.

You sent a video. “Fuck, Hobie. Wish you were here…”

hobes: chr1st u sound so pretty when u rub ur cl1t l1ke that

hobes sent a video. “I need your pretty little pussy over here, sweetheart. See what you do to me?”

you: fuck, you’re so hard you: you know what i wanna do?

hobes: Tell me.

you: wanna get on my knees and suck you off.

hobes: yeah?

you: yeah. i wanna feel your hands in my hair when i suck your cock. want you to call me your good girl.

hobes: u r my good girl, babes. ur my best fukn girl.

you: fuck, i’m so wet for you, hobie. wish you were here to touch me. my fingers don’t work as well as yours do…

hobes: Can’t get em far enough? You need my fingers to stretch you out nice and wide?

you: yeah. you: want you to pin me to a wall and fuck me

hobes: fuck youd love that wouldnt you? hobes: I’d pin your hands above your head and kiss you, turn you around and hold onto your beautiful fucking hips. You’d be squirming when I put my cock in you. hobes: Youd be beggin me to fuck you darling and youd be moanin like fuckin crazy for me, Id hold your tits and keep you still while I fucked you from behind and you would scream when you came on my cock. Id just keep fuckin you too hobes: still with me luv?

you: hard to type with one hand

hobes: gonna fucken take you to bed and put your legs on my shoulders. fold you in half while i fucked you babes. you’d be all messy for me.

you: i’m messy for you right now

You sent an image. “Mmm. Ah, I need you, baby. Fuck, m-yeah…”

you: this pussy’s missing you, baby

hobes: this dick’s missing you hobes: I’m gonna cum, sweetheart.

you: me too you: hobie i’m so close.

hobes: will you send me another pic baby?

You sent a video. “Hobie! Hobie, I’m cumming!  Fuck, I miss you so much. Ahhh, fuck!”

hobes sent a video. “Fuck. Mm-mmh, fuck. Yeah. Oh, fuck, yeah! Oh, sweetheart.” hobes sent an image.

you: fuck, hobie

hobes sent a voice message. “I love you, sweetheart. Wish you were here so I could show you how much. You make me so happy and you get me so hard, and I can’t wait to see you soon so I can kiss that pretty face you’ve got. Love you so much, darling.”

You sent a voice message. “I love you, too, baby. I can’t wait to see you either because, when I do, I’m kissing you so hard, you’ll pass out.” You sent a voice message. “Get some sleep… I know you have to  go to 928 tomorrow, and you’ll come see me after. I’ll be waiting for me. I love you.”

hobes: i luv u 2 bby

you: your typing is atrocious.

hobes: Thank you.

you: goodnight, bayb

hobes: “bayb”

you: shut the fuck up.

hobes: make me 😍

you: you make me sick.

hobes: I love you, too. Night.

you: night. go to sleep now.

hobes: no <3

You changed “hobes” to “hobo”.

hobo: :(

Tag yourself here...

[number1jeonginstan]

can you write a con-noncon fic where they have 2 safe words (fake, real) and reader says the fake safe word but they ignore it and continue. only if u’re comfortable w it tho!!! it’s totally fine if you don’t want to :) (w jeongin/seungmin)

p.s love ur work <3

pairing: Seungmin x afab!reader and Jeongin x afab!reader

warnings: swearing, kissing, smut, dub-con but not actually because I clear everything up in the end. If you aren't comfortable, that's totally fine! Please don't read it if you are!!! Also, please don't do this in real life without a trusted partner, like seriously

word count: 1k

18+ Minors DNI

A/N: I hope you like this because I did kinda a twist on what you asked! Please send me feedback if you like it or want a part two or something &lt;333

smut warnings: unprotected sex, cumming inside, "Forced sex" (not actually...), "Cheating" (again, not actually)  

Your clothed breasts were pressed against the counter as the man behind pounded into you. Your panties and shorts were pulled down to your thighs, and all your attempts at screaming were proved to be futile seeing as the man fucking into you shoved it filled with his fingers. 

“Can’t believe you took my cock with no prep, it was like you were begging for it” 

“Don’t you just need a big cock to stuff you fill?” he asked, not stopping his pace. You tried to scream a no, but your mouth was still muffled. You rapidly shook your head from side to side. 

“I knew you were a whore, prodding around our dorm wearing nothing but Seungmin’s shirt and shorts” He slowly took his fingers out of you, allowing you to speak. 

“I’m not a whore” you whined “You can’t do this, you are Minnie’s friend” You began to start crying. The tears slowly ran down your face as his pace didn’t stop. 

“Yes you can, now take my cock like the little slut your “Minnie” said you were.”

You hated the way his cock felt in you. It was hitting all the spots that made you clamp yourself on his cock, squeezing him harder even though it wasn’t what you were trying to do. “Fuck babe, such a good whore, squeezing my cock so well” 

“Please, please stop he’s going to be home soon” you pleaded while breaking out in a full sob. 

“If you wanted me to stop, you wouldn’t feel so good around me” he moaned pulling his cock out of you. You thought it was over, but you were wrong. He flipped you around so your back was fully pressed against the marble counter. 

He rubbed his cock in between your folds, lubing it up. “Fuck babe, for someone who is complaining, your pussy sure is wet”

He pounded into you again, this time it was faster, a hand reaching down to rub your clit causing a small moan to escape your lips. “God, look at you, complaining about my cock, but still moaning around it. Can’t wait to cum inside of you” he groaned, not slowing down his pace.

The only sound you could register was the sound of skin slapping and how wet you were. You felt ashamed, your cheek pressed against the countertop, the bottom of Seungmin’s shirt slowly riding up on you. 

You were so out of it, that you didn’t notice or hear the door open or the way Seungmin was looking at the both of you, watching your fucked out face. 

“Don’t stop on my account” he called out, causing the both of you to turn your heads. 

“Caramel” you screamed, causing them both to look at you, but Jeongin didn’t stop. He started to thrust into you while picking you from the counter slowly. “Come on Min, don’t you want to fuck your girlfriend?” 

Seungmin just followed the two of you to the couch. “Please Minnie, I begged him to stop, I didn’t want this, promise” you whined, causing him to slap you. 

“If you didn’t want it, why were you so close to cumming. Don’t give me that bullshit again.” 

“Min, I don’t know, please” you whined as Jeongin started thrusting his cock back into you. “Just be a good girl and take his cum for me, you can do that for me, can’t you baby?” you simply nodded, feeling your high close by as Seungmin began to rub your clit. 

Jeongin’s thrust were hard and fast, hitting the spongey part inside of you as he shifted you in his lap. It took him only a few more thrusts for you to cum around him. He followed behind, painting your tight walls with his hot cum, causing the both of you to whine. 

You fell back into his chest, hugging him, tired from what just happened. 

“Baby, who said we were done” Seungmin stared at you, your eyes watering as you looked up at him. “You can’t leave me all by myself” he pulled your hand to feel the bulge in his pants, causing the both of you to moan. 

“Wow Minnie, she’s such a whore. She just came on my cock and I can feel her pussy throbbing around it feeling your cock.” 

“Yeah, she is such a whore for me, just the way I like it” he laughed, kissing your lips. 

He slowly pulled you off of Jeongin’s cock, the both of them watching as his cum slowly dripped out of your cunt and onto your thighs. You were in for a long night. 

—

“So you want us to what?” Seungmin asked while you lay in between your boyfriends. Your head was splayed on top of Jeongin, while he was eating a shrimp burger. The three of you were watching a movie. 

“I just wanna pretend that I’m cheating on you, but Innie is forcing me” you whined, feeling embarrassed by your thoughts. 

“We can do that,” Jeongin said, feeding you a bite of his burger while Seungmin stole a fry. 

“Yeah baby, don’t feel ashamed, you put up with us, the most we can do is something that you want to try. If you don’t like it we can make a safeword” Seungmin said, patting your head as you looked at him. 

“That was the second part, I wanna pretend that I used my safeword, so can we make two?” you asked, batting your eyelash. 

“Of course, anything for our baby” Innie replied, kissing your lips. 

[p-taryn-dactyl]

dudeeee ik ur reqs are open so why not give this a shot and see what u think abt it! since the new agatha trailer came out I CANNOT STOP THINKING ABT HERRRJDID!! so this is abt her! (plus love ur agatha content!! ive read all of em ALL OF EM)

so.. what abt a AU where agatha is the reader's manager and the reader is a famous actor? this could lead to a dark fic or just a wholesome light one! whichever u prefer ill leave it up to u!

~p.s i hope ur feeling better!! have a nice day and feel free to ignore this if u want to^^

a/n: first off, i love ur energy so much omg, and also SAME! the trailer goes through my mind 24/7 and i’m not mad about it! ooooo i love this idea!! definitely have to take creative liberties bc i’ve sadly never been famous😔 word count: 2.6k warning(s): fun fact: i am making all of these things up, if you're secretly an actor keep everything i did wrong in this fic to yourself - slight jealous!Agatha - friends to coworkers to lovers - agatha definitely knows how to communicate - all movies and characters mentioned in this are worlds/stories i have written- kinda rushed ending but then again i feel like everything is rushed - i really hope you like this! thank you so much for the ask and i am feeling a bit better 🫶🏻 - i really can't write kissing my apologies

i was the saint, you used to adore me

You remember when you first hired Agatha.

You were just beginning to dip your toes into the pool of acting, cautiously testing the waters by sending out your less than perfect resume to anyone who would accept. Agatha was the first, and only, acting manager to respond. She too was new to her field, so far only representing people who specialized in car commercials and medicine ads. She wanted a change of pace and your lack luster resume spoke to her. Some part of you still wanders why she picked to represent you, even though in the end everything worked out incredibly well, you wanted to know why she wanted to work with you.

Because now it seemed like she wanted nothing to do with you.

At the beginning, it was like the two of you couldn't be seperated. Outside of work hours, many movie nights happened, sometimes an excuse for Agatha to show you her favorite directing and acting techniques, sometimes an excuse for you to binge watch Sandra Bullock's entire cinematography. You would fill her inbox with emails of dream roles, she would fill yours with links to acting classes if the number of emails in her inbox from you exceeded 1,000.

She was your best friend.

You missed her.

If you had to pinpoint the time when she started drifting away, it was right after you landed your breakout role of Aerin Fey in the movie Pillars, which became a boxoffice hit, making nearly three times the production cost in theaters. Soon, your portrayal of the multiversal anti hero was on billboards, had sequels and contracts signed, had custom dolls on toy store shelves. It was everything you wanted, seeing little girls inspired by you as you either walked down a red carpet or passed them in the grocery store. You loved signing autographs in the signature Agatha and you spent nights perfecting. You loved taking pictures with fans, almost equally as excited as they were, after all your dream was coming true.

All you wanted was to share these moments with your closest friend but soon Agatha started only filling the manager role in your life. No longer did she appear at your door bearing tubs of ice cream to celebrate a role you had been offered, no longer did she let you cry when you lost a role you had been desperate for. Your texts and emails became dry, only notifying you of roles she had sent your portfolio in for or sending you calender invites for interviews and late night show appearances.

All this was swirling in your head as you scrolled through your old texts with Agatha, your eyes becoming watery as you went further into the messages. You sat in your living room on your large couch, a purchase Agatha practically had to force you to confirm. You still didn't understand why you needed such a large couch or house for that matter, as you were the only one living in the space. It was damn comfortable though. You let yourself sink into the cushions, your mind running wild with theories as to why Agatha suddenly cut your friendship off. Sure, you two would keep a professional appearance when seen together on the carpet but you were absolutely certain people noticed the tense atmosphere between you.

"Bitch if you don't answer this door right now I'm going to assume you're dead and call every TMZ reporter here!"

The voice of your co-star turned friend Wanda Maximoff interupted your self pity episode, making you realize that the pounding you had subconsciously been hearing wasn't a sad theme song your mind created for you. No, it was the furious knocking of the red head. You reluctantly got out of your comfy spot, slightly taking Wanda's threat seriously. You opened your door, revealing your friend holding a folder with Pillar's studio name printed on the side and a bottle of champagne. You nodded to the bottle.

"Where's the rest?"

Wanda laughed, nudging her way into your home, bumping your shoulder with hers.

"Oh so it's that kind of day."

Wanda took her place on your couch, setting the bottle on the coffee table and crossing her legs with the folder in her lap. She patted the spot next to her on your couch, a smile wide on her face.

"Now come on, we have to make sure we know the answers to questions and what not to answer!"

You groaned at the reminder of your TV appearance tomorrow. Which also meant enduring the new cold demeanor of your be-manager. Wanda seemed to read your face as you made your way to sit back on the couch. She patted your knee once you were sat, her face a mix of pity and a bit of anger for your sadness.

"Is Agatha still acting weird?"

You nodded while staying silent, not wanting to cry in front of one of your only real friends. Not yet at least.

"God that's so stupid honestly. The least she could do is tell you what's going on instead of acting like a fourth grader who's favorite swing is being used during recess. I know you love her Y/N, I'm sorry."

You both laughed and choked at Wanda's words.

She was right, you loved Agatha. You've loved her since the first time you met her and your feelings only grew and intensified as your partnership continued throughout the years.

But you'd never say it outloud. That would make it real. And if it was real, that meant the woman you loved hated you and you had no idea why.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Agatha was leaning against the wall of your dressing room, her eyes glued to her phone as she typed furiously. You watched her in the mirror as your hair stylist put the finishing touches on the style that was supposed to look effortless. Almost as if she could feel your stare, Agatha looked up from her phone to meet your eyes in the mirror. You felt heat rise up to your cheeks as your own eyes widened, standing up a little to quickly. Realizing once you were up that you didn't have a reason for such a reaction.

Wanda burst into the dressing room, her red dress sparkling in the light.

"They want us to walk on stage together, shall we?"

Wanda held out her elbow for you to hold on to, winking in an exaggerated way. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Agatha's intense glare at Wanda but decided that you weren't going to let your manager's weird behavior affect this interview. You hooked your arm through Wanda's, playing along.

"We shall!"

Agatha followed behind the two of you, her stare burning into the back of your neck as the two of you walked onto the stage, cuing the raging applause and cheers from the audience. Agatha stayed off-stage, watching with crossed arms and an expression that could take down the toughest of tough.

The lights were burning and bright as you and Wanda took a seat next to each other across from the interviewer. You immediately regretting your choice in seat as Agatha stood across from you in the wings, her stare like ice as it stuck to your skin. Taking a deep breath, you plastered on a wide smile as you were introduced. Purposefully ignoring Agatha, you focused on how the interviewer angeled her body towards Wanda, indictating who she would be asking a question to first.

"Ok, I got to say," Darcy Lewis, the host of this show, threw her hands in the air as if she was giving a confession, "I can't ask any questions about the movie until I get confirmation about something that's happened in your life recently, Wanda."

Wanda smirked, obviously understanding where Darcy was going, You, however, were confused, your eyes flickering between Darcy, Wanda, Agatha, and the audience, hating the feeling. Your smile stayed plastered on, not wanting to reveal your confusion. Wanda met your eyes and reached over to cover your hand with hers, her left hand on top almost purposefully. You looked down to see a beautiful ring with a braided band of gold set with a sparkling diamond of reasonable size.

"Oh my god!" You gasped out, grasping Wanda's hand and bringing it embarassingly close to your face. Wanda and Darcy laughed, the latter clapping as her vague question was answered in a hilarious way.

"I can't believe it's taken you this long to notice!" Wanda laughed out, tugging her hand back to marvel at her ring herself, "I've only been parading it around for a week!"

You flushed with embarassment, a real smile painting your lips as you covered your face with your hands. After the crowd calmed down, Wanda confirmed outloud what the ring symbolized.

"A little over a week ago, my long time partner, who I met on this set by the way, proposed to me in the park we had our first date. Oh, he was so nervous but I couldn't let him finish his speach I was so excited! Obviously I said yes."

You wanted to give your friend a giant hug but decided against climbing over the arms of the chairs, choosing to keep your dignity as you didn't want your dress to ride up too much.

Darcy continued with the interview, the air of the stage light and friendly as you and Wanda evaded questions and made jokes about being trapped in these roles until you're 90. You realized once the interview was almost over that you couldn't feel Agatha's stare on you anymore. Since you had been actively avoiding the spot she was standing in the whole time, you hadn't notice her slip away. A spark of anger lit in your chest as memories floated around your mind. What had you done that she deemed worthy enough to sever your relationship?

You were surprisingly thankful when the interview was over, everything becoming a blur as you made it back home. Wanda had a date with her fiance, Vision but told you that she wanted to get coffee the next morning. You already knew you would be needing that coffee, as you had a few pages of script to begin memorizing for a cameo scene you were doing for a spin-off show of Pillars.

You wanted to just curl up on your couch and binge watch old Disney movies but you forced yourself to walk in circles around your living room, script in hand as you acted out your scenes. A few hours in, you were getting frustrated. Your mind just wouldn't grasp the script, each line entering your mind quickly but leaving even quicker. You were about to learn how to use your fireplace just to burn the papers when your door shook with someone knocking. It was rapid, almost desperate and it sent a sense of urgency pooling in your gut. You practically ran to your door, afraid of what you would see on the other side. Did someone die? Oh god, hopefully Wanda and Vision didn't break up that would be awful-

The door swung open.

It was Agatha.

Her eyes were ablaze with an emotion you couldn't pin point, her hair was a mess but it only added to her beauty, and she was gripping her phone so hard in her hand that her knuckles were white.

You were frozen in the doorway, your eyes wide and your jaw slack. Agatha just stared back at you, her chest heaving as if she had ran all the way to your home. Blinking, you broke yourself from your trance, and against the voices in your head that sounded suspiciously like a specific redhead, stepped to the side to let Agatha in. She barged in, going to stand in front of the couch, arms crossed as she continued to stare at you. Wringing your hands, you decided you wanted to mend what was broken.

"I'm just practicing for the shoot in a week, would you help me? I can't seem to get-"

"Were you ever with Wanda?"

Her sudden question made you choke on your words and you were back to being frozen, the script falling dramatically from your hands. Agatha came to stand in front of you, her face inches from yours. Your tongue was heavy with shock and all you could do was shake your head in denial.

Why was Agatha asking this? Did she like Wanda? That would explain why she wouldn't be happy with you, as you had grown closer to the redhead throughout the years and Agatha didn't.

Something clicked in your mind, reversing your sinking stomach into nervous butterflies.

But if she liked Wanda, why would she be glaring at her? Unless, the person Agatha liked wasn't the now engaged redhead and was-

"Y/N, please, I need you to answer me."

Agatha voice contradicted her body language, her words broken and shaky, as if she was afraid of a potential answer. Her hands flexed in the postition of her crossed arms, as if she wanted to reach towards you. You took a deep breath, preparing your answer.

"Is this why you started avoiding me? Because you thought I was with Wanda? I've only ever been her friend, Agatha and we only grew as close as we are because you stopped talking to me! God, I thought you hated me!"

Agatha's eyes lost their iciness and filled with panic instead. Her hands shot out and grasped your arms.

"Hate? No, I love you! I though the giant annoucment at the interview would be that you were in a relationship with Wanda! I didn't want to ruin your relationship with her because of my feelings!."

You shrugged Agatha's hands off your arms and took a step back.

"So you ruined ours? All because you thought your feelings were unreciprocated?" Agatha's eyes lit up with hope at your words, "Wanda's been with Vision for years, all you had to do was open Google!" You had started to raise your voice towards the end, all your frustration being let out at once. Agatha shrugged sheepishly as she slowly stepped to once again be close to you.

"I didn't want to be right."

Agatha smiled nervously as she brushed a hair from your face.

"I didn't know what to do and I'm terribly sorry for how I acted. God, Y/N, it hurt seeing you with someone who wasn't me. I thought you just wanted to be friends. "

Her whispered apology melted away the ice that had been hardening your heart for protection and you reached up to cup her face in your hands. Agatha leaned into your touch, her eyes closing for a second before opening and almost blinding you with how much hope was shining towards you.

"I loved being your friend and it really hurt me when you took that away but," you smiled at Agatha, shifting to be even closer to your manager, "I would love to be even more."

Agatha smiled softly, her eyes saying everything her words couldn't. Her smile melted into a smirk as she leaned in, your hands falling from her face so your arms could wrap around her neck.

"I would really love to make up for lost time."

You barely had finished nodding before Agatha's lips crashed into yours, consuming you. Her hands now cradled your face as you kissed, her tongue battling with yours. She started walking, directing you towards the stairs, where the door to your bedroom taunted you with it being far. As the two of you stumbled up the stairs, laughter breaking the kiss, you felt Agatha tugging on your dress, the one you still hadn't changed out of. Soon, there was a trail of clothes leading to your bedroom and once you hit your bed, from the look in Agatha's eyes, you wouldn't be leaving it anytime soon.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

a/n: please tell me u liked this bc i loved writing it :) i love this AU idea and would love to expand on it in the future! i wanted this to be a one shot but the potential in this pairing could lead to a series 👀 thank you so much for reading!! hopefully my writing slump hasn't affected my writing too much but i'm going to keep practicing to get better!!

[jupwrld]

okay okay i literally can’t get this idea out my head BUT a reader who does a lil dance when they really enjoy their food! and carmen just loves cooking for them because he can always tell how good it is by their dancing.

does that makes sense AHHH IDK🥲🫶🏾

A/N: This is a safe space for people who dance when they enjoy their food (me). Hope you enjoy, and thank you for the request! And remember: comments and reblogs make the world go round! <3

warnings: literally none it's just cutie (but if ur vegetarian sorry bc reader is fuckin' up some bone broth soup)

Carmen Berzatto x gn!reader

"Baby, can you taste this?" Carmy calls to you who's sitting at your usual spot on the kitchen counter, and he's already getting you a spoonful of a new soup recipe he's been working on. He blows gently on it as he makes his way over to you skillfully-- years of having a partner taste your food will do that to a man.

"And if I say no?" Slips off your tongue with a grin, and your lovers eyes flash to yours for a moment before they roll, drawing a brief spell of laughter from the both of you. "What is it, Carmy?"

"Remember that beef bone broth I was making the other day? Wanted to try stracciatella with that, wanna know what you think." He says, finally bringing the now cooled spoon to your lips. The moment the soup hits your tongue, you can't help but smile and shut your eyes. While you swallow, Carmy watches you patiently, awaiting the moment of truth.

And he has just the answer he's looking for as he watches your eyes shut, and you do that little dance he adores when you love what you're eating. Your head bops and your hips sway gently on the counter for a moment, a moment of which he always feels is too short lived.

"S'good?" He asks as your eyes flutter open and the bopping of your head changes into a nod, and your hips do more of a bounce than a sway.

"So good." Carmy knows that, he could tell from the moment you did your little dance-- but it always makes him feel good to hear you say it aloud. "Please tell me you made enough for the week."

"More than enough, sweetheart." Carmen says with a gentle kiss to your lips that you can't help but smile against. And he can't help but do the same as your hips that he holds in his hands tenderly begin to sway against his palms.

I had so much fun writing this! I'm working on the other requests as well, but PLEASE feel free to send in asks! Though they’ll probably be a little slow coming because I’m back in school for the semester. But a drabble is easier to write than fics, so I can get through those much faster :)

[ilwonuu]

hi sorry can I request if you are comfortable

the8 with his s/o finding out she has never been eaten out even if had other relationship?

hii no need to apologize at all!!! OF COURSE i love this idea so much👏👏 thank you for ur request i hope this is good<3

loving you

↬ xu minghao

♡ pairing- nonidol!hao x fem!reader, softdom!minghao x sub!reader, established relationship

♡ warnings- oral sex (f receiving) first time, dirty talk, kissing, cum eating, clit play kinda now really, pet names (sweetheart,baby, hao), lmk if i missed something.

♡ a/n- hiiiii i missed you guys i know i haven’t been gone long at all??? but im off for the next couple of days so i will be getting to as many requests as possible <333

its currently the late hours of the night. you tossing and turning trying to sleep just like your boyfriend. he looks so cute laying next to you. his hair messy from his position. you sigh again trying to get comfortable once again.

minghao finally turns over to look at you. “trouble sleeping sweetheart?” you nod with a sigh. “i can’t get comfortable.” he nods pulling you into his arms.

“could i help at all?” he asks rubbing your hair back a little. “i don’t know how you could help hao- thank you though.” he nods before getting an idea about something.

“well- i heard that orgasms can help with that.” he says with a smile as he rubs your side. “you want to have sex to help me sleep?” you question with a slight laugh.

“well i could just eat you out. but yes-” he says with a shrug. “u-uh i’ve never- uh” your words all over the place. “you never what baby?” he looks at you curiously.

“um- i’ve never been eaten out..” you look away from him out of embarrassment. he looks at you blankly for a second. “never? like- never never?” he says pulling your face to look at him.

“what do you think never means hao?” you say with a laugh rolling your eyes slightly. “i’m just shocked. i thought you’ve been eaten out plenty of times. i’m happy i will be your first though- is that okay? do you want to?” he says.

“y-yes i want to.” you say looking at him more. “okay baby just relax i’ll do everything.” he kisses your lips before moving in between your legs. pulling down your bottoms with your panties.

“you’re so beautiful.” he breath sending shivers through your body. he pulls his shirt over his head. he kisses each of your thighs while looking up at you. you were nervous but you trusted minghao. you knew he would make you feel good. you were getting wetter looking at him.

his messy hair and his bare chest. he just looks so good. he spreads your legs a little wider while watching your face. you feel wet kisses up your inner thighs. the kisses are sloppy and slow.

“hao- please don’t tease n-need you.” you grab a handful of his hair. he kisses your thighs a couple more times, not breaking eye contact.

“eager already sweetheart?” he smirks kissing awfully close to your cunt. “h-hao pleas-“ he cuts you off licking a stripe up your slit. “o-oh hao- that feels so good.” he smirks as he kisses your clit.

“yea baby? do you want me to keep going?” he smiles when he sees you quickly nod your head. “p-please.” your voice cracks a little at the desperate tone.

he just nods diving back into your cunt. his tongue works in ways you didn’t even know could go. having you slightly squirm from the pleasure.

“stay still baby. let me make you cum for me.” he sucks on your clit causing you to grip his hair tighter. “h-hao oh my gosh- please don’t stop.” you mindlessly grind into his face. his tongue flicking at the sensitive bud.

“taste so fucking good.” he mumbles a little watching your face contort in more pleasure. you feels his tongue lick at your entrance before you feel it push into you a bit. your grip on his hair is rough. the tugging making his dick harder in his sweatpants than he already is.

you see him start to grind a little into the bed. his tongue is now sloppy with the licks. his face covered in your arousal and his spit as he eats you out like he hasn’t eaten today. you can hear the wetness of his tongue against you with your slick.

“h-hao- i’m close oh-fuck.” you moan as you feel his mouth speed up against you. making a even bigger mess out of you. your legs start to shake a bit as you feel his finger against your clit.

“f-fuck just like that- feels so good!” your eyes roll back as you push his head more into your cunt. his eyes haven’t left your face as he devours you until you are shaking with the intensity of your orgasm.

“f-fuck yea- cum for me.” he watches your cum drip out of you as he continues to rub your clit. “mm hao-“ you hips stop shaking as you calm down a little.

you feel your boyfriend’s tongue against your entrance licking up your cum sloppily. “could do that forever. you are so perfect for me. you okay?” he comes up to kiss you.

“y-yea im okay. that was so good hao. i didn’t know it would feel that- good.” you close your legs a little bit.

“i’m glad you enjoyed sweetheart. we can do that anytime you want to. try to sleep now baby. i’m gonna go change.” he says with a smile.

“change? why you’re in your pajamas already.” you were a little confused. “well- now these pjs are covered in my own cum- not very comfortable.” he admits with a shrug. he kisses your lips again before standing up.

“you’ve never came- like that before.” you were shocked. “yea- you were just so fucking beautiful all spread for me. shit i can’t think about it i will get hard again.” he laughs as he rolls off you to change.

“try to sleep baby.” he says as he watches you slide your panties back on and lay back. you close your eyes, mentally thanking minghao for the amazing sleep you got that night.

[aernx]

⌕ CUPID’S REFLECTION ✶ 종성

○ﾟ˖ synopsis ʚɞ your sole mission was to get your best friend with her long term crush, heeseung. well except that you had to face his guard dog of a best friend, jay (who is actually trying to do the same thing???) along the way.

or in which ˓ 𓏲ִ two enemies form an alliance to get their (awfully dense) best friends together. who knew that the two cupids might end up shooting their arrows at each other in the midst of it all.

LAST WARNING ❕are you sure you want to play cupid ? . . .

! ▹ SELECT PAIRINGS — matchmaker! jay x matchmaker! fmr

[ next ] ! SELECT GENRE : enemies to lovers, matchmaker au

FEATURING ˚.𓂅 karina aespa, taehyun txt, han skz, rest of enhypen, brief mentions of other idols WARNINGS ˚.𓂅 profanities/use if harsh language, jay and yn are blind and dumb, angst, denial, misunderstandings, ignore all the timestamps

─── [ ▹ ] ⟢ status. ᶻz ongoing ﹒૪ ﹒ 09/07/23 - tba

[ unselected ] ! NOTES ˖ ࣪⭑ this is a work of fiction purely made up for fun and giggles, the characters here do not reflect w the idol’s irl. hihi guys ur girl aerin is back!! hope you guys enjoy! don’t mind any grammar/spelling mistakes ! also please DO NOT spam like as it will cause me to get shadowbanned.

TAGLIST 📓 open ( send an ask/comment to be added )

ㅤㅤ‎‎PROFILES #1 ❪ milk b4 cereal ❫ . . . #2 ❪ clowneries ❫

chapters. -> loading data . . . playing cupid starts in 3..2..1

ㅤㅤ001. the delusions are getting into you

ㅤㅤ002. i’m sick of your delulus

ㅤㅤ003. damn you & your biceps hyun

ㅤㅤ004. you’ll be the bestman

ㅤㅤ005. i did NOT call her a hoe

ㅤㅤ006. overdressing? what’s that?

ㅤㅤ007. you can bring a friend 🫧

ㅤㅤ008. not a double date 🫧

ㅤㅤ009. almost as if we’re meant to be 🫧

ㅤㅤ010. anything the princess says

ㅤㅤ011. if you say so

ㅤㅤ012. y’all kissed or sum?

more tba . . .

© aernx 2023 / do not steal, copy, translate — hope you enjoy my works! let me know if you have any suggestions ! comment ur thoughts n reblogs n likes wld be appreciated !!

nets ! @hyfenet @enhanet @k-labels

[asunsetgrace16]

Hiiiii!!! Can I request literally anything written about Fraser Minten lol. I was thinking maybe she’s having a sleepover at his house for the first time and is a tad bit shy and nervous about them sharing his bed maybe with prompts 35 and 39 from your fluffy list???

Thank you so much!!!! I’m obsessed with ur writing

✧ 𝗦𝗔𝗧𝗨𝗥𝗗𝗔𝗬 𝗦𝗟𝗘𝗘𝗣𝗢𝗩𝗘𝗥 ⎥ 𝗙𝗠39

Pairing: Fraser Minten x fem!reader

Warnings: fluffyyyyy, one kiss (I think), one swear

Summary: Y/N stays over at Fraser's for the first time after their usual Hockey Night in Canada Saturday date

Notes: Thank you so much for the request! I love writing for Minty and there is a lack of Minty content on here. Hope you enjoyed!! Prompts 35: "That's my girl" and 39: "You're blushing" "No I'm not". I also made up the entire game except for the misconducts that were given in an actual Florida-Ottawa game last fall.

masterlist⎥ navigation

Word Count: 978

As per weekly Saturday tradition, Y/N and Fraser watch whatever hockey game is on TV. Both avid hockey fans and players, they both grew up watching Hockey Night in Canada, rooting for their teams with unabashed pride; Fraser for Vancouver and Y/N for Winnipeg. Occasionally, their hockey-watching dates are over FaceTime when Fraser is out of town for games and he often falls asleep, his phone dying overnight. 

Tonight, however, isn’t one of those nights. The Blades played a rare Saturday matinee game, ending just before four. This gave the couple time to make dinner before the start of the game. His billet family is away visiting relatives for the weekend, so it’s just the two of them. They settle in for the game with plates of spaghetti and salad. Ottawa is playing Florida tonight.

“This should be interesting.” Y/N comments, “nothing good ever happens when the Tkachuk brothers are on the ice together.”

“Very true. How many fights do you think will happen?” Fraser asks, half-Joking, half-serious.

“Oh, easily three or four.”

The game starts off fairly uneventful. No goals from either team and only a penalty or two. But you can tell the teams are chippy with each other. It's the start of the second when things finally amp up. It starts with a slash to the shins of Jakob Chychrun from Nick Cousins, sparking Brady Tkachuk to get involved. The refs are able to break it up before anything exciting happens. There is a pair of goals in the last 10 minutes of the first, so the teams are tied heading into intermission. The second follow is much of the same pattern; a goal for each team, a few minor penalties, and one scuffle. They had barely taken their gloves off before the refs broke it up, boring.

“ Boo.” Fraser says to the TV, “Let them fight, it’s more exciting that way.” 

Y/N laughs and rolls her eyes. But he's not wrong, “You just like to see Matthew stir shit up.” 

“You've got me there.” 

It's in the dying minutes of the third one Fraser gets his wish. A cheap shot from Carter Verhaeghe sends Parker Kelly into the boards awkwardly. He doesn't get up as both teams end up in the corner. Claude Giroux tries to pull Parker away from the fight. The rest of the guys grab each other and start fighting, well most of them anyway. Brady and Matthew are both in the mix. Helmets are off, gloves and sticks are scattered on the ice and the refs are circling. Parker got some help getting to the bench and is getting checked by a trainer. The fight goes on, eventually guys are in headlocks, jerseys are half off, and others are piled on the ice, still swinging punches. The refs break up the fight, sending the guys towards penalty boxes before dishing out the penalties. 

“Every player on the ice gets a 10-minute misconduct, except for the goalies and Ottawa number 27.”

Both Fraser and Y/N are staring, absolutely dumbfounded. Almost never do 10 players get game misconducts. 

“Well, there's the entertainment for the night.” Y/N quips.

The last few minutes pass quietly, the benches are looking very bare, five guys gone from one side and four from the other. Fraser has nodded off by the time the game ends, and Y/N isn't far behind. She turns off the TV and folds the blanket that she used. She sighs tiredly, looking around the dim room. Fraser’s half-asleep on the couch, all sleep-warm and face cast with shadows from the kitchen lights. Y/N moves about the room, gathering her bag and phone. She smiles softly, love in her eyes as she looks as Fraser. She wakes him gently, prompting him to go to bed.

“Just stay.” Fraser mumbles sleepily, yawning. 

“I…I don’t know.” Y/N hesitates, wanting to say yes.

“Please.” He interrupts, giving Y/N a soft, pleading look.

Y/N stays quiet for a minute, reaching out to brush a piece of hair off of his forehead, “Ok. I’ll stay.”

“That’s my girl.”

Y/N flushes, turning shy all of a sudden. She looks away, avoiding his gaze. They haven’t slept over at each other’s places yet, and it makes Y/N’s cheeks warm.

“Why’d you get shy?” He asks as they walk to his room.

“What? No I didn’t”

“Yes, you did. Look, you’re blushing.” He grins at her, poking her cheek.

“No I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. And it’s cute.”

Y/N gives him an exasperated look, she will never admit it but Fraser is right. It’s their first night sleeping over together so it takes an extra few minutes to get everything sorted. She is a little jittery, nervous to share Fraser’s bed with him. Her brain goes into overdrive as she tries to avoid making things weird. Fraser gives her a shirt to sleep in and he pulls on a pair of sweatpants. They stand on opposite sides of the bed, unsure of how to proceed. Sure, they have cuddled before, but usually that was on the couch or her cramped twin bed at school. Fraser climbs in, throwing back the covers and he holds his hand out for Y/N to grab. She takes it climbing into the other side. He pulled the covers over them, rearranging his pillow for optimal comfort. Y/N does the same, relaxing more as the minutes go by. Fraser reaches over and shuts off the lamp, sending the room into darkness. By the light of the moon, they face each other. Fraser pulls Y/N closer, giving her a sweet kiss on her forehead before tucking her into his chest. Before long, the couple has drifted off, wrapped up in each other’s arms like it's the most natural thing in the world.