#blair grumbles

[sapphic-outlaw]

RDR2 to-do lists are absolutely insane when they have no context

[sapphic-outlaw]

I've seen a lot of people say to play RDR1 like it's an entirely different game, and I didn't realize just how right they were about that until I started playing it myself. There's certain aspects that I think will make parts of RDR1 more impactful as a whole, but there's also parts that are far less impactful, like John revealing that he used to run with Bill Williamson, because it's kinda like "uh yeah I already knew that" rather than "omg wait huh?" lol. But that aside, there's also the fuckin controls. They're kind of confusing and a lot less dynamic. People sure weren't kidding when they said RDR1 is clunky! I still haven't figured out how the fuck to fist fight.

It's definitely proven difficult to repeatedly remind myself that this is the OG (kind of, if you don't count RDRevolver, but story wise you really shouldn't), RDR2 didn't exist, and I shouldn't be holding it to the same standards as far as controls and general gameplay feel go. Don't expect RDR1 to be quite as comfortable and relaxing to play as RDR2 is because I just don't think it's intended to be that way.

"Rdr 1 feels so lonely!"- Yep, that's the point.

TW: S*icdal Idealation Agreed, but stick with it. That's the point of the game, and has been since day 1. People say it's eerie, and that's accurate, too. The soundtrack can straight up be creepy, and camping alone is not always a peaceful feeling. It's based on Spaghetti Westerns with people like Clint Eastwood and A Fist Full of Dollars and The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, where the protagonists were usually the silent type, the one-man armies, the chivalrous to women, but distrusted by others and distrustful of others. (John and the protagonist usually change the characters' minds by the end. ) John's mission is supposed to feel lonely and hopeless because it is a hopeless near impossible task. He doesn't have love and support. Everything has been taken away. That's why John confronting Bill at the beginning is not because he is stupid. It's purposeful because he's lost the will to live until Bonnie wakens it up in him again. She bluntly asks him why he would confront Bill like that, and that's what John hints at. He had just come from prison and was possibly tortured, the people he loves are gone and might die, and his farm is destroyed. For those wondering about John not having a journal. I agree. I would have liked a journal, but that goes against the spaghetti western's protagonist's mystique. We're not supposed to know what the character is feeling except for context clues, minute expressions, or body language, of which the game does well. Arthur having a journal is unique to the genre, but it is not a spaghetti western. This is not Red Dead Redemption 2. You'll enjoy the game more once you separate the two.

[wereverine]

visual representation of how it feels to get hit with a really bad cramp or really bad intestinal pain out of nowhere

[norikuna]

WHAT? LIKE IT'S HARD? ✶ choso kamo

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re not above sending a risky message.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s your point?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You ask Kamo, I’ll ask Suguru.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Choso’s shoulders tense, “Can’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You first.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I help you?”

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

Choso Kamo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THREE YEARS LATER.

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

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

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

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

Your mother.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get out,” you blurt.

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

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

“Partner?” Choso finishes for you, deadpan.

“Of all the people in this entire school —”

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

“What are you doing here?”

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

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

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

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

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

“What? Like it’s hard?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Choso just rolls his eyes.

“They…modify bacterial ribosomes.”

“Wrong.”

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

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

“Nope.”

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

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

“Just tell me the answer.”

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

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

“I was close.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing next weekend?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you want to study at my place?”

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

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

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

“Hmm. Sure, I’ll think about it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s not a date. We’re studying.”

“Don’t care. Didn’t really ask.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did I leave the door unlocked?”

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

“Get out.”

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

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

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

Weird. And impossible.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Leave Yuuji out of this!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right.

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

“So, what?”

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

“Are you angry?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re not happy, Satoru?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s he look like again?”

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

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

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

“Hold up! I got visual aid.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now who’s the liar,” Suguru murmurs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You good?”

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

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

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

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

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

Oh. Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

You’re having none of it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There you are.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Without warning, his phone buzzes.

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

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

“What?”

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

“I’m not dating Tsukumo Yuki.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If it’s a proper date, it’s a yes.”

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

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

ONE WEEK LATER.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[waterhousse]

Invisible String

pairing: college!ellie williams x reader

summary: a week in your life where someone leaves you an anonymous note and you also meet a cute girl in one of your classes.

author’s note: this is un(necessarily) LONG, so take your time to read it. i hope you still enjoy it !! <3

• • • •

monday

you were in front of your dorm, digging for your keys in the mess of your backpack when a high-pitched voice yelled your name. of course, it could only belong to you best friend, blair. you prepared yourself to receive one of her bone-crushing hugs.

“there you are! i sent you like a million messages!”

“everything okay?” you asked before pulling away.

“yeah, i just have a little proposal.”

you narrowed your eyes at her, “what are you scheming?”

“you see, my gorgeous boyfriend is throwing this massive party on friday—”

“immediately no.”

“oh, c’mon!” she grumbled. “it’s been like five months since the last time we went out together. i miss my drunk little partner,” she pouted, pinching your cheek.

you let out a laugh, softly pushing away her hand out of your face. “i’m not exactly in a party mood, blair. i’m sorry.”

you made a poor attempt to avoid eye contact, but the weight of her stare was a difficult one to ignore. you looked back at her, already defeated.

“it’s nothing serious, but i’ve just been feeling a little insecure. and i’m okay,” you were quick to clarify, “i just want to stay in my dorm and watch a movie or something. it’s only temporary, i’ll feel better soon. you know i always do,” you opened the door and waited for her to inside first.

“how many times do i have to tell you you’re gorgeous for you to believe me? look at you!”

“blair—”

“i’m serious.”

“i know you are. thank you,” you replied softly. “forget about it, let’s just go inside. i’m tired and i wanna sleep.”

your friend had a worried look on her face, but decided to drop the subject, “still no roommate?”

“nope,” you grinned, closing the door behind you. “i’d invite you to live with me but you’re too busy staying at your boyfriend’s,” you teased her.

“can you blame me? his apartment is the size of a million of these dorms combined,” she exaggerated. “besides, he’s the sweetest man to ever exist. he’s every girl’s dream.” she sighed dreamily as she threw herself on the unoccupied bed. you raised your eyebrows at her, to which she rolled her eyes. “if he were a girl you’d be after him, too.”

after your friend bragged about her boyfriend for a few more minutes, both of you ended up falling asleep, totally drained from your long, boring classes. you woke up two hours later thanks to blair’s boyfriend who called her wondering where she was.

“wanna go grab some coffee? he’s paying!” blair offered with a big smile, which you returned.

“maybe he is every girl’s dream after all.”

you and blair headed outside shortly after, gossiping about people you didn’t even know. suddenly, your sleepy eyes spotted something strange on the door, more specifically, on the whiteboard you had outside. someone had left an anonymous message on it.

the prettiest girl on campus (and of everywhere else too) i wish i could come up with the courage to talk to you. guess i’ll just admire you from afar

ps: not in a creepy way

ps2: seriously sorry if this is creepy

you stared blankly at the message, reading it over and over again.

“did you do this?”

“hold on, i’m looking for that one tweet i saw. i’m telling you, she’s cheating on him—”

“blair!”

she finally looked up from her phone, “what?”

“did you do this?” you pointed at the board.

her expression comically changed from confusion to extreme excitement, eyes widened and mouth hung open. an over exaggerated gasp left her lips before she grabbed you by the shoulders.

“oh my god! you have a secret admirer!”

“no, i don’t. that’s probably not for me. someone must’ve mistaken my dorm for somebody else’s.”

“your name is literally on that board. besides, you are the prettiest girl to ever exist, so, i’m pretty sure they’re not mistaken.” blair kept looking at the note, meticulously analyzing it. “let’s pray it’s not a man who wrote this. imagine if he confesses his feelings for you in person. he’d be in for a very awkward rejection.”

you tried to downplay the situation by telling blair it was probably just a joke, but on the inside you couldn’t stop wondering who did it. as you walked down the hallway, you discreetly checked the whiteboards from the other dorms. all they had were random doodles and people’s names, nothing else.

tuesday

you were currently sitting under a big tree, admiring the sunset. birds chirped softly at the distance, adding even more magic to the beautiful scenery in front of you, but even the peaceful atmosphere that surrounded you wasn’t enough to calm your racing mind.

the anonymous note was certainly the most interesting thing that had happened to you in a while, but you were a serial overthinker. besides making you feel extremely curious about the identity of the person who wrote it, it had also made you spiral about the way you acted towards strangers.

being content with your small circle, you never put any effort in starting conversations with someone you didn’t already know. you felt as if you didn’t need anyone else in your life, but was that a mistake? what if the mystery person tried talking to you but you acted uninterested? what if they attempted to make eye contact but you were too busy staring down?

the most important question spinning around your head was how many special bonds had you lost simply because of your behavior?

as your silent crisis continued, the sun began to disappear on the horizon until it was fully dark. your eyes quickly found the moon, with the sky being clear, you could see her perfectly.

you took out your phone to take some pictures of the satellite, as well as everything else around you. the trees, your coffee cup, an empty bench and an orange cat that was laying next to it.

just as you were taking photos of the cute animal, someone crouched down next to him to pet him. that was the moment you saw her. a girl you had never seen before, but who managed to catch your attention right away. she was simply beautiful. many people, places, art pieces and more had been described with that adjective, but in your mind, that unknown girl was the first being in history to be worthy of it. you were completely mesmerized.

you put down your phone and watched the sweet moment develop in front of you. you could tell she was speaking to the cat, who seemed to really enjoy her company. the girl got up after a few minutes, giving the cat one last scratch between his ears before leaving. a frown instantly appeared on her face the moment she looked away from the animal, making you chuckle. she looked absolutely intimidating, the total opposite of what you had just witnessed.

your eyes followed her until she disappeared from your sight, but her image stayed on your mind for the rest of the day.

wednesday

you were having one of those days when everything that can go wrong, goes wrong. you had slept through your alarm, didn’t have time to have breakfast, couldn’t find your books and forgot your jacket on your way out. one may think it couldn’t get worse, well, unfortunately, it could.

you felt your soul escape your body when the, feared by many, physics professor laid his demonic eyes on you. you were certain you looked insane; hair a total mess, completely out of breath and slightly shaking from your nervousness.

“class started ten minutes ago,” his strident voice echoed in the big classroom. you didn’t even need to look to know everyone’s eyes were on you.

“i know,” your voice pathetically quivered. “sorry.”

“for your information, if you have somewhere to be you wake early enough to make it on time. it’s not rocket science, all of your classmates did it.” when he got no reply from you, he sighed. “there’s only one more seat available at the back. lucky for you, you’ll be sitting next to one of my best students. maybe you could be friends, she could teach you how to get here on time.”

with your eyes glued to the floor, you walked straight to where the professor pointed to without making a sound. you tried your best to ignore your classmates’ stares, but they lacked discretion.

fortunately for you, a nice surprised awaited you. the student the professor mentioned was none other than the girl you had seen the day before. she was even more beautiful up-close, which wasn’t exactly a good thing. she had just witnessed your most embarrassing moment. still, her eyes radiated kindness.

“this guy’s an idiot. you were only a few minutes late and didn’t even miss much. he was just struggling to turn on the projector the whole time,” the girl whispered at you once you sat down.

you were ready to reply with just a ‘yeah’, but the crisis you had the day before stopped you.

“he’s the worst,” you replied instead. “i always feel on the verge of puking whenever he looks at me,” the regret you felt after saying that was immediate, fearing it was too much information.

you felt yourself relax at the sound of her laugh, and of course it had to be the most heavenly sound you had ever heard.

“i’m ellie williams,” she leaned in, reaching over for your hand. you introduced yourself as your brain started mindlessly picking up details about her, like the fact that she had many freckles scattered all over her face.

you held her gaze for a few seconds before looking back at the professor, who had begun talking about punctuality. he sent you multiple looks during his whole speech, you found it hilarious. he looked like as if his eyes were about to pop out of his sockets.

trying to act as normal as possible, you grabbed your water bottle and took a sip in an attempt to calm down. you realized that was a huge mistake once you glanced at ellie, who was trying her hardest to hold in her laugh. you almost spit out your water when she made eye contact with you, causing you to choke.

“shit, you alright?” she leaned in, now fully laughing, and patted your back.

“yes— yeah,” you managed to say in between your coughing and laughing. you looked around, noticing how quiet the classroom had gotten. yours’ and ellie’s voices were the only thing cutting through the deadly silence. “sorry, i choked on water— sorry,” you apologized to the professor, who was impatiently tapping his foot on the floor.

“may i continue, ladies? is that okay with you two or should i wait for you to be done?” neither of you answered, so he let out one of his classic sighs. “as i was saying…”

the moment he looked away, you covered your face with your hands, trying to muffle the giggles that were escaping your lips. ellie was in the same state as you, which only made things worse.

“if he didn’t hate me before, he sure does now,” you whispered, eyes sparkling with amusement. “why does he have to be such a dick? it’s not like a choked on purpose. i could’ve died,” you dramatized.

actually, it’d be very rare to die from choking on a liquid, ellie almost said, but she didn’t want you to think she was a smart-ass. instead, she just kept laughing.

silence grew between the two of you as you came back to your notes and tried to pay attention to the class. ellie’s eyes inevitably fell on you again, trying to come up with something to say to keep the conversation going.

“you know, i, personally, wouldn’t take advice from a person like him, but i think he’s right about us being friends.”

“yeah, i think he is,” you warmly smiled before looking down at your notes again, unable to hold her gaze.

having fun in physics class seemed impossible at the beginning of the semester, but it had actually happened. you and ellie talked the whole time, which made the minutes go by faster than expected and also annoyed everyone around you.

“see you next wednesday? try to be on time, though. i don’t want him to kill you in front of the whole class.”

you laughed at ellie’s words and nodded, “see you next week.”

i really hope it’s sooner than that, the thought appeared in your mind without warning. you watched ellie go, a shy smile appeared on your lips when she glanced back at you and caught you staring.

the rest of the morning felt boring and uneventful in comparison to physics class, so you were really excited to finally be back at your dorm. your tired eyes fell on the whiteboard, no message from the mystery person. you tried to ignore how weirdly disappointed you felt and went inside, telling yourself it had been, probably, a one time thing.

thursday

shyness had never been a problem for you but, still, socializing wasn’t really your thing. if there was a chance for you to avoid interaction with strangers, you took it, so it was certainly weird seeing ellie at the dining hall and feeling an intense need to say hi. good thing she wasn’t exactly a stranger, right?

she was sitting alone in one of the most secluded tables, eyes focused on her phone. without giving it much thought, you walked towards her, but you began second guessing your decision once you realized she probably wanted to be alone. your steps became more hesitant the closer you got to her and just as you were about to turn around and leave she looked up. her surprised expression quickly changed into a delighted one.

“hey,” she greeted as she took off her headphones.

“hi,” you smiled back as a feeling of panic started setting in. you had absolutely no idea of what to say to her.

“you can sit if you’d like,” she offered, gesturing to the seat in front of her.

“you’re not busy? i can leave if you alone if—”

“no way,” ellie shook her head and, with her foot, pushed the chair towards you before looking up at you. “c’mon, sit.”

the moment you sat down, she leaned forward. you, instinctively, leaned back, but kept your hands just a few inches away from hers. you bit the inside of your cheek, trying your hardest to hold her gaze.

“so, how you’ve been? had any nightmares about our beloved professor yelling at you?” ellie asked, amused. you internally thanked her for starting the conversation.

“i can see his spit flying at me in slow motion whenever i close my eyes,” you replied, making ellie laugh. “that was definitely the last time i’m late to class. i hate attention, if i have to go through something like that again i’ll just die on the spot.”

ellie’s smile hadn’t faded since the moment she saw you, “just try not to be late to any of his classes, he’s the only one who gives you shit for that,” she adviced. “i knew he was insane because i’ve heard about it, so i tried to get on his good side by always being early. i considered sitting at the front, too, but that was too much.”

“you always sit at the back?”

“yeah, i don’t like having people behind me. for some reason, it really freaks me out knowing someone is staring at the back of my head.”

you hummed in response, mind deep in thought. you never looked at the back when you entered the classroom, in fact, you kept your head down, but ellie had always been there.

how many special bonds had you lost simply because of your behavior?

“hey, my friend’s boyfriend is throwing a party this friday, i was wondering if you’d like to go.”

“cool, yeah, of course,” ellie quickly replied.

“yeah?” you beamed, biting down your bottom lip.

“yes,” she nodded, the corners of her mouth quirking up again, “can i bring a friend?”

“sure,” you smiled. you took out a pen and a post-it from your backpack and wrote the address before sticking it on her hand. your eyes wandered further and ended up on her watch. without a second thought, you grabbed her wrist and pulled her closer to you, tilting your head to see the time. “shit, i gotta go to class, but i’ll see you friday?”

“see you then,” ellie said, but she didn’t want you to leave, and you didn’t want to go either. she hesitated before calling your name, making you turn around. “can i walk you to class?”

the question lingered in the air as you processed it. it had caught you completely off guard, which ellie could tell just by seeing your expression. fearing she messed up, time began moving slower and slower to her until you finally accepted her offer with a huge grin on your face.

ellie released the air stuck in her lungs before catching up with you. anyone with a pair of working eyes could see how nervous the two of you were, except yourselves. you were too busy focused on not to embarrass yourself by tripping and ellie was trying to regulate her breathing. neither of you dared to talk because it would make it too obvious, but ellie finally broke the silence once you stepped outside, asking you what class you had.

you had always hated small talk because you feared there’d be a point in which you wouldn’t know what else to say, but that moment never came with ellie. the conversation flowed smoothly between smiles and chuckles from the both of you.

“oh, look!” she suddenly said, casually grabbing you by your shoulder as if she had done it a thousand times before. you followed her line of sight and gasped when your eyes spotted a familiar orange cat. it was the same one you had seen ellie pet when you didn’t even know her yet. “wanna go say hi?”

“how is that even a question?”

ellie was the first one to approach him, crouching down in front of him. you copied her action a second later, already eager to pet him.

“his name is orange. original, right?” ellie sarcastically asked, gaining a laugh from you. “i didn’t name him, by the way. he has a tag with his name.”

“hi, little guy,” you pouted, scratching the back of his head.

“he must live nearby because he’s always here,” ellie told you. “he’s missing an eye, but he’s still cute, right?” she glanced over her shoulder.

you two were close. closer than a simple girl like ellie could handle. your perfume was all that she could smell, you were the only thing she could look at and her own heartbeat was the only sound she could hear.

“he’s the cutest,” you chuckled.

you stayed there for a couple more minutes. ellie told you about the first time she saw orange and you told her about the pets you had back home. it was such a sweet conversation, both of you using soft voices to not scare the cat away.

“alright, let’s go. i don’t want you being late to another class,” ellie told you as she stood up. “see you later, dude,” she waved at orange. surprisingly, the cat meowed back. “we’re best friends,” ellie jokingly bragged as both of you began to walk again.

“do you think he’ll accept me as a friend, too?”

“oh, absolutely. he loves you already.”

you ended up getting to class just in time, but you wouldn’t have cared if you were late. if it were for you, you would’ve skipped it just to keep hanging out with ellie.

“see you tomorrow, then?” you asked, hopeful.

“see you tomorrow,” ellie confirmed as she took a few steps back in your opposite direction, her eyes never leaving you until she fully turned around.

friday

it had been a while since you’d last chosen an outfit with someone in mind, wondering if they would like it. it took a while, but you finally settled on one. it was neatly laying on top of your bed.

“she’ll totally fall in love when she sees you in that,” blair’s voice cut through the silence, startling you.

“i’ve no idea who you’re talking about,” you obviously lied.

“maybe the girl you’ve been talking to me about since you met her?” blair guessed, “or is it the mysterious person who left you that note on monday?”

“it’s not weird that i still think about who could it be, is it?”

even if you had many other things to think about, the identity of the secret admirer, as blair had called them, was something that you were still curious about. it was difficult not to overthink every interaction you had with strangers, especially those who you’d catch staring or were friendlier than normal with you.

“are you kidding? if i were you, i would’ve asked every single person on campus if they knew anything about it,” she sat down on your bed, next to where your clothes were and handed them to you with a wink. “both ellie and the secret admirer will die when they see you tonight.”

a pathetic giggle escaped your lips on the way to the bathroom. you quickly changed into your chosen outfit, a rare feeling of exciment growing on inside you.

once you arrived at the party, you wasted no time and started looking for ellie. there were many familiar faces in the already drunken crowd, some of them even waved at you, but you didn’t even notice. between the lights and the loud music, you could barely pay attention to your own thoughts.

“what was she like again?” blair asked you, trying to help you find her.

“hot,” you replied, still scanning the room.

“right, thanks. that really helps.”

you laughed, “she’s—” your description was cut short when you suddenly locked eyes with her across the room. there was someone by her side, a girl who looked familiar but you couldn’t pinpoint where you knew her from. “she’s here.”

ellie leaned into her friend’s ear to say something, but her eyes never left yours. you tried to remain calm as you watched her walk towards you, looking annoyingly attractive.

“hey, there you are,” she greeted once she was close enough for you to hear her.

“hi! you came,” you beamed. “this is blair, my best friend. blair, this is ellie.”

“it’s really nice to meet you,” ellie shot a quick glance at your friend before glueing her eyes on you again.

knowing that that was her cue to leave, blair gave you a squeeze on your arm, “if you’ll excuse me, i have to go find my boyfriend. enjoy the party,” she wiggled her eyebrows at you before disappearing into the crowd.

“shouldn’t you call your friend over?” it was a genuine question, not wanting ellie to ditch the person she was with for you, but you also needed to know if she was really just a friend.

ellie looked over her shoulder and let out a chuckle, “i think she’s pretty busy.”

confused, you looked behind her. all of your doubts were cleared once you spotted her, she was making out with some girl.

she was definitely just a friend.

“oh,” you let out a short laugh. “good for her.”

ellie nodded at your words before looking back at you again. you were still distracted by the show ellie’s friend was giving and were completely oblivious to the spell you had put her under.

“you look really good,” she blurted out.

you broke into a sweet smile at the sudden compliment, “oh, thank you. you do too. really, really good.”

the fluttering of your heart made you want to burst into giggles, feeling extremely giddy. it was obvious how flustered you were, but seeing ellie in the same state as you made you feel slightly better. you would’ve never guess she’d be the type of person who blushes.

“wanna go for something to drink?”

you nodded at her question before reaching for her hand with the excuse of not losing each other on the way to the kitchen. ellie’s fingers quickly intertwined with yours as you started to lead the way. you offered many apologizes to the people who you accidentally bumped into, the place was absolutely packed and it was difficult to move. the kitchen was no different, you had barely any place to walk.

you grabbed two beer bottles and handed one to ellie, who looked a bit flushed from the previous interaction.

“next time someone doesn’t move after i say ‘excuse me’ i’ll just hit them on their ribs,” you furrowed your eyebrows. “where did they put the bottle opener?” you muttered to yourself, but ellie seemed to have heard you.

“here, let me help.”

you passed her the bottle and watched as she opened it against the table, taking the top off immediately.

“impressive,” you praised her before taking a sip. you grimaced at the taste.

ellie leaned back on the kitchen island, keeping her eyes on you. there was an amused smirk on her lips, “you don’t like it?”

“not really. i mean, it’s not like i hate it, but i only drink beer when there’s no other option,” you shrugged your shoulders. “i think there’s more to drink over there but there’s too many people and i don’t feel like getting trapped between sweaty drunk dudes.”

ellie swept her gaze over the kitchen before walking towards one of the many cabinets. “there’s gotta be something else in here,” she said as she opened every single door. “there it is!” ellie turned around and your eyes fell to her hands, she was holding a bottle of vodka. it was almost empty. “shots, anyone?” she offered.

a guy who was at the kitchen cheered, “hell yeah!”

ellie frowned, disgusted. “not you. go get your own bottle.”

a laugh escaped your lips at how disappointed the guy seemed to be, he immediately left after ellie’s words. “that was kind of mean,” you chuckled lightly.

ellie couldn’t tell you that she actually blew him off because of how shamelessly he checked you out the moment you entered the kitchen, so she just shrugged her shoulders. “he didn’t find it. open up,” she commanded you, placing a hand on your chin. you opened your mouth and felt how ellie poured the liquid down your throat.

“gross,” you wrinkled your nose. you grabbed the bottle from her hands and copied her action, softly grabbing her by her chin. she drank what was left of the vodka and you left the bottle on the counter behind her.

ellie smiled at you as she swiped her fingers across the corner of her lips. she gave you one last glance before walking past you. you watched her open more drawers and cabinets.

“psst, come here,” she called you over.

“what did you find?”

ellie looked around to check no one else was listening. you laughed at how secretive she was being. “look,” she whispered, she had found a box of chocolate covered strawberries. “shall we?” she offered, eyebrows up.

“absolutely,” you accepted, laughing. “but not here. let’s go to the balcony. it’s closed but i know where they keep the keys.”

ellie pushed herself off the table she was laying on and grabbed your hand, “i’ll lead this time, i know where it is.”

you stared down at your hands, blindly trusting her to guide you.

“how do you know where it is?”

“well, i kind of looked everywhere for you when i got here,” she admitted. “thought you stood me up.”

“sorry, i took forever to get ready,” you apologized, embarrassed.

“don’t worry, it was totally worth it,” ellie shot a quick glance at you as she said that, knowing it would mess you up. her personality changed from shy to flirty in a matter of seconds, so you didn’t really know what to expect of her.

you let out a sigh of relief once you were on the balcony, grateful for how muffled the people and music sounded from outside. “i remember why i haven’t gone out in months now,” you rolled your eyes.

“not a party girl, huh?” ellie let out a chuckle, leaning against the wall. she offered you a strawberry, which you gladly took.

“not lately,” you replied after taking a bite.

“so what made you go out tonight?”

you shrugged, “it was an impulse,” your answer was honest, but it was missing the rest of it.

because i wanted to see you again.

“it really helps you’re here, though,” you clarified. “actually, it doesn’t only help, you’re the only reason i’m enjoying this.”

“same here,” she smiled at you before looking up at the sky, she got lost in her thoughts for a moment before speaking up again. “it sucks that city lights don’t let us see the stars properly.”

you scoffed at her words, “i know, but hey, at least we have the moon,” you pointed at the satellite. “she never disappoints.”

there had been a few times were you felt as if the universe was on your side, somehow listening to you. that night was the moment you confirmed your theory because, coincidentally enough, the lights went off in what it seemed to be the entire city. a collective scream was heard from inside the apartment, along with multiple curses.

you took out your phone and turned on your flashlight, accidentally pointing it at ellie’s eyes.

“ow!” she let out, squinting her eyes. you couldn’t help but laugh, to which she complained.

“sorry, didn’t mean to blind you. especially now,” your excitement was enough to spark ellie’s curiosity.

“what do you mean?”

“come with me,” you grabbed her hand for the third time that day, knowing you’d miss doing that when the night came to an end. you still hadn’t gotten used to the weird, almost electric feeling that tingled in your palm whenever you touched her.

you guided her through the disappointed multitude, letting out apologies every now and then and also pushing those who didn’t move after you politely asked. you couldn’t blame them, though, they had used the darkness to their advantage and were shamelessly making out.

the air was ten times colder on the terrace than it was on the balcony, but neither of you cared because once you looked up you forgot about everything else. well, except maybe each other.

the view was completely breathtaking. without the light pollution, the sky looked straight out of a painting.

“it’s like looking straight at space,” you whispered, eyes sparkling with excitement. you had only seen the stars like that once in your life when you were a kid. it was as magical as you remembered, and the person you were sharing the moment with only made everything more special.

“i know,” ellie gazed at you before looking up again. “it blows my mind.”

as the night went on, you talked about many different things whilst laying on the floor; how your lives back home were, your friends, your families, favorite movies and songs and of course, with both of you being astronomy students, space-related stuff. you two were interested in each other’s point of view about everything, so you discussed many different subjects, enjoying the freedom to be incredibly nerdy about it.

“our lifespan is way too short. i mean, think about it. look at how many things have changed and advanced in only a hundred years. can you imagine how the world will change in, like, a thousand years?”

“maybe in fifty more years scientists will discover the key to immortality and we’ll be able to see everything,” ellie shrugged her shoulders. “or we could try to discover it ourselves once we graduate.”

you let out a laugh, “such an easy thing to do,” you sarcastically said. “i’m in, but maybe we could try with something easier, like, finding extraterrestrial forms of life, perhaps?”

“apparently, they are already here,” ellie pointed out.

you turned your head at her, “we’ll be the first to make friends with them, then. we’re pretty nice people, they’ll warm up to us.”

“deal,” she smiled at you, inevitably glancing at your lips for a second due to the proximity.

you kept enjoying each other’s company. there were moments in which neither of you spoke but, surprisingly enough, you didn’t care. even silence was fun with her.

neither of you had experienced a connection as strong as the one you had, especially in such a short amount of time. you didn’t question it, thought, it just made sense.

after a while, the power came back. the city was illuminated and the music from the party was back on. you two sat up, a little saddened that you couldn’t stargaze anymore.

“it was fun while it lasted,” you commented, ready to return to the apartment. you picked up the beer bottles from the floor, along with the empty box of chocolate strawberries.

“we can always go camping,” ellie suggested. “the sky will look even better than tonight.”

“i have zero survival skills, so you’d be in charge of everything. i can interest you with some random facts, though.”

“sounds good,” she laughed as she stood by the door and opened it, waiting for you to go inside first. the walk to the apartment was quiet, hating the fact the that night was coming to an end.

the loud music welcomed you again, people were even crazier after having to wait half an hour for the power to come back. it surprised you to see the same amount of people, apparently, none of them had left.

“i know it’s a friday night but, how the fuck has your friend managed to not get kicked out yet?” ellie leaned into your ear.

“this building is mostly occupied by other students, so they are probably at the party, too,” you explained, raising your voice a little so she could hear you.

everyone was euphorically dancing, making up for the lost time. you glanced at ellie before grabbing her hand and dragging her to the improvised dance floor. she instantly followed you, completely mesmerized.

“oh my god, there you are! i thought i was imagining things when i saw you earlier,” a familiar voice said from behind you. it was tara, you shared some classes and had been partners in a project once. “you look so good.”

“oh, hey, tara. this ell—”

“yeah, hi,” she interrupted you, only glancing at ellie for half a second. “could you walk me to the bathroom? i– i don’t know where it is and i feel pretty sick.”

your eyes flickered between the two girls. you obviously wanted to stay with ellie, but tara had put you in a really awkward position.

“uh…” you hesitated, “where are your friends?”

“they already left,” she frowned. “c’mon, babe, come with me? please.”

the nickname she used echoed in ellie’s mind.

“i can’t, i—”

“you should go. i should check on my friend, so…” ellie’s lips were in a straight line, but she forced a smile when you looked at her.

“why don’t you come with us?”

ellie would’ve agreed if she hadn’t seen the nasty look tara had given her. she wasn’t intimidated by her in the slightest, but the thought of being a burden and indirectly forcing you not to leave her alone was enough to let you go, even if she didn’t want to.

“no, really. i need to go see if she’s okay. i’ll find you later.”

you didn’t have time to respond, because you had already been dragged away from there. tara started chatting your ear off about stuff you didn’t care, you could only think about ellie.

“do you want me to call you an uber or something?” you asked her.

“why would i wanna leave?”

“you said you were sick and you’re pretty drunk, you should go home.”

“oh, no, silly. i live in this building, maybe you could walk me to my apartment?”

you refrained from rolling your eyes in front of her and realized that the sooner you got rid of her, the sooner you could go back to the girl you actually wanted to be with.

“c’mon, let’s go,” you said. on the way out you messaged blair to find ellie and tell her you’d be right back, to which she answered she was on it.

you took the elevator to her floor. you could tell tara wanted you to initiate a conversation by the way she was looking at you, but you couldn’t care less about her. she hadn’t noticed, apparently, because she started talking about god knows what as you walked behind her, completely zoned out.

“wanna come in?” she asked you once you were outside her apartment. her intentions were crystal clear but, as flattered as you were, you couldn’t help but feel completely uncomfortable.

“uh, no, thanks,” you awkwardly said.

“you sure? i’ve got—”

“yes, tara, i’m sure. i gotta go, i’m sorry. you’ll be okay, though, right? see you around,” you took a step back with each word you said, by the end of the sentence you were in front of the elevator. you heard tara let out a very confused ‘bye’ before the doors closed.

you impatiently tapped your foot against the floor, wondering why was the elevator taking so long. once you were back at the party you immediately searched for ellie, but she was nowhere to be found. instead, you saw blair, who had a worried look on her face.

“hey,” you approached her. “did you talk to ellie?”

“i couldn’t. i saw her leave with that girl she was with like a minute after you texted me,” she grimaced. “what happened? why were you with tara?”

you sighed, “i’m so stupid,” you groaned. “tara found me and she put me in this really difficult spot, so i had to walk her to her apartment because she was pretty fucking drunk and feeling very sick, or at least that’s what she told me, and i did it as fast as i could, but—”

“okay, okay. stop. why don’t you text ellie and—”

“i don’t have her number.”

“try instagram?”

“i tried finding her on instagram the same day i met her and i couldn’t,” you awkwardly confessed. “she probably thinks i blew her off for stupid tara.”

“hey, calm down. i’m sure you’ll see her soon.”

sadly, that soon never came. saturday, sunday, monday and tuesday went by painfully slow. there was no sight of ellie.

wednesday

you were a hopeless romantic, even if you didn’t admit it out loud. deep down, you knew that meeting ellie wasn’t a coincidence. it could’ve happened at any given moment due to being classmates, but it did when you needed it the most.

it was unexpected, but as said before, you felt as if sometimes the universe was on your side, listening to your deepest desires, the ones you didn’t know needed to be fulfilled.

you had never felt a connection as genuine as the one you had with her. everything seemed easy with her, making you feel you’d known her for longer than a week.

that doesn’t happen often, especially to you, so you would do anything in your power to fix things.

you were currently in physics class, counting down the minutes for it to end. you had to fight the urge to look at the back to see if ellie was there.

the thought of her being mad at you for practically abandoning at the party you invited her to made you sick. you also feared she didn’t care at all, which was a hundred times worse.

once the class ended you waited for her outside, trying to calm down your racing heart. the majority of students had already come out. you had just started to lose hope of seeing her when you finally heard her voice. she was saying goodbye to the professor.

“hi,” you nervously smiled when she was in front of you. her looking as good as always didn’t help you calm down at all. “i’ve been hoping to see you since friday. i wanted to apologize—”

“oh, you don’t have to do that. i get it. i saw you leave with that girl, tara, was it? it’s okay, you don’t have to explain anything—”

“no, no. i didn’t leave with her,” you clarified. “she wasn’t feeling good so she asked me to walk her to her apartment, which was in that same building, and i only did it to get rid of her. i know i sound like a major dick, but i wanted to go back to you as soon as possible,” you confessed, heart beating a hundred miles per minute.

“you did?” there was a smile hiding on her lips, you could tell by the tone she used. she was amused and obviously enjoyed seeing you flustered.

“yes, and i told blair to find you and tell you that i’d be right back, but when i did you had already left and i had no way of communicating with you, so…” ellie was quiet, so you continued. “i’m sorry.“

it felt like an eternity until she spoke again. “i’m sorry i left.”

“it’s not your fault,“ you mused. “it’s tara’s.”

“it so is,” ellie let out a chuckle. “i’ll fuck her up.”

you laughed, which made ellie’s stomach flip. both of you became numb to your surroundings as you stared into each other’s eyes, dumb smiles plastered on your faces.

“hey, about that paper that we have to do on electromagnetism. would you, maybe, uh, want to do it with me?”

“yes, i’d love to,” you grinned. “we could meet at the library tomorrow. do you have any classes in the morning?”

“just one, it ends at 10.”

“see you at 11?”

“yeah,” ellie nodded.

“oh, i almost forgot,” you said before taking out your phone. ellie curiously watched you type something before you handed it to her.

an adorable smile formed on her lips when she saw you were asking for her number. you had already typed in her name with the alien emoji next to it.

“thank you,” you mused when she gave your phone back to you. you instantly sent her a text so she could save your number on hers, too.

“see you tomorrow :)”

ellie looked up from her phone, mouth upturned. “see you then.”

tuesday

“the library’s closed,” ellie announced the moment she saw you.

the lights were turned off and there was a sign on the door that read ‘closed for reparations’.

“awh, man,” you complained. “why didn’t they tell us sooner—”

“actually, they did. i just checked and they sent us an email about a week ago, we just don’t check our inbox,” ellie interrupted you, grimacing.

“oh, our fault then,” you shrugged your shoulders. “um, maybe we could go to my dorm? i don’t have a roommate so nobody will bother us,” you offered.

“woah, i’d give everything to have my dorm all to myself,” she groaned, tilting her head back. “why don’t you have a roommate?”

you didn’t realize you had already started walking together, mindlessly leading the way to your dorm.

“i had one at the beginning of the semester, but then she dropped out or something. they told me i’ll probably get one next semester, so i’m enjoying it while it lasts,” you explained.

ellie huffed, “my roommate is a music producer. she’s pretty considerate but sometimes she has to listen to her songs without headphones,” she rolled her eyes. “i think i’m gonna find a job and move out to an apartment.”

“you totally should. i’d do it too if i were capable of balancing work and college,” you told her. “you’re welcome to stay at mine’s for as long as you want and whenever you want, by the way.”

“really?” she grinned. “you’re already asking me to live together? i haven’t even met your parents, yet.”

you rolled your eyes, a playful smile growing on your lips, “fine, my offer is off the table, then.”

“oh, no. now it’s too late. i’m moving in tomorrow morning.”

ellie spent the entire walk planning an itinerary for when she moved in with you, which basically consisted in eating breakfast together, go to class, come back and have lunch together, have more classes, come back and have dinner together then have a sleepover every night.

“sounds fun, huh?”

“super fun,” you chuckled as you opened the door for her. “guests first,” you stepped aside, inviting her in.

“hey, this is practically my dorm, too, now,” ellie joked, curiously looking around as she scratched the back of her neck. she was trying her hardest not to show how nervous she actually was, but the fluttering on her stomach made it really hard.

you were in the same state as her, trying not to freak out. your eyes discreetly checked every corner of the room, making sure everything was in order and there was nothing embarrassing laying around.

ellie chuckled to herself when she noticed the ceiling was decorated with a bunch of stickers that glowed in the dark. stars and planets were placed all over.

“i know they’re childish,” you wrinkled your nose, visibly cringing.

“are you kidding? i love them. these will be the first thing i’ll buy for my new place,” her gaze fell from the ceiling to your eyes, a genuine smile spreading across her lips.

ellie kept looking around your dorm, grabbing stuff that caught her attention. it was funny seeing her ask for permission each time, looking back at you and pointing at the object she wanted to check out.

you took out your laptop from your backpack and sat down on your bed. it immediately bummed you out when you remembered that you had to do an assignment and weren’t just hanging out for fun.

“i’m gonna create a google drive file so we can both edit it later in case we don’t finish it today,” you informed her.

“yeah, that’s a good idea,” ellie replied, focused on a bracelet she had found on your desk. then, she continued snooping around your things, sometimes mumbling cool and i’m going to borrow this.

you checked the questions you had to answer and immediately sighed, “i’m completely lost.”

“want me to explain it to you?” she offered and you obviously accepted. ellie looked at the big whiteboard behind her and grabbed a marker from your desk. “okay, so you know that the earth’s core is mainly composed of liquid in the outer core and solid iron in the inner core?”

you tried your hardest to keep your attention on what she was saying, but the task turned impossible. her voice sounded muffled and you could only focus on how good she looked. you let out a few yeahs and rights when you thought it was appropriate, but the truth was that you didn’t know what the hell she was talking about.

“and this field has existed for at least three billions years, which is nuts, right?” you ears managed to make out of all the things she was saying. you saw how she laughed, clearly enjoying talking about the subject. you probably would too if you could be capable of actually listen and process what she was saying.

you watched as she continued to write and draw stuff on the board at the same time she explained something to you, but you couldn’t keep your eyes off of her.

“that’s about it, got it?” she asked, turning around.

“uh…” you let out, not being capable of forming an actual sentence.

ellie chuckled, amused, “you alright?”

“yes, it’s just—”

“was there something you didn’t understand? i can go over it again,” ellie kindly offered, but you could hardly hear her over the loud beating of your heart.

you weren’t really planning to, but you stood up. it was as if you were on autopilot, there was something else controlling your body and you couldn’t do anything to stop it. you walked closer to ellie, who looked confused.

“if i’m being honest, i didn’t listen to a word you said,” you confessed, smiling guiltily. “i swear i tried to, but there was something else on my mind.”

“what’s that?” ellie asked in a whisper, eyes scanning your face. you were extremely close to her.

“i don’t think i can go another minute without kissing you,” you softly confessed, looking up into her eyes. her pupils were dilated and a light blush had started to color her cheeks.

“no one is stopping you,” she replied, wholly captivated by you.

not even a second later, you crashed your lips into hers. ellie joyfully giggled, but that didn’t stop her from hungrily kissing you back. her hands found their way up to the sides of your face while yours ended up tangled in her hair.

ellie broke the kiss first, but your lips were still touching. “i’m still deeply disappointed you didn’t listen to my physics lesson.”

“i’m sorry,” you chuckled. “i heard some parts, you were great. i learned a lot.”

ellie smiled before leaning in again, bringing you impossibly closer to her as she gave you a breathtaking kiss. you melted against her, already eager for the kiss to end just so you could do it over and over again.

“this would’ve happened sooner if it weren’t for tara,” ellie joked, reaching over to grab your hand.

“i’ll kill her next time i see her,” you were standing so close to each other that you replied with a whisper.

ellie frowned, “you’re not seeing her again.”

“oh? i would’ve never guessed you were the jealous type,” you teased her, placing your arms on her shoulders again and bringing her even closer to you. ellie looked even better than before. her lips were reddened, her hair was a mess and her eyes had become even more hypnotic.

you could’ve stayed admiring her for hours, but a glance over her shoulder was all it took for you to wake up from your trance. you walked past her to take a closer look at the whiteboard she had used. it wasn’t what she had written that caught your attention, but the handwriting itself. it looked incredibly familiar.

your mind quickly came up with a crazy theory, which ellie’s expression confirmed the moment you looked back at her.

“you were the one who left me that note on my door?”

ellie’s confident and teasing demeanor was long gone. she looked panicked. her heartbeat accelerated significantly and she felt as she was running out of air.

“oh my god,” your mouth fell agape, a smile creeping up on your lips. “you did!”

she covered her face with her hands, letting out a groan, “you weren’t supposed to know that.”

“why?”

“it’s embarrassing! we didn’t even know each other when i did it. it’s weird—”

“it’s sweet!”

“it’s weird,” she repeated, not being able to look at you.

you smiled fondly at her, reaching for her hand and giving her a squeeze, “it really helped me, you know? it was as if you knew i needed it.”

ellie grimaced, “well, i actually kind of did…”

“what do you mean?”

she sat down on your bed, making you sit next to her. you didn’t let go of her hand. instead, you played with her fingers in an attempt to calm her down.

“i visited my friend that day, her dorm is across the hall. i was just about to leave when i saw you coming. i panicked, so i hid and accidentally overheard what you were saying to your friend,” she admitted. “i meant what i wrote. i’ve thought that way about you ever since i first saw you. it seemed like the perfect moment to tell you, at least indirectly.”

“but why didn’t you tell me in person? or at least, talked to me sooner.”

“i’m not as brave as i look and you’re fucking intimidating.”

you let out a laugh in disbelief, “me, intimidating? look at you!”

“no, look at you. you’re way to beautiful for me to just come up to you and tell you that. who could have the guts?”

“oh my god, shut up,” you hid your face in your hands, feeling how your heart fluttered like crazy at her words.

“i couldn’t tell you after we began talking, either. we were just getting to know each other, it would’ve been weird,” ellie stared down at your intertwined hands. “it’s still kind of weird,” she mumbled more to herself than for you to hear.

not being able to take it anymore, you succumbed to the urge of throwing yourself at her, leaving many kisses all over her face. the sound of her laugh made the butterflies in your stomach to fly all over the place.

“you’re the sweetest girl i’ve ever met.”

“don’t say that about me. i have a reputation to maintain,” she jokingly rolled her eyes. “so, be honest, you don’t think it was weird?”

“of course not. i think it was fate.”

“fate?”

“wait here.”

you quickly walked over to your desk where you had left your phone. you immediately searched for the picture you had taken of her last tuesday and almost ran to show it to her.

“is that me?” ellie grabbed the phone from your hands and zoomed in the picture.

“yup,” you nodded. “this was the day before we first talked. i was taking pictures of orange and you appeared, out of nowhere. you looked as you’d beat the person who dared to speak to you,” a laugh escaped your lips. “i thought about for the rest of the day and hoped to see you again, and guess what? i did. see? it was fate.”

ellie warmly smiled, she caressed your cheek with her fingers before bringing you closer to give you the softest kiss ever given, “i guess it was.”

[lanawinterscigarettes]

Can you do “do any of the clothes you’re wearing belong to you?!” from the poly prompts with the reader and non judging breakfast club ?

sure thing! thanks for the poly njbc request btw <3

(original prompt list can be found here btw in case y'all wanna request something)

Sharing Is Caring (poly Non-Judging Breakfast Club x gn reader)

Warnings: makeout session between the reader and Chuck, offscreen sex/implied smut, hickeys mentioned, fluff other than that

It wasn't always easy being in a polycule, especially one with four of the most well-known Upper East Siders there ever were, but if there was one perk to the chaos of it all it was you never had to worry about running out of clothing.

Take now, for example. You couldn't find any of your own clothes, so naturally you just scouted around the shared penthouse for something, anything to wear before heading out for the day. You were meeting Dan for coffee and didn't want to end up being late.

After what seemed like forever, you were finally able to get together enough articles of clothing to make an outfit, and with that you were off, not bothering to check who the clothes belonged to before leaving. You were sure your partners wouldn't mind if you borrowed their stuff. They never did, because to them it was just further proof you were theirs.

"Hey," you greeted Dan in a slightly breathless voice, having rushed out of the penthouse to the coffee shop so you'd make it on time. "Sorry, my alarm didn't go off. What's up?"

"Well, I see the maid forgot to get your laundry done this morning," he quipped dryly while his eyes flickered along your form, noting the mismatched clothing. Nate's pants, Blair's shirt, Serena's scarf, Chuck's jacket... "As a matter of fact, do any of the clothes you're wearing belong to you?"

"Haha, Dan. Very funny." You rolled your eyes lightheartedly at the question, though you took the moment to glance down at your outfit before realizing he was right. "Um... my underwear is mine, I think. Maybe, I don't know. I didn't really check before putting clothes on."

"Ew," he responded as his nose wrinkled up in disgust. "That was a little bit more information than I needed to know."

"Hey, you asked. I was just answering your question," you gave a casual, unbothered shrug as you replied.

"Whatever. I didn't meet up with you so I could talk about whether the underwear you have on is yours or not," he said before changing the subject to something else. The two of you chatted for a good hour or so, starting to walk down the streets together after getting your coffee. You were just about to point out the time when a limo pulled up alongside the sidewalk. It didn't take a genius to realize who it belonged to.

Dan rolled his eyes while muttering something about unnecessary wealth, which you just ignored. The window to the backseat rolled down, revealing none other than Chuck. "I was in the area and figured you may need a ride given how cold it is," he spoke in that smooth baritone of his before you could ask what he was doing there.

This time it was your turn to roll your eyes. As if he didn't already know about you meeting up with Dan from Serena. You knew you couldn't trust her to keep her mouth shut. "Oh, I'm sure you were just 'in the area'," you said as he got out, holding the door open for you while shooting Dan a smug look that said "I get to have more time with them than you do".

"I guess I'll just catch up with you later, then," Dan grumbled as he watched you disappear into the back of the limo, clearly not too pleased about his meet-up with you getting cut short.

"Bye, Dan," you called out once Chuck got back in and the limo started to pull away, putting the window back up so the car wouldn't be affected by the cold chill in the air. You spoke again after a moment or so. "We need to stop by the penthouse before lunch so I can change."

"Why do you need to change? I think you look absolutely delectable in what you're wearing," Chuck purred out as his eyes flickered hungrily up and down your body where you sat in the backseat, taking in your choice of clothing.

"Nothing that I'm wearing is mine, Chuck. None of it matches, either," you began, your next sentence getting cut off by a squeal of surprise as he pulled you into his lap.

"You don't need to change. You look fine," he insisted as his hands held onto your hips, keeping you in his lap as he pulled you in for a needy kiss. "Besides, I'm sure the others would agree with me."

"Blair wouldn't. She'd think I look like an unorganized mess," you pointed out between kisses, instinctively tilting your head to the side as he started to trail his mouth down your jaw to your neck.

"Well, she's just going to have to deal with it, because we're not stopping." Chuck was a man of his word. Rather than taking you back to the penthouse so you could get changed, he took you in the backseat instead before you met with the rest of your partners for lunch.

Ever the gentleman, he opened the door for you once you got there and wrapped an arm snugly around your waist so your legs wouldn't give out, knowing how weak they currently were from your earlier activities. You were just happy the scarf you had on was hiding the fresh hickeys on your neck.

Everyone had the expected response to seeing you wear their clothes. Serena thought you looked amazing regardless, Blair questioned your taste minus the shirt you had on (and that was only because it belonged to her), and Nate had to be told who's clothes they were by Serena after commenting on how familiar they looked.

"Why couldn't you just put on your own clothes this morning?" Nate questioned in confusion, his head tilted slightly to the side in a way that you all agreed made him look like a puppy dog. A golden retriever, to be exact.

"Because I couldn't find any this morning when I looked, and I didn't want to be late to meet Dan." Noticing the scowl on Chuck's face at your words, you added, "Oh, relax. And unclench your jaw before you crack a tooth."

Serena giggled at the interaction before reaching her hand across the table to rest on top of yours. "Well, I think our stuff looks good on you. After all, sharing is caring, right?"

You couldn't argue with her there. Sharing was caring, especially in your case. And given just how much you loved your partners and the dynamic you shared with them, you wouldn't have it any other way.

End notes: I know there wasn't a big section with the actual njbc but I'm always eager to write more for them if y'all want!

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[doctorbitchcrxft]

Malleus Maleficarum | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, smut (MDNI 18+ ONLY), recovering from a sexual assault (heed this warning and take care of yourself, lovie), heeaavvvyyy discussions of Dean's deal/death, canon violence, canon gore, witches and things, an apparent suicide/discussions of it (pls be careful bbies)

Word Count: 5157

A/N: These gifs from @shirtlesssammy are my reason for living

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Now that Christmas was over, Dean wanted to get back to hunting as quickly as possible. He stumbled across a case where a woman’s cause of death had been bleeding from the mouth after all of her teeth had fallen out. 

As a result, you and the Winchesters were posing as members of the CDC to interrogate the deceased’s husband.

Nothing of interest came from you talking to him, but Sam discovered a hex bag under the woman’s bathroom sink; the room she was murdered in. 

“Aw, gross,” Dean whined while you walked down the street beside him and his brother.

“Yeah, there are bird bones, rabbit's teeth. This cloth is probably cut from something Janet Dutton owned,” Sam explained, picking through the hex bag. He handed it to you for you to examine as well. 

“So we're thinking witch?” Dean prompted. 

“Well, duh,” you replied. “But this is, like, serious witch stuff. Old World black magic for sure.” You ducked down into the car. 

“I hate witches,” Dean grumbled, slamming the door as he sat down in the Impala. “They're always spewing their bodily fluids everywhere.”

“Aren’t you…?” you trailed off, a smirk playing on your lips. 

“Oh, ew—” Sam chuckled while his brother glared at you. 

“It's creepy, y’know,” the older brother continued, “it's down right unsanitary.”

“Yeah, well, someone definitely had it out for Janet Dutton,” Sam added. 

“Yeah, someone who snuck into that house and planted the bag. So what are we thinking, we're uh, looking for some old craggy Blair bitch in the woods,” Dean suggested. 

“Could be anyone, man. Witches are literally the girl next door,” you replied. 

“Great. How do we find 'em?” 

“This wasn't random; someone in Janet Dutton's life had an ugly ax to grind. We find the motive—”

Dean cut Sam off. “We find the murderer.”

Sam nodded, and Dean pulled the car away from the Duttons’ house. 

*** All you and the brothers could think to do was continue to stake out the surviving Dutton’s whereabouts to see if another attack happened. Sure enough, as Dean pulled into the diner parking lot you’d followed Paul Dutton to, he collapsed to the floor outside of his car. 

Before Dean could stop the Impala, you were hitting the ground running toward the man.

“Check the car!” you heard Dean yell while you tended to Paul. 

You hauled his choking body up from the gravel and positioned yourself behind him to perform the Heimlich maneuver. You knew with a witch after him, this was likely futile until Sam could get the hex bag and burn it. “Sammy!” you yelled. 

“I know, I know!” he replied. 

“Got it!” Dean shouted, and Paul soon stopped choking. 

You let go of Mr. Dutton and turned to the burning hex bag on the ground. 

“You okay?” Dean asked Mr. Dutton. 

“What the hell is happening to me?!” Paul exclaimed. 

“Someone murdered your wife and now they're trying to kill you, that's what's happening to you,” the older brother answered sternly. “That's impossible! There's no way—”

“If we hadn't been following you, you'd be a doornail right now. Now, who wants you dead?” Dean pulled no punches, and you loved that about him. 

Paul explained to you that he’d had an affair with a young woman named Amanda, and he broke it off with her about a week ago. 

Immediately, the three of you set off to the girl’s house; as Mr. Dutton had given you her address thanks to Dean’s insistence.

When you opened the door to the house, though, you found Amanda covered in her own blood on her altar. 

“That's a curveball,” Dean commented. 

With the barrel of your gun, you nudged where you thought the source of the blood was: her wrists. Sure enough, three vertical gashes on each wrist came into view. “Jesus,” you breathed out, wincing in discomfort and a twinge of compassion. 

The smell of rotting food and blood in the room was overwhelming, and it was beginning to catch up to you. You buried your nose in the crook of your elbow to try and get some relief. 

Sam said, “Looks like she was working some heavyweight evil here.” You turned around and jumped back suddenly, startled by the fact that you nearly walked into a rabbit corpse hanging from the ceiling. 

“Oh, god!” Dean exclaimed when he saw what happened. “Fuckin’ witches! Seriously man, come on!”

“Guess we know where she got the rabbit's teeth from,” the younger brother grimaced. 

“Poor rabbit,” you whined. You took out your pocket knife and cut the ropes hanging him from the ceiling. 

“Well, Paul sure knows how to pick 'em, huh? It's like Fatal Attraction all over again,” Dean commented. He turned to you gently laying the rabbit on the floor and covering him in a blanket nearby. “And why does the rabbit always get screwed in the deal?! The poor little guy.”

“You know what I don't get, Dean?” added Sam. “If she was so bent on revenge, why do this?”

“Well, she got Janet Dutton, thought she finished off Paul, decided to cap herself and make it a spurned lover's hat-trick,” he shrugged. 

Something about that didn’t seem right to you. “But where’s the knife she would’ve killed herself with? She didn’t alakazam those cuts on her wrists.”

Sam looked under the table Amanda laid on. “I think she’s onto something, Dean. Look.” He pulled a hex bag out from under the table and tossed it at his brother. 

“Another hex bag? Come on!” Dean groaned. He tossed it on the table and took out his phone. “Looks like we got a hit, huh? A little witch-on-witch violence?” He held his phone to his ear. “I'd like to report a dead body, 309 Mayfair Circle… My name? Yeah, sure my name is—'' and then he clicked it off. You had been counting to make sure he stayed under the forty-second limit to avoid the call being traced, and were just about to cue him that he was running close on time. 

“Why are witches ganking each other?” Dean continued. 

“I don't know, but I think maybe we got a coven on our hands,” Sam said. 

***

Later that night, you and Dean laid together in your shared bed; fortunately, in a separate room from Sam. 

Dean kissed up your neck back to your lips, and you sighed contently into him. When he began to trail his hand down to your panties, you flinched. 

“What, what’s wrong?” he asked, immediately breaking the kiss. 

“I don't know,” you replied. “I, uh, I haven’t been having any problems recently, I don’t know why this is happening.” Panic began to grip your chest. 

“Sweetheart, it hasn’t even been a year yet. I’m not expecting you to be completely over what happened to you,” Dean said. His understanding was frustrating you, for some reason. 

“Dean, you only have a few months left,” you huffed, sitting up to face him. “We don’t have time for…” you gestured to yourself, “this! I cannot fucking believe the timing of this, man. And I’m fed up with it!” You got up from the bed and began to stomp around in your tank top and underwear. “I can’t have sex with the guy I’m in love with who’s gonna die in fucking three months because of some asshole that decided to rape me right around the same time you made that fucking demon deal.”

“Whoa, why does it sound like you’re angry with me?” Dean questioned, getting up to join you across the room. 

“I’m not, I’m not! I’m just—” you ran a hand through your hair and sighed, closing your eyes. “I’m pissed off in general. I- I don’t wanna keep… doing… this.” 

“What do you mean ‘doing this’? Don’t tell me—” 

“No, Dean, no. I’m not breaking up with you,” you assured him. “I don’t wanna keep freaking out on you when we try to have sex. And I don’t understand why I can’t— I mean, we’ve had sex since then! I don’t fucking—”

“(Y/N), (Y/N), baby, slow down,” Dean said, gently grabbing your wrists. “Listen, it’s okay! I’m not upset!”

“I know you’re not, but I am,” you sighed. “And before you ask, I have no idea what you can do to help. I’m just pissed.” 

Dean sighed, looking a little puzzled. “I’m sorry this is happening to you.”

“I’m sorry this is happening to you,” you responded. “I mean, it’s your last fucking year on earth. I’m sure you wanna fuck, like, all the time— I know you, dude, don’t look at me like that— and my fucking vagina and body are out of commission because I can’t get out of my own head. And, god, I wanna fuck you so bad, but I just… I don’t understand what’s wrong with my body.” By the end of your rushed admission, you were crying. 

“I’m not gonna let you talk about yourself like that,” Dean replied gruffly. “No fucking way. There’s nothing wrong with you, dammit. I’m not upset with you! So let yourself off the hook, please! Practice getting out of your own head with this, okay? It’s fine. We can just… go to bed. It’s okay.”

“You sound upset, though,” you said meekly. 

He turned back around to you. “I’m upset that you’re going through this; not with you. It takes everything in me every day not to hunt that fucker down for what he did to you.”

This pulled a small smile from you, and you wrapped your arms around him and buried your face in your chest. “I love you,” you told him. 

“I love you, too,” he replied easily. 

You pulled away from him. “You do?”

“What?” he smirked down at you. “I’ve said it before.”

“I know, but you always seemed, like, pained when you’ve said it before. You didn’t that time,” you grinned lopsidedly. 

“Yeah, well. It’s never pained me, you’re just the first person I’ve ever said it to,” he admitted. 

“Aw, Dee.” You pulled him against you, hugging him tightly to thank him for his understanding. 

“Shut up,” he growled, pulling you closer with his arms wrapped around your waist.

***

The next day, the boys decided you would be the best person to subtly interrogate the women you’d determined were friends of Amanda’s. In fact, the four women had a book club they’d formed over the last year or so. 

With a casserole in hand you’d bought from the supermarket, you walked over to a woman named Elizabeth who was gardening. 

“You’ve got quite a green thumb,” you said. 

“Excuse me?” she questioned, turning around to you. 

“These herbs, I mean. Growin’ ‘em out of season like this; it’s impressive,” you noted. “Sorry, where are my manners? I’m Christine Nicks. I just moved in a few houses down.” You held the casserole out to her. 

“Oh! Thank you,” she replied, brushing off her hands. “So, uh… how are you liking it so far?”

“It’s nice!” you paused, feigning thoughtfulness. 

“What is it?” she questioned. 

“Nothing, it’s just… I heard about this girl who… committed suicide? Just recently?” You watched her reactions to your words carefully, and her expression subtly changed when you mentioned the death. 

“Yeah, yeah,” she sighed. “Amanda was her name. She was, uh, a friend of mine.” “Really? I’m sorry to hear that,” you told her. 

She nodded. 

“Elizabeth? You all right?” you heard a voice ask from behind you. 

Y0u turned toward two other women who’d walked up. 

“I'm fine, uh, Renee, this is Christine. She just moved into the neighborhood,” Elizabeth introduced. 

“Pleasure,” the woman named Renee said. “Renee Van Allen.” She drew her name out as if it was supposed to be of any importance to you. 

You eyed her curiously. “Oh, uh, nice to meet you. Were you… friends with Amanda, too?”

Renee seemed surprised by the fact that you knew about the deceased. “Yeah, we all were. It’s been really hard for all of us.” “Yeah,” the other woman spoke up. “I mean, you think you know a person.”

You nodded. “Well, it was nice meeting you ladies. Have a nice one!” You shuffled away, keeping up your girl-next-door character even as you faded from their view. 

***

Later that night, you and the brothers drove down a darkened road. 

“You should’ve seen it, guys. Belladonna, wolfsbane, mandrake— and she flinched when I mentioned Amanda’s death,” you explained. “I’m sold on Elizabeth at least. 

“Well, she's definitely had a good run lately,” Sam added, reading through something he’d tabbed in a notebook, “gone up a few tax brackets; won almost too many raffles. Kinda thing a little black magic always helps with.” He continued, “I don't think she's alone either. Looks like 'Renee Van Allen' has won almost every craft contest she has entered in the past three months.”

“Yeah, a regular Martha Stewart, huh?” Dean chuckled. “Except for the devil worship, I'm thinking that was the coven you met back there, minus one member.”

“Amanda was clearly going off the reservation. What do you think, they killed her to keep up appearances?” Sam questioned. 

“Definitely an ‘appearance’ kind of crowd,” you noted. 

“If they killed the nut-job, should we, uh, thank them or what?” Dean questioned, quirking a brow. 

“They're working black magic, too, Dean. They need to be stopped,” Sam replied simply. 

“Like, ‘stopped’ stopped?” you prompted, intrigued to see what Sam’s answer would be.

Sam looked at you as if to say, “Of course.”

“They’re human, Sam,” Dean reminded his brother. 

“They’re murderers,” he stated. 

“Damn, I’m proud of you, Sammy,” you remarked. 

Dean’s eyes flicked to yours in the rearview mirror. You could see the smirk pulling at his lips. “Burn, witch, burn.”

Suddenly, the Impala stuttered and choked, the headlights flickering. 

“What the fuck?” Dean questioned.

The vehicle stopped in front of a figure standing in the road. 

“Ruby,” Sam breathed out. 

You grabbed the Colt from your duffel bag. 

Sam had gotten out of the car before you and Dean, and you nodded to Dean in silent communication as you stowed the Colt in your jacket pocket. 

“Sam, listen to me,” you heard the demon saying, “there's no time.”

“For what? What are you talking about?” Sam questioned. 

“You have to get out of town.”

Within your jacket’s pocket, you aimed the Colt at Ruby. 

“Never had the pleasure,” Dean deadpanned.

The blonde ignored Dean’s flippance and cut her eyes at you. “Whatcha got there? Just happy to see me?”

“Sure,” you glared. 

“Point that thing somewhere else,” Ruby instructed. 

Dean laughed coldly. “Yeah, right.”

“Sam, please. Go. Get in the car and don't look back,” Ruby begged the younger brother. 

“Why? I don't understand,” the brunet worried. 

“We can take care of a few kitchen witches, thanks,” Dean commented. 

“I'm not talking about witches, you jackass. Witches are whores,” she spat. 

“Can’t argue with you there,” you muttered. 

“I'm talking about who they serve,” the demon finished. 

You were confused for a moment, but it soon dawned on you. “Demons.”

Ruby nodded. “Yeah. And there's one here, now.”

“Oh, what, you mean, besides you?” Dean barked. 

Ruby continued to ignore Dean, which you could tell was beginning to aggravate him. “Sam, it knows you're in town, and it's gonna come after you, and it’s way more than you can handle.”

Dean turned his attention to his brother. “Oh, come on, what is this, huh? Please tell me you're not listening to this crap!”

“Put a leash on your brother, Sam, if you wanna keep him,” Ruby cooed without looking in his direction. 

“Watch your mouth,” you warned, cocking the gun. 

“Guys, look, just chill out,” Sam pleaded. 

“No! No! She's messing with your head; god knows why, that's who they are!” the older brother answered. 

“I'm telling you the truth,” the demon insisted. 

“And I'm telling you to shut up, bitch.”

“I'm sorry, why are you even a part of this conversation?!” 

“Oh, I don't know, maybe because he's my brother, you black-eyed skank!”

Ruby scoffed. “Oh, right, right. You care about your brother so much. That's why you're checking out in a few months, leaving him all alone?”

“Shut up,” you hissed. 

“At least let me try and save him, since you won't be here to do it any more,” she replied, ignoring you. 

“I said, shut up!” you screamed. Just before you could fire at her, she disappeared. 

You turned back to Dean and Sam, who were both looking at you strangely. Sam looked like a lost puppy, and Dean just seemed angry at this whole interaction. You just stormed back off to the Impala. 

***

Back at the motel, you and Dean joined Sam in his motel room to find out what exactly had been going on with him recently. 

“What the hell were you thinking?” Dean questioned angrily, stomping into the room behind his brother. 

“What?! What the hell was I thinking?” Sam shot a glare at you. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” you answered. “She’s a demon. We can’t trust her, man. They want us dead; we want them dead.”

“Oh, that's funny; I remember that demon chick in Ohio, Casey? Dean didn't want her dead,” Sam argued. 

Dean took the opportunity to defend himself. “Yeah, well she wasn't stringing me along like a fish on a hook.”

“No one's stringing me along!” Sam declared. “Look, I know it's dangerous, that she is dangerous, but like it or not, she's useful.”

“No! We kill her before she kills us,” Dean said. 

“Kill her with what? The gun she fixed for us?” Sam scoffed. 

“Whatever works.”

“Dean, if she wants us dead, all she has to do is stop saving our lives.”

Dean headed over to the sink to turn the water on and splash it on his face. 

“Look, we have to start looking at the big picture, Dean, start thinking in strategies and– and moves ahead,” Sam finished. “It's not so simple, we're not— we're not just hunting anymore. We're at war.”

“Listen, I agree with you to some degree,” you sighed. “I’m just not sure how much I like the idea of working so closely with a demon.”

“Are you feeling okay?” Dean asked his brother while he dried his face off. 

Sam sighed. “Why are you always asking me that?” 

“Because you're taking advice from a demon, for starters. And by the way, you seem less and less worried about offing people. Y’know, it used to eat you up inside,” Dean reminded him. 

“Yeah, and what has that gotten me?”

“Nothing, but it's just what you're supposed to do, okay? We're supposed to drive in the fucking car and fucking argue about this stuff. You know, you go on about the sanctity of life and all that crap.” Dean rubbed his stomach with a grimace. 

You looked at your partner in concern as he moved to sit on the bed. 

“Wait, so– so you're mad because I'm starting to agree with you?” Sam laughed. 

Dean shook his head. “No, I'm not mad, I'm— I'm— I'm worried, Sam— I'm worried because you're not acting like yourself.” 

“Yeah, you're right, I'm not. I don't have a choice,” Sam stated. 

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Look, Dean, you're leaving – right? And I gotta stay here in this craphole of a world. Alone. So the way I see it, if I'm gonna make it, if I'm gonna fight this war after you're gone, then I gotta change.”

You heart sank, and you couldn’t bear to look at either of the two brothers. 

“Change into what?” Dean grimaced. 

“Into you. I gotta be more like you.” It almost made you smile bittersweetly at how much Sam admired his brother. However, you liked Sam for the fact that he was Sam. You agreed with Dean that Sam was supposed to be the morally gray one, and Sam changing under these circumstances made you sad. 

Suddenly, Dean groaned in pain. 

“What’s wrong?” you asked worriedly, rushing to Dean’s hunched over form. “Baby, look at me.”

Dean clutched at his stomach, seeming hardly able to force words out. “I don't know. Oh— (Y/N), something's wrong— bunch of knives inside of me—”

“Dean?!” 

His head was almost between his knees by this point. 

“Son of a bitch—” Dean cursed, hissing. 

“Dee, hey—”

“The coven, man, it's gotta be the coven.”

You immediately rushed to the bathroom and threw open the cupboards below the sink in search of the hex bag. You threw things about frantically; opening boxes and dumping their contents out. 

You heard Dean choke once more, and your heart nearly stopped. You ran to him to find him lying on the floor next to a puddle of blood he’d sputtered up. 

“Did you find it?!” Sam asked frantically. He’d torn the covers off his bed and sliced the mattress open with his knife. 

“No!” you replied. 

Dean’s coughs got weaker, and he was quickly fading as you shifted to lay his head in your lap, facing you. 

You saw Sam grab the Colt from your bag. “Sam, what are you doing?”

He moved toward the door wordlessly.

“Sam!” you called. 

“I’ll be back soon,” he told you, and the door slammed shut behind him. 

You kept Dean’s head in your lap, unsure of what to do. Dean continued to grunt and shift painfully, and you just tried to keep him as comfortable as possible. “Stay with me, Dee. Please, baby.”

All you got was a groan in response, but you knew he was trying. 

Suddenly, the door to the room was kicked open. 

You kept Dean cradled against you. “Stay back, bitch.”

Ruby shoved you aside harshly without replying to you and hauled Dean up by the collar. She forced his mouth open as Dean used his diminishing strength to try and shove her away. 

You tried to pull her off Dean, but it was no use. She dumped some sort of dark liquid down his throat, getting you off her easily. 

Dean was still struggling, but she soon got off him. 

“Stop calling me ‘bitch’,” Ruby panted. 

“Why did you save him?” you asked, slightly in awe and slightly apologetic. 

“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” she replied. 

“Okay, jeez,” you scoffed. “But… thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Ruby said. “Next time you point that gun at me, I'm not gonna just disappear, understand?”

You nodded and moved to help Dean clean the blood and Ruby’s liquid cure off his face. 

“What was that stuff? God, it was ass. It tasted like ass,” Dean groaned as you wiped around his mouth. He gently brushed you off him and took the towel from you to do it himself. 

“It's called witchcraft, short bus,” she deadpanned. Ruby turned and walked out of the room. 

“You're the short bus... short bus,” Dean grumbled. 

***

As soon as Dean had enough strength to move, you and he were off to find Sam. You knew he’d gone to the Van Allen house where the women held their “book club,” and Dean sped there in a stolen car. 

You burst through the front door of the house with a sawed-off shotgun in hand. When you did so, you discovered the demon possessing one of the women you’d met, and Elizabeth standing frozen in fear.

Before you could make a move, you were thrown back against the wall. 

“Three for one,” the demon smirked. “Lovely.”

“Wait,” you heard Ruby say. She walked in with her hands raised in surrender. “Please. I just... came to talk.”

“You made it out of the gate,” the other demon smirked. “Impressive. That was a bitch of a fight, wasn't it?”

“Doors out of Hell only open for so long,” Ruby shrugged. 

“What do you want, Ruby?”

“I've been lost without you.” Ruby continued to advance on the other demon. “Take me back. That's why I led the Winchesters and their pretty little plaything here.”

Dean looked furious, as were you, and he mouthed, “I told you so” to Sam.

“They're for you,” Ruby continued, “as a gift.”

“Really,” the demon deadpanned. 

“Let me serve you again. I've wanted it— I've wanted you— for so long,” she said. 

Dean lifted his eyebrows at the flirtation between the two demons. You would have slapped him if you weren’t being held to the wall. In all honesty, though, you were intrigued, too.

“You were one of my best,” the demon smiled.

Ruby glared and tried to take her knife out to stab the other demon, but said demon caught it in mid-air. 

“But then again, you always were a lying whore,” said the demon. 

The two demons struggled against each other as you and the Winchesters were powerless to help or hinder. Elizabeth was cowering in fear behind the couch, and Renee’s dead body laid limply on the floor. 

The demon-possessed witch stood with a hot poker in her hand. “You're really telling me you threw in your chips with the Animaniacs here?” 

Ruby tried to stand, but the demon hit her across the face with the poker. 

Elizabeth suddenly stood to move to her altar and began to dump pins onto a cloth littered with demonic symbols. 

“Come on, get up!” the demon roared. 

Ruby panted, unmoving, with blood coming out of her nose. 

“I said, get up!” The possessed witch hauled Ruby up by her jacket. “We've been here before, haven't we?” She chuckled to herself and turned to Sam. “She didn't tell you? Pretty mortifying, I guess. She was one of mine. I turned her out a long, long time ago. Ruby here was a witch. Of course, that was when you were human.”

You were surprised by that, honestly, but shouldn’t have been given the work she’d done to help Dean. 

The witch threw Ruby back down onto the debris of the bookcase she’d been nearly put through. 

“Didn't want your friends to know that all those centuries back, you sold yourself to me? Embarrassing, I guess. But don't worry, love, no secrets where you're heading, remember?” The demon taunted. She began to chant in Latin, and black smoke began to curl out of Ruby’s mouth. Suddenly, she began to cough, and you realized Elizabeth was chanting under her breath at the altar. 

The possessed witch stumbled and coughed harder, and her weakened powers allowed you freedom from the wall. You slid Ruby’s discarded demon knife over to Dean as the demon killed Elizabeth, and Dean took the demon’s distraction as an opportunity to kill her. He stabbed her in the back quite a few times to ensure the demon was truly dead. Your partner dropped the body to the ground, and he moved to help Sam up. 

“Go,” Ruby ordered, looking slightly embarrassed from her position on the floor. She wiped the blood away from her mouth. “I'll clean up this mess.”

You stood between the two brothers, and the three of you helped each other toward the door. You could feel the Winchesters turn to take one last look at Ruby, but you kept your eyes forward. With your urging, they continued walking. 

***

Somehow, the three of you made it back to the motel safely. You and Dean were outside of your motel room, just sitting on the hood of the Impala and talking, when the neon lights of the motel’s sign flickered. 

Dean jumped off his car, shielding you with his body protectively. You turned to see Ruby standing in the shadows a few feet off. 

“So, the devil may care after all; is that what I'm supposed to believe?” Dean asked her. He led you toward the demon. 

“I don't believe in the devil,” she replied, arms folded. 

“Wacky night,” he commented. “So let me get this straight, you were human once, you died, you went to Hell, you became a…” The blonde nodded, turning to leave. 

“How long ago?” Dean asked, stopping her in her tracks. 

“Back when the plague was big,” was her simple reply. 

“So… all of you guys— you were human once?” you questioned, slightly worried for the answer. 

“Every one I’ve ever met,” Ruby shrugged. 

“Well, they sure don't act like it,” Dean scoffed. 

“Most of them have forgotten what it means, or even that they were. That's what happens when you go to Hell, Dean. That's what Hell is— forgetting what you are,” Ruby explained. 

Dean, of course, kept up his plucky attitude. “Philosophy lesson from a demon. I'll pass, thanks.”

Your breath, however, had caught in your throat at Ruby’s description of Hell. 

“It's not philosophy. It's not a metaphor. There's a real fire in the pit. Agonies you can't even imagine,” Ruby continued. 

“No, I saw ‘Hellraiser’. I get the gist.”

Ruby turned and started to walk away. “Actually, they got that pretty close. Except for all the custom leather.” Suddenly, she stopped in her tracks again. “The answer is 'yes', by the way.”

“I’m sorry?” Dean asked. 

“Yes, the same thing will happen to you.”

You could’ve sworn your heart stopped. 

Ruby continued her torturous explanation. “It might take centuries, but sooner or later, Hell will burn away your humanity. Every Hell-bound soul— every one— turns into something else. Turns you into us. So yeah. Yeah, you can count on it.”

Dean tried to keep his head held high, but you knew him well enough to know he was beginning to break. “There's no way of saving me from the pit, is there?”

Ruby sighed. “No.”

“Then why'd you tell Sam that you could?” you asked, finding the ability to speak. 

“So he would talk to me. You Winchesters can be pretty bigoted. I needed something to help him get past the—”

Dean cut Ruby off. “The demon thing? It's pretty hard to get past.”

The blonde laughed. “Look at you. Tryin' to be all stoic. My god, it's heartbreaking.”

‘She’s not wrong,’ you thought. 

“Why are you telling me all this?” Dean questioned. 

“I need your help. Yours, too, (Y/N).”

“With what?” you asked. 

“With Sam. The way you stuck that demon tonight— it was pretty tough,” Ruby addressed Dean. “And (Y/N), I’ve seen you in action, too. Sam's almost there, but not quite. You need to help me get him ready for life without you. To fight this war on his own.” She walked away again. 

You were unsure why she was talking as if you wouldn’t be there to help Sam as well. 

“Ruby!” Dean called, making the demon pause. “Why do you want us to win?”

She turned back around. “Isn't it obvious? I'm not like them. I don't know why. I– I wish I was, but I'm not. I remember what it's like.”

“What what's like?”

“Being human.”

Dean looked at the ground, lost in thought, and you stared at Ruby while she disappeared from view. 

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[thoughtsfromlayla]

☾ The Prince of Stories and his unbridled ability to avoid all possible clichés.

Summary: After an unsuccessful hunt of a rouge nightmare with your new teammate Dream of the Endless, the two of your find solace in a inn. It doesn't go to plan, nothing ever goes to plan.

Notes: ~1.5k words, we love you Meowpheus we all say in unison

Warnings/Tags: Dream x MonsterHunter!Reader, mentions the Blair witch, Morpheus is one dense motherfucker

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

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You’re wet. And not in a fun way if you’re allowed to complain about it. You’re drenched, head to toe in late-night London rain, your hair stuck to your scalp. Your clothes are starting to turn itchy against your skin as you bring your hands to wipe away the accumulation of rainwater that clung to your face. A horse-drawn carriage runs past the two of you and drenches you further in mud and water. Great.

You risk a peak at Morpheus, who does not seem at all bothered by the rain. If you squint your eyes, you can see that the rain doesn’t even touch him, rather the water droplets simply pass through him. 

The inn you walked in was warm and dry, perfect for your tired and aching bones. It takes you no time to spot the innkeeper and you drag your soggy shoes over to him, placing your hands on the table with rushed desperation.

“Room and board, please,” you ask. 

The innkeeper looks between you and Morpheus, noting the disheveled state, and nods. “One room left, but… single bed, not suited for non-marital couples.” 

“Yeah, whatever, give me the key,” you don’t even bother to think on it, you are not going back out there. You slam down a silver coin and snatch the metal key from the innkeeper.

Your footsteps are heavy on the stairs and everyone else will think you are the most undesirable young lady of the ton, but do you care? No! This dress is damn heavy when it’s full of rainwater and your boots are soggy and muddy and your corset is digging into your ribs and this cloak was starting to overstimulate you like no other. 

After arriving in the room and tossing the key onto some old dresser, you head straight for the bathroom, ridding your clothes with desperate haste. The clothes stick to your skin and it’s like trying to separate the fruit from its syrup in the jar. Slow, antagonising slow as fitful and you’re on the brink of tears. From under your dress, you pull out the small crossbow, and whip, and silver bolts, and—huh, when did you snatch this stake? Your monster hunting equipment is the only thing you take care of as you gently place them on the bathroom counter. 

Dream, meanwhile, stands in the middle of the room like a shadow that came from no light. He is perfectly dry and warm, not that something as trivial as weather could affect him. Your footsteps had left wet footprints all over the floor and he simply watches them dry while you finish your bath. 

“I needed that,” you sigh as you come out. “You can bathe now, if you need it.”

“I do not need to bathe,” Morpheus says slowly. 

“Okay, gross, but that’s your decision, I suppose,” you grumble. It’s now that your attention draws to the bed. The singular bed in the room. It was large enough for two, if two people were pressed up against each other chest to back. “One bed…” you observe out loud. 

“As the innkeeper mentioned.” Morpheus’ voice comes out like a mocking reminder. You weren’t really paying attention to what the innkeeper was saying. 

“It’s…” you sigh deep, your bones are tired and you just want to sleep. “It’s fine, I’ll sleep on the floor. Wouldn’t want your royal highness to sleep on something that hard.” You continue to mutter to yourself as you grab one of the pillows and setting it in front of the fireplace. 

“No need,” Morpheus says slowly, stopping your actions. “I do not sleep.”

A beat of silence passes between you, the goose feather pillow still in your hand as you give a confused look to Morpheus. “You’re Dream of the Endless. You personify the sleeping mind, the unconscious, the dreams of humankind.”

Dream nods once.

“And you don’t sleep?” You probe further, the very notion baffling to yourself. 

Dream nods again. 

“Okay, whatever, good night,” you mutter to yourself. Maybe if you were more awake and less beaten down by the weather you would ask more. But, for lack of a better term, you don’t give a fuck right now. 

Your tired body slips easily into the bed, the sound of the fireplace cracking and the water slamming into the window with distant thunder easily lulling you to sleep. Except for the towering figure standing in the middle of the inn room. 

You sit up, gripping the wool blanket in your hands. “Can you… I don’t know, not do that?”

“What?”

“Stand in the middle of the room when I’m trying to sleep. Act more human, you’re in the human world now.” You look at him, tired eyes raking his figure up and down. 

“What would a human do?”

“Sleep, but you don’t so go downstairs and drink or—”

“I do not partake in alcohol,” Morpheus interrupts.

“Go shopping then,” you offer instead.

“I hold no monetary properties, they are useless to me.” 

“Oh, my God.” You want to scream into your pillow but instead, you take a deep breath. “Go stand in the corner or something, shit!” You sneer, feeling impatient, and fall back onto the bed, turning away from him. 

You take another deep breath, trying to ease the frown that’s etched onto your forehead. You’re going to get wrinkles before you’re 50 at this point. The floorboard creaks slightly under Morpheus’ footsteps as he does as he’s instructed, standing in the corner of the room. Still, he watches over you as you drift off into his realm.

He doesn’t probe, despite his growing desire to do so, knowing that the day you’ve experienced was hard and demanding indeed. He gives you no dreams, letting you simply sleep and rest. Hours pass and he remains in the corner, vigilant as ever.

A particularly harsh and loud boom of thunder wakes you up, the sound close enough to rattle the window panes. You wake with a start, your heart racing in your chest and your fingers wrap around the dagger you kept under the pillow. You swallow as you realize there was no immediate danger, that it was merely the storm. 

Morpheus was no longer standing in the center of the room, much to your surprise. You wouldn’t have been surprised if he didn’t listen to you at all. What you find isn’t any better and a scream that you let out is covered by another boom of thunder. 

His figure, black and nightmarish extends like tendrils that crawl along the brick walls of the tavern. His eyes are set on you, not even reacting to the way you screamed at him and when you look back on this moment, you’ll remember that he even rolls his eyes, but in the presence you’re adrenaline is only telling you to get out. 

“It is Morpheus, simply,” his voice is quiet and calming against the storm. 

At his announcement you stopped your scream, dropping your head into your hands at the realization. His actions remind you of another supernatural creature you hunted a month ago. The Blair Witch was one of your most terrifying adventures and you weren’t even successful in eradicating her. To this day, she still hunts the forest of Blair, her silhouette follows you everywhere you go. 

“You scared me,” you swallow your beating heart. 

“You instructed to stand in the corner,” Morpheus reminds you, his voice rumbles just like the now distant thunder. After seeing the sweat coating your hairline, he lets out a small huff. “It was not my intention.”

“Can you… turn around or something? Staring at me is weird and… creepy,” you grimace. 

After a few moments, Morpheus turns, his shoulder sagging as he turns his back to you. After another few silent seconds, you click your tongue. “Never mind, that just makes it worse. Somehow.”

You lay back down on the bed, a grunt leaving you at the force. You stare the the rotting wood of the support beams of the roof above you. Tracing your eyes over the natural swirls and rings in the logs but that doesn’t bring you sleep. You’re acutely aware of Morpheus’ presence in the corner and your mind recalls to the Blair Witch. You got a few hours of sleep, it’s fine, you’ll live. 

“Mrrrp?” A trill interrupts your dooming thoughts and a fluffy black cat eclipses your vision of the roof. 

“Morpheus?” You ask quietly, his paws pushing down on your arm and it felt like the weight of the world on both of those legs. 

Morpheus bunts his head against your cheek in confirmation before making himself a spot between your side and your arm, curling in on himself. 

“I can work with this,” you sigh, feeling your muscles relax. Your hand rests on his side, feeling the silky long fur and the slow rise and fall of his breathing. Morpheus purrs, the sound cradling you back into sleep.

As always, thanks for reading :)

♡ Yours, Layla

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Previous <==> Next

[jeremy-king]

New Year’s Eve, 2021

“Heard about you and Blaire, mate.”

At the sound of Blaire’s name, Jeremy glanced up from his phone. He’d been in the middle of typing out a text back in their massive group chat with the girls.

Jeremy’s gaze carefully went from Atticus then to Graham, then back to Atticus. He watched as Atticus gave a small, but heavy shrug of his shoulders, confirming what Graham had said.

“She ended it?” Graham asked, prodding a bit more most likely for Jeremy’s sake.

Atticus gave a single nod, and said, “Yeah, she ended it, but it’s for the best. It was… more of a mutual ending.”

All the lads did their own version of “Yeah, mate,” “It’ll be all good,” “More fish in the sea,” almost in unison.

Fisher clasped a hand on Atticus’s shoulder. “We’ll get absolutely shitfaced tonight,” with a wild grin.

They all hollered and laughed in agreement.

—————————

Per usual, Jeremy had rented out an entire event center for their New Year’s Eve masquerade party. The dress code was strict as always — cocktail attire. The room was full of short dresses, suits and masks covering their eyes made of velvet, glitter, and sequins.

Blaire had picked out a little, red dress and a matching mask. Jeremy had spent most of the evening in her orbit, stealing glances at her when he could.

Suddenly, it was almost midnight. The DJ started the countdown.

10, 9, 8…

Jeremy’s gaze shifted to Blaire, who stood a few paces away. Alone in the crowd. He didn’t tell his body to do so, but he was moving. Step by step, toward her.

7, 6, 5…

As Jeremy approached, his arm reached forward and clasped around her arm — turning her small frame toward him.

4, 3…

Their eyes met. Her blue ones stared up at him. Her head tilted just slightly, as if she were confused by his sudden presence. Jeremy then noticed a little smile began to pull at her lips, an acknowledgement that she knew the masked man was Jeremy.

2, 1…

Without another thought, Jeremy dipped down, and kissed her.

The whole room erupted in drunken cheers and shouts of “Happy New Years!”

Jeremy’s lips were still on Blaire’s. His hand had tangled into her hair. His arm had tightly around the small of her waist. The idea of stopping hadn’t really occurred to him. She tasted like strawberries and sugar and vodka. All he wanted was more.

A moment later, someone in the crowd knocked into them, breaking them apart. Instinctively, Jeremy pulled Blaire behind him and sneered, “The fuck-“ as he turned, but found a whole group of completely sloshed friends, Graham and Gen being two of them.

“Happy New Years, you handsome fuck,” Graham slurred as he grabbed Jeremy’s face and tried to kiss him square on the mouth.

“Fuck off, you’re covered in Gen’s lipstick,” Jeremy held him at arm’s length, laughing deeply.

Jeremy then turned, hoping to find Blaire, but saw Tabs pulling her through the crowd — away from him.

Then, he was being pulled back. “We love you sooooo much, Jer Bear,” Gen crooned.

“I’m not fucking you two — go find Fish for that,” Jeremy instantly replied. Graham rolled his eyes. Gen stomped her foot.

“Told you we should’ve just gone to Fisher…” He heard Gen grumble at Graham as the two went off to find Fisher, their next victim.

Jeremy found himself at the bar.

“Anything with strawberry vodka in it,” He told the bartender.

Something, anything that could taste like she just did.

[mjonthetrack]

bl 1

“Soleil Nicolette Blair,” the tall woman

hummed in appreciation as she grasped her vip

tickets to the women’s main event of the night.

She was ushered to her seat, taking her glass of

strawberry peach sangria and folding her hands

in her lap she grinned seeing the woman’s tag

team event. It was safe to say she cheered the

loudest when Bianca and Trinity won their

match. As the next match was to begin Soleil

was on her feet quickly going back stage and

hiding in the wrestlers private gathering space

where food and drinks were sat out for the

wrestlers and their guests. The woman hid her

face behind a menu, ignoring the small group at

the table she’d sat with. Hearing the chirpy

cheerful voice of her target she bounced her leg

in her seat excitedly, unable to wait she sat her

menu down and stood up. “Bruh I know you’re

lying!,” Bianca shrieked and took off running

abandoning Trinity who was caught off guard by

the woman who’d sprinted off. Soleil grinned

brightly stumbling back at the impact of the

shorter woman who had flung herself into her

arms. Soleil felt tears swell in her eyes as the

shorter woman was crying in her chest cussing

her out in disbelief. “Ah fuck,” came the

voice of Montez who sat his plate down with his

half eaten burger. He groaned standing and

walking to where his wife was,” babe let go, your

food gone get cold, even if it is your crazy ass

sister.” Soleil peered at him,” speak for yourself

you bobble headed bi-,” pausing when

Bianca removed herself from her taller frame

and started smacking her arm,” I hadn’t heard

from you in a week you bitch!” At this point

most of the people in the room were in tune

with the reunion, even the bloodline who had a

large table to accommodate their family. Soleil

patted her sister’s head one of Bianca’s pet

peeves, “I was busy with business, you’re not

the only star in the sky little bee.” “You just gone

do your big sis like that?!,” Trinity stood behind

her tag team partners shoulder. “Sunny!” Trinity

gaped when the woman hugged her spinning

her around filling the room with Trinity’s

infectious laugh which perked her husbands

ear’s, Jonathan nosily went to see who had his

wife laughing like that and grinned brightly

seeing the taller Blair sister,” what’s up big

bee?!” Soleil grinned and did a goofy handshake

with the twin who began talking to her about

sports whilst Bianca moved to Montez who was

grumbling about the food he had got his wife. “I

know she’s so happy to see you, she was talking

all about missing your messages before our

fight,” Trinity chimed in leading the woman over

to the large table set up for the bloodline to

which she waved Bianca over to who tugged a

grumpy Montez with an empty plate to join.

“Who is she?,” Sami asked chewing happily

on his salad nudging his head in the direction of

the radiant energy coming from the taller

woman. “That’s Bianca’s little sister Soleil,”

Jonathan smiled brightly as his wife happily

talked to her about her travels whilst Bianca

rested her head on her sisters shoulder.

“Little?!,” came Sefa’s voice choking on a piece

of steak to which his wife rolled her eyes

smacking his back,”how do you not know Soleil

she’s a bad ass bitch?!” Roman sat up at the

new arrival listening in to Jonathan and Sami, he

gazed over at where the woman sat and his

deep voice broke through the noise,” Bianca I

didn’t know you had a sister, you never told all

of us.” The shorter woman shrugged,” my little

sis is pretty well known, I didn’t really think to

express our connection with everyone, besides

my Sunny bunny is a busy woman,” she pinched

the tall woman’s cheek who scowled,” don’t call

me that I’m not six you hoe.” She turned to face

the table,” I guess I should’ve introduced myself,

I'm Bianca’s sexier and better athlete younger

sister, by three years mind you,” Bianca

smacked her arm much to Montez amusement

“ I’m Soleil Blair, I’m thirty two years old, former

pro overseas hooper as of last week, one time

Olympic gold baller as of last year, I am a

business woman and I do a little philanthropy

work on the side, nice to meet you guys.” “Talk about a resume,” Sami grinned at her

shaking her hand introducing himself as did the

others. “She’s sexy,” Roman uttered towards

Montez who looked at him bug eyed,” you

wouldn’t say that when she is sprinting at you

with a machete.” Soleil scoffed,” that was one

time get over it forehead, and it wouldn’t

have happened if you hadn’t forgotten your

anniversary with my sister.” Roman picked up

his plate of steak and moved to sit beside the

woman offering his hand,” I’m Joseph Anoaʻi

but they call me Roman Reigns around here, you

can call me whatever you want,” he flashed a

bright smile. Soleil shook his hand eyeing her

sister who raised her brows looking away from

the muscular coworker. “Whatever you say old

man,” she took her hand from his larger one and

went back to speaking with Sami who was

asking her about visiting the Middle East.

Jonathan and Trinity were laughing at him,”you

can call me whatever you want,” Jonathan

mocked offering his wife his hand. Trinity

laughed loudly smacking his hand,” get the fuck

out of here reigns she’s way out of your league.”

Joe cussed his cousin out flipping the twin

off,” you’ll regret that when we are practicing,”

Jey laughed catching on to what happened at

the after party social,”don’t be in your feelings

big Uce, not every woman will fall for the Fabio

ass look you got going on.” Joe scoffed rubbing

his beard,” it was busy I didn’t really get the time

to talk to her that’s all.” Jonathan tapped his

twins shoulder,” I think Uce found a woman who

doesn’t give a fuck about his namesake, you

can’t be that hurt Uce you always got women

throwing themselves at the feet of Roman

Reigns.” Bianca strolled through the hallway

spotting the cousins and she waved,” hey boys I

wanted to thank you for being so friendly to my

sister yesterday, anyways we are throwing a

kickback this weekend for her return, you

should all come, but Jimmy you really ain’t got a

choice since ya wife already Rsvpd.” The twins

laughed and thanked the woman for the invite

but Joe stopped her talking more privately,” hey

Bianca, your sister, is she seeing anyone?” The

shorter woman raised a brow at the tall man

before laughing,” you are so funny big guy,

anyways see ya there!” Joseph gaped at

the woman refusing the knowledge and cussed

under his breath seeing the twins clowning him

again having heard the interaction.

It was the the day before the party, Soleil

helped make some Jell-O shots with her sister

pouting,” it’s not fair, why am I helping prep for

my own party.” “Because you not a special

giant,”Montez called out moving his headset

back on calling out shots, to some of the guys

who were playing call of duty. Poking her tongue

in to her cheek, Soleil stood from the island

stool marching over to the tv she yanked the

cord of the playstation from the tv and smiled

flipping off Montez who began cussing in

disbelief at being disconnected.”You two are

terrible, now come and tell big sis what this

is about you not balling overseas,” Bianca pat

the island counter where she sat making

shots. Soleil rejoined her,”I wasn’t on my phone

as much this past week, I had contract

negotiations and they weren’t willing to pay

my worth so I left, so now I’m a free agent but

I am fine running my business right now and

relaxing for the first time in a while.” Bianca

frowned,” girl you love ball, I know you aren’t

gonna be happy just coming back home.”

Soleil smiled very lightly,” it had to be done,

they pay them white girls twice as much and I

can out play them with my eyes closed, I wasn’t

about to argue my worth of payment to a bunch

of old white heads in suits.” Bianca sighed

heavily,” you know I love you, I love having you

home but we both know that was your best

outlet after what happened with CJ.” Soleil’s

face darkened at the mention of her son, she

swallowed harshly staring at the counter,”what

happened to my son wasn’t my fault.” Bianca

gently grasped her arm to catch her sister’s

attention,”Sunny, you and I both know that what

happened to CJ was not your fault, you weren’t

even in the country when it happened, but as

your big sister I am going to make sure that

you’re okay.” Montez wandered over tasting

one of the shots he handed one off to his sister

in law,” Soleil, you loved that little boy, you were

an amazing mother and we all know that, your

ex husband is to blame, he was the one dealing

he drugs and is why your little boy got killed, the

blood isn’t on your hands,B is just making sure

you’re good since you’re back, you know you’re

welcome to crash here with us until you figure

out what your next moves are.” Soleil downed

the shot, tsking she wiped a stray tear,” they

need more strawberry, I’ll see y’all tomorrow.”

The taller woman left out the room heading to

the guest room on the other side of the couple’s

home. Bianca signed a deep frown on her face

as her husband hugged her close,”she’s gone

be aight B, that’s Blair blood in her veins yall

too damn stubborn to give up on nothing.” Bianca set the tray of shots into the fridge

closing it,” she’s been through a lot and I am

just worried without ball what she’s going to

do, she’s by herself now, her ex is on the run,

she just deserves some happiness.” Montez

nodded his head,” that was interesting seeing

ol man shooting his shot at her,” Bianca laughed

at the reminder,” I wouldn’t be worried about

Joe, that man could talk the panties off of most

broads but not my sister, besides he isn’t her

type in the slightest, he’s got a big ass ego

and not to mention the age gap.” Montez

shrugged,” having seen them Samoans, them

motherfuckers don’t ease up when they set they

eyes on a woman, we all saw how Jimmy

worked Trinity into marrying his goofy ass and

giving him them kids.” Bianca laughed at the

memory of the twin wrestler pursuing her

partner,” yeah well if Joe knows what’s good for

him he will give up before he gets his ego hurt.”

[sapphic-outlaw]

Reasons I am John Marston:

-can't swim

-have been bitten in the face by a wolf (hybrid)

-stupid

[deathclassic]

art tag

love a good art tag so thank you @doshiart for thinking of me <3

How did you start drawing? What year was it that you become more seriously and consciously interested in it?

uh ive been drawing all my life, i wanted to be an 'artist' when i was 6 and then it kinda went into different ideas surrounding art - tattoo artist, graphic designer, illustrator, etc etc and then i decided to pursue graphic design afer high schoo about 8 years ago? and have a degree in that now

When you felt the urge to share your art with other people? When did you start posting your drawings on social media?

i was always drawing for other people and then i started posting my fanart when i got twitter and tumblr in 2010, so it's still floating around on here

Your first/earliest drawing. What were your impressions of it back then and what are your feelings now?

i was probably really proud of it and had probably never seen a giraffe at all, i was 5. there's earlier ones out there of course but this is the earliest i could find around me

Your first fanart ever

i cant find my fanart of my little pony from 2004, or my fall out boy, panic at the disco and my chemical romance stuff from 2008. i drew this of ian in 2011 though.

Your first gallavich fanart

see above

When you had bad days and things didn't work out, what inspired you to keep trying?

what else was i gonna do with my life lol, im not good at maths, im not good at english, im not good at science so this was the only thing left. i dont share what i draw most of the time, no one needs to see it, so i just sketch whats around me, i scribble just to get the anxiety out. and then i come back sometimes weeks later like it never happened.

Show your old piece that you strongly dislike and tell why.

i was just getting back into the shameless fandom after being in and out since 2011 and i hadnt actually drawn them for a long time so i hate this one with a burning passion.

Show your old piece that you very like and tell why. What's the difference with the previous?

this is a scanned version, it's done entirely in sharpie. i like how simple it is, just one medium, stark contrast, and yeah. difference between them is that one is digital and one is traditional, one was done after drawing them for years and the other was done after taking a break to draw for other fandoms.

Show your old piece that you were very proud of back then.

maybe this one from university? i made a guidebook of architecture of melbourne and i drew every building by hand, i did this maybe 4 years ago?

Do you do any practice sketches or warm-ups before you draw something big?

oh yeah - mind maps, thumbnails, hand drawn text exploration, figure sketches, writing down different values. every single one of my drawings that get posted start like this

Sketch vs Final. Show your process.

i had to redesign the blair witch movie poster

Your most recent drawing.

logo ive been working on for a client - not bound by contract so i can share it with you because i dont want to share my secret santa thing lol

Give yourself some praise! Look at what improved in your art!

im glad you kept going. through all the death threats, through people selling your stuff without you knowing, through the depression. who knew you'd still be drawing for the same fandoms decades later?

Any advice you'd give to your earlier self?

stop giving a SHIT about everyone else. draw for yourself and no one else.

Set a goal for yourself for the coming year.

stop getting taken advantage of <3

im tagging @spookygingerr @ghoulish-art-tendencies

@vintagelacerosette @suzy-queued @cal-tastrophe @iansw0rld @heymrspatel @grumble-fish

[concentrateandpush]

Request/idea fiction: an intimate scene of only the couple homebirth, where pushing is long? Thanks

We met around a year and a half ago and as a lesbian couple, nobody expected us to announce our pregnancy at our wedding which happened a year after we met. I guess we just both knew what we wanted and figured waiting would be pointless.

My wife is carrying, I’m desperate to carry too, but she’s slightly older and so, we compromised. What we didn’t compromise on was the delivery. Blair wanted a very intimate delivery, just her and I. I’ve given birth before, a long time ago, back when I was young and stupid but rest assured, my son went to a perfect home.

It’s 1am and we’ve just eaten our weight in pizza and spicy noodles, we’re watching TikTok in bed and Blair turns to me with a look of concern. “Lena, how much pain is too much pain for just a twinge?” she asks and I look back with curiosity. “I guess.. I mean-“ I stop and laugh “Baby, has it started?” I ask. “I think.. I think I’m having labour pains” she says nervously.

We didn’t want anything fancy, just the bath for water, the bed with a towel and the coziness of our cottage.

“Okay, you’re okay” I nod “let me get you a hot water bottle and I’ll get you comfortable” I smile reassuringly. “Don’t you dare leave me” she says stubbornly and I roll my eyes “come here” I whisper as she rests her head on my chest, whimpering quietly. “Shh, shh, shh” I whisper “you’re okay, everything is going smoothly” I add.

The contractions are dull and achy but I see the struggle she’s having, so at around 4am, I suggest us both sleeping, which at first, she absolutely refuses to try, but after a few back and foot rubbies, she agrees.

It’s not until 10.30am that I wake to her rubbing her belly in her sleep, moaning relatively loudly, but not even waking herself up. “Okay, okay sweetheart..” I nod and take over the rubbing as she opens her eyes slowly. “You’re doing great mamma” I smile reassuringly. “Mmm, baby” she moans “it hurts, it’s hurting me” she grumbles as she reaches down to touch herself. “I’m not wet, so my waters are still intact” she says almost trying to convince herself she’s got ages to go.

I sit up slowly and kiss her forehead before throwing my hair up and I climb between her legs, resting my head on her thigh. “You look sore” I sigh, looking at her tummy. She just nods before reaching for my hand “it’s coming” she whispers and I nod, stroking her thigh gently. She paces her breaths perfectly as she takes the contraction in her stride. “That’s right, in and out, slowly and gently” I nod. I can tell it’s intensifying because she’s moaning with out even realising on an out breath.

“Baby I need..” she mutters “I need to get in water” she says quickly and I nod reassuringly before heading out to run a bath. I know it won’t be long now, I can just feel her getting closer.

As the bath finishes filling, I go in and take both of her hands, steadying her before guiding her into the bathroom and lowering her into the bath. I take a cup and pour it on her bump, taking it all in because it’ll be the last time. “I want him out so badly, but I’ll miss this” she sighs and I laugh “you’ll miss the sickness? And the heartburn? And the fact I’ve not been able to touch your boobs for 9 months?!”. “Oh baby, you know what I mean” she laughs, knowing I’m teasing.

“Mmmm” she moans, going ridged “I..” she starts before humming a low pitched tone, cradling her perfect bump. “Let it out, good job” I whisper. “Ba-baby!” She screams as I see the water turn cloudy. “Was that-“ she starts and I nod “yep”. “So, my waters have gone?” She asks to clarify and I rub her leg, excitedly “mhm, baby’s coming”.

I find my hand between her legs and resting on her opening before sliding a finger in and grinning “sweetheart, you’re almost ready to push” I say, surprised. “N-no” she shakes her head but I chuckle “I’m here, I won’t leave your side” I say calmly. “You’re doing it, you’re bringing him into the world” I smile.

As she feels a contraction, I see her grip the handles of the bath ready to push and I rub her back gently. “You ready?” I ask and she nods before taking a deep breath and pushing her chin to her chest. She’s silent, completely silent, but focused and with every second that goes by, her face gets redder. I can tell she’s stopped pushing because she lets out an exhausted release of her breath. “Ngah.. I.. I can’t” she shakes her head and I reassure her “you can, you’re doing it”.

“N-no water” she shakes her head and I get up, slowly helping her out of the bath and back to the bedroom. Every step gets harder and as we get to the foot of the bed she stops “again” she mutters and I get down, letting her lean on my shoulders. Her legs shake as she gives a big, long push, letting her inhibitions go as she squeals at the end. “Good job baby, let’s get you comfortable” I say calmly as I lay her down.

“Okay, you’re doing well, we’re going to stay here and just work baby out together okay” I say softly as she opens her legs and I sit cross legged between them. “What if I can’t?” She asks and I give her a cheeky wink “if anyone can, it’s you”.

A few minutes go by and she looks up, her eyes begging for me to help as she grips the back of one leg. “Pull this back and push down for me” I say softly as I watch her begin to birth. She nods and grits her teeth as she bears down, her stomach tightening and her legs spreading further. “That’s it” I smile as the head slowly peaks, until she stops, spluttering and trying to get herself together.

I think it hits her here, because she starts to pant and breathe faster, trying to get rid of the pain. It doesn’t take long until she’s hard at work again, pulling both legs this time and scrunching her face up as she gets frustrated, pushing with all her might. “Why isn’t he coming?!” She cries out. “He’s coming, it’s just the staying that’s hard” I explain.

“Pillows” she says bluntly and I prop her up so that she’s almost sat with her legs opened up in front of her. She’s beautiful. She takes sips of water as she rubs her bump gently. “Ready to go again?” I ask and she nods, taking my hands and pulling as leverage. “Gaaah” she grunts before panting and going straight in again, trying everything she can to get the strength to push. “C-come out” she grunts through gritted teeth, pushing and pushing the hardest she can muster.

“Okay, we’ve got a bit of head” I smile “but I think we need to get some rope, you can pull on that” I say before getting a dressing gown tie and looping it around the headboard. “Here we go, pull, as hard as you need as you push” I say with a reassuring smile.

She holds on and waits until the next contraction before taking a deep breath and this time, letting it all out. It’s almost a growl more than a grunt, there are fluids pouring around the head as she edges our baby closer and closer, her lips going white with the stretching. “Keep that coming mamma” I coach. She takes a deep breath and screams as she pushes again, this time bringing herself to a full crown.

“Baby you’re doing it” I cry “you’re crowning” I mutter. She’s panting, wriggling in pain as she holds this giant head between her legs. “You see him?” She checks and I nod, bringing her hand down, letting her feel him as he enters the world.

She starts to get up and I know by her movements she’s getting on her hands and knees. “Easy” I remind her before she gets into position.

“Get ready” she mumbles into the pillow as I see her hand reaching up between her legs to keep contact with baby. The scream she lets into the pillow is so loud and I can feel the strength she’s pouring in but the head doesn’t budge. “Harder baby” I tell her and she cries “I can’t” she whispers. “Of course you can, try for me” I say with a little reassuring stroke of the leg.

She lets out a low, grunt that last forever and during that forever, the head pops out with what seems like litres of water. The panic and change in Blair’s breathing shows the effort she made and I just climb up to hold her into me. “You’ve done the hardest, baby, you’ve done the hardest bit” I say with excitement but equal amounts of compassion.

“Ready to meet him?” She asks me and I nod, watching her reach behind her legs and pull them back with a grunt like moan. “Work with mama” she mutters as she pushes. “Come on, puush baby” I whisper as I see movement. “Gaahhhh!” She cries out. “Baby, you.. you did it” I sob as I pick up our newborn, bringing him straight to her chest.

“You did it” I cry, just taking it all in as I nuzzle into them both. “I did.. but you’re doing it next time” she says with a laugh

[secretobsessionstuff]

i have a little set of blair/dakota scenes in my head i wanted to put in a request for please!! one night, they come home after a big dinner, overstuffed and cuddly. blair has indigestion but kota helps get the burps out and they go to sleep. but the next morning, blair is still bloated... and she realizes all that old food is about to be burped right back up. (maybe onto the blanket? toilet? cup by the bedside table?) ty ty!!

Hi anon! Thanks for the beautiful request and your infinite patience. 💙

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

The only reservation they could make was at 9pm. It was a little late for Blair and Dakota’s liking since they both had work early the next morning, but they booked it anyway because they were craving sushi and conversation with each other after a long day at the office. 

The sushi was cold and refreshing, while their conversation was warm and relaxing. Dakota and Blair reminisced over their first few dates while eating sashimi, spicy salmon salad, and sushi pizza. Blair laughed but enjoyed the Canadian invention of making sushi mimic pizza. A fried rice patty acted as the bread, with avocado, crab meat, mayonnaise and wasabi acting as the toppings. 

They didn’t linger in the city for long after dinner. Their bed was calling to both of them by the time they cleaned their plates. Blair could have fallen asleep at the table, with the big meal rumbling in her belly. She got that sluggish over-stuffed feeling from all the food. After taking a swig of water to help her stomach digest, she burped deeply into the empty glass. She excused herself with an embarrassed laugh. 

Together they stumbled up to the front door of their home, drunk on the lethargic feeling of eating too much. The growing nausea also reminded Blair of late-night drinking. Her cheeks felt hot and the fatigue in her bones made her wobble like an alcoholic. 

Blair let out a heavy sigh as she fell onto the bed next to Dakota. Rubbing her full belly she said, “This is why I don’t like eating too close to bedtime. There’s no way I’ll be able to fall asleep like this.” She was all bloated and squirmy, wiggling on the bed to find a comfortable position. 

Dakota pulled her in close, seemingly determined to make her comfy. “I can rub your belly until you fall asleep.” He supressed the urge to say that he would rub something else and glide his hand passed her belly button, because he sensed that she was feeling more than a little full. Her tummy grumbled loudly, and she curled in on herself. He could feel the organ moving beneath his hand. Gurgles and light vibrations tickled his palm. 

Blair pushed her back up against Dakota’s chest so that he spooned her. “Will you rub in big circles like you did the last time? Felt good.” 

“Sure.” Dakota chuckled softly into her hair, then shooed the strands away that tickled his nose. “You fell asleep fast when I did that.”

“Let’s hope I do this time.” She burped into the pillow. “Mm, it’s late. I don’t like feeling so full.” 

“Shh, just focus on the feeling of my hand on your tummy. Nothing else.” Dakota flattened his palm against her midriff. He circled all the way up to ger ribs and down to the waistline of her pajama pants, occasionally using his fingertips to add a light touch. 

Blair must not have found his touch so light because she started to burp as soon as he made one circle around her middle. Her stomach tensed with each build up and release of gas. She shivered, tasting the memory of spicy sushi in the back of her throat. She was glad to be facing away from her boyfriend. 

The belches just kept coming. Some were long and deep; others were quick but painful. It didn’t matter the size or intensity in the burps—nothing was making the indigestion go away. Dakota must have sensed her frustration because he gave her tummy a good push. The burp rumbled up from the pit of her stomach and splashed the back of her throat with a something spicy and unpleasant. She immediately shot up into a sitting position, slapping a hand over mouth. Acid reflux and nausea crawled up her throat. 

“Sorry, honey.” Dakota pulled his hand back fast. The sound that gurgled in her throat made him worry that he nearly just made her puke. “Are you okay? I didn’t mean to make it worse.” 

Blair waited a beat before answering. Her throat moved as she swallowed down the close call. “I’m okay. It kinda helped.” 

Blair’s pale face and wide eyes gave Dakota a moment’s hesitation. “You sure? It looked like you were about to be sick.” 

“For a second I thought—but no I’m fine.” She shook her head to shake off the lingering nausea. It was true, she did almost lose her dinner all over the bed, but then everything settled down just as fast. The massive belch at least helped to bring up the trapped air. She could feel the indigestion losing its grip. 

“Really?” he asked, still on high-alert and propped up on his elbows. He abandoned his comfy spot when Blair jumped up. 

“Yes, really.” She placed her hand on his chest, easing him onto his back again. “I might be able to sleep now. But to make up for scaring me, I get to lie on your chest.” She was already beginning to find a soft spot between his shoulder and pec, and avoiding his collar bone that sometimes dug into her cheek. After many many nights of sleeping this same way, she knew what would feel best. 

“Come here.” Dakota nuzzled his face into her neck and pulled her as close as he possibly could, just short of letting her sleep inside his skin. 

• • •

Blair awoke the next morning to the absolute worst taste in her mouth and dried drool on her pillow. She peeled her face off the pillow with squinting eyes that were still adjusting to the sunlight coming in from the window. She felt like she had the flu or something. Her stomach ached as if it were pumped full of rotting food—in a way, it kind of was. It seemed her stomach hadn’t done any digesting while she slept. It simply let last night’s dinner soak and marinate in stomach acid. On top of it all, her belly was still bloated and gurgling painfully. 

Dakota must have gotten up earlier because his side of the bed was empty. Blair hoped she could shake him awake, but clearly that wasn’t going to happen. She could hear him moving around in the kitchen. 

Shouting for him was not an option when her mouth began to fill with saliva. All that food from last night was coming up now. She didn’t have to time to throw off the blankets before a deep belch burst from her mouth. Blair gagged from the taste that coated her tongue—fishy and spicy, and not something she ever wanted to experience again. 

Thick strings of saliva dripped off her lips as she continued to burp and gag. 

Dakota’s whistling came clearly from down the hall. Blair was happy to have him near when she inevitably puked everywhere, but she was sorry that his first look at her that morning would be of her hunched over, hugging her belly, and gagging on the bed. 

“Baby?” Dakota knocked on the ajar door. “What’s that sound? Are you—Oh shit.” Dakota scrambled for something to do as he watched Blair burp up a wave of old, clumpy sushi onto the blankets. 

The sick fell like mush past Blair’s lips. The texture alone was enough to make her heave again. She choked up another mouthful of vomit onto the bed. She held onto the duvet so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

“Fuck honey,” Dakota said gently as he came to sit on the edge of the bed. He helped her sit up straighter and rubbed her back. Big circles. Big circles between her shoulder blades and on her lower back until she was able to catch her breath. 

“Ugh, I’m not done.” she sniffled and wiped the bile that dripped from her lips. “My belly’s so full still.” 

“Do you want a bucket or—” Dakota began but was cut off by Blair belching up another stream of puke. “Oh…nevermind.” He sighed and continued to rub her back. “That’s alright. Get it all up.” 

Blair burped up all of last night’s meal until she felt like there was nothing left in her tummy. The organ still ached and groaned even when she brought up the last small wave of partially digested rice and yellow bile. She coughed and sniffled like a mad woman until falling forward and letting her head hit Dakota’s chest. 

He quickly enveloped her in a hug. “Oh Bee, that’s not a good way to start the day. Your poor tummy,” Dakota cooed as he slipped his hand under her shirt. With the softest touch, he let his hand fall back into the rhythm of big circles. 

Blair allowed herself a few moments to contemplate death inside the hug, until she scrunched up her nose and pulled away from her boyfriend. “Ugh Kota, I have to get up before the smell makes me puke again.” 

“What smell?” 

“Shut up, this is fucking disgusting.” 

“I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.” 

Blair shoved him off the side of the bed. It was nice of him to pretend like nothing was wrong, but she really would spend the entire morning dry heaving if she didn’t start cleaning. The one good thing about this whole mess was that her stomach would start feeling better now that it was empty; she just had to get away from the puke that was soaking into the blankets. 

Dakota helped her wrap up the blanket, ensuring that nothing spilled. Afterword they had the unavoidable debate over whether Blair should attempt to go into the office. It was no surprise that Dakota argued strongly for her to stay home. 

“Baby, you’re going to be shaking and nauseous all day. I know you.” He said adamantly. “I promise you’ll be refreshed and ready to girlboss tomorrow if you take the day to feel better.” 

“But I’m not even sick sick.” 

“You threw up at least three times. By my count that sick sick sick.” 

Blair sighed at his ridiculousness. “Why are you like this?”

“It’s a long story.” He took her hands and dragged her back to the bedroom. “It’s going to take all day to explain so get comfy.” 

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

hey, since i saw your requests were open again, i was wondering if i could make a request based on a previous one you already did?

it's the "x character with gentle giant farmer", but with other marriage candidates: could you make one for more RSV/SDV bachelorettes, those being Blair, Irene, Corine, Haley and Abigail? totally okay if not!!

thank you, take care!!

Sure thing, dear anon 😊 Thank you for your ask and have a great day as well 🫰💕

Abigail, Haley, Irene, Blair and Corine with the Gentle giant!Farmer:

Haley:

Haley may not say it out loud, but her rosy cheeks give her away. "They're huge...."

To be honest, Haley was afraid of them at first, so she tried to avoid them.

Who'd have thought Farmer had a heart of gold and will become her partner beloved lover?

In a romantic relationship with Farmer, she feels like a princess.

Her gentle giant is so caring, hardworking, and kind, and- *hee hee* Haley's "naughty spoilt brat" sugar wrap melted instantly.

They will always help her open jars! So strong!

Never forgetting to praise Farmer and brag to her friends about how perfect her partner is at everything.

Abigail:

Farmer and Abigail are basically a power couple.

Constant forays into the Mine have become routine, because Abigail knows her giant partner will always protect her. But also, the amethyst lover is very fond of their tender side.

She can't help but awe when her partner plays with the little chickens.

Piggyback, piggyback, piggyback!

Loves her partner's strong yet cosy embrace. If it were Abigail's will - she would cuddle with them all day long, because it feels so good and she feels loved and safe.

Even if her partner is a giant, she would defend Farmer with all her fury if someone dared to insult them.

Blair:

"Wow, they have such big-" Blair, please. "So big-" Blair, I swear to Yoba- "So-" Blair! "... big hands~" That woman, I swear...

Loves to hide behind Farmer's huge back to scare their interlocutor.

Formidable on the outside, but a real sweetheart on the inside! Farmer is Blair's love at first sight.

She has a hard time hauling a big catch of fish to home? Farmer can carry both the fish and her (and even has time to buy her favourite meringue at Pika's).

Loved sitting on their shoulders to get a good look at the concert performance at the Ridgeside Village event.

Irene:

*Squeak* every time Irene's gentle giant takes her in their arms.

*Squeak* every time Farmer's huge shadow falls over her.

*Squeak* every time they help her carry heavy bags of groceries to Amethyne Manor.

But all these squeaks are because she's in awe of her strong and kind giant Farmer, not because she's scared.

Irene is constantly spoiling them with delicious meals, insisting that they need to eat well to stay as big and strong as they are.

Oh Yoba, Farmer is so cute playing with the kids and farm animals! *Squeak!*

Corine:

Even though her beloved and gentle Farmer looks outwardly formidable and is quite capable of taking care of herself, Corine will still protect them if anything.

She radiates "Excuse me, they asked for no pickles" energy.

Very surprised at those who were frightened of Farmer? "They're a real sweetheart, won't hurt a fly!"

At first grumbled at her father because he didn't trust the Farmer, as being huge, they were intimidating.

Now she grumbles at her father who "is now confident that his daughter is safe with them." Hey, Corine can take care of herself!

(Though always happy for the care of her gentle giant Farmer).

[garricks4thwingqueen]

Special Valentines Day X Garrick Tavis X Durran Reader

Synopsis: Your Bodhi Durran’s younger sister. One year younger to be exact. You and Garrick have an established relationship that blossomed when you were both fostered together after your parent’s failed rebellion. This takes place during the first year in fourth wing. 

Word Count: 2083

Trigger Warnings: Tiny tiny Onyx Storm spoilers (they will not ruin plot or anything major), NSFW, Female Oral, PnV

Garrick’s POV 

   “What the hell are you pacing for?” Bodhi asked as we completed our early morning workout before breakfast. “You realize what Friday is correct?” I asked running a hand through my hair. “Yeah it’s Valentine's day.” Bodhi said with a smirk. “Of course you’d say that so easily. You're single.” I said letting out an audible sigh. 

   “What’s got your pants in a bunch honey bear?” Xaden asked as he walked into the gym. “Valentines day.” Bodhi snickered. “Yeah, very funny.” I chidded. “I just Y/N does everything for all of us all the time and she always makes holidays special for us and for just once I want to do something for that's special and just us especially after being separated for two years. It’s now Monday and Valentine's day is Friday and my brian feels like mush when I think about the subject.” 

   “You're both riders now right?” Bodhi asked. “Obviously dude. Your point?”  “Have you done a night ride together?” Xaden asked. “Not really no, I mean not besides Y/N wanting to get used to riding at night but nothing date wise no.” I said as Bodhi smirked. “There you go.” “What-?” I asked but didn’t get my response as the gym started to fill with more riders including the girls. Both Bodhi and Xaden snickered as Y/N made her way over. 

                                                          Y/N POV 

   “Morning love.” I said, wrapping my arms around Garrick’s waist as I noticed my brother and cousin snickering about something. “What’s so funny?”  “Nothing, nothing.” Bodhi smirked as he walked away and ruffled up your hair. “Durran!” You yelled. “Ignore them little one.” Garrick said quietly, placing a kiss on your forehead. “Valentine’s day is Friday.” You said with a slight smirk. “Please don’t remind me.” You giggled as Garrick groaned in response. “Don’t worry my Gary Bear, I’ve got us.” “No, absolutely not. I have something planned.” He said, placing a kiss on your forehead “Ohhh what?” Garrick chuckled while running his hands up and down your back; “Nice try my little one. It’s all a surprise.” “How do I know what to wear?” You protested. “Just dress comfortably.” “You know how I feel about surprises.” “I know but just let me do this for you, just this one, you always make holidays and special events special for everyone else. This year I’m taking care of you.” He said as he started to pepper kisses down your neck. “Ok ok.” You said giggling. “Breakfast?” “Yeah lets go, I'm starving.” He said picking you up effortlessly bridal style. “I can walk-” “Absolutely not.” He said and you knew better then to protest when Garrick had his mind set to something. 

                                     Garrick’s POV Two days before 

  “You and Xaden have the supply run today, right?” I asked as Bodhi opened his door to my early morning knock. “Yeah,” he said grumbling.  “Can you make a pit stop home?” “For?” he asked this time, yawning. “Your sister, bring me back a chocolate cake and some of the blue flowers from home.” “Yeah, but you owe me.” “Even though it's for your sister?”  “Even though, honey bear.” “How many times do I have to say that Y/N is the only one allowed to call me that?” “It’s fun to get you riled up though.” Bodhi snickered. 

  I need you to tell Blair to be ready with you at the flight field Friday at 7:00 p.m. and she is not to tell Y/N anything understood? I asked Chradh mentally as I was greeted with a mental snicker; you're so whipped but I’ll do as you say and relay the message to Blair. He said snickering as I put my shield up so I could focus on the rest of the preparations for Friday night’s activities as I made my way into Chantra to meet with the silversmith. 

                                        Y/N POV Valentines Day 

  Y/N stretched upon waking in Garrick’s arms that morning. “Morning honey bear.” You said happily kissing Garrick on the chest. “Mmm, morning my little one.” He said pulling you on top of him. You reached into the top draw of the nightstand and pulled out your small brown wrapped package and placed it into Garrick's hands. “Y/N-” He started to protest. “Eh, open it and it didn't cost me a thing, just a lot of bugging Liam.” Garrick chuckled as he pulled the string of the small package which revealed a small carved wooden heart with our initials carved into. You watched as Garrick ran his fingers over it. “It's perfect little one.” He said as he placed soft kisses along your neck. “I wanted us to have something to remind us of each other no matter where we were.” You said reaching in the nightstand and grabbing out the matching heart as you had Liam make two of them. “They fit together too.” You said taking the heart out of Garrick’s hand and placing it together with yours like a puzzle piece as you set them on the nightstand. 

                                                 Garrick’s POV 

   “Mmm come here love.” I said pulling you back on top of me. “Hi” she cooed as I felt her start to trace light circles on my chest. I chuckled as I  pulled her down on top of me even more if it was possible. “Hi.” I whispered back as I went to suck on the crock of your neck. “Garrick.” She moaned softly. “Say it again my love.” I said bucking my hips up slightly. “Garrick n-need.” She moaned. “What do you need my little one?” “Y-you.” She whimpered softly as I watched her finger travel south and quickly went to grab her wrist. “Not today. Today I take care of you, remember?”  She nodded in response. “Words.” Baby girl I said taking her breasts into each hand as I started to lightly massage them. “Yes daddy.” She said softly as she buried her face into the crock of my neck. I went to lift her chin back up, “look at me baby girl, what do you need?” “You.” she breathed. I put my hands on each side of her waist and her entrance up with my throbbing cock. 

   “Gare.” She moaned as my tip brushed her entrance. “Gods baby girl, you're so wet for me.” I said as I started to slowly thrust into her. “Only for you baby.” She whimpered. “Say it again.” I said my hands were tightening their hold on her waist as my thrust started to become quicker and deeper. “Only yours. N-need to-” She started to whimper. “Need to what baby girl?” I asked as I took one of her nipples into my mouth and started to suck as my thrusts were keeping the same quick and accurate pace hitting her core each time. “Come.” She moaned. “Not yet baby girl. I want to taste you today, ok?” She nodded and whimpered as she felt me pull out as I started to kiss each breast and kissed down her body until my face was between her legs. 

   “Words baby girl.” I said lightly tracing her clit with my finger. “Please Daddy.” She begged. I chuckled softly before my tongue found her core and started to make swirling motions with my tongue as my finger was still on her swollen clit.  “N-need.” She moaned as my tongue was making its way in and out of her core. “Go ahead baby girl.” As I said those words I felt her sweet taste fill my tongue and mouth. “You taste so good, baby girl.” I said as I licked around her core to clean her up. “Just for me, you're all mine.” “I’m all yours.” She said panting as I kissed her still swollen clit and kissed my way back up to her lips. “Love you.” She breathed against my lips. “I love you so much my little one.” 

  She went to wrap her fingers around my bulge as I guided them away.  I shook my head, “I’m fine, my love.” “Honey bear-” She started to whimper. “We can’t have all our fun in the morning my love can we?” She sighed burying her face into my chest, “No I guess we can’t.” She said softly.  “Later, I promise.” She nodded her head and agreed with a “Later.”  “Let’s get some breakfast and make it through today and then meet me at the flight field at 7.” She smiled softly “Flight field at 7. Love you.” “Love you to my little one.” I said as I handed her our clothes so we could get dressed for today’s classes. 

                                 Y/N POV Valentine’s Day 7PM 

 You smiled as you made your way to the flight field and noticed Garrick standing with Chradh and Blair. Garrick held a basket in one hand and was scratching Chradh’s snout with the other. “Hi.”  You greeted wrapping your arms around his waist from behind. “Hi my little one.” He turned around and placed a soft kiss onto your forehead. “Ready for tonight?” “I’m more than ready. Where are we going?” Garrick chuckled softly, “I small spot I found not too fair, Blair knows to follow Chradh. Ready?” You nod and reach up to kiss his cheek. “Ready.” You said as you went to mount Blair. 

   A half hour later you landed in a small clearing by a small pond. You dismounted Blair with another smile as she and Chradh took off again as you walked over to Garrick. “How did you find this place?” “Found it last year when Chradh and I were flying around.” He said as you went to help him spread out the blanket onto the thin layer of snow. “You realize it is winter?” Right you giggled. “I know but I wanted us to have some alone time today and it's barely a dusting of snow.” He said as he kissed your forehead and helped him empty the contents of the basket. 

   “Is that a chocolate cake from home?” Garrick chuckled, "I asked Bodhi to make a detour on their supply run this week.” “I love you.” You said going to kiss him and toppling him over onto the blanket as you did so. “I love to my little one.” He said as he placed a soft kiss onto your lips as you noticed his hand reaching into the basket and pulled out a small black box as he sat you up and got onto one knee. 

  “Y/N. Durran. I love you; I know with the rules of the quadrant we can’t get married until after we both graduate but that isn’t going to stop me from showing you how much I love you and how much you mean to me right now. I love you so damn much Y/N, will you marry me?”

  You didn’t even have to think about your answer as you found yourself toppling Garrick onto the blanket again at the eagerness and excitement of your hug. “Yes, 1000 times yes, my honey bear. I love you.” You said excitedly as your lips found each other's again. “I love you too, so much.” Garrick breathed against your lips when you both broke apart for air and you felt Garrick slip the band of silver onto your finger. 

  “It’s a perfect baby.” “Prefect just like you my little one.” You shook your head; “I’m not perfect.” “Yes, you are, to me you are.” Garrick said as he brushed a piece of your hair behind your ear and placed a kiss on your forehead. “And you're my prefect.” You said through a soft smile. “But you know what I’d love to have even more than you are right now.” I said through a huge smile as you looked at the chocolate cake. 

   Garrick chuckled as he removed two forks from the basket, you went to grab one from his hand wasting no time digging it into the cake. “Who needs knives?” You smirked, taking a huge bite as Garrick shook his head “or plates.” He said teasingly. “Plates are so overrated.” You giggled. “Yes, very overrated, all you need is a fork.” Garrick chuckled as he took another bite of his cake. “Here’s to us my honey bear and the rest of our lives together, I love you Garrick.” “Here’s to us and I love you to my little one, so so much.” He said, placing a kiss onto your forehead as it started to lightly snow.