#and yeah they kiss but Wonder kisses EVERYONE.

[yunjardi]

STRICTLY BUSINESS [18+]

[JAKE SIM DRABBLE]

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/pairing: boss!jake x fem!assistant/

/content warnings: smut [18+ mdni], semi-public sex, unprotected sex, oral [m receiving], dirty talk, spanking, making out/kissing, nail marks, pls lmk if i missed anything!!!/

/wc: 1,296

/author's note: i know i said this would be more of a drabble, but i got a little carried away lol. i'm super glad to be back after over a year <3 thank you to those who have been here and also those who are just stopping by :) ily <3

p.s. this is not proofread at all oops

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you found yourself wondering how you managed to get yourself into this position.

that said 'position' being on your knees between jake's legs as he sat back in his office chair.

you didn't think that this was something that actually happened in real life, fucking your boss that is. it seemed so unreal until a few short months ago when you were hired to be jake's personal assistant- something that would ultimately lead to you keeping a dirty little secret.

jake is smooth talker, so you assumed that he spoke in a flirty manner to everyone. that was until the two of you began building a closer relationship which was natural due to the nature of your job, but you didn't think that it would go this far, you didn't think that you two would end up being this close.

flirting turned into dates (that jake referred to as simply 'treating my assistant for being so great at her job'), dates turned into late nights together, late nights together turned into sleepovers, and those sleepovers soon became a regular occurrence. i mean, waking up and already being by your boss's side first thing in the morning makes your job a whole lot easier, right?

right.

whatever way you tried to dance around it doesn't (and won't) change the fact that you are, indeed, banging your boss.

"just like that," jake breathed out as you let his tip hit the back of your throat, "such a good girl."

a constant string of praises, moans, and curses fell from jake's pretty lips as you mercilessly teased him with your tongue, unable to stop yourself from getting wet in the process.

jake smirked and raised an eyebrow as he noticed one of your hands gently slipping into your panties. he watched as you pleased yourself whilst simultaneously pleasing him which was bringing him closer and closer to the edge.

"is my princess getting riled up?" jake cooed as he looked down at you, being sure to focus on the way you touched yourself. you couldn't help but look away as your face began to heat up at the sudden confrontation, but jake was quick to tilt your head up so that you had no choice but to look him in his pretty eyes.

"so cute," jake chuckled sexily as he brushed your hair away from your face, "now, be a good girl and sit on my desk, yeah?" naturally, you followed his orders (mostly out of habit at this point) and sat yourself up on his desk, ready to fulfill his every request.

he looked gorgeous standing before you, his hair slightly messy from having run his hands through it and his shirt halfway unbuttoned. it was impossible for anyone in their right mind to not be attracted to him in some way, shape, or form.

jake gently leaned in, giving you a tender kiss on the lips before moving down to you neck. his hands wandered from your lower back down to your thighs as he continued to kiss all over you, causing your breath to hitch. he made sure to hike up your already short skirt as the gap between your bodies became slimmer and slimmer.

you instinctively brought your hands up to further unbutton his shirt, wanting to see the entirety of his toned body. jake followed suit, beginning to slide the thin strap of your top down your shoulder before fully discarding your shirt somewhere in his office, leaving you in the lacy bra jake had gotten you as a gift for 'being such a great assistant.'

it drove him crazy to see you wearing the pretty bra he bought just for you, and it made him crave you even more desperately.

he couldn't resist you any longer.

he pulled you into a passionate kiss before teasing your entrance with his tip, causing a little gasp to get caught in your throat at the sudden rush. once again, he tilted your face upward, making sure to meet your gaze before slowly inching his throbbing tip into you. you gripped tightly onto his forearm as his cock went deeper and deeper inside you, your walls squeezing every inch of his length.

"jake-" you moaned out as you loosened your grip on his forearms, your hands now holding onto his as he slowly began to move his hips. your eyes rolled back as you let a string of moans leave your lips, his thick tip hitting your sweet spot with every single one of his strokes.

"your cunt is so tiny and small, yet you take me so well," jake smirked as he brought one of his hands down to your clit, beginning to gently rub circles around it as you struggled to keep your legs apart.

your moans became increasingly desperate as jake began to pick up his pace, his hands now gripping at your thighs as he pounded your sweet spot. you could only manage to let out little whines and begs for him to not stop as you felt yourself leaning closer and closer to your climax.

jake promptly picked you up from his desk and sat you down on his lap, guiding his length back inside you as to not waste any precious time that he could be spending fucking you.

the two of you moaned in sync as you sunk back down onto his cock, his tip immediately poking at your spot once again.

after he fully bottomed out, you wasted no time grinding your hips against his, still desperate to reach your high.

jake let his head fall back in pleasure as he left harsh spanks on your ass and thighs. "my good girl," jake moaned deeply into your ear as he left kisses on your neck, "you're all mine, yeah?" you barely managed to nod your head through the extreme pleasure. "mhm, all yours," you moaned breathlessly as he fucked his cock into you from underneath you.

a familiar burning sensation bubbled in your core as jake took control again, being rougher with you than he was before. all you could do was moan uncontrollably about how good he felt being this deep inside you.

"feels good, yeah?" jake teased as you snaked your hands around his shoulders, leaving your nail marks on his skin, "you haven't managed to let go of me since i put my dick inside you." he chuckled as he let caressed all over your body. you pouted at his teasing, but that only prompted him to grab your face and kiss you before pounding into your pussy again.

you could barely warn jake before you inevitably came all over his hard cock. all you could do was let out pathetic moans and hold onto him as you reached your high which jake found oh-so cute.

"you did so good for me, princess," jake praised you as he gently rubbed your clit, his cock still buried deep inside you, "i won't last much longer either." he sighed breathily, flashing his pretty smile before giving you a few more strokes. soon enough, jake finished alongside you, his deep groans penetrating your ears as he let his seed leak into you.

the two of you sat catching your breaths for a bit before jake helped you get cleaned up. you ruffled his hair as he turned to hand you his suit jacket. jake draped his suit jacket across your shoulders, adoring the way you looked wearing his clothes before the two of you exited his office.

a co-worker of jake's stopped to say hello and commented on how lively he seemed today.

jake couldn't stop the cheeky grin from forming on his face.

"well, what can i say? i've got a really great assistant to keep me company."

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a/n: thankyouthankyouthankyou for reading <3 i've truly missed writing and you all so much ! i'll be back with another one soon my loves <3

main taglist: @axartia @jjhmk @jayroseyy @ayohahaha @asaheyow @bunhoons @red-xherry @duolingofanaccount @leeis @jaeyunologyy @green-orangeade @imbaeksbae @sunghoonmybeloved @leeheeheeseung (send an ask to be added + if you have asked to be on my permanent taglist and don't see your username, pls message me bc i removed blogs that were unable to be tagged!)

©yunjardi on tumblr

[cuntyji]

hello my name is kashika aka cuntyji and here is my official review on user norikuna's choso fic. i have two tabs of the same fic open as i simultaneously write down my thoughts which is why it probably will be all over the place. thank you for reading. 

can i first start off by saying i was genuinely so surprised when i got this notif !! i remember being asked about what tropes & fics i'd like with certain characters and i just brain dumped it all....i didn't expect pookie to turn it into a whole fic (she is so real....that's my wife right there. we are actually married and i swim everyday across the ocean/s to meet her in australia)

He’s (gojo) officially dead to you, figuratively, of course. Unfortunately. ➜ DAPH YOU’RE SO MEAN WHY WOULD YOU SAY IT LIKE THAT !! my husband……even if he is dead we fanfic writers have developed twenty other plot lines where you are happy. i would quote a lot more but im loving gojo and reader’s friendship so far. AND THE IMPLIED STSG I LITERALLY SHOT UP FROM MY SEAT AND SALUTED MY SCREEN  

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. ➜ no one laugh but my current sort of crush is kind of like that minus the loner but he looks like a tim burton character and he is such a big band nerd and UGH OKAY ANYWAYS BACK TO THE FIC 

Your Prada loafers click against the polished floor, before you kick them off. ➜ i’m sorry but the minute i read prada i shot up straight because for a hot minute i forgot we’re the rich baddie archetype….reading this fic locked in now

“Uh, hey,” you manage. The picture of eloquence, the master of the verbose elite. ➜ i don’t blame her if i opened the door to choso kamo himself i’d piss my pants i mean kiss him i mean UHHH/??

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. ➜ sat here holding my head in my hands because this sentence HURTTTSSSS. HURTED. HURT MY SOUL. this whole scene from reader asking him to him saying the truth oh god my face has morphed into a perpetual sad face

choso leaving the house is making me make a face….i’m staring at the screen gaping. i’m not used to reading him like this OOOWEIIIEEE

GOJO CALLING HIM JUGHEAD JONES LMFAOOO DAPH I LOVE UR MIND they are literally the same person and i had the BIGGEST crush on him….no wonder i love choso too.

But to borrow a line from Bangtan Sonyeondan, life goes on. ➜ daph you’re making me get war flashbacks. literally got up and saluted my screen. im so sick right now. heaving and throwing up

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.    ///   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. ➜ I AM SICK. SICK YOU HEAR. IM GOING THROUGH EVERY SINGLE EMOTION RIGHT NOW BECAUSE I HATE HOW THIS IS MY LIFE RIGHT— *GUNSHOTS* the below meme is me right now

Satoru grins, all teeth and lazy confidence, “Yeah, what? You’re going to start running a pyramid scheme cult?” ➜ the canon references….i am so sat right now. daph this is why you’re leader of geto-ville.

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. ➜ why am i paying internet bills…..yea……..to cry……..that’s whats up 

CHOSO QUOTING LEGALLY BLOND AND WE CHEERED !!!! THAT IS MY BABY OH MY GOD DAPH IM SMILING SO HAR =D ROGHT O WU HAVE NO DEA IM ACTUALLY CRYING ON MY BAYBY

sukuna mentioned and i shot up staight and clutched my chest and took in deep breathes i am feral for this man i genuinely think i have tunnel vision when it comes to him.

nevermind i read ahead and want to beat him up. when i read a fic and am forced to choose between canon inspired sukuna versus my baby choso (i jump out of the window)

Half a grape travels down Satoru’s windpipe, “The villain!” ➜ MY SAME REACTION BECAUSE WHAT THE FUCK YA ALLAH I SWEAR IF ITS YUKI IM GOING TO

THE KISS WAS SOSCUTE IM CHEESING OH TO BE LOED LIKE HOW CHOSO LOVES HER OH MY GOD IM BANGING MY HEAD AGAINST THE WALL

WHAT A FIC !!! WHAT A DAY !!! i need to write more for choso bcs the last time i did it was a psychological horror one that #FLOPPED (fragmented you will be missed....) THIS WAS SO STINKING CUTE DAPH I LOVE YOU !! THANK U FOR WRITING THIS THIS WAS SO SWEET I WENT THROUGH EVERY HUMAN EMOTION ON THE AUTISM SPECTRUM EVER !!! YOU'RE LITERALLY ONE OF THE BEST WRITERS I KNOW HOW U BALANCE TRUE HEART WARMING WRITING AND CONSTRUCTIVE WRITING UGH I LOVE U !!!

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’!”

[unabletonotlovesatoru]

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ teddy’s notes: gahh loser girlies unite!! part two of my bakugou x loser reader headcanons <33 no warnings, just stupid fluff, enjoy!!

bakugou, whose heart is ready to burst out of his chest whenever he sees the way your eyes light up the sight of him. “hey, loser” he’d mutter from behind you to get your attention or send you a subtle nod from across the room, and there you are: your naturally pouty lips splitting into a blinding smile across your pretty face and your eyes glimmering with joy as you abandon whatever you were doing to run up to him. you don’t attempt to hug him or anything though, not in public at least, a little wary of making him uncomfortable, but if katsuki is the one offering a hug, his expression still one of mild, faux annoyance, you immediately burrow your face into his chest and sigh happily, and bakugou wonders if he’ll ever get tired of feeling so wanted.

bakugou, who uses the nickname “loser” fully as a term of endearment without even realising it, unquestioning of the fact that you aren’t bothered by that. he also likes to call you a “crybaby”because that’s what you are, clicking his tongue at you whenever you bite your bottom lip roughly — a failed attempt to calm yourself down. however, if anyone dares to call you any of those or even bully? they’re dead: face to face with katsuki’s wrath as his palms crackle with explosions going off and he lunges forward.

bakugou, who is lucky to have you as his biggest supporter. your big eyes never leave his figure whenever there is any competition or just a little quarrel, shouting a determined and very out of character “yeah!” after bakugou threatens to ‘paint the wall’ with someone. everyone’s head turns to you in confusion, to which you just shrug and cower into yourself, mumbling something along the lines of “what? he’s my boyfriend :(”. katsuki’s smirk widens and he sends you a wink, enjoying the sight of you being a sputtering mess before he moves on.

bakugou, who wonders how you can be so stupid sometimes, his hand landing on the back of your head sharply whenever something utterly ridiculous comes out of your mouth. doesn’t even have any desire to scream at you, just mumbling curses in disappointment which makes you giggle, small hand covering your mouth to hide the sounds from him, but as soon as his head snaps to look at you you turn away to the opposite side. “tch, idiot” “huh? katsuki, don’t leave!”.

bakugou, who thinks your lips are very kissable. whatever you do to them always makes them look so pretty, so attractive with how the gloss makes them plumper and he catches himself staring at them a bit too long, snapping his head away with a snarl when you manage to catch him too. he imagines kissing you a lot more than he should, daydreaming about it at random times and wondering if the heat creeping up into his cheeks is visible, but you don’t seem to notice it. it’s another story when you are the one staring at him and he is an attentive little shit so of course he sees and teases you about it.

+ bonus!

and if you’re feeling courageous and get back at him, somehow, i can only see this meme;

“you should be addicted to shutting the fuck up.” he growls at you, leaning in dangerously close, but you seem careless, a cheeky grin spread on your lips as you laugh,

“hah! you wanna kiss me so bad it makes you look stupid.”

a dangerous smirk splits across his face, “so what if i do?”

you try to run away, but the key word is ‘try’.

[latanyalove]

First Kiss

Summary: Zoro has never had a kiss so you want to be first (fluff)

Song: Swim by Chase Atlantic

Author’s note: Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

The salt spray kissed your face as you leaned against the railing of the Thousand Sunny, the grand ship cutting through the twilight-painted sea. Below, the crew’s raucous laughter mingled with the clatter of dishes from the galley, a symphony of life that always warmed your heart.

But tonight, your gaze was fixed on a different kind of spectacle. Zoro, his back to the mast, was honing his swords with a quiet intensity that was both captivating and unnerving.

The rhythmic shing, shing, shing was a low thrum against the backdrop of the festive preparations.

You'd been a part of the Straw Hats for a while now, long enough to witness Zoro's unwavering dedication, his almost stoic demeanor, and, occasionally, the flicker of surprising tenderness.

And for you, those flickers had become a blazing fire of affection. You were hopelessly, head-over-heels, in love with the moss-headed swordsman.

New Year’s Eve was upon the ship. Luffy had declared it an unofficial holiday, and even Nami had loosened her purse strings slightly to allow for a grand feast. Your heart pounded a little harder against your ribs as you thought about it. New Year’s.

Midnight…and then there was that silly tradition. The first kiss of the new year. You knew almost everyone on board had someone they were excited to share that with. You knew exactly who you wanted yours to be with.

With a sigh, you pushed yourself off the railing, deciding to act instead of simply watching. You approached Zoro, your steps strangely hesitant for someone who’d faced down bounty hunters and sea monsters.

"Zoro?" you started, trying for a casual tone.

He paused, the whetstone still against the blade. Those dark eyes, usually so focused or narrowed in suspicion, met yours, and a shiver went down your spine. "What is it, (Your Name)?"

"You're still training?" you asked, gesturing towards his swords. "Even with the party starting?"

He shrugged, a small movement that spoke volumes about his priorities. "Need to keep sharp. Never know what the new year will bring."

"True," you agreed, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "But you should come and eat something soon. Sanji went all out for tonight, you know."

Zoro grunted, returning to his sharpening. "He always does."

You perched on the edge of a nearby coil of rope. "You're…not much of a party person, I guess?" you ventured, trying to steer the conversation in a slightly more personal direction.

"Parties are a waste of time," he replied bluntly. The whetstone scraped against the metal, the sound grating slightly on your nerves.

You shifted uncomfortably, deciding to take a risk. "Well, some people enjoy them. It's a good excuse to...be with people, I guess."

He finally glanced up at you again, seeming to consider your words. "Like…Luffy?"

“Yeah, like Luffy, Usopp, and Chopper,” you agreed, “but also…everyone. I suppose,” you added with a small, quiet voice.

“Right” he said, turning back to his swords, “Well I’m not much of a sentimental person.”

Your heart sank a little at that. But you refused to give up. "I was just wondering something," you said, trying a different approach.

He paused, the whetstone still, his attention on you. "What?"

You took a deep breath. You weren’t the most confident person, and the idea of asking this was terrifying. But you were more terrified of never knowing.

"Have you...ever kissed anyone, Zoro?" The question was out before you could stop it, hanging in the quiet air. You stared at your hands, willing your face to not turn too red.

He was silent for a long moment, the only sounds the soft lapping of waves against the ship and the distant laughter of the crew.

You dared to peek up at him. His brow was furrowed, his gaze fixed on some distant point beyond your shoulder. "No," he said, his voice low and almost gruff. "Why?"

Your heart fluttered wildly in your chest. Your stomach did a nervous flip. He hadn’t had a first kiss yet. This was your chance. You could just…you could be his first.

You cleared your throat. "Just curious. It's…a common thing. Especially around New Year. You know, the tradition."

He finally turned his focus back to your eyes, and your breath hitched. Those dark orbs, usually so guarded, seemed to be searching yours. "Tradition?" he repeated, the word sounding foreign on his tongue.

"Yeah, you know, the first kiss at midnight," you explained, your cheeks warming despite your best efforts. "It’s supposed to be good luck, I guess?" you added weakly, trying to make it sound casual.

The silence stretched on, thick and heavy. You were sure you were blushing, praying that in the fading light he couldn’t see just how flustered you were.

He just stared at you, those eyes holding an intensity you’d rarely seen outside of battle.

"So," you continued, the word catching in your throat, "have you ever thought about…doing that?"

He didn’t answer immediately. He watched you for what felt like an eternity, his gaze probing. "No," he finally admitted, his voice still low, "I haven't. Seemed like a waste of time."

Your heart leaped in your chest. There was a tiny, almost imperceptible hint of curiosity in his eyes. You took another deep, steadying breath. This was it.

"Maybe," you began, your voice barely above a whisper, "maybe it's not such a waste of time with the right person?" You looked up at his face, willing him to understand what you couldn't just say out loud.

He opened his mouth to reply, but stopped. As if contemplating your words. The last rays of the sun dipped below the horizon, plunging the deck into a deeper twilight.

The party on the lower deck grew louder, the lively music getting closer, a backdrop against the quiet tension stretching between the two of you.

"The new year is almost here," you said, your voice a little breathy, "I was hoping…” you trailed off, unable to say your exact desires.

He stared at you, his eyes dark and unreadable. He didn’t seem angry or disgusted, just… lost in thought. It was a vulnerable expression you’d never seen on his face.

The first chime of midnight began to toll, the ship’s bell echoing across the water, a deep, resonant sound that made your heart pound. You held your breath, waiting.

He stepped closer, closing the distance until you could feel the heat radiating off of him. Your stomach flipped, the butterflies in it turning into a full-scale swarm. You met his eyes, your own filled with a mixture of hope and fear.

"If…if it has to be someone," he said, his voice rough, "then…" he trailed off, looking down at you, “then, I guess it can be you.”

Your heart soared. It was such a small, begrudging, roundabout way of saying yes, but it was enough. It was more than enough.

You raised a shaking hand and gently touched his cheek, feeling the rough stubble and the warmth beneath. You leaned in, your eyes fluttering shut as the sound of the final chime echoed across the open sea.

His lips met yours, hesitant at first, a soft brush against your own. It was not the kiss you expected. It was slow, a little clumsy, and utterly, completely beautiful. The world outside faded away, leaving only the warmth of his lips against yours, the roughness of his hand as he gently cupped your cheek, and the sweet scent of his worn leather and sea salt.

The kiss deepened, no longer tentative but full of a raw, untamed intensity that mirrored the ocean surrounding you.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, the world seemed brighter, the sounds of the celebration louder, more joyful. You looked at Zoro, his face still a little confused, but his eyes held a warmth you hadn’t noticed before.

A small smile played on your lips. "Happy New Year, Zoro."

A corner of his mouth twitched, a hint of a smile that made your heart flutter once more. "Yeah," he murmured, his gaze fixed on yours, "Happy New Year, (Your Name)."

The party carried on around you, the crew erupting in cheers and laughter, but for you, the world seemed to have narrowed down to just two people, standing on the deck of a ship under a blanket of stars.

Your first kiss of the new year, and more importantly, Zoro’s first kiss was with you.

And you had a feeling, a wonderful feeling, that this New Year would be very special indeed. And maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't be the last kiss you shared. . . .

[tatsumessy]

Graduation Confessions - {Katsuki Bakugou}

“hey idiot, you going to the graduation party?” you turned around confused wondering why Bakugou was talking to you. “uh yeah I was going to go. why what’s up?” he grumbled something sticking his hands in his pockets before turning away slightly. “just wondering if ya wanted a ride or something. I only have shitty hair and kirishima in my car.” you smiled at his statement.

“if you don’t mind.” he shook his head no and you followed him outside towards his car where the other two were waiting. after some brief arguing then the conversation ending with bakugou yelling, you ended up in the passenger seat with kirishima and kaminari in the back seat. the venue was a karaoke bar with BYOB, when you arrived everyone was already one shot in and mineta was singing miley cyrus while trying to swing from the light fixture.

the only spots available were at the end of the booth next to the door so bakugou and you were forced to sit next to each other. you sat with your legs crossed while he leaned back against the booth backing and had his legs spread open ultimately squishing you between him and ojiro. both of you had gotten a drink somehow and were now just siting in silence watching everyone have fun.

“have you decided which agency you’re gonna go to?” he asked out of the blue and at first it was difficult to hear him but you understood. “yeah, edgeshot offered me a side kick position at his agency. what about you?” “I can’t become the number one hero if i’m working under some old hag who’s just going to get in my way.” you covered your mouth laughing at his response, that sounded like him and you shouldn’t have expected less.

for the most part of the night you and him talked about the future and reminiscing on the past couple years at UA. after a couple hours passed you decided that you needed air, all of your class being stuffed into a medium sized room and then constantly moving around while also being drunk generates a bunch of unwanted heat. walking outside the cold air was a relief as it blew against your skin, you leaned against one of the buildings pillars and stared up at the sky watching the scenery. the door behind you opened up with a loud creaking noise and when you turned to see who it was you saw that it was bakugou.

“let me guess. kaminari is too drunk to see reason and tried to kiss you.” he scoffed not wanting to admit that it was true. he rolled his eyes leaning against the pillar as well staring infront of him, he occasionally glanced over at you and in that moment every little detail and feature he never paid attention too became noticeable. he was staring so much you thought something was wrong with your face.

“what is it?” you asked him covering your face just in case there was some food in your teeth. “nothing.” he mumbled staring out infront of him. “damn it’s getting cold.” you say softly with a dreading expression, you also didn’t want to go back into the room just to get hot all over again. “hay bakugou…could we sit in your car for a few minutes?” “ehh? why? if you’re cold go ba-” he couldn’t finish his sentence with seeing your pouting expression, he sighed in annoyance and pulled out his keys unlocking the car.

you opened the passenger side door and got in rubbing your hands together as he turned the car on. “my gosh it just got cold all of a sudden” you say trying to break the awkward silence, “it’s been cold your dumbass just didn’t realize it. are ya still cold?” you shook your head no, you reached your hand out clasping both of your hands over his right hand feeling how warm it was. “oh my gosh is this because of your quirk…? are your hands always this warm? and…sweaty-”

you watch as the tips of his ears grow pink and you smile at him not wanting to make him uncomfortable. “sorry…” you pull your hands away your face flushed slightly as you both looked away from each other. after a few moments you decided to speak up, “i guess this is the right time to do this- I don’t know when it started but i’ve had a crush on you for as long as i can remember.” you sat there staring at the side of his face for a moment before speaking again.

“I don’t expect you to like me back…i don’t think we’ve actually had a conversation until tonight.” you sigh not seeing any reaction from him. he just stares at you with an unreadable expression, that was until his face even under the night glow brightened up from embarrassment. “you idiot.” he covered his face a bit annoyed for the way his. oft isn’t cooperating the way he wants. “don’t tell me-” “shut up you idiot!” he yelled looking away from you.

“katsuki…” you slowly slid your hand into his and without looking at you he interlocked your fingers and held your hand tightly. he looked over at you seeing the smile on your face, he rolled his eyes and leaned back in his seat just pulling out his phone to keep himself distracted from the fact that he was holding his crushes hand right now. yeah it was true the both of you hadn’t really spoken much in the years of being at UA. but the small interaction that you both did have seemed to do much of the both of you were sitting in his car like blushing idiots.

after a while you both decided to go back inside, you’re walking up to the door and he pulls it open waiting for you to walk through. you stand there still holding his hand but stop pulling him back a little. he closed the door and you turned infront of him, looking up at him you gently grab his cheek and pull him down pressing a kiss on his lips. he hesitated for a moment shocked at the action but he quickly kissed back holding the back of your head as your mouth parted allowing him to deepen the kiss. your mouths molded together perfectly as he pushed you against the wall shielding your head with his hand not caring for any pain.

“katsu-” you try to speak and catch your breath but all he did was capture your lips in another fated kiss not wanting this moment to end. you knew the both of you were drinking but you thought you both had the same amount of drinks…he was definitely intoxicated which if you were in your right mind should’ve told you to stop. “katsuki-” he pulled away staring down at you. he dropped his head onto your shoulder letting out a frustrated sigh.

“you smell good.” he mumbled into your shoulder as his arms wrapped around your waist and he leaned against you not wanting to stand up straight. he was more afraid of you seeing his blushing face than your whole class coming out and catching the both of you like this. “you’re cute when you’re drunk.” “shut up idiot”

comments and and repost are appreciated lovelies

[lambiesvault]

Oh yeah ofcourse, Yue Qingyuan quietly qi deviating in the background bc "XIAO JIU??????????????????" He's ignored because everyone is too busy wondering if the kisses will be extended to them and also SY's whiny needy moans are too distracting

I truly believe if shen yuans inhibitions were even slightly lowered he'd become a total slut. Let him drink half a glass of wine and he's crawling into the closest man's lap

[lailols]

Txt when you share a New Year’s kiss

If you see any mistakes, no you didn’t. Also Happy New Year! <33

Soobin

You look over at Soobin when there are five minutes left til midnight and find his eyes already on you. He smiles softly, nodding his head to the door. You both get up and head out together. You thought it would be a smooth operation until you heard a yell behind you.

“Look, guys! Mom and Dad are off to make out while their kids are distracted.” It’s Beomgyu, of course, it’s Beomgyu. You have to pull Soobin out of the room before he turns around to wrestle him because tradition is tradition damnit, and you’re already late.

As soon as the door closes, Soobin releases a heavy sigh and runs a hand down his face.

“Don’t mind him, Bin.” You place a hand on his arm. “I mean, it’s not like he’s wrong.”

“We’re not making out.” He emphasizes and his next words make your heart ache despite their truth. “It’s been the same every year since we were 15 and it’s never been like that.”

For the last nine years, you and Soobin have shared a New Year’s kiss. It started out when you were teenagers at a party, and everyone had a person to kiss except you two (not that you wanted to kiss anyone else, even then). It was an easy decision then, and it has remained the same until now.

“We all know that. He just likes to tease you.” You say with a strained smile. “I don’t know why you get so upset over it.”

“I get upset because it makes you uncomfortable when they say shit like that.” Your brows pinch together in confusion.

“No, it doesn’t.”

“I’ve known you for nearly our entire lives. It makes you uncomfortable, I know it does.” He scoffs. “You always laugh it off and joke along but after you clench your jaw and get quiet. Every time.”

“Well, maybe it makes me uncomfortable.” You look away from him. “But not for the reasons you think.”

“What else am I meant to think? I've never seen you get as uncomfortable as you do when they bring it up.” He pauses for a moment before continuing. “There’s nothing wrong with being uncomfortable with it, y/n. It’s okay, really.”

And just as Soobin knows you, you know him. You see the way his eyes glaze over as if he’s about to cry. You see the line of his shoulders go tight. You see the way his dimples pop out from the tense set of his lips.

“Soobin…”

“It’s okay, y/n. I’m fine with the way things are now. I would never pressure you into anything but it hurts." He opens his mouth again to continue before shaking his head and falling silent.

“I am uncomfortable when they bring it up.” You hesitate a bit at the way he deflates with your words. “But only because I know you don’t want me in that way. When they say it, it makes me imagine a world where you’re mine and I’m yours and it makes me sad.”

“What?”

“Yeah.” You then hear the sound of fireworks going off and you shake your head. “We missed it. Our tradition..”

“I’m okay with that.” He grabs your hands and pulls you closer to him. “I don’t need the excuse of New Year to kiss you anymore.”

“I really liked it though.” You pout up at him dramatically.

"Are you really going to complain when I can kiss you like this instead?" He marks his words by pressing your lips together gently once before pulling back to tilt your head and then diving in again. His hands cradle the sides of your face and he bites down on your bottom lip making you gasp. He takes advantage of the gap by sliding his tongue inside your mouth and mapping out the newfound space. He meets your moan with a sigh of his own and just as his hands start moving lower you’re interrupted by a shout.

"They really are making out!" Your heads snap to see Beomgyu peeking out the door. You don't even bother to hold Soobin back from grabbing Beomgyu by the hair and pulling him into a headlock.

Yeonjun

You’re having the time of your life on the dance floor. If the middle of a frat house counts as one. It may be a bit too hot and sweaty for your usual tastes, but the two drinks you had gave you a wonderful buzz that makes the night enjoyable. You’ll probably need more soon though…

You danced with Yeonjun until he was surrounded by a group of people each vying for a chance to be his New Year’s kiss. You went through this same song and dance the past few years. Yeonjun drags you to this same house on New Year’s Eve, you drink and dance together, he gets swarmed by admirers, he picks one to welcome the new year, and then you go home together.

You wonder which type he’ll pick this year. The shy type that only approached him with some liquid courage. The bold type that made eye contact with him the minute he walked in. Or some secret third type that is lying in wait. You briefly wonder if this will be the year your heart stops breaking when he inevitably picks someone who isn’t you.

You hadn’t always been one of his many admirers. You kind of hated him out of principle before you got to know him. Until you found out that he wasn’t some pompous asshole, but just a guy that carries himself with a confidence that is well deserved. That he was such a mother hen to your friend group. That he was just as scared of the ‘real world’ as the rest of you. That he was moved by the smallest things. That, yes, he was as cool as everyone insisted. That-

Your musings are cut off by a tap on your shoulder. You turn to find Yeonjun? It’s a surprise that is unexpected but not unwelcome.

“Hey, Junie. What’s up? Did you find someone already?” You smile at him despite the way your heart breaks.

“Not exactly. Can you come here for a second?” He doesn’t bother waiting for a response before grabbing your hand and leading you outside.

“Sure?” You doubt your words matter much since you’re following him anyway. You allow him to pull you through the doors and out to the backyard before planting your feet and pulling him back. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just wanted to get out of there.” His words set off more alarms in your head rather than easing you.

“Why? What happened?”

“Nothing, I just… wanted to be with you.”

“Oh.” Your heart warms at his words and though you try to suppress a smile, you can feel your lips curling up. “Well, I’m here, what’s up?”

“Do you want to kiss me?”

“No.” Your words are immediate and they shock Yeonjun almost as much as they shock you.

“Oh.” Yeonjun fumbles for a bit, which is out of character for him but his words are also out of character so what do you know? “That’s fine, of course, but um, why not?”

“I- um” You’re also fumbling but this is very in character for you, so you pay it no mind. “I’d like for it to mean something? I think. Not that there’s anything wrong with it but, um, yeah. I can't do casual.”

“It doesn’t have to be casual.”

“What? You can’t just say that to get me to kiss you.”

“You really think that low of me? That I’d do something like that?”

“Well, no. But it makes more sense than..” you wanting me goes unsaid but from his reaction, you’re sure he got it.

“Of course, I want to be with you. I was just overthinking it.”

“Why do it now?”

He sports a bashful smile when he answers. “I think an anniversary on the New Year would be cute, y’know? New Year, New Us, and all that. Imagine the posts we could make.”

“That’s so you. I almost hate it.” You wrap your arms around his shoulders.

“Yeah yeah, so are you gonna kiss me or not?” His hands find your waist and pull you closer.

“I guess I can spare a kiss or two.” Your eyes flutter closed when your lips meet. The kiss starts light with smiles and giggles exchanged more than actual kisses. It's odd because Yeonjun, from what you've heard, wastes no time in getting to the point. Right now he’s just savoring the moment, letting himself smile and laugh with you as if you have all the time in the world (you do, you’d give him everything if you could).

Beomgyu

“I wish we could be frozen in this moment together forever.”

“Why?”

“So nothing would change.” At your words, Beomgyu flips onto his side, facing you.

“What if things changed for the better?” You turn to meet his eyes and see a world of emotions in them. “Change doesn’t have to be scary.”

“Change is always scary.” You bring a hand up to trace the squares of the blanket to distract yourself. “There’s so much uncertainty in change. But if we stay here like this, we don’t have to be afraid.”

"I'm not afraid because I know we'll always have each other." He grabs your hand before he speaks again, drawing your eyes up to his. He then goes on to say something you’ve heard before. "Things will change, we can't stop that, but we will always be together."

“You don’t know that.” You remember this from your talk too. The way his every word was met by a denial from you. Not because you don’t want him, but because you’re scared. You can’t lose him. Why can’t he see that?

“I do.” He says it with such passion that it makes you want to believe him. Oh, how you want to.

“How do you know that? How are you so sure?” You sit up so he doesn’t see the tears pooling in your eyes. “I don’t want to lose you. I’d rather have you like this and know that nothing will change than risk it.”

“Why are you giving up on this- on us before we even try?” He sits up too. “Y/n, I wouldn’t pressure you if I didn’t know you felt the same. I still feel shitty doing it now but- I just- I want to be with you. I love being friends but I just know we’d work well as more. And I know you feel the same.”

“What if we break up? What if we end up hating each other? We’re good now- great even. Are you really willing to risk it? Just to call me yours?”

“I am. I can’t tell you that we’d never break up, but I can tell you that I would never just let you go. I love you, y/n. Even if we broke up, I’d still want to be in your life. And I know you feel the same.”

“I’m just scared, Gyu.”

“I know, but why don’t we just try? If it works then great and if it doesn’t then it would make a great speech at our weddings.” His words pull a laugh out of you.

“Right. ‘So glad to see you marrying the love of my life! Don’t worry, we tried it out and it didn’t work so you don’t have to worry about me!’” You let out some more giggles until you realize Beomgyu isn’t laughing along with you. He’s just staring at you with wide eyes. “What’s wrong, Beomie?”

“You love me?”

“Of course, I love you. I’ve told you this before.”

“Yeah, but never like that.”

“You said you knew how I felt.”

“I do. But it’s different to hear it, y’know?” He smiles a bit. “It makes it feel real.”

“It is real, Gyu. It’s always been real. I think that’s why it’s so scary for me.”

“Well, I think you just need a big strong man to chase away those fears.”

You scrunch your nose. “When you find one can you point him in my direction?”

He lets out an offended squawk at your words but you quickly dissolve into giggles leaning on each other. It’s at this moment that you realize that while, yes, this is scary- terrifying even- maybe it won’t be so bad if it’s Beomgyu you’re going through it with. Maybe things will work out. And if they don’t you’ll just say ‘I told you so’ with tears in your eyes and a broken heart in your hands.

You look up at him from your place on his shoulder drawing his attention down. He looks at you like you’re everything, he always has. He was never good at hiding his feelings. You're surprised he waited all this time to tell you. You look down at his lips before making eye contact, hoping he’ll catch your hint. He leans in slightly before pausing and tilting his head as if asking ‘Are you sure?’. You nod slightly and that’s that.

Your lips meet in a kiss and immediately after you can hear the sound of fireworks going off. You think it’s all in your head until you remember what day it was and why you both came out here and you can't help but laugh into his lips.

“What’s so funny? Am I that bad of a kisser?” Beomgyu pouts and uses his hold on your face to bring you closer.

“We kissed for the first time and fireworks went off. That’s so cheesy.”

“I don’t think it’s cheesy. I think it’s beautiful.” It never fails to amaze you how quickly Beomgyu can switch from joking to serious in a matter of seconds. How he can go from laughs and twinkling eyes to serene and serious. You think he’s beautiful and your brain-to-mouth filter stops working for a moment.

“I think you’re beautiful.” He pauses for a bit before putting on a cocky face and shrugging but you know him. You see the way his eyes seem to glaze over and how his hand shakes slightly as he glides it over your face before tilting your head slightly. It hits you then that maybe this change is scary for him too.

Maybe it always has been. It was probably hard to bear your heart out to someone and be met with rejection and still show up as if nothing changed. You probably wouldn’t have done it. But Beomgyu has always been braver than you. You call him reckless, but you know how strong he is. How he never lets others dull his shine or make him pull back his love. You want to do right by him. You only hope he sees the same in your eyes.

“I’m going to kiss you again.” He cuts off your response (which was a rather embarrassing ‘please’) by pressing your lips together softly at first before deepening the kiss. Fireworks continue to sound off around you but this time you can't tell if they're real or all in your head.

Taehyun

“I can’t believe I let you convince me to do this.” Taehyun says looking at your phone screen displaying the countdown to midnight.

You’re both crammed under your desk with a bag of grapes waiting for the right time to begin eating them.

“I’m telling you, Tae, it really works!” You bump his shoulder with your own. “I did this last year and had the best year of my life!”

“One, you did it wrong, and two you’ve told me multiple times how this year was horrible.” He corrects with a teasing smile.

“I didn’t know there was meant to be a specific number!” You pout dramatically. “I just saw a video of a girl saying she did it and had a great year.”

“So you ate an entire bag of grapes under your desk to bring good luck?”

“And it worked!”

“And why do you think that?”

“Because I met you.” You say easily. “You even had purple hair when we met and I ate purple grapes!”

“So meeting me somehow negates that one class you cried over every homework assignment for?”

“Well, no.” You share a laugh at that. “But I genuinely do think that someone or something led me to you. I know I’ve said it a lot and you brush me off because you’re too cool to admit it but you’ve really made my year- hell, my entire life so much better since you’ve come into it.”

Taehyun’s big eyes search your face for a moment. Tracing over the lines of your serene smile and the glow in your eyes before taking a breath. “I feel the same. And while I don’t think it happened because you ate an entire bag of grapes last year, I do think we were meant to find each other when we did.”

“Not earlier?”

“God, no.”

“And why not?”

“I was a different person back then. Not unlike I am now, but I saw the world and the people in it in a different way.” He sighs looking down, seemingly collecting himself before meeting your eyes again. “I don’t know if I would’ve let you in before we met. If I would’ve opened my heart to you in the ways I have now.”

“Opened your heart?” You urge.

“Yeah. I may not be nearly as dramatic as you about it-“ he glosses over your offended ‘hey!’. “But you’ve made my year and my life so much better, too. I may not think the universe brought us together but I’m glad we met. I’m glad I get to have you like this and maybe…” He opens his mouth again before closing it. You know what he wanted to say. You’ve always known that Taehyun would be so much more to you than just a friend.

“And maybe we can be more than that.” His eyes widen a bit before closing in a smile.

“Yeah, I’d like that a lot.” He catches himself. “But not right now.”

Your jaw drops and you see the way his grin widens. “Why not?”

“Our anniversary is not going to be New Year’s Eve. I refuse.”

“When will it be then?”

“You’ll find out when I ask you to be mine.”

You pour for a bit before thinking it over, moving your hand into the bag to grab a grape. “Fine. But you have to do something for me now.”

“What?”

“Since you won’t ask me out, how about we do something to hold us over?” You flick your eyes to the phone and pull him closer while holding a grape between your fingers. “Come here! Come here!”

He watches you in confusion until you put the grape between your lips and lean closer to his face. He looks at you fondly, maybe even with a whisper of love, before leaning in.

And maybe you don’t eat an entire bag of grapes under your desk alone this year, but when Taehyun’s lips meet yours around the grape and the juices spill over your chins with giggles filling the room, you just know in your heart of hearts that this year will be better than the last. You hope you can do it again with him, next year as well, and every year after that.

Kai

You are at least ninety percent sure you don't believe in love at first sight. Though in this dimly lit club on New Year's Eve, the remaining ten percent is working overtime.

It is not love that makes you look over at the man standing in the corner, you insist to yourself. Nor is it love that makes you look a second, third, or fourth time. Since it's not love, you will call it an itch. Well, maybe not an itch, that sounds weird. You'll call it an inkling.

You decidedly do not take the time to consider what that inkling could mean. You are certain it’s not love but if it’s not, why is your heart trying to beat out of your chest just from some glances?

What is it about the man standing in the corner that makes you want to approach him? Is it how his dark hair frames his face and makes him appear almost angelic? Is it the way he shuffles from foot to foot as if uncomfortable? Is it the way his friends approach him but he gives a (blinding) smile and nods for them to go back to dancing?

That inkling leads you to gather all of your confidence and make your way to him. As you’re walking towards him you make eye contact and he tenses a bit before standing straighter. ‘I could love that.’

“Hi.” You say, shooting him a smile.

“Hi.” He returns before falling silent, but that’s okay. You didn’t exactly have a script planned out, just an inkling.

“Why’re you standing here all alone?”

“Ah, I was dancing with my friends earlier,” he gestures to where four guys are standing a bit away. Maybe they were dancing before but now they’re hitting each other and making kissy faces towards you. You look back to the man but he just shakes his head and smiles fondly at them. “Sorry about them. They can be a bit…. much.”

You wonder if they tease him often. Make little jokes to get him to share that same smile and headshake every time. You wonder if he would ever turn that smile to you one day. Maybe after you get to know him, you could tease him like that and wait for that smile. ‘I could love that.’

“It’s fine. I don’t mind…” You trail off looking at him expectantly.

“Kai.”

“Well, Kai, I would like to kiss you.” You see his eyes widen and if the club wasn’t so dark, you’d probably see a flush spread across his cheeks. ‘Cute. I could love that.’

You could leave it off there. But the inkling comes back and you know that’s not all you want from him. “And maybe I could take you on a date sometime?”

"Oh."

"Is that okay?" You ask because regardless of the thoughts swirling in your head, you aren't fond of forcing yourself onto this man. Hell, you don’t even know if he’s single.

"Ye-ah, yes! That's okay. I'm okay with that." You note the way his voice cracks with his words and how his body leans into you slightly. An all too familiar bell rings in your head that sounds suspiciously like 'I could love that.'

For all the hyping up you gave it in your mind, the kiss is nothing special. There are no fireworks or cheering, and you didn't even wait for the countdown to happen. It's just you and him, kissing in the corner of a dim club. You're pretty sure at least two people have bumped into you and it's hot and you're a little sweaty. So, yeah. The kiss is no big deal. He is no big deal.

It's just the way he squeezes your waist gently before pulling you flush against his body. It's just the way he tilts his head slightly to get a better angle. It's just the way his lips are soft and sweet with the faintest hint of alcohol. It's just the way he pulls back slightly to let out a sigh just to lean into you again. When he does place space between you, it's to let out a few words.

"Wanna get out of here? Maybe go on that date?" He sports a bashful smile and that bell goes off again. 'I could love him. I could. I could.'

"I'd like that a lot."

[ghostgirl-22]

I know a little bit ago u said you'd be open to trying x reader so here's a prompt i randomly thought of! But ignore it if it's not ur vibe

Patrick sets art up w a girl (reader) who's like quiet and pretty normal, someone who wouldn't be too much for little artie to get out of his shell... and then when they start dating Patrick is in arts dorm snoopinh and finds a punch pf freaky polaroids of art being put in like full nelson or something LOL

Idk i need Patrick to make fun of him but be lowkey turned on and asking if his gf is up for a threesum n art gets all defensive but also very turned on

Thanks for the prompt, lovely!! I took a few liberties and changed it from Polaroids to video lol. Hope that’s okay <3

CW: 18+ !NSFW! Explicit

—-

Patrick doesn’t think anything of it. You’re pretty and shy and you seem like a good girl. Probably exactly what Art needs. Someone sweet to break him in. The last thing he wants is Art to leave high school without ever having had a girlfriend. Patrick’s proud of himself for the way that he gets you two together . It’s easy enough. At homecoming he pulls you away from the wall for a dance and when the song is over he leaves you with Art, convincing him to dance with you as he disappears to go flirt with one of the more popular girls.

You are a little shy. Most guys tend to overlook you because of your shyness, they think you’re a saint. But honestly you had been crushing on Art Donaldson since puberty and even though you were too nervous to approach him you’re not too nervous to take advantage of the opportunity.

Art is as sweet and adorable as everyone says and by the end of the night you lead him to an empty classroom… kiss him slowly and somehow convince him that it’s okay if he just slips one or two fingers inside you.

”Are you sure?” He whispers anxiously.

You giggle and kiss him. “Yes, please.”

Patrick doesn’t know any of that. He thinks the two of you are just so cute. “Two pretty little virgins,” He teases Art, when you guys start dating. He imagines you two going on walks, holding hands, cuddling, sitting quietly in the park or something like that. Sometimes he wonders if Art will be brave enough to take your virginity or if he’ll have to coax Art into doing that too.

Patrick is borrowing Art’s laptop late one night in a hectic attempt to review the slides for the history exam tomorrow because his computer is acting up. He clicks on a window accidentally and a video pops up. From the still he can see your face. He glances over at Art, snoring lightly in his bed while the tv plays quietly in the background.

He can’t help his curiosity so he presses play. “Please, lemme film it baby,” your voice sounds from the video.

Art appears then, half naked, only his boxers on. They’re in this bedroom. Patrick must’ve been in class or out at practice or something. “Okay, but just for me and you right?” He says, he’s grabbing at your waist.

“Yeah I want to watch it later,” you say grinning. Patrick swallows as he watches you preening for the camera in your panties, your bra is white lace and see through, your dark curls are falling messy into your eyes, it’s clear you and Art have been messing around before you started the video. Patrick can’t believe he didn’t realize how fucking hot you were.

Art pulls you closer. “Mm you’re so beautiful.”

“I am?” you wrap your arms around him and he lifts you up and gently tosses you on the bed. Patricks bed.

”Yeah,” Art smirks, “mm getting hard.” Patrick watches as Art tugs your bra straps down and starts licking at your tits. Pretty pink, lips and tongue sucking at them like he’s never been more hungry. It’s doing something to Patrick to watch Art and you like this. He’s so hard he feels dizzy.

“All yours baby, you’re such a good boy,” You moan, teasing your fingers through his golden hair.

Patrick’s forgotten completely about his history exam. He glances up from the computer again. Art is still fast asleep so Patrick eases his hand down his pajama pants, touching his aching cock while he watches the video of Art bending you in half, gripping your thighs and pumping his swollen dick inside you. Watching you squirm and moan as your pussy opens up for him again and again. The sound of your desperate moans mixed with his, the way you start squirting all over the sheets, giggling, as Art gasps out, “oh fuck baby oh fuck it’s so messy, gonna come inside baby, need to come inside you. I’m so sorry baby, oh fuck—” And then he’s spilling.

Sliding his dick out when he’s done and watching as the cum leaks slowly from your twitching cunt. “Sorry baby,” he whispers, flushed all over, hypnotized by your cunt as more semen spills out.

“Mm it’s okay, Artie. I know you couldn’t help it.” Your voice is pitched all high and soft.

”Yeah,” Art agrees, licking his lips. “You’re just so pretty. You drive me crazy.” Then he starts using his spend to finger your pussy till you come, squirting wet again all over Patricks sheets. Watching you shiver and moan, sucking on his fingers when he’s done.

Fuck.

Patrick’s coming hard in his hand. He didn’t know Art had that in him, had no idea that you were such a freaky little girl. He wants to get his own dick inside of you. Let you squirt all over it. Maybe get it inside of Art too while he’s at it.

The next day Patrick’s looking at his sheets and realizes Art must’ve changed them but the mattress is definitely stained with you. He can’t get it out of his head. Suddenly he’s asking Art about you everyday and Art realizes when he’s messing with his laptop, that Patrick’s seen the video.

“I didn’t mean to watch it. But holy shit, Art. You guys act so fucking innocent and the whole time you’re doing that… on my bed.”

“I’m sorry I used your bed but mine was already a—a mess and—and we cleaned up after… besides you're the one who acts like we’re so innocent,” Art says and that’s fair.

“Your bed was a mess? So she’s just….” Patrick takes a breath. “You can have her over when I’m here if you want.”

“Shut up man.”

“No seriously, I mean you think she’d be into a threesome?”

“Come on, Patrick,” Art says irritated.

“Im serious… I mean, imagine if we… you know… took turns or whatever. Imagine if me and you… kinda…if me and you fucked… or whatever.”

“God, you’re fucking crazy,” Art says, but he’s flushing even more than when he first confronted Patrick, fidgeting with his hands in his lap.

And when Art tells you about it a few days later you’re both giggling about how crazy it sounds. But then he accidentally says Patrick’s name while you’re fucking and you both come almost immediately after that…both lost in individual fantasies about his best friend. And two weeks later Art invites you over with your camera and when both him and Patrick greet you. You can’t help but to smile.

[sweetbunpura]

Limited Time Menu

Mostro Lounge is moderately busy on most days, mostly due to Azul's marketing and the like. But for tonight, the Lounge was PACKED. Waiters were running too and fro around the dinning room, taking orders and serving food to customers. The infamous first years sat at a booth as they took in the atmosphere.

"Damn, it took forever to get a seat." Ace grumbled. "What's going on today?"

"I heard Azul was running a new limited time menu." Jack responded. "Maybe that's why everyone's piling in here."

"Hmph." Sebek crossed his arms. "What would be so important to bring the student body here?"

"I mean..." Deuce started. "We're here."

Epel chimed. "Yeah, but, we're not here for the promotion and Ortho's here because he wants to hang out. Grim is also a give in."

"Mm-hmm!" Ortho nodded and smiled.

"It's too noisy." Grim huffed. "And Henchhuman said she had stuff to do for the next week."

"Hi, Freshies!" They turned their attention to Ruggie. "Here's the menus! Now, what can I get you started on?"

Jack answered "Water's just fine. Right, guys?" They nodded.

"Sure, sure." Ruggie wrote it down. "And we got a limited time menu going on, only available for the next three days."

"What's the best thing?" Ace asks.

"Honestly? All of it." Ruggie sighs. "We ran out of four things today, so you better get it while it's going."

"Thanks, Ruggie-senpai."

The hyena beastman nodded and left, leaving the first years to look over the menu.

"There's six things on here. Ruggie made it seem like it was a lot." Ace frowns.

"It all sounds good though." Deuce mutters as he looks at the menu. "The Chicken-fried Steak sounds good."

"So do the Biscuits and Gravy." Epel hums as he imagines the food.

"I'm interested in the Jambalaya." Sebek voices.

"Chicken and Waffles?" Ace raises an eyebrow. "I'll guess I'll go for it."

"I wonder what a Shrimp Po' Boy is..." Jack reads the ingredients.

"Gimme those Smothered Pork Chops!" Grim licked his lips.

"Here's your water." Ruggie set it down. " I think I heard Grim yelling out an order." He pulled out his pad. "So, we're ready?"

As each boy gave their order and Ruggie departed to fill in the order, Mostro continued to fill with new customers and those who left sang praises of the menu. A couple of minutes later and their food was out, piping hot and smelling good.

"That smells so good, holy shit." Ace eyed his food.

The others nodded and Ruggie bid them farewell. They took their first bite and an explosion of flavor filled their mouths.

"No way..." Deuce tore into the chicken fried steak. "How is this so good?"

"I want a second helping!" Epel was roughly halfway thought his meal.

"Who knew this food combination would be so good?" Jack took another bite of his sandwich.

Sebek was silent as he nearly finished off his plate. Grim was happily eating, shoving the pork chops in his mouth. By the time Ruggie returned, they had finished as they all looked full and content.

"Thank you for choosing Mostro Lounge tonight!" The hyena beastman took the payment. "We hope you choosing us again!"

As closing time neared, eventually the dining room cleared and the Lounge closed. In the kitchen, Azul addressed the staff with a smile on his face.

"Today was an extremely busy night!" He clapped his hands. "And I'm glad everyone continued to work hard! A round of applause for everyone!" He waited as their cheers settled down. "And thank Yuu-san for allowing us to borrow some of her time!"

Yuu gave a tired smile as she leaned against one of the pillars and cheers filled the room. Afterwards, the dorm members went to bed and Yuu bid the trio goodnight as she left.

"I'm gonna go pass out." She gave a kiss to Floyd's check as she departed. "Night."

"You're in a good mood, Azul. I'm assuming profits were good tonight?" Jade asked once the door closed.

Azul hummed. "Yes! Fantastically so! There was a 65% increase!"

Jade nodded. "And what of you, Floyd? I saw you back to back with Miss Yuu in the kitchen. Since she refuses to share her family recipes with us, surely you know them?"

Azul turned to Floyd with rapt attention. "Oh? Do tell, Floyd."

Floyd shook his head and leaned back in his chair. "Nah. I promised Shirmpy that I wouldn't tell ya anythin'." He yawned. "And I value that promise more than I value anythin' else."

The octopus merman deflated as Jade chuckled. The perks of being the best friend and boyfriend to one amazing chef. Floyd closed his eyes and smiled.

"But~ Her food was so good. She let me try everythin'~"

"Don't tell me that!"

[with-my-calamitous-love]

you and me, forevermore

osamu d. x reader

after hosting for new years, dazai stays after midnight to help you clean up the bottles. happy new years 🤍

inspired by new years day

your hangover was palpable.

your eyes fluttered open on your couch, beer cans on the floor and streamers tossed all over the walls. your clothes were turned over your body, lazily sticking to the sweat on your skin. your hair turned up, mascara smudged as your body screamed at you for partying so hard.

if theres one person who, despite the candle wax sticking to your floor, polaroids strewn around and smudged lipstick, still finds you gorgeous, it’s dazai.

he’s no sleeping beauty, either. he's in the same state as you, if not worse. his white shirt unbuttoned as he sits of the floor next to you, holding your hand. the kiss stains in the shade of your lips are all over him and, evident by his relaxed grin and bedroom eyes, he loves it. lazy brown eyes take in your hungover state, pressing a good morning kiss to your knuckles.

“happy new years, my love.”

ah yes, january 1st.

“i thought you went home last night?” you groan, sitting up, muscles aching. you wouldn’t think twice about seeing yosano for it, but shes a) just as hungover as you are, and b) would have to dismember you to cure your pains. you’d be better off with tylenol.

or, as a 3rd alternative, melting in the arms of your boyfriend. he seems to sense that, as he moves up to sit next to you and takes you in his embrace, skilled fingers and lean yet muscular arms melting away at the aches.

“we have to clean this up.”

“it can wait. the year just started, after all.”

you almost grin, not being able to deny that. just a few hours ago, everyone you knew had been stuffed into this living room, drunk on new years cheer and dom perignon. everyone was opening up their resolutions, preparing to be new, or at least better.

the past pays no mind when you you get excited for the future. it was 12 new chapters, with 365 new chances. what a wonderful holiday occasion, where you were left to clean bottles and sticky floors.

“i’ll help you, don’t worry.” he hums. normally, you could barely get dazai to clean anything, but something about having you in his arms makes him want to be different.

“how romantic.” you mutter, pressing a kiss to his cheek before getting up.

one, maybe two trash bags will do. you grab everything left on the floor- beer cans, cups, leftover dreams and left behind promises. dazai grabs everything you can’t reach, undoing the streamers and the loves that got away.

what a pleasure it is to be able to clean with someone you love. he thinks, looking back at you.

“you’re my favourite part of this year.” he blurts out, like its something he just needed you to know as you back away bottles.

you actually laugh. “this year just started, ‘samu.” but when you look back, he’s dead serious.

your heart flutters, knowing what he means. he already knows you’ll be there, that you won’t read the last page.

“…shut up.” you blush, quick to hide the effect he has on you. “…you’re my favourite part too.”

“well, now you’re just stealing my lines.” he teases, lips curving into genuine smile. he steals one last glance before continuing his cleaning.

he hears you laugh in shock and amusement, seeing how the mess has spread from the living room to the rest of the apartment. he nods and agrees as you bitch about the mess, about your hangover, and how you’ll supposedly be cleaning this for the rest the year.

he hopes you’ll never become a stranger, a stranger whose voice he’d recognize anywhere. he hopes its forever, for each new year to come.

“samu? are you listening?”

“hm? yeah.”

“what’d i say?” you cross your arms.

“…i love you?” he smiles, cheekily.

how can you be mad at that?

[sccrim]

JEALOUSLY PART 2. !

warnings : ( teasing )

part two of jealously w a little bit of rafe teasing you c: ! also shout out to @angzls cus they wanted a part 2 c;

you couldn't say you were over rafe but since he was involved with sofia, you had to try to accept it. yeah of course jealously hit you still after always seeing them together but what can you do. oh wait, you can make him jealous. you knew rafe couldn't control himself everytime he seen you with some random guy at that.

"isn't rafe gonna start something?"

"isn't that the point she's trying to make?"

"i just need someone good looking, or like someone he hates."

"jj!" you and the girls said that the same time. you cheered in excitement. "will jj agree though?" you bit the inside of ur cheek. "he owes me one so he has to." you unlocked your phone and texted jj making sure the plan was in motion.

"what am i doing again?" jj questioned as you guys pulled up to the house party. "just grab me or hold me. even kiss me if it makes him that mad." you fixed your hair. jj was kinda excited to see rafes expressions. "is this what rich feels like?" you laughed at the comment. "you literally live with me. you know what rich feels like."

"okay ready?"

jj held your waist, walking inside with you. many whispers and looks coming from everywhere. you still smiled and held your head up high. you knew if everyone was talking about it, rafe would be in flames.

"did you see them come in together?" ruthie looking around for you guys again. "who?" sofia looking around as well. "y/n and jj." rafes head snapped. "since when?" topper questioning. "i don't know. everyone is saying right now."

rafe spots you from across the room. he knew you were bound to come but he didn't know you would bring someone. especially jj. "at least she's having fun." sofia smiling. poor sofia, having no idea why you even came to this party.

"kiss me." you sensed rafe staring, this was the plan now. jj grabbing your body towards him and you leaned in, wrapping your arms around him. "is he still looking?"

rafes eyes went from normal to low and angry. "you okay?" sofia asked him. "yeah, i'll be right back." he chugged the rest of his beer and walked off. "stay here, he is gonna follow me right now." jj nodding and you walking off. this was your other plan, you just didn't know how it would play out.

"out now." rafe snapped his fingers to the people who were in the bathroom. "in here now." you smiled, following his directions. "jj now? really." rafe leaned against the sink. "problem?" you snapped. "fucking jj?"

"aren't you with sofia? isn't that her name?"

"don't play fucking dumb y/n."

"i'm not."

"you know what youre doing."

"it's working though isn't it." you slightly laughed.

"you better be done with him by tonight." he demanded. also just like you, he never asked— he would tell you to do so. "and if i don't?" you kissed your teeth. "don't fuck with me." he paused. "you know damn well what i would do." you walked closer to him. "this is the rafe i know. i wonder if sofia knows about him, hm?." you lifted up his chin.

rafe swatting your hand, grabbing you and putting you on the counter sink. "what do you want from me y/n. we both know we are toxic for each other. yet, you keep coming back. why is that? hm? do you miss me? do you miss me in you?" you stayed quiet.

"why quiet now? so it is that? you miss me?" he smirked putting his hand under your dress. you couldn't lie, you did miss him. you missed everything about him. but he was also right, the toxicity was eating you guys up. "tell me y/n— im waiting." he looked into your eyes. his hands leading up to your silk underwear.

"rafe." you whispered. this wasn't the plan you were going for but you didn't mind it. "hm?" he moved your underwear to the side. circling around your clit. "tell me, you want me." fuck y/n, what happened to sticking to the plan. "i'm waiting princess."

"you're done with jj, tonight. if i catch you with someone else or him again i swear your life and theirs will never be the same. trust me princess, you'll be begging for your normal life before me." rafe left the bathroom causing you to jump off the counter fixing yourself. your plan was literally fucked from the moment you walked in the party with jj but hey, at least you found out he still gets jealous.

 sccrim — all rights reserved. please do not modify, repost , translate , or plagiarise my content.

[mamawasatesttube]

i'm thinking about them again. like in the early tt03 era they're both dealing with so much external pressure - cassie with having to be a hero and live up to donna's legacy, kon with having to figure out how to have a civilian life for the first time. they're spiraling in opposite directions. but while they're doing it they're safe with each other, bc even if they Cannot acknowledge it out loud, they both see each other going through the same thing from the other end, and they go ah. yeah. i know he/she gets it. they're each other's rocks, in a way.

and that's how the comp het confuses them!!! because maybe yeah they feel a little awkward kissing each other, but that probably is just jitters or something because they Know they love each other. right??? it's just jitters. they love each other and they know it.

like, cassie goes to kon when she needs to hide from the pressure of heroism, and she knows she can curl up and lay her head on his shoulder and ask him to tell her about what he's learned about farm tools. that's a refuge. and kon knows he can go to her when he's overwhelmed by how much he doesn't know about being a normal teenager, and he can ask her to go flying with him and race her through the clouds and play catch with a boulder, until they accidentally knock down a tree and feel bad, but then they're both laughing about it. they're each other's sanctuary!

like who cares if they get a little awkward about kissing sometimes, right??? they know they love each other so that awkwardness will probably dissipate with time, they figure. right?? it has to be romantic. right? everyone says, superman and wonder woman could have a romance, so of course superboy and wonder girl... it just makes sense, right?? if they love each other this much, it must be romance. there's the confusion, but it takes a back burner because the love is real.

and then kon dies. and cassie doesn't have her rock, her mirror, her refuge anymore. he died in her arms and she couldn't save him. of course she goes off the deep end about it.

nobody even gets koncassie like they exist in my rich inner world. theyre gay/lesbian solidarity. when they dated they just didn't know that. it was never romantic. but they still felt like a kind of haven to each other - they were safe for each other. kon, with all the trauma of being groomed twice over, felt safe with cassie, his friend, his peer, his equal. cassie, under all the pressure of public scrutiny and constantly feeling like she failed to measure up to the wonder girl legacy, was safe with someone who saw her trying to force herself to present super feminine and conform and told her no, you don't need to do that. not for me. i've always thought you're beautiful. like. in a world where they were both in the public eye and crumbling under the pressure, they were each other's sanctuary. like, even if they didn't understand that they weren't actually into each other, the love was so real. do you guys even get it????

[verycoolusername1]

for a Jamie Drysdale fic could you write about how he has a plus size girlfriend and some people make fun of her but Jamie has her back and she soon enough sticks up for herself and tell them something like “you’re mad i have a hottie like Jamie and you don’t” type thing….. sorry if this doesn’t make sense. if it doesn’t just take what you understand and make and great fic of it!

So Hot

Summary: In which 'fans' have a lot to say about your and Jamie's relationship and you had enough.

Jamie Drysdale x plus size!reader

Warning: Cursing and reader is a bad bitch I'm afraid!

A/N: This was actually so fun to write. lol much better than that essay I have to write... also sorry if you like olives, you don't like them in this

You scrolled through the comments of Jamie's new post mindlessly. It was only a simple post. People in the comments say he could do so much better than you or something about your weight, which was already a hard topic for you.

But what really pissed you off was someone saying something bad about Jamie, a horrible assumption about your relationship, and bought up his injury that he recently recovered from.

Jamie came through the door as if being summoned, groceries in his hands.

"Babe, I'm back!" He called out to you.

You turned off your phone and threw it across the couch, not wanting to deal with it right now.

You made your way to the kitchen where you were greeted by Jamie, a shy smile on his face.

"Oh god Jamie what did you do?" You looked at him.

Jamie's face flushed. "I didn't do anything."

"Then what's with the suspicious face, handsome?" You asked.

Jamie loved it when you called him that more than you would like to admit.

"I- okay." He reached in the bag and got out a teddy bear wearing a flyers jersey. "I couldn't help it, looked so cute. Reminds me of someone I know."

You took the teddy bear from him and looked at it. "Yeah, I guess I can see the resemblance between you two."

Jamie chuckled as he touched your waist and moved you closer. "I was talking about you."

"I know, baby." You grinned.

Jamie pecked your lips softly. As he kissed you, you couldn't help but wonder about the comments on his post and if he had seen it.

Jamie being the amazing boyfriend he is, senses your unease. "What's wrong?"

You shrugged. "Nothing... just thinking."

Jamie put his hands on his hips as he looked at you sternly. "About?"

You sighed, giving in to Jamie's puppy eyes. "I read comments under your latest post."

"Were they bad? Do you need me to say something about it? You know I don't like it when people say things about us." Jamie began to ramble.

You kissed Jamie's cheek softly. "It's fine babe, I'll handle it."

Jamie looked at you. "Okay... if you say so. Now, I was thinking of trying out this new recipe... I know you don't like olives so I replaced those with cucumbers."

You nodded along to what Jamie was saying, his eyes somehow brightens brighter as he does so.

Together, the two of you began to prep for dinner. After that was done, you decided to cuddle on the couch.

Jamie laid proudly on top of you, trapping you between him and the couch. Watching some episode of The Office that you weren't paying attention to, your sole focus being on Jamie.

You sneakily took a photo of him on your phone, your heart warming at the sight when an idea popped in your head... you should post this on instagram.

You was set with the idea that you didn't notice Jamie has set his attention to you, craning his neck as he did so.

"What are you up to baby?" Jamie asked.

You grinned down at him. "Nothing." He gave you a look. "Okay fine... I took a photo of you and I was gonna post it on my story to show you off."

Jamie stifled a laugh as he listened to you. "Show me off?"

You nodded. "Yes, show you off! You're just a little human sized teddy bear, everyone has to know."

"I'm glad you think I'm cute but what photo are you posting?" Jamie asked.

"Just of us cuddling, I like just took it." You smiled shyly.

Jamie hummed. "Yeah, post it. I feel nice right here."

You chuckled. "I know you do."

You went on your way to post the photo on your story with the caption. "Living my best life with my lover boy <3"

You smiled, seeming satisfied with the post. You ran your fingers through Jamie's hair, the love you two share grows only stronger tonight.

[kamisobsessed]

Happy New Year, Soldier Boy

Characters: Soldier Boy x F!Reader, Annie x Reader (platonic), mentions of Hughie, Butcher, Frenchie, Kimiko, MM, etc.

Summary: Annie and Hughie invite you and the other members of 'The Boys' over for a New Years Eve party. You and Soldier Boy don't always get along. When the New Year is about to ring in, you don't have anyone share a New Year's kiss with, but Soldier Boy changes that.

Warnings: Enemies/lovers (sort of if you squint), Soldier Boy (because he's definitely a warning), swearing, fluff, sexual remarks, alcohol, no use of y/n.

A/N: Sorry if this sucks, I finished it quickly because I wanted to post it. I was debating on a smut part 2, but I'm still not confident in my smut writing skills. Let me know what you think!

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

"Please you have to come, I don't care if you don't have a date, we have to celebrate New Years together," Annie said on the other end of the line.

You sat your phone down on your bed after pressing the speakerphone button. "Annie, I love you, but I really don't want to come to your party and be the third wheel between you and Hughie," you chuckled as you stood in your bedroom folding the laundry you just finished doing.

"No third wheeling I promise," she said "pinky swear."

"Fine, fine. What's the dress code?" you asked.

"Casual, whatever you are comfortable with, thank you for saying yes, how can I ring in the New Year if my best friend isn't around?" She teased.

"Yeah yeah, I'm sure you would be just fine with your boyfriend," you replied.

"Maybe, but I still want you here too," she said.

"Okay, I'll be there. Don't expect me on time though," you said.

"You're never on time to anything, I would never expect that," she joked back, "I'll see you tonight!" and with that she hung up.

You put your folded clothes away and decided to take a shower before the party.

The party starts at 8, but you have never been known to show up to things on time. Always the procrastinator.

After your shower, you stood in front of your standing mirror trying to decide what outfit to wear. Eventually you went with your favorite party outfit. It was already 7:45pm and you just finished changing into your outfit and fixing your hair and applying some light makeup.

When 8 o'clock rolled around, you were just leaving your apartment. You let out a soft sigh as you entered your car to drive to Annie and Hughie's place for the party. You were hoping Annie's promise would stick.

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

You pulled up to Annie and Hughie's and went up to their door and lightly knocked. The door swung open and Annie practically pulled you inside into a hug.

"I'm so glad you came!" She exclaimed, releasing you from the hug.

"Hope I didn't have to bring anything," you said, noticing the table of finger foods to eat.

"No, we got it all covered. Come on, we were gonna do karaoke," she said pulling you into the living room.

You scanned the room noticing Frenchie, Kimiko, MM, Monique, Butcher, and some other random people you didn't know.

And then you noticed him. Soldier Boy. Ever since he started working with The Boys, you and him constantly butt heads. He always has something to say about everything you do, or he's trying to get into your pants. He enjoys trying to get under your skin, so you give the same treatment back to him.

Sometimes you do find yourself wondering what it would be like, in bed with Soldier Boy. There's no denying how incredibly handsome he is. But the way he treats you and your friends, you could never do that.

Soldier Boy noticed you standing with Annie. He excused himself from the ladies who were gawking over him and made his way over to you.

"Why is he here?" You grumbled to Annie.

"We invited everyone, even him," Annie said. "Play nice."

"There is no playing nice with him," you said.

"Well look who decided to show up," he said, his infamous smirk plastered on his face.

"Piss off, Ben," you spat back.

"Have a heart, doll, it's almost a New Year!" he grinned, giving you a wink. You tried to hide the blush that began forming on your face.

"I need a drink," you sighed and you walked away to grab a drink from the minibar. You stood there taking a sip of whatever whiskey you poured yourself.

Annie called your name, "c'mon we're gonna start karaoke soon!" she said as she waved you over.

You headed back into the other room with everyone, standing with Annie. They put karaoke on the TV and people began taking turns singing songs.

Everyone eventually convinced Ben to sing Rapture. You just stood back against the wall nursing your whiskey, back behind everyone crowding around him. Everyone listened or danced along with Ben, but his eyes eventually found you. You noticed him staring at you, a smirk on his face. You rolled your eyes trying to look away from him, but his stupid little dance moves made the ends of your mouth slightly curl up. When he noticed your small smile, his smirk turned into a grin as he finished singing the song for everyone.

Ben made his way to you through the crowd of compliments on his performance. "You like the song?" he asked leaning back against the wall next to you.

"s'okay," you shrugged, looking anywhere in the room except at him.

"Back in the day that song was a hit, especially when I performed it," he said.

"Don't you have someone else to bother or some chick to fuck?" you asked, finally turning to look at him.

He smirked, "is that an invitation?"

Yes. No, no it wasn't, get it together.

You rolled your eyes walking back to the minibar to refill your whiskey. Ben followed you.

"I didn't hear a no," he said, "you know, with how bratty you are, you probably need a good fuck."

"You're insufferable," you said, "just leave me alone." you walked away again to go find Annie.

You tried to stay with or near Annie most of the night. It was almost midnight, you were standing back over by the wall like you were before. Annie was off somewhere with Hughie, and everyone else was getting ready to countdown the New Year.

A tall man walked over to you, "Hey beautiful, what're you doing over here all alone?" he asked you.

"I'm not interested," you say, trying to ignore him as he stood closer to you.

"It's New Year's, baby, everyone needs a New Year's kiss," he said, getting more and more uncomfortably close to you, no matter how much you tried stepping away.

Suddenly the man got yanked back away from you, "The lady said she's not interested, so fuck off," Ben said, pushing the man away.

The man walked away without a second thought.

"Wow, my hero," you said dryly.

"No need to thank me, doll," he grinned.

It was now 2 minutes til midnight, you and Ben were still standing by the wall as people watched the TV of the ball dropping in Times Square.

"I'm surprised you don't have some woman's throat you're ready to stick your tongue down," you said to him. In the back of your mind, you hoped it would be you.

"And leave you over here all mopey and alone?" he smirked.

"I'm fine on my own, I don't need you or anyone to keep me company," you lied. "Go find your New Year's kiss."

"I found it," he said looking at you.

10...9...8...7...

"What?" you said, as he reached his hands up cupping your face, "Ben..." you hesitate. You didn't stop him. Did you want this? Yes. Maybe? Too late now...Fuck he's so hot.

4...3...2...1...

He closed the gap between the both of you. His lips gently pressed against yours, you placed your hands on his chest as he held you close to him. Your lips moved together so in sync, you never wanted to let him go.

He pulled his lips away, leaning his forehead against yours. "Happy New Year, doll," he said.

You had a small smile on your face, "Happy New Year, Soldier Boy."

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

A/N: Well, that was...that. Side note, I fucking love Soldier Boy. Like, I know he's a misogynistic, egotistic, asshole, but like...yes please.

Taglist: @sl33pylilbunny

[happypopcornprincess]

Under the Same Sky

Pairings - Joaquin Torres X fem!Reader (TFATWS AU)

Premise - You have your heart guarded for the longest time. But when you encounter a stranger on the same mission, will you be able to do the same?

Word Count - 4.5K

Warnings: Some strong language, references to Pop Culture, allusions to SMUT

a/n - I wrote this while I was falling in love with someone. This one is for everyone who ever fell in love, hope you guys have a happy ending that you truly deserve <3

“I swear to God Barnes, if this is some kind of dipshit prank you are playing on me, I’ll give your number to that sweet server lady from Yori’s Japanese place and record your introverted ass trying to strike a conversation.” You grumbled into your phone as you locked your door and walked down the stairs of yours (and Buck’s) apartment building.

After making you spill your morning coffee over the couch while telling you about him evading the country, breaking Helmunt Zemo out from prison, going to Madripor and Karli threatening Sam’s family, he had the goddamn audacity to ask for your help with the entire situation.

You were, of course, rushing to Louisiana for Sarah and the kids, because afterwards you get to murder him in cold blood.

“If this wasn’t for Sam’s family in danger, I would not have asked for you. And by the way, I am not an introvert. That’s you. Now hurry up, my guy’s waiting.” his annoyingly calm voice spoke through the phone.

“Is your guy about to be a wrinkly old pervert trying to get high by speed walking?” you almost screamed, reaching the ground floor and pulling open the back door towards the alleyway. The chill air makes you shiver a bit, and you find yourself colliding with a person, “oof” you hear a muffled sound coming from him.

“I’m so sorry- I-“ you began to explain yourself, but the other person spoke up first, “y/n?”

Your hand hovered over the concealed weapon on your waist, “uh, yeah?” you murmur, taking a step back in caution wondering how he knew your name.

“Yeah, I found her.” He speaks into his cell and cuts the call.

Dressed in casual clothes, he held a duffle bag in one hand, his eyebrows raised as he was looking at you. He smiled, waved at you, and Bucky spoke into your ear, “found my guy?”

“This is your guy?” you said pointing at him.

Bucky only laughed, “meet us in Louisiana. Take care y/n.” he cuts the call. Bucky’s guy was not a wrinkly old pervert, but this insanely good-looking man with great posture and a warm smile.

And to your horror, he was hot.

His warm, sun-kissed complexion hinted at his Mexican heritage. His hair added an air of rugged charm and you swore you never saw anyone with eyes so dark brown that drew you in instantly.

“You are…” you extend your hand after shoving your phone in the pocket of your overcoat.

“Lt. Torres.” He grimaced, embarrassed, “Joaquin. Joaquin Torres.” He extends his hand.

You shake his hand and oh god why are his hands so warm!

“Marines?” you ask, trying not to think about his hands.

“Air Force, ma’am.” He says, stepping back for you to get out of the doorway.

“Please, just call me y/n.”

You fumbled with your bag as he raised his eyebrows, “let me take that for you.” He offered.

“Oh no, no it's fine.” You laughed out, and he raised his arms in defeat.

He was walking to the end of the alley beside you, cold air escaping his lips.

Pink, soft, how would they feel on your lips and…

You concentrate on walking, trying not to look at him where his neck met his shoulders and goddammit what is wrong with you y/n can you stop daydreaming about this guy?

What you missed while giving yourself a pep talk… was the smirk on Joaquin’s face.

---

The initial car ride was a bit silent, awkward conversation hanging in the air. But then, like magic, the tension dissolved. You stumbled upon a shared love for Power Rangers and the cartoons of our youth. Suddenly, you were deep in conversation, reminiscing about your childhoods, carefree and filled with the magic of childhood. Turns out he isn’t much older than you, just a two year difference.

His laughter was infectious. The way his eyes crinkled at the corners, his teeth flashing in a wide grin – it was a sound that felt warm and comforting, somehow. You found yourself leaning towards him, captivated by the way his lips curved into a smile, the way the light caught the gold flecks in his eyes. The familiar road seemed to stretch on forever.

Finally when we pulled onto the familiar, deserted road leading to Sam's house, two small figures came into view, standing near the porch. 

“Auntie!” Cass and AJ sprinted to you as soon as you stepped out of the car.

“Heyyyy!” you laugh and fall back as they hug you with full force, “ugh, I missed you guys so much.”

“We missed you too!” AJ grinned as he refused to let go of you.

“Who's this?” Cass asked you, pointing towards Joaquin.

Among the excitement of meeting them, you almost forgot the poor guy. Joaquin stood next to the car awkwardly looking at you. You smile and introduce him, “guys this is my friend, Joaquin.”

“Hey.” He waved at Cass and AJ.

Cass looks at him with all seriousness, “Do you play Fortnight?”

Joaquin fumbled, “Yeah. A bit.”

“Cool.” They both replied in unison.

“Okay now let auntie breathe for a minute.” Sarah spoke as she walked towards you wearing an apron, clearly cooking for dinner.

You hugged her tight, meeting the family after so long, “Hey Sarah.”

You look towards Joaquin, how he was laughing with the kids. And then you look at Sarah, your soul sister, and how Bucky had asked you to break the news to her delicately, “Sarah, we need to talk.”

---

Sam and Sarah were your go to destination every summer. 

You saw Cass and AJ grow up after the blip, and stayed with them when they needed help. You might not have the same blood, but they were your family.

They have stayed away from all the mayhem, until now.

You three sat down on the kitchen table and told her everything that you knew about the situation.

“Dear lord.” Sarah sighed as she held your hand, “You think these people… they will come here?

“There is a possibility, but Sarah, I swear I won’t let anything happen, okay?” You squeeze her hand, “We’re here for you and the kids.”

Joaquin spoke up, “We have made arrangements just in case things go south, I’d suggest you to be ready to move anytime.”

“Okay.” looking at the kids playing in the living room, AJ laughing as Cass plays on the console, “I can’t let them be hurt again Y/N, they’ve been through so much.”

“I know.” You look at Joaquin, he gives you a smile and nods, a silent acknowledgement of the promise you were making to Sarah.

You will keep them safe, and Joaquin will be there for you.

---

Starry night sky, the cool lakeside breeze, and the slanted roof of the Wilson residence. 

You took a deep breath as you closed your eyes.

If this was six years ago, from the same spot you could hear Steve and Sam coming up with ideas to locate Bucky, Natasha and Clint in the backyard fighting over something stupid, Sarah and her late husband on the porch setting up the grill, and Wanda making things fly that made Baby AJ giggle.

You opened your eyes, but found only darkness ahead of you. That sliver of hope you had of watching your found family under one roof again was alive for five years… until the minute you saw Natasha didn’t return with Clint, Wanda not even looking in your direction at Tony’s funeral, and Steve going back in time without saying goodbye.

Your throat choked up trying not to cry as you recalled Natasha saving you from the hell called Red Room. She bought you up, taught you everything you know, she was the reason you were alive in the first place. Natasha was your sister in every sense, and she was taken away by fate.

Silently crying, you whisper a prayer off into the night.

“Is this seat taken?” you wiped off your eyes as you heard Joaquin.

He was standing on the attic window, two beers in hand. You shrug as he takes a seat next to you, handing you a beer.

“How did you find me?” you ask him.

“I didn’t actually,” he answers, “I just wanted a place to think for a while.” You notice the tension in his shoulders, he was trying too hard to act cool while something was clearly bothering him.

“Spit it out.” you nudge his shoulder with yours.

His deep brown eyes look at you as you take a sip, and he confesses, “I got a call before I came here. My Abuela.” He takes a deep breath, “She’s cooking up a feast for the local homeless shelter, and I know, I know she’s not well because her voice is raspy and she’s breathing too hard and I begged her to sit this one out, but she’s one stubborn woman, won’t even listen to her only grandson.”

You shock him with a laugh, looking at the dew on your bottle, “Sounds like someone I used to know.”

“Your ex?” he nudges your shoulder playfully.

You laugh, “My sister actually,” recalling flashes of red hair chasing you around the Avengers compound, “yeah, she was a force to be reckoned with.”

“She passed away a year ago.” You admit it out loud, it felt weird to talk about her in the past tense.

You feel his body go rigid beside you, “I’m sorry, I thought…”

“It’s alright.” You look at him, and smile involuntarily, “Natasha was more of a mother to me than a sister, and I can’t believe I’m saying it out loud but… I miss her.”

He acknowledges you silently. But after some time, you hear it in his voice; the moment it hits him, “Natasha… as in… Natasha Romanoff?”

It made you laugh; his jaw wide open in shock, eyes wide. He looked like his eyes would come out of his head. “I don’t go by Y/N Romanoff, for people to react like that.” You point at him and he closes his mouth.

“How… I didn’t know… but you two-”

“- look different?” you bring your knees closer, wrapping your arms around them, “I was adopted.”

“ohhhh.” He drew out the exclamation, taking his sweet time not knowing what else to say.

“She saved me from the Red Room. Took me under the wing, sent me to High School… God knows how that went.” You laughed recalling the absolute menace you were during your teens. “If there was mischief in school, my name was somehow related. And Nat was always there to get me out of it. Except for that one time I blew up the toilets to rebel against the dress code… said I deserved getting suspended.” The fight you had afterwards… Steve and Tony had to interfere or else you both would have torn each other’s heads off.

“My mom once got a call from the local ER when I was twelve.” He spoke up, looking at the stars and a smile spreading on his face, “I drove my bike off of the road and straight into the canal, and hit my head pretty hard. She was mad as hell and Abuela won’t stop fussing about me. I was grounded for the entire semester, but every night we three would sit in the living room to watch whatever was on Cartoon Network.”

There was sadness laced in every word of his, “That was the last summer I had with her. She passed away a few months later.”

You could not say anything.

You knew exactly how he was feeling right this moment, that empty feeling inside your chest left behind after somebody’s gone. You silently hold his hand, acknowledging the hurt he must be going through.

“I must be the last person you want to hear this from, but, know that the hurt you’re feeling right now, y/n,” he gently grasps your hand, “it’s just all the love you have for the person you lost. I don’t want to say it gets easier, but you get better at letting it out over time.”

“Thank you, Joaquin.”

He smiles, taking a sip from his bottle glancing at you. Dark brown pupils looking right into yours.

Damn he’s pretty.

Your heart dropped a beat, a funny feeling in your chest unblurring the next second.

The first thing Natasha and Clint taught you was how to read people. You could tell what was going on in someone’s head just by looking at their subconscious cues. A voice in your head pointing out everything you need to know about them.

It was quite silly to be honest, that voice inside your head that had been quiet for a while now, was screaming at you for not looking at what was right in front of you…

You liked him.

---

“I was not expecting that.” You speak into Sam’s empty room, standing on the doorway with Joaquin.

Cass and AJ had separate rooms, Sarah had hers, and the only empty one was Sam's, which you were to share with Joaquin.

“I’ll sleep on the couch.” He says unprompted.

“No, no, Joaquin, we traveled for the entire day. We’re both tired. We can share the bed.” He was too tall to fit on the couch anyways.

 He picked his bags and settled in, “You sure?”

“Yeah. It’s fine. No worries.”

Worries, y/n, you’re not doing this out of goodwill. I mean… His arms? Just imagine how they would look wrapped around your-

You let out an internal scream and started unpacking your luggage before you did something scandalous, freshened up in the washroom and returned to the room to see him lying on one side of the bed, his back to you, wearing only sweatpants and a white vest. Your eyes were drawn straight to his biceps, they looked like they belonged to some sculpture in the dim lamplight.

Someone works out.

You immediately slapped a hand on your mouth realizing you said that out loud. Frozen with embarrassment, you waited to see if he heard that.

When you were certain he didn’t, you took your place on the other side, and were immediately knocked out by the exhaustion.

---

Next Day

You woke up to the smell of pancakes and the shouts of AJ and Cass from the backyard. You stretched out, thinking of any tasks you had to do today. You'd helped Sarah pack a go-bag yesterday and set up the alarms around the house. The only task left was to have a look at the Attic. The clutter filled there could be the best hiding spot for anyone.

After sniffing the smell of fresh pancakes for the second time, you couldn't resist any longer. You swung your legs over the side of the bed and padded downstairs.

Sarah and Joaquin were laughing in the kitchen, the sound warm and inviting. He was wearing an Air Force t-shirt over his sweatpants, his hair still damp from his shower, and a lazy smile playing on his lips. Of course he's a morning person, you thought, a pang of envy hitting you.

"Good morning sleepyhead," Sarah called out, her eyes twinkling.

Joaquin looked up, his smile widening as he saw you. You realized, with a jolt, that you were still in your Naruto pajamas, your hair a complete mess. Panic surged through you, but when you saw him smiling at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners, you relaxed slightly.

"Morning," you mumbled, taking a seat at the table.

"Joaquin made these," Sarah announced proudly, placing a plate of golden brown pancakes in front of you. "They're incredible."

"They are," you agreed, already taking a bite. "God bless you, Sarah, these are heavenly."

"Oh, that's all Joaquin," Sarah said, pouring you a tall glass of something. "I just made the milkshakes."

"Milkshakes!" you exclaimed, your eyes widening.

"Chocolate and caramel," she said, placing the glass in front of you. "With extra cream."

"Thank you!" You high-fived her, then turned to Joaquin. "And thank you, for the pancakes."

"Anytime," he said, taking a bite of his own pancake. He met your gaze, a slow, appreciative smile gracing his lips. You swore you saw a glint of something in his eyes – amusement? Admiration? Something more? You blinked, suddenly unsure of yourself.

Is my head playing tricks with me? you wondered, your heart pounding a little faster than it should be.

---

“Can I ask you something?”

“Hmm…”

“Uhh… What's the whole deal with John Walker?” Joaquin asked while fixing a sensor on the attic window.

All afternoon you had been setting up sensors anywhere there was a blind spot. You don’t want to scare Sarah, but your gut would not be satisfied until the house was a fortress.

“It’s the government’s doing to be honest. I have a feeling it’s gonna implode royally and they’ll be doing anything to cover it up.” You looked up from your tablet, “including taking down Walker.”

“Damn.” He stopped, climbing down the window still, “you speak like you’ve witnessed this before.”

You let out a dry laugh, connecting the sensor to your tablet, “I saw the Avengers being torn apart from the inside.”

“Wait,” he tilts his head, his hair bouncing while doing so, “you were with the Avengers during the Sokovia Accords?”

“Yep.” You sit along the wall under the open window, with the sunlight pooled into the attic and cool air rushing in, and pat the space next to you, “I was eight maybe, when Natasha and Clint saved me from being an assassin for The Red Room.” You took a deep breath, “Grew up with them, I stayed mostly on the sidelines until the Civil War. Then it was three years of being blacklisted by the government and whatnot.” he takes a seat right next to you, your shoulders touching.

“Enough about me,” you look at him, “What about you? Where are you from?”

“Born in Mexico, raised in Arizona.” He looks at you, his eyes in the sunlight shining bright.

Can eyes sparkle? I’ve never seen someone’s eyes sparkle before.

“Damn. Grand Canyons, huh.” you smile as you imagined him in hiking gear.

“Yeah, I’ve been there many times and believe me… it takes my breath away every single time.”

You huff out, “I always wanted to hike on that trail, never got the chance.”

“Maybe you can come with me after all this is over.” He says coyly, nudging your shoulder, “I can show you around, we can go visit other places, Horseshoe Bend, Havasu Falls…”

Y/n… just say it. He can’t be more obvious than this.

You smirk, “Joaquin Torres,” he looks at you, his cheeks turning red, “are you asking me out on a date?”

“Maybe… if you want to.” He looks at the ceiling, and to your amusement, you realize he was blushing, “And I promise I won’t scam you for money…” you laugh out loud, “I’m always up for hiking the trail, you know, because I work out.”

You groan in between laughing, “you heard that!”

“Yeah, I heard you checking me out…”

“…I wasn’t checking you out!” you fall back on the wall, “You have nice arms. That’s all.” You try not to smirk, but you see him do so from the corner of your eye.

“That’s all? What about my sensor uploading skills?” he wavered his eyebrows.

“10 by 10. You remain undefeated.”

Silence falls over as you keep stealing glances at each other. It’s only broken when he says, “You’re really pretty by the way.”

You laugh, and nudge his shoulder, “just pretty?”

“…and a Geek, you looked great in those Naruto pajamas…”

You hide your face in your hands but he continues, “Where did you get them? Costco?”

“I went on tour to Japan, so…” you look into those chocolaty brown eyes again, his face in the sunlight makes his features stand out, your attention going to his lips.

“Maybe you could take me with you next time.” He says, holding your hand, caressing the back as he looks at your lips.

“Only if you want to.” You whisper, leaning in, praying you weren’t reading this wrong.

Joaquin took hold of your neck, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through you. He pulled you closer, your lips meeting in the middle with a soft, exploratory touch. His lips were soft, as you'd imagined, and his hands cradled your face, his thumbs gently stroking your cheekbones. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, desperate for more. His tongue darted out, tasting you, a low groan rumbling in his chest that sent shivers down your spine. You wanted him to do more, go further, and you pulled back slightly, your eyes searching his.

Before Joaquin could protest, you straddled him, pushing him back against the wall. His eyes widened in surprise, a predatory glint entering them. You crashed your mouth on his, this time with a fierce urgency. The soft exploration of your first kiss quickly escalated into a desperate demand, your bodies pressed together, a primal need igniting within you.

"Fuck... y/n," he groaned, his hands gripping your hips, his fingers digging into your skin. He pulled back slightly, his lips leaving a trail of hot kisses down your neck, his breath fanning against your skin. He found the sweet spot on your pulse, sucking on it with a possessive intensity that made you arch against him. You gasped, clutching at his shirt, your nails digging into the fabric.

He leaned back, his eyes closed, a blissful moan escaping his lips. "God, you taste incredible," he whispered, his voice rough with desire. He kissed you again, this time a slow, deliberate exploration, his tongue tracing the inside of your mouth, mapping every curve.

Every inch of your body seemed to ignite by his touch, time melting away. There was only him, his hands roaming over your body, his lips devouring yours, and the intoxicating feeling of desire that consumed you both.

High Pitched and Grating, a sensor alarm rang through the attic.

You retreat in shock, like two deer caught in headlights, and Joaquin grabs the tablet and sees where this was happening.

Blood drained from his face as you witnessed at least four flag smashers moving towards the Wilson residence, guns armed, maybe a mile away.

He gets up, “East side?” grabbing the tablet and locking the windows.

“I’ll get Sarah.” You reply, already on your feet rushing downstairs.

---

"Halt," Lucas whispered, his voice a low growl in the pre-dawn darkness. The team crouched low, their figures mere shadows against the backdrop of the dense forest. Sam Wilson's house loomed ahead, a beacon of normalcy in the encroaching gloom.

"I see only two people inside," Matt reported, his voice a whisper cutting through the silence. "No kids." He checked the thermal scanners, the infrared images flickering on his visor.

Artie, his face pale in the moonlight, grabbed Lucas's shoulder. "Karli didn't say anything about kids."

"She told us to bring them alive," Lucas reminded him, his eyes fixed on the house. "And they need to be unharmed for negotiation."

Nadia shifted uncomfortably, her hand tightening around the grip of her revolver. "I don't like this," she muttered, her voice laced with unease. "I didn't agree to harm any kids."

Lucas turned to her, his gaze sharp. "Nadia!" he hissed, his voice low and dangerous. "We're doing this. One way or the other. Stop whining and get to work."

He took a deep breath, the metallic scent intensifying. "One World..." he began, his voice echoing in the stillness.

"One people," his team responded in unison, their voices a low, guttural chant.

With a silent, coordinated movement, they emerged from the shadows, their figures gliding towards the Wilson residence, the air thick with anticipation and a chilling sense of foreboding.

---

"Go, go, go!" you barked, adrenaline surging through you. You snatched Sarah's bag, your fingers brushing against the cool metal of the handgun inside. You grabbed AJ's hand, his small fingers clutching yours tightly, and ushered them towards the waiting car.

Cass and Sarah were already running, their figures mere shadows against the encroaching twilight. You threw the bags in the backseat, your movements a blur, then helped Cass and AJ climb in.

Sarah slid behind the wheel, her face pale. "Y/n, what are you doing?!" she gasped, her eyes wide with disbelief.

"I have to stay here," you said, your voice firm. "Make sure they don't follow you." You shoved your Glock into Sarah's hand.

A roar from inside the house cut through the tension. "Y/n! They're here!" Joaquin's voice, amplified by the sudden silence, echoed through the air.

"Sarah, I promise I'll be fine," you said, your gaze locked with Cass's in the rearview mirror. Tears were streaming down her face, but she nodded, her small frame trembling. "You have to go." You shoved your tablet into her hands, a desperate plea in your eyes. "Remember what I told you earlier. You'll be safe here."

"Sarah, go!" you screamed, your voice hoarse.

You watched as the car lurched forward, disappearing down the dirt road that snaked towards the water. A beep on your watch confirmed her location, a fleeting sense of relief washing over you.

Phase One. Over.

Phase Two. Let's go.

You sprinted through the back door, the house suddenly feeling eerily silent. Joaquin was already there, a grim set to his jaw. He was clad in his SHIELD armor, the sleek black material gleaming in the dim light. Guns and your emergency bag lay scattered across the kitchen table, a grim testament to the impending battle. You stole a glance at the tablet, its screen flickering with life as it ran facial recognition on the figures outside.

"Ready?" you asked, your voice a low growl, as you slipped on the bulletproof vest and began loading the magazines.

"Yeah," Joaquin replied, his eyes scanning the room, assessing the situation.

You looked out the window, the setting sun casting long, eerie shadows across the yard. "Let's hope Sam doesn't sue us for destroying his house," you muttered.

A/N - Thank you everyone for sticking with me till the end of this fic! if you liked it please let me know through the asks and the comments. Love y'all, Take Care!

Taglist

[peppermintquartz]

Tan stretches out his legs and Street sits besides him. "For real?"

"For real."

"Wow." Street drinks from his bottle and then angles his body to stare at his best friend. "For real real?"

Tan rolls his eyes. "Yes. Deacon and Annie are getting a divorce."

"Wow. But... Why? He loves his family. He thinks the world of Annie."

Shrugging, Tan says, "I tried bringing it up but he just says, quote, it's complicated, unquote. Hondo isn't talking either though I'm sure that he knows why."

Shaking his head, Street wipes the sweat off his neck. "Man. I always figured Deacon to, y'know, be the guy to have it together. Wife, four kids, nice place, cool job."

"And now he has three of the four." Tan rolls his right shoulder to loosen it. "From what I heard, it's going pretty smoothly. Neither of them want it drawn out and they definitely don't want the kids caught in the middle."

The two of them share a moment of commiseration with the absent Deacon. Then a car pulls up outside the basketball court and Chris comes out, bearing three smoothies.

"Hey guys," she calls out. Street jumps to his feet and runs over, kissing his fiancee on the cheek and taking two of the smoothies from her. She gives Tan a quick hug too, heedless of his sweaty state. "Hey, Tan. I heard from Luca that Deacon and Annie are splitting up?"

"We were just talking about it," Street says after the first mouthful of his avocado pineapple smoothie. "Ooh, babe, this is delish. Is it from the-"

"Yeah, that one down by the bridge."

"Niiiice."

Tan thanks her for the smoothie and says, "Only Deac and Hondo know the details. But everyone is buzzing about it."

"Annie's practically an institution in SWAT," Street points out.

Chris frowns. "I wonder if that's to do with... Hmmm."

Both her fiancé and Tan perk up. "Wait. You know something?"

"I don't know anything, I just have some suspicions, but that's not my secret to tell," Chris says with a warning tilt of her head. The guys subside. She asks, "So where's Deacon staying now? With Hondo?"

"Nah. They come in at different times," says Tan. "Probably with a friend. I doubt he'll stay in the house with Annie and the kids."

Street makes a sympathetic grimace. "Man, if Annie has to bear the mortgage of the house..."

"Deac won't leave her to flounder, don't worry," says Chris. "They're probably gonna sell the place. And Matthew and Lila are old enough to help with Samuel and Victoria."

Tan nudges her. "You're Victoria's godmother, you could visit and ask?"

She wrinkles her nose. "Annie and I aren't that sort of friends though. I mean, we're not unfriendly, but we're not exchanging messages and all that." Street rubs her back in understanding.

"I know it's a private matter and everything but man, I'm just dying of curiosity," Tan complains. He glances at Street. "Was that how it was for you when I was divorcing Bonnie? No, y'all already know why." He suddenly straightens from his slouch. "Did Annie cheat?"

"She... doesn't look the type," Street offers. "And Deac loves her. Remember when she had that brain tumor? Deac would've offered up his own life for hers."

"Deacon isn't the sort to stray either," Tan argues. "He always been about family."

Keeping her face impassive, Chris sips her smoothie as the gears in her head spin. Finally, she says, "Maybe they just don't see a future together."

"After almost twenty years? Come on, Chris."

"Tan's got a point."

"Maybe they found out something that changed the way they viewed themselves and their marriage. People change all the time," Chris responds. Finishing the rest of her smoothie with a slurp, she gets to her feet. "Alright. Shower and dinner at our place, Tan?"

"Only if Street isn't cooking," Tan says, grinning and dodging the towel snapped at him.

"You should be so lucky!" With a little jog, Street catches up to Chris and drapes his arm over her shoulders.

She takes the hand on her left shoulder and squeezes. The only question on her mind is, Who's the guy Deacon's fallen for?