#ii prom queens
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Everyone adores you,
At least I do.
+ alt without the effects cuz yeah
#inanimate insanity#ii#inanimate insanity invitational#ii 2#ii 3#inanimate insanity fanart#ii fanart#inanimate insanity microphone#inanimate insanity trophy#ii trophy#ii microphone#microphone ii#trophy ii#ii prom queens#not shipping though#implied characters:#ii oj#on the tacos part#ii paper#trophy's looking at him while eating em cacao nib#object show#object show community#object show fanart#max does art#pls reblog this it took me two days
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Scream Queen - Jamie Lee Curtis
#horror#horror movies#horror movie#movies#gifs#gif#horror gif#horror gifs#my gif post#my gif#my gifs#jamie lee curtis#halloween 1978#Halloween ii#halloween ii 1981#halloween h20#halloween 2018#halloween kills#halloween ends#the fog 1980#the fog#prom night#scream queens#terror train#horror edit#horroredit#prom night 1980#80s horror#70s horror#screamqueen
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…But there is Halle!
Also! Halle day has been extended to 10 days! Take this time to appreciate Halle and appreciate that she decided to not go evil!
#twst#twst wonderland#artists on tumblr#twst oc#hercules#gravity falls#bg3#hallecarter#queen elizabeth ii#elizabeth windsor#september 8th#London bridge has fallen down#monster prom#vocaloid
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On October 31, 1992, Hello Mary Lou: Prom Night 2 debuted on Brazilian television.
Here's a new drawing of Lisa Schrage!
#hello mary lou: prom night ii#bruce pittman#lisa schrage#scream queens#usa up all night#svengoolie#the last drive in#the last drive in with joe bob briggs#horror art#horror movies#horror#supernatural horror#canuxploitation#horror film#80s horror#exploitation film#grindhouse#grindhouse movies#movie art#art#drawing#movie history#pop art#modern art#pop surrealism#cult film
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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’!”
#choso kamo#choso kamo x reader#choso x reader#choso fluff#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen fluff#jjk fluff#jjk x you#choso x y/n#jjk choso#jjk fic#jujutsu kaisen x you#jjk angst#daphworks
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II Most Wanted Part 7:
One Day We Won't Be
Pairing: Syverson x OFC Reader "Buttercup"
Summary: Confrontations and conversations.
Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. RPF. S MUT, ANGST, FLUFF. This part is plot with porn. Flashbacks, mentions of teenage pregnancy and heartbreak, the past in human form, important conversations with an important question. 😉. Black girl magic, natural hair care, supercenters. Shower sex, hand job, slight choking, finger f ucking, raw p in v, size kink, squirting, squirting oral sex, praise kink.
Read at your own risk. Not Beta’d. All errors my own.
A/N: This is the seventh installment of II Most Wanted. I'm in love with these two; they are bringing my writer heart back to life. If you like it, please reblog and comment.
I don't have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘
I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.
Previous part here
——
May 2004
You and Sy were in your own little bubble most of the time you were at the prom. Of course you had fun with your crew, but you two were all over each other, and after a couple of hours, decided to cut out and head to the chalet. On your way out, you were stopped by Jeremy Atkins, who hadn’t spoken much to Sy since he’d broken up with Becca six months earlier.
“They are about to announce Prom Court, Sy. Word on the street is that you’re a cinch for King.”
Sy looked at you, and then back at Jeremy, sighed, and whispered in your ear.
“You mind if we stay just a little while longer, Buttercup?”
You pouted just a little, then grinned up at Sy, going on tiptoe to whisper in his ear.
“Only if you keep the crown on all night. I mean allllll night.”
You giggled as Sy chuckled and grinned down at you.
“Even if I’m king, your wish is my command. Here. I see the goosebumps raising on your arms.”
You grinned as Sy draped his tuxedo jacket around your arms. Now you were ensconced in his warmth and his smell.
Stephanie Prince, the Student Body President, walked up to the mic on stage and said lots of words before announcing the court. You were too wrapped up in Sy to pay attention. When he was announced King, Sy picked you up when he stood, causing you to squeal before he put you down. Your classmates either laughed or rolled their eyes.
Sy reached the stage and winked at you, who was standing right in front taking pictures of your man.
When Becca was announced queen, you curiously watched her gain the stage. Becca’s high waisted ball gown was a little out of fashion, which was weird for her, but you figured she just wanted to attract attention. After they were crowned, Sy moved to get back to you as Becca stepped up to the mic.
“Thank you for this honor. I just want to make one announcement.”
Becca moved her hands around her waist, unfastening her skirt. Everyone gasped as they thought she was stripping, but she only revealed a sleek dress underneath.
And a very pregnant belly.
“I will be having a baby in August. And the father is your Prom King, Jake Syverson.”
“WHAT THE FUCK!?!?”
Carla yelled it as the rest of the room was silent.
Your eyes searched for Sy, who was frozen halfway down the stage steps. His eyes were wide as he gaped at Becca.
She looked back at him triumphantly.
“Remember the night of your 18th birthday, Sy?”
Your mind raced. Sy’s birthday was in October, and right before you two got together. That would mean that Becca was almost 7 months pregnant. You felt the blood rushing in your ears as you started walking backwards toward the door.
His mouth dropped open as he stared at her, then, when he heard you sob, he searched for you in the crowd.
You were out of the door, Carla and Tiffani and their dates hot on your heels, in under two seconds, flat.
—-
June 2024
You woke up with a start and stared over at Sy, who was sleeping peacefully beside you in his bed. This time it was you who watched him sleep as you processed the fact that Sy was here with you now, and what happened 20 years ago was over and done with. Your mind was trying to trick you with fear and anxiety.
Sy had reached his goal of convincing you to give this a try this weekend, and you decided to risk it all by checking out of your AirBnB early and taking your rental back to the airport that morning because you wanted to spend every possible minute with him.
“Now who’s bein’ a creep, Buttercup?”
Sy’s gravelly voice was heaven as he gathered you up in his arms, and the smile on his face was everything.
You snuggled in with Sy, kissing his neck and enjoying his warmth. You let the skin on skin contact regulate your erratic heartbeat from the dream.
“Hmmmm. I wasn’t stalking you, promise Syverson, just thinking of everything I need to do to get ready for my interview tomorrow. Need look presentable and be packed, because my interview is at nine, my plane leaves at two…”
You trailed off as you thought of how your outlook on Monday had changed from when you’d first arrived back in town. What started as a lark was now serious. You were beginning to think that you wanted this to work between you and Sy, and getting this job would play a big part in that.
Sy looked down at you and kissed your forehead.
“Come back to me, Buttercup. Don’t worry that pretty little head of yours.”
You looked up at him, “What?”
You laughed a little, because you were unsure what he was speaking about.
“I can tell when you get into your head. Whatever it is, we can get through it.”
You continued to stare into his eyes and then he nodded.
“And I was also talking about after you fly away tomorrow afternoon. I’m hoping that you will come back to me and we can continue this new relationship.”
You smiled, because Sy really got you. You kissed his hairy chin and listened to his heartbeat for a minute. You wanted to be there forever. But you didn’t say that.
“Well, I was thinking, I really need to do something with my hair. Want to do a twistout, but I need some products and equipment.”
Sy leaned back to look at you.
“Equipment?”
You grinned.
“Yes, equipment. Black girl magic requires some serious alchemy.”
Sy was interested now.
“What kind of equipment? I got a whole garage full.”
You bit your lip at how cute he was.
“I doubt that you have a hood dryer out there.”
You lifted your hand to his hair.
“But you rock these curls, Sy. You might.”
Sy laughed and ran his own hand through his hair to capture yours and bring it to his chest. You flattened your palm to feel his heart beat, which is what he wanted.
It only beat for you.
“Anything you need, my lady.”
You giggled at his foolishness. Sy laughed with you.
“Seriously. Whatever you need to feel confident for tomorrow. It’s a big day.”
You looked into Sy’s hopeful eyes.
“You’re right. I applied on a whim when I saw the opening. It the dream, working for a company that designs and builds small, eco-friendly homes for the unhoused. It’s perfect.”
Sy watched your eyes sparkle, for about the sixth time, exactly the number of times you’d mentioned the company this weekend.
“Even if it's not my dream location.”
Sy smiled at you and grunted.
“Hmph. Avoiding me I see.”
You were about to give a facetious retort, but decided against it. It was time out for all of that.
“It wasn’t just you. It…”
“I know, Buttercup. Just teasin’ ya.”
Then his face turned serious.
“I need to tell you the full truth about something.”
Your heart dropped.
“I know that ReHome is your ideal and all, but I don’t want you to get into the interview and be surprised. My company, Castle Builders, is the primary contractor for them. We’d be sorta, kinda… working together?”
The way he said it, with his face scrunched up like a little boy, was so adorable, but you were wary.
“And you let me go on and on about it, without thinking of mentioning that?”
You moved out of Sy’s grasp and sat up, covering yourself with the sheet.
Sy sat up and leaned against the headboard behind you, running his hands through his hair again and taking a deep breath. He needed to be careful.
“Yes. Because before this morning, I didn’t want to scare you off.”
You looked over your shoulder at him, giving him a side eye.
“And what happened this morning, Sy? Some bomb sex?”
Sy looked like a little boy again, younger than when you met him.
“You told me that you were mine.”
Your heart did a funny thing as you heard those words. You fought the urge to run.
“You weren’t square with me, Sy.”
You shook your head in disappointment, and he felt terrible.
“Don’t look at me like that, Buttercup. It’s killin’ me.”
Sy put his hand on your shoulder.
“Please. Listen. Don’t build this up in your head to more than it is.”
You didn’t look up at him as you turned your eyes to the sheets and tried to stop the tears from falling.
“I didn’t engineer the interview. I actually didn’t know until you told me last night. And I didn’t tell them to hire you. You got that on lock on your own.”
You chuckled and sniffled, wiping your eyes quickly. Sy’s heart broke, but he didn’t move because he knew you needed space. He was surprised you were still in bed with him.
“I haven’t been hired yet.”
“You will be.”
“You just said you didn’t tell them to hire me.”
Sy smiled and wiped a tear from your cheek. You let him.
“I didn’t. With your qualifications and roots in this town, they’d be idiots not to want to talk to you. Also, your background and experience is a definite plus for the clients.”
You looked at Sy a long time. He knew you. He knew what you and your mom went through back in the day, and he believed in you. So you decided to believe him.
“What are they going to do when they find out about our relationship, Sy?”
He grinned at that. He raised his eyebrow.
“So, we’re in a relationship are we?”
You rolled your eyes at him and tried not to smile.
“You know what….?”
Sy put his hands up and did some fast talking.
“Just kidding, Buttercup. Don’t get mad.”
He took your hand and pulled you closer.
“I think you know I want forever with you.”
You didn’t say anything, just allowed Sy to pull you into an embrace. You relaxed. He continued.
“We are in year two of a five year contract. I figure, by that time the contract is fulfilled, we will be on our way to creating a non-profit arm of Castle on our own…”
You watched how small your hand looked in Sy’s and wondered about the ‘we’ that he just uttered. You decided to chill.
He was worth it.
“Okay, Sy.”
You finally looked him in the eye.
“But no more surprises. I’m serious. If you want this to work, we’ve got to have truth.”
Sy looked down at you, amazed at how beautiful you were, and that you were in his arms.
“Oh, I’ll give you more truth than you can handle, Buttercup.”
He smiled at you angelically and leaned in for a peck on the lips. Then, moved to get out of bed and grinned as he went into the bathroom.
“It’s almost two pm, got to get a move on to build your dream salon. Where would we get this hood dryer?”
You stared at the ceiling, not believing that you and Sy were doing this domestic thing. You arrived in town two days earlier dreading seeing him and now you didn't want to leave. You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, seeking clarity and peace.
“The supercenter should have them.”
You said it as you breezed past him, naked and on the way into the shower.
He was staring.
“I’ll never get over seeing you all wet, Buttercup.”
—-
Sy pulled you to him for a kiss as he stepped into the shower.
“Can’t ever get enough of you,” he whispered it in your ear as he handled your ass, his long fingers skimming your wetness.
“Same, Sy.”
Your hands were all over him, sliding over his shoulders with the hot water. You traced his neck, torso and abs, down to the throbbing muscle between you. All the while, you were kissing passionately, his tongue sliding through your mouth as if establishing ownership.
Your hand slid up and down his cock, expertly now, squeezing in that way that made him groan and throw his head back, giving you a view of the corded muscles in his neck. The way your thumb slipped across the slick head of him made him tremble and you feel powerful. When your other hand slipped down to his balls and tugged, Sy had moved you against the cooler tiles of the shower wall.
“Fuck, Buttercup. You do that so godamn well…too fucking well.”
You went on tip toe for a kiss, sucking his tongue in time as you pumped his cock. Sy moaned in your mouth, then grabbed your throat as he bent further in order to suck your nipples, his lips, tongue and teeth making you quiver. You whimpered when his mouth came back up to your ear.
“You tryna make me spill before I see you come apart for me? Hunh?”
His voice was gravel and rumbled straight to your pussy. Sy’s pupils were blown as he looked at you through half closed lids, mouth open and panting as you worked him with both hands.
His grinned and held your gaze as he slowly inserted two fingers into his mouth and pulled them back out, causing you to tremble.
“Open.”
One word made you close to cumming untouched, and you did as he commanded. He inserted the same two fingers on your tongue. You closed your lips around them and started to suck. His cock jumped in your hands and despite the overhead shower spray, you felt more slick shoot from his tip.
Sy’s eyes rolled back into his head.
“Christ, this mouth, Buttercup. Those hands, so good for me. This. Pussy.”
He actually gasped as he removed his fingers from your mouth into your wet heat and started pumping.
“Fuck, you’re so good for me, baby.”
You rode his fingers as he started fucking you in earnest, the velocity at which his hand moved causing violent sprays of water all around you as you came on his hand.
“So fucking pretty when you cum for me Buttercup.”
You just whimpered as he turned you around, bent you over, and then pushed his fat cock inside you.
“Fuck, you’re so thick!”
“So fucking tight!”
You both exclaimed at the same time.
Although you’d taken him plenty of times already, you didn’t think you’d ever get used to his girth. Sy was close as soon as he was inside you. Your warm wet heat was his weakness. He clutched you to him from behind as he finally slid home and you pushed back on him as he fucked you. Hard.
Water was jumping everywhere at the force of his thrusts and he created more leverage and a better angle by holding your arms behind your back.
“Ugh! Feels s-s-so goooddd. Sy!”
“Come on, give it to me baby!”
You came again on his cock, your fluid competition for the shower spray.
“Fuck! I gotta taste that shit.”
Sy pulled out and got on his knees to lap you up and eat you out.
After you came again, he stood up, picked you up and fucked your weak body against the wall. You rode him, clinging to him like a vine until you felt the hot jettison of his cum shoot inside you and drip down your legs along with the steamy shower water.
Next thing you knew, you were being shook awake and you found yourself naked and back in Sy’s bed.
“C’mon Buttercup. I let you sleep for an hour. But we really gotta get going.”
You moaned and rolled over, covering your head with a pillow.
“We can stay in bed. I’ll order take out and you can have your hair in pigtails for the interview.”
You bolted upright in the bed.
“I’m awake.”
—---
45 minutes later, you were bopping along in the grocery section of the supercenter, your cart full of hair supplies, looking for some snacks while Sy scoped out some meat and fish to grill. You were into this domestic shit. Suddenly, a kid, about 8 or nine years old, ran into your cart.
“Ooof! Sorry!”
He was adorable and grinned at you before he ran back to his mother, who was castigating him.
“Josiah! I told you to look where you are going! Did you apolo– Y/N????”
You looked at the kid’s mother and blanched. Holy shit.
“Becca?”
She looked exactly the same, but older. And she didn’t seem perfect any more.
“Yes. It’s me. I heard you were in town for the reunion, but I always just missed you at the functions.”
She didn’t mention Sy, but if people told her you were at the reunion activities, they’d be sure to tell her who you’d left with. You decided to give her some grace.
“How are you? This your little one?”
Becca looked over at her son as if surprised he was there. She softened, and ruffled his curly hair. You both looked at him and saw Jeremy.
“Yes. he is my little. I have- I have four. Jeremy and I. Jeremiah… she cleared her throat, looking guilty as you both remembered how that pregnancy was announced. Jordan, Jade, and Josiah.”
You inwardly cringed but said, “How cute.”
Becca, chucked her chin up.
“Yes, we went with all J names. I know it’s not cool, but… this is us.”
You felt bad for a minute. Could Becca be looking for your approval?
“Hey… No, I like it….And he’s a beautiful kid.”
Josiah was now tucked under his mother’s arm.
“Yes, and he’s smart, and kind. My road dog.”
Becca smiled down at him grinning up at her and she looked almost beautiful. She looked back up at you and then her smile dropped. You felt a chill in the air.
“Hey Sy.”
You looked back to see Sy behind you with meat that he reached around you to put in the cart. There was no mistaking what this was.
“Hello, Becca.”
Sy’s back was straight and his tone more formal. You got a glimpse of his command in the service.
Becca’s eyes surveyed the pair of you and she cleared her throat again.
“You two always did make a handsome pair. You look good together.”
You had nothing to say to that, given your history, so you just stayed silent. The reality of the woman before you destroyed the multiple fantasies you’d had about gouging her eyes out.
Sy put his hand on your waist and drew you back on to him, almost like a shield. Damn, this woman hurt him.
You felt bad for all three of you.
“We do, don’t we?”
Josiah was tap dancing in the aisle now, and Becca shushed him.
“Yes. Well, I’ve got to go get him to soccer. Jordan’s looking forward to football this fall, Sy.”
Becca awkwardly turned her cart around in the aisle and spoke over her shoulder as she fled.
“Me too. I hear he’s even better than ‘Miah.”
Becca grinned as before she turned down the next aisle.
“Just you wait and see. Good to see you, Y/N.”
You both stood there for a second, letting the interaction sink in. It was anticlimactic for you and nerve wracking for Sy.
“You good?”
Sy was worried that this was going to send you over the edge.
“I’m great.”
You turned in his grip and gave him a kiss.
“Let’s go home. I’m starving.”
The word home made any worries in Sy’s mind disappear.
—--
May 2004
As Sy pulled up to your place after the prom, the other two Powerpuff Girls and their dates were standing guard outside. Sy jumped out and started toward the house.
Carla stepped in front of him.
"You don't wanna go in there, Sy."
"Don't worry, I got her, Bubbles. Let me pass."
"You don’t get to call me that anymore, Jacob. Turn the fuck around.”
Carla blocked the way, Tiffani and the crew behind her.
“Please get outta my way."
"No."
"No?"
Sy glared down at Carla. And she glared back up at him, unafraid.
"Did I stutter?"
Sy turned to Tiffani.
“Listen, can you talk to her? Ask her to see me?”
Tiffani crossed her arms.
“Now why would I do that? You embarrassed the fuck outta my friend tonight.”
Sy threw up his hands.
“I didn’t know this was going to happen.”
“Did you, or did you NOT stick your unwrapped dick into Becca Ferguson 6 months ago?”
Sy winced at Carla’s blunt words.
“Don’t get shy now, mutha–”
Tiffani put her hand on Carla’s shoulder.
“Look, I don’t think she’s going, but I will go tell her that you’re here.”
Carla glared at her bestie, but Tiff shushed her and turned to go to your front door. Everyone watched it open and accept her in, while Sy nervously paced beside the Bronco.
Ten minutes later, Tiff came out of the house with a box and his tuxedo jacket. She approached Sy, who stopped moving and was staring at what was in her hands. He looked from what was in Tiffani’s hands to her face.
“No.”
Sy was in denial as Carla approached him with a box of his things.
“Yes, Sy. You fucked up big time. She doesn’t want to see you. At all. These are some things of yours. And your jacket. Be careful. There is something for you in the pocket.”
“No.”
Sy wouldn’t accept the items, so Tiffani just opened the Bronco and placed the belongings in the passenger seat, taking your bag from inside.
“No! Buttercup!!! Y/N!!!!”
Sy charged toward your house as Gavin and Tony blocked him. They did a good job, after all, they were his defensive backs.
“Just go man. Give her some room.”
Sy looked at Carla as if he’d heard her for the first time.
Yes, he’d give you some space and in the morning, you’d talk. He looked at your door again and then down at his boots, kicking a rock before circling around and getting into the truck. He sat there, staring into space for a minute before he started the car.
“Hey, yo, man. You good?”
Gavin was concerned.
Sy shook his head. He wasn’t good. Not at all.
“This is wild, Ya’ know?”
“Yes. Yes it is. Be safe on the road.”
Gavin had little sympathy as he tapped Betty twice, signaling that it was time for Sy to leave.
Sy took one last look at your house, then started Betty and pulled away from the curb. He got home without realizing it, and started walking into his house. He stopped halfway to the door, and then ran back to the truck, diving for his things through the open window. Surely what was in the jacket was a note from you!
Sy knew it was over when he pulled his grandmother’s ring out of his tuxedo pocket.
—---
June 2024
Sy looked at the ring as he held it again. It was so delicate. And special. And you loved it back in the day. He hoped that you would accept it again. His heart beat was erratic and the meal that he’d carefully prepared threatened to come back up. He put the ring back in his pocket, scared that he would fuck up the good vibes of the weekend.
You were reading over your research on ReHome while you sat under the dryer. He smiled as he thought of how charitable you were toward Becca during your talk on the way home from the store. Instead of setting you off, the encounter seemed to calm you down. You were focused on the future, excited about the interview, and flirting through dinner.
The ease by which you’d settled into his life in mere hours had him shook. He had hope that transcended time, but he was in awe that this really might happen. Sy watched the baseball game, trying to distract himself from you but instead he ended up staring at the screen while thoughts of you ran through his mind.
You walked into Sy’s living room, clad in only his ARMY t-shirt and panties. You ran your hand over your twists and decided they were sexy. Your confidence was back. Today, you saw the truth. And the truth was that Becca Ferguson was just a flawed woman. And she had tried her best to stop what you and Sy had, but time and fate had you back together. Because even though it was 20 years later, Jacob Syverson still loved you.
And you still loved him.
You leaned against the wall as Sy stared at the television screen. He looked delectable in his grey sweatpants which stretched taught on his thighs and a Castle Builders t-shirt which was hanging on to his muscles for dear life. He caught sight of you drooling over him as he lifted his arm to rake through the curls on his head.
“Why hello there, Buttercup. Or should I call you Ms. Creeper?”
You laughed as you sauntered over to stand in front of him on the couch. He licked his lips and looked you and your attire up and down. He leaned forward and put his fingertips on the back of your knee.
“I love you walking into my house and stealing my clothes. Looks good on you, baby. Damn good.”
His hand moved up your thigh and you trembled as you asked a question.
“Who’s winning?”
Sy looked up at you and thought for the hundredth time that he wanted this for life. His heart swelled as he grabbed your hand and pulled you into his lap.
“I am.”
You snuggled into his chest and nuzzled his neck, inhaling the scent of him and trying not to think of leaving the following afternoon. This was not how you pictured this weekend turning out. You just wanted to stay in his arms.
“Hmmmm, looks to me like it’s the ‘Stros, but maybe you’ll get lucky too.”
You were grinning up at him when something shiny caught your eye.
You turned your head to see Sy’s grandmother’s ring between his pointer finger and thumb. Suddenly, a sound came out of your throat, a cross between an exclamation, a sob, and a laugh.
“Jacob Syverson!”
You sat up straight on his thigh with your mouth open and your hands covering it and looked from him to his grandmother’s ring.
“Buttercup. Now this is just a ‘tiny little ol’ ring, that’s not worth much monetarily, but it means the world to me. I used to think that no one would want it, but my Gran told me that it was for my future wife.”
You stared at the ring like it was the crown jewels, and of a sudden, you felt too young for this moment. Then you looked at Sy. You were ready.
“A long time ago, I said that we were jumpin' the gun, and that we were too young, but I also knew that one day we wouldn’t be.”
You were sobbing now.
“Oh, Sy…”
“I will love you ‘til the day I die, Buttercup. I know this is super fast, but then again it’s taken 20 years. I just can’t help it. I can’t wait any longer.”
Sy lifted you off of his lap and went down on one knee on the rug in front of you. It felt as if there was no air in the room and you could hear the blood rushing in your ears.
“Will you take this ring as a promise of marriage?”
“Sy… I love you. I do.”
Sy grinned and grabbed the back of your neck for a kiss as you tried to keep your wits about you.
“Now. What exactly are you asking me?”
“I am asking you to marry me, Buttercup.”
——
Hit Reblog if you like it!
Next part here.
#ask dj#am writing#writeblr#henry cavill#henry cavill fanfiction#captain syverson#captain syverson fanfiction#captain syverson x reader#captain sy x reader#captain syverson smut#syverson fic#syverson x reader#captain syverson fluff#syverson fanfiction#syverson fluff#captain syverson angst#cpt syverson#Syverson#syverson angst#Sy x Buttercup#syverson x black!reader#captain syverson au#captain syverson x black!reader#henry cavill x reader#henry cavill smut#ii most wanted#ii most wanted fic#amwriting
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You're My Favorite Explosion
read part I here and part II here
pairing: charlie walker x bimbo!fem!reader
summary: your relationship isn't perfect, but neither of you could imagine being with anyone else.
wc: 1558
warnings: fem!reader, cursing swearing, kinda angsty, oral sex (m!receiving), unprotected sex (p in v), creampie
bimbo!reader and charlie have a pretty chill senior year imo, since charlie’s busy with you he never gets roped into jill’s ghostface plan.
bimbo!reader ends up being pretty good friends with kirby, completely oblivious to her and charlie’s past. it leads to some awkward situations, but eventually you figure out it’s best not to involve the two.
bimbo!reader buys charlie three months of a horror movie themed subscription box for christmas and he nearly screams when he opens it and a slasher’s head pops out like a jack in the box. he got you a heart locket with his initials engraved on the back, he’s embarrassed bc he thinks it’s cheesy but you love it.
bimbo!reader is charlie’s first new year’s kiss, among other new year’s firsts ;)
bimbo!reader and charlie say “i love you” for the first time on valentine’s day.
bimbo!reader and charlie go to the beach over spring break, and he nearly cums in his trunks when he sees you in your skimpy little bikini. he worries some surfer dude is gonna steal you away from him, but his worries are quickly laid to rest when you spend the whole time doting on him. you’re worried he’s gonna burn, he’s so pale, so you make sure he reapplies sunblock and ask him to get your back and shoulders bc “skin cancer isn’t sexy, baby”.
bimbo!reader gets upset during prom season, charlie never asks you to be his date so you feel like he doesn’t wanna go. he just thought it was implied you were going together, plans a cheesy promposal to make it up to you.
bimbo!reader gets nominated for prom queen and actually wins, but refuses to dance with the prom king bc you don’t wanna dance with anyone else but charlie.
bimbo!reader almost doesn’t graduate bc of some misunderstandings in class, but charlie helps you appeal to the teachers and turn in your missing assignments so you can graduate.
bimbo!reader throws charlie a party when he gets accepted as a film major at usc.
bimbo!reader drags charlie to parties, beaches, concerts, anything to spend time with him before he leaves for college, since you're not going to the same one as him.
bimbo!reader and charlie get into an argument before he leaves, he says things he doesn't mean, things he shouldn't have said, and you let him know that he's free to fuck whoever he wants at usc since he's single now.
college!charlie regrets the whole stupid argument, his first few weeks of college are shit bc everyone is more pretentious than him, none of the girls are you, and he's pretty sure his roommate has been using his shampoo.
college!charlie leaves a party early when a drunk girl tries making out with him, her lipgloss is nauseating, and he misses your soft, fruit flavored kisses.
college!charlie finds you walking down greek row on his way back to his dorm, crying with your heels in hand, and he doesn't hesitate to console you.
“Why are you crying?,” Charlie asks, standing in front of you, surprising you.
“What are you doing here?” You ask him, tone accusatory, ignoring his question.
“I should be asking you that question, but I’m not. Why are you crying?” He repeats his question, watching your mascara run down your cheeks as you sniffle.
“I got dragged to a stupid frat party,” you answer, throwing your arms over his shoulders to pull him into a hug.
“Is that it? Nothing happened?” He asks, his own arms wrapping around your waist and holding you close to him.
“Not really, I just wish you were with me,” you say, and Charlie can feel your tears through his shirt, dampening his shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” he says, voice cracking as he holds back his own tears. “I’m so sorry.”
“Can I stay with you tonight?” You ask, ignoring his apology.
“Anything you want,” he says, and the two of you separate to begin walking to his dorm.
It’s almost as if nothing has changed, Charlie is the same as before you broke up, offering to switch shoes so you don’t have to walk barefoot. He stumbles at first in your heels, but once you manage to give him tips through your laughs he’s able to walk normally. Thankfully his dorm isn’t far, soon you’re both in the elevator, and he’s able to shamelessly take off your heels to walk down the hall to his room.
Charlie has half a mind to block the door with a chair, but figures his roommate will just go home with a friend or a girl from the party he left him at. Instead, he focuses his attention on you, watching you strip out of your revealing outfit and going through his dresser to wear one of his shirts. He wonders if this is what you would’ve done every weekend if he hadn’t said what he said when the two of you had that stupid fight, but he tries not to think about it too much as he changes clothes and joins you in his twin bed, way too small for both of you and forcing you closer together.
“I forgive you, Charlie,” you say after a while, head resting on his chest, your breaths syncing with his as the two of you begin to doze off.
“Thank you,” he says, voice soft as his eyes well with tears.
“I love you, baby,” you say, moving on top of him, straddling his hips. “I love you so much,” you say again, leaning down to kiss him, and he can taste the faint trace of fruity lipgloss you wear, most likely having worn off throughout the night.
“I love you too,” he says when your lips separate from his, feeling you pepper kisses across his face. “I’ve missed you so much,” he says, hands massaging your hips as you grind on him, your kisses trailing lower, across his jawline and down his neck.
“Me too, missed you so much,” you say, moving down the bed, pulling down his boxers to reveal his half-formed erection.
You don’t waste time, spitting in your palm to wrap around his shaft and licking at the tip languidly. It gets messy quickly, as he leaks pre and hardens fully, you start drooling. Your own underwear is damp just from listening to his moans, walls clenching around nothing when you hear him whimper when you suck on his tip. He pulls you away from his dick, and you move back up the bed to kiss him at his request.
“You don’t have to do that, let me–” he says, trying to switch positions, but you stop him.
“No, I wanna ride you,” you say, lining him up with your entrance, your underwear pushed to the side, sitting on his cock before he can try to flip you over again.
“Fuck,” he moans, feeling your tight walls for the first time since before the semester started, holding your hips in a bruising grip to keep you from moving.
Your nails scratch against his lower stomach, leaving thin red lines as you try to move, desperate for any movement. Throughout your breakup, you had been far too miserable to try to find someone else, and your sex drive had almost completely disappeared once your pretty boyfriend wasn’t around. Now that he’s under you, buried deep inside you, stretching you on his cock and setting a fire inside you, you can’t hold back.
Prying his hands off your hips and holding them down on either side of his head is easier than you thought, and you intertwine your fingers as you lift your hips up, squeezing them when you slam your hips back down. His voice is heavenly, encouraging you to keep a steady pace as you bounce on his dick, moaning wantonly as you connect your lips to his in a sloppy kiss.
It’s messy, desperate sex, both of you giving and taking pleasure from the other, eager to let the other know how much they were missed. You let go of his hands to move his hair out of his face, gripping the dark locks when his hands grope your tits, pinching your nipples before moving down to tease your clit.
Your pace falters from the sudden stimulation, and he takes the opportunity to plant his feet and grab your hips, fucking up into you at a faster pace. He reaches deeper this way, making you keen in his ear as the two of you approach orgasm. Thin red lines run from his shoulders to his chest, your nails marking him as he pinches your clit, and you cry out as he keeps fucking you through your release.
“Fuck, baby, just a bit more,” he says, voice strained, feeling you shake as you tense up in pleasure.
Your words are more like whines, slurring out barely comprehensible ‘i love you's and begging for him to cum. It’s what sends him over the edge, hearing you begging for him to finish, and his pace falters as he cums inside you, haphazardly bucking up into you as he rides out his high.
For the first time since he started college, Charlie falls asleep peacefully, your warmth soothing him. It’s easy to drift off when he doesn’t have guilt, remorse, and longing gnawing at his heart.
#charlie walker x reader#charlie walker x reader smut#charlie walker x you#charlie walker x y/n#charlie walker smut#charlie walker fanfic#charlie walker fanfiction#charlie walker fic#charlie walker imagine#ghostface x reader#ghostface smut#scream x reader#scream smut#scream 4#scream movie#scream franchise
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Music in the EAH Universe and who listens to them Part 4.
This is just an excuse to try to make music puns and share music I think the characters would listen to. (Some of these are even canon by the books!) I don't even like a majority of these musicians but I am fully convinced of my choices here. I marked in colours the one that are canonically part of the EAH Universe.
Since Tumblr only allows 100 inline links for a post I have to make different parts.
Part 1 (Alistair, Apple, Ashlynn, Blondie, Briar, Bunny)
Part 2 (Cupid, Cedar, Cerise, Chase, Courtly, Daring)
Part 3 (Darling, Dexter, Duchess, Farrah, Faybelle, Ginger)
Part 4 (Holly, Hopper, Humphrey, Hunter, Jillian, Justine)
Part 5 (Kitty, Lizzie, Maddie, Meeshell, Melody, Nina)
Part 6 (Poppy, Ramona, Raven, Rosabella, Sparrow, Tucker)
☽𖤓 🏰 𖤓☾ Holly O'Hair ☽𖤓 🏰 𖤓☾
Taylor Quick (It's nice to have a friend, King of my heart, Love Story)
Justin Timberwolf (Can't Stop The Feeling, Perfect, True Colours)
Katy Fairy (Teenage Dream, Legendary Lovers, Love Me)
Little Red Sheeran (Perfect, Shape of You, Happier)
One Reflection (Perfect, Gotta Be You, You & I)
𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 🐸 👑 𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 Hopper Croakington II 𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 🐸 👑 𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊
Wizard (Pink Triangle, I Just Threw Out The Love Of My Dreams, Say It Ain't So)
Ricky Montgnomery (Line Without A Hook, Mr. Loverman, Dont Know How)
Truelove (Tonguetied, Ways to go, Love Will Save Your Soul)
Katy Fairy (Last Friday Night, Thinking of You, The One That Got Away)
Beach Beast (Cloud 9, Prom Queen, Nice Guys)
🥚 🜲 🥚 🜲 🥚 Humphrey Dumpty 🥚 🜲 🥚 🜲 🥚
Eminymph (Lose Yourself, Without Me, The real slim shady)
Lil Swain (Sucker for Pain, Love Me, Mirror)
N-Chant (Rich Money, IDL, Homeboy on a shirt)
Twenty one kings men (Holding on to you, Choker, Johnny Boy)
Wizard (Beverly Hills, Buddy Holly, Thank God For Girls)
🐾🏹🐺🐻 Hunter Huntsman 🐾🏹🐺🐻
Encounter Dragons (It's Time, Enemy, On Top of the World)
Fall Out Book (Centuries, I don't care, Dance, Dance)
OneKingdom (Feel Again, I Don't Wanna Wait, Counting Stars)
Trollplay (The Scientist, Green Eyes, Miracles)
Ever After Authors (Do My Own Thing, Something Amazing, Blind for Love)
𖠗 🌱 ❀ᮬᰰུㅤ Jillian Beanstalk 𖠗 🌱 ❀ᮬᰰུㅤ
Goldie (Call Me, Maria, Picture This)
Corset Suffocation (Rebel Girl, Double Dare Ya, Carnival)
Joan Jett & the Redhearts (Bad Reputation, Crimson & Clover, Bad Karma)
Notting Ham (Champion, White Flag, River)
Encounter Dragons (Believer, Radioactive, Enemy)
🩰♡₊˚・₊ ♪ ✧♫₊˚.✧💃🏾 Justine Dancer 🩰♡₊˚・₊ ♪ ✧♫₊˚.✧💃🏾
D'aulnoy Cat (Kiss Me More, Boss Bitch, Woman)
Lana d'Aulnoy (Blue Jeans, West Coast, Old Money)
FKA Witch (I'm Your Doll, Lights On, Talk To Me)
Fayoncé (Run the world, Me, Myself & I, Dance For You)
Michael Jack-and-the-Beanstalk (Thriller, Smooth Criminal, Blood on the dance floor)
You are trapped on an eight-hour long road trip with these guys and you have to give one of them the aux chord.
#eah#ever after high#op#eah headcanons#eah music#holly o'hair#hopper croakington ii#humphrey dumpty#hunter huntsman#jillian beanstalk#justine dancer#I will never stop cherishing the fact that Humphrey canonically raps.#this one is extremely difficult for me because I am not very fond of any of the options.#I honestly would pick Humphrey just because it would make me laugh and everyone else on that road trip would be shocked.
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Can i request king steve having his eyes set on queen of the damned and eddie feels a lil insecure and jealous because of course a queen would want a king. So reader reminds him shes all his with racy pictures and a bj where she swallows and sucks his balls. And hes just left on cloud 9 lol. 🫣🫣
@sidthedollface2 , this is for you 💋 special thanks to @munson-blurbs @hxllfired @corroded-hellfire @eddiemunsonsmum @jadequeen88 for reading through this + whoever else I suckered into doing that 😵💫🖤
part ii for QUEEN OF THE DAMNED
eddie x female! reader
W.C: 2.8k
TW: NO MINORS, blow job, mentions of sex, etc. possessive!eddie, jealous!eddie etc etc etc
Since prom when you had gone public with Eddie, you were inseparable. Word spread like wildfire of your infidelity, and poor Ethan was left confused, in more ways than one. Honestly embarrassed that he didn’t notice that you were cheating on him. The locker room hazing was no laughing matter. Every swinging dick around joked about Ethan and his whore of an ex girlfriend. “She good in bed? Oh yeah guess you wouldn’t know.” “Munson possessed your chick and you had no idea?” Laughter erupts from the locker room as Ethan makes his way to the showers, crying softly.
The person most responsible for teasing Ethan for his misfortunes? Steve Harrington, King of Hawkins High. He was a player, easily the most sought after guy to roam the halls. Girls fell at their feet for him, begged to be his flavor for the night. Between him and Billy Hargrove they were swimming in pussy. Everyone’s except yours. But Steve was determined, and Billy’s bet made his determination grow even stronger, almost carnal.
“Hey there gorgeous,” Steve swoons, laying it on thick, sliding next to your open locker, pushing his sunglasses into his hair. He had never spoken to you in his life, why was he starting now?
“Uh, hi?” Glaring, shut your locker, holding your books close to your chest.
Steve looks you up and down like his next meal, licking the fat muscle of his tongue along his top lip, eyes lazily drinking you in, the honey flecks dancing along your curves. “Just wondering if my favorite Queen wants to sit with me at lu— “
Leather arms wrap around your middle the same time a pair of soft lips caress your neck, biting softly and sucking the beginning of a bruise as Steve’s eyes stare annoyingly into your face. Tongue pressed into his cheek as he throws his hands onto his hips, accentuating the bulge in his pants as he cocks a hip out.
Eddie spins you around into him, your back to Steve. He kisses your lips, his thick hands are wrapped tight along your waist, traveling down to cup your ass, squeezing the denim of your jeans. Making eye contact with Steve the entire time, a silent awareness of possession between them, Eddie’s eyes pitch to black, drilling holes into Steve’s. “Something I can help you with Harrington?” Eddie asks him, holding you tight to him so that your focus is solely on him, “or do you normally hit on other guy’s girlfriends?” He stands to his full height, broad shoulders and chest puffed out, head cocked high and to the side as his lower jaw practically comes unhinged from itself. An animalistic stance of dominance invades the air, thicker than mud, hung dense like fog between the lockers.
Steve also stands to his tallest, brushing the back of his neck and leaning in. “We were just talking,” he says, adding, “and last I checked— you were into fucking other guy’s girlfriends— which is exactly why I’m here.”
You wince, it was bad enough that your parents were disowning you for choosing to be with Eddie, kicking you out and cutting you off, the last thing you needed was to hear it from the asshats at school. Especially Steve Harrington. The whole town had branded you an outcast, you could practically feel the crimson ‘A’ stitched into your clothing, burning into your heart. A name you would wear proudly for him. He was good to you, devilishly handsome and all yours. His queen. He’d do anything to protect his queen, a trait Ethan fell short on, not that he wasn’t doting he was just careless, letting a fox into the hen house, an evil wolf amongst his little lamb. And by far, too stupid to realize you had been fucking around on him. But Eddie was much more careful with you, protective and possessive.
Eddie holds you tighter, pushing you into his side and wrapping his large hands around you.
The flick of Eddie’s knife rings in your ears as he twirls it around his fingers, his eyes twitch as his tongue dances around his mouth like a sick eel slithering for purchase. “Choose your next words carefully, Harrington, would hate to cut a few of those Farrah Fawcet locks from your head.” Black orbs making the night sky jealous fill his eyes, poisoned with carnal, chilling drops of insanity.
“Yeah ya see,” Steve says, playing Eddie’s mind games, edging towards masculinity and stupidity, taking a step forward slightly, whispering low for only Eddie and yourself to hear, “I’m the King of this high school, and you?” He sucks through his teeth, wincing, “well you’re not even comparable to the gum on my shoe, so why don’t you do your girl a favor, and let her go, let her have a chance at taking that Queen status to the very top, instead of the depths of despair that you inhabit.”
The blade is cold against Steve’s neck, scraping the hairs along his Adam's apple, closer than any barber could get in Hawkins. “Whoa, easy there,” Steve says, swallowing thickly as Eddie’s breath falls against his cheek. “The mayor is my godfather and the police, they’re on my dad’s payroll. So go ahead, do it. You pull a knife on me and you better deliver, pussy. You’ll be in jail so fast your head will spin, and your girl, aww, she’ll be with me, pretty little feet up resting on my shoulders.”
The anger clouding Eddie’s eyes is demonic in every way, he wants to succumb. Wants to give into the darkness flooding his mind. Do it. Do it. A voice stops him. The angel on his shoulder, bringing him back to reality—you.
“Come on, Eddie, let’s go.” You beg, trying to pull him away. Your eyes wet with tears from Steve’s harsh words and Eddie’s temper.
How easy it would be to give in. Watch the blood trickle down Steve’s neck and paint his perfectly pastel colored polo crimson. But he doesn’t, the veil of hell falling from his eyes, his aura, his mind. Eddie listens to you, backs the knife away from Steve’s neck and folds it back into his pocket. Taking long pulls of humid air through his nose, grounding himself. Rolling his shoulders backwards, cracking the bones of his neck in a twist, “For the record,” Eddie taunts, whispering into Steve’s ear, his musky cologne wafting into Steve’s nose, “I’ve spent nights in jail for far less than this, see you around.”
With that he retracts from him and smirks, a small chuckle reverberating from his lips. Arm wrapped around your shoulder he leads you towards the front doors leaving Hawkins High.
Eddie is quick in his movements, rushing you out to his van. “Eddie?” you ask as he throws open the passenger door and picks you up, setting you down into the seat and shutting the door.
He slides into the driver’s seat and roars the van to life, the knuckles around the steering wheel were white, clenching for dear life as his movements are anything but calm. “I swear to you, I will end that fuckers privileged white picket fence life if he ever tries to touch you.” He’s pissed, angry but also hurt. Jealous, and possessive. “He thinks he can have whatever he wants because of his name in this town, like you should be so lucky to have him? oh no baby— you’re mine.” He’s speeding through town, forgoing stopping at any of the stop signs, dodging around cars as he drives like a bat flying from hell.
Showing him that he’s right instead of telling him, you swivel in your seat, the crunch of the leather groaning against your body shifting. Looking into his eyes you can see that they have softened, the brown pumping back in the more deep breathing he does, you unbuckle yourself, leaning forward to lick a stripe from the collar of his shirt up to his ear. He hisses at your touch, moving his arm to the back of your seat, letting you in. Blowing your hot breath along his spit covered neck, his moans fill the van, the grip on the steering wheel subsides as his hand travels down your back, lingering, burning, clawing at your skin. He hikes you into his lap— eyes steady on the road as he adjusts you where he needs you, the heat of your core pressing into him. You’re straddling his narrow waist, your mouth sucking bruising kisses into his neck. The dangling “e” on your necklace tickling his chest as your panties fill with arousal.
“I’m yours,” you murmur into his neck, “always.” The sway and bumps of the van alert you that you’ve turned into the Forest Hills Trailer Park. Eddie silently thanking a higher power as his growing erection is ready to bust at the seams. Biting gently into your shoulder, Eddie’s eyes are barely on the road, a few more seconds and his attention will only be yours. Wayne’s truck is in the driveway as Eddie shifts the lever harshly into park, your bodies colliding and grinding together as the van abruptly comes to a halt. Your hands are twisted in the confinements of his tangled curls, pulling to expose the slope of his neck, sucking and licking, painting his neck with your marks, showing him how possessive you could be. How he was yours and you were his, no one else belonged in that equation. The only math Eddie would completely understand.
You grind your hips down into him, your pussy slotting around the outline of his cock, as he kneads your tits. “You’re so fucking perfect,” he moans into your neck, nipping at your ear as his hands rake your body, burning with want. You climb off of him, moving this sinful act to the back of the van, sparing Wayne’s ears. Hands clenched around his leather lapels pulling him upwards and back with you, legs tangled around the steering column, tripping over cords, cassette towers teetering around your clumsy bodies.
“Let me show you,” you breath, lip locked and breathing heavily against Eddie’s mouth, panting into his neck as you shove him down onto a spare amp. Feverishly undoing his belt, sloppily kissing him, tongues painting each other's mouths. “Show you how much you mean to me.” Eddie’s a mumbling mess as you pull his dick out from the confines of his boxers. Hissing as you pump him achingly slow. Taking your time with the act. Eyes dripping with innocence as you look at him through your eyelashes. Your tongue kitten licks around his ruddy head, tasting the precum that’s beaded.
“Christ, baby,” he seethes, whimpering under your gaze, cock throbbing around your lips. Teasing him as you ghost your mouth around him. His teeth biting into his own lip waiting for you to close your mouth around his length. Another pass of your tongue has him shaking. He moans above you, tucking your hair behind your ear as to get a better look at you. You slap his cock against your tongue, pooling spit around it as it splashed around like rain boots in a puddle. His head is thrown back in anticipation, brown curls cascading down his leather jacket as you finally take him into your mouth, swelling your lips down his shaft until he’s snug in your throat, a saliva slide of glory. Your name rumbles off his dry tongue.
“D’you like that big boy?” You muse, when you pop him out of your mouth and graze your hand into a fist to rub down his shaft. “…my pretty lips around you… making you feel good?”
“Fuck…yes,” he moans, eyeing you again as you swallow him, gagging slightly but loving the sensation. You could suck him off for hours, the feeling of having someone you love whimper and beg you for release stirs your insides with pleasure. “So fucking good… mmm…. Fuck.” His hips lift from the amp as he thrusts into your throat. The lewd noises fill the proximity of the van, as you breathe through your nose and relax the muscles of your throat. His pace quickens. Your hands sit and claw at his thighs. Your pull back to catch your breath— spit dribbling from your mouth onto chest as Eddie kisses you harshly, singing your praises.
The slow roll of your tongue against him makes him weak in the knees. Your lips wrap tightly around him, spitting and drooling, “want me to come baby, fill that throat up with my come?” He whines. So close to coming but want to feel your throat go raw from him fucking into it, burying himself into your mouth, nothing besides your pussy feels better to him. You moan around him, vibrating your throat against his cock, he comes undone, coating your mouth, you’re milking him for all he’s worth to the very last drop, pumping and gently moving your tongue around him, as you swallow his release. He groans your name, thick hands holding your head in place as he quivers beneath you.
Licking your lips Eddie brings you into an embrace, he’s sweaty, bangs stuck to his head, as he tucks you into his chest, nose pressed against your neck. “You’re too good for me,” he mumbles, holding you tight, “didn’t think ‘the talking wig’ would ever get to me, I can usually just brush that shit off, but not when it comes to you.”
He pulls you away from him and rests his forehead on yours, the muddy brows of his eyes swell as he stares into your soul, coaxing a smile from you, “you’re the most important part of me,” he quipped, rubbing his fingers down and back the length of your back moving around your shoulder to hold your neck softly, admiring the necklace he gave you all those months ago. “I wasn’t joking when I said I would kill anyone who tries to take you away from me.” He kisses your neck, marking you as his, branding you forever with his lips. “I love you baby.”
“I love you too,” you whisper as he removes your sweater and lays you down in the back of the van, blessing the neighbors as you yell out God’s name, but you’re definitely not in church.
The idea popped into your head while you showered while Eddie was at band practice with the boys. It was perfect, he would go nuts over it. You raid the dresser for what you were looking for…
The next day at school you tell Eddie you have to meet Mrs. Click to turn in your history paper, he tugs you back to him and kisses you slowly, letting his fingers dig at your chin as he prompts your face up to him. You skip inside, the prized possession hidden in your backpack. You knew Eddie’s locker combination, and fetched the tape out of your bag along with the Polaroids. The black lacy set he had bought you the weekend you dumped Ethan was his personal favorite. The positions you were in suggested only unholy thoughts. The expanse of your neck showing off your hickies and the ‘E’ necklace that never came off with your tits pushed up in one shot, your kiss swollen pussy with your panties shoved to the side in another, and finally your mouth wide open and tongue out, the prom tiara balancing crudely stop your head. If this didn’t solidify that you were his you weren’t sure what would. You find him outside, finishing the last of his cigarette and laughing with Gareth and Jeff. He walks alongside you, holding your waist and inching towards the curve of your boobs as he does, eyes scanning widely for that piece of shit Steve. A lipstick kiss pressed into the metal of his locker made him chuckle as he looked down at you, your own personal brand.
His cheeks go pink and his dick twitches in his black jeans when his eyes land on the pictures. “B-babe, is this? When did y-? Oh fuck.” He thumbs through them quickly and hurriedly shuts his locker, hauling you over his shoulder and running down the halls and out to his van. Your giggles echoing off the brick walls. “Gotta get you home right now, take care of my naughty girl.” Eddie laughs, “damn, and I thought watching Harrington come into school with black eyes and a half shaved head was going to be the highlight of my day.”
#eddie munson#eddie x fem!reader#eddie munson smut#eddie x you#eddie munson fanfic#jealous!eddie munson#possessive!eddie#eddie x y/n#eddie munson boyfriend#Steve harrington
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DANCING WITH MYSELF: MASTERPOST
MAIN STORY
Summary: Eddie crashes senior prom hoping to steal a dance with his dream girl, Chrissy Cunningham. Instead, he spends the night stuck in the women's restroom with you—her snarky, insecure best friend. Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader Warnings: no season 4 spoilers, some coarse language, body image issues, allusions to eating disorders, typical teenage insecurities, angst, jealousy, anxiety, secret crushes, childhood memories, happy ending, lots of 80s music Parts: 10/10 Word Count: 43,565
EPILOGUE - Part I & Part II
Summary: After leaving prom, you and Eddie go to The Hideout to reminisce and listen to music. One thing leads to another, and you end up going back to his trailer. Two-part story.
BONUS CONTENT
Pillow Talk - "Post Prom" bonus chapter
The Morning After - a deleted scene from "Post Prom" [unedited]
Out of the Loop - Eddie went home with someone after prom, and Gareth is determined to figure out who it was.
Bad Omens - [middle school fic] After experiencing the most unlucky morning of his life, Eddie is convinced that doom is on the horizon. All his friends think he's just being paranoid, but then Jeff receives an unexpected request from you, Eddie's little harbinger of misfortune.
The Shrieking Queen's Catacombs - a collection of fics set during the summer of 1980 — Session 1
MORE COMING SOON!
▶️ PLAYLIST: SPOTIFY
💭 FUTURE FIC LIST [GOOGLE DOC]
#masterpost#dancing with myself#dwm#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#stranger things#fanfic#chrissy cunningham#jason carver#chrissy x jason#also ignore my poorly done story graphic#i'm no artist#ambrossart
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ryan ross iceberg (tier 2)
tier 1, tier 3, tier 4, tier 5, tier 6, tier 7, tier 8
the tip of the iceberg:
the young veins:
this is the band that ryan and jon started after they split from panic! it included a few other members, and often times ryan’s good friends z berg and alex greenwald (of phantom planet), who will be mentioned more later on. they only released one album in 2010, called take a vacation! they played some live shows, but at the end of that same year, they went on an indefinite hiatus. HOWEVER, they made an official instagram account and have been active this year!! it’s likely that it's because there will be vinyl repress (further supported by a comment jon left on their only post) but it’s super cool nonetheless [i].
this is a personal aside, but i honestly like this band more than anything panic! released post split, with the exception of new perspective and the calendar. like god this was such a good fucking band.
dottie, elwood, and hobo:
these were all ryan’s dogs.
hobo was the dog he got in 2006. however, when he and keltie (we will discuss her soon) broke up, she took her with her [ii].
dottie was a dog he got circa 2015.
elwood is the dog he got in 2017.
i’m not sure if ryan still has dottie and elwood since he has pretty much disappeared from the internet.
eta: i misspelled elwood's name as elmwood in the iceberg image. sorry about that!
z berg:
this is one of ryan’s exes and his bestie. they dated around 2009/2010. they still hang out today and he’s made appearances at these events she does called proms. she gives us the majority of ryan content that we’ve gotten in the past few years.
he featured on one of her songs, “the bad list,” and she featured of the young veins cover of “nothing matters but you.” she will come up more in other entries as well, which is why i'm not going super in depth here.
throam:
whew.
this is a ryden fic – probably the most iconic after the milk fic – called the heart rate of a mouse, written by anna green. it was originally posted on livejournal, and it’s LONG, coming in at 3 volumes and over 500k words.
the plot summary is that in the 1970s, ryan is the lead singer/guitarist of a famous band called the followers, and brendon is a roadie on their tour. brendon is openly gay, and ryan and brendon start hooking up, even though ryan is “straight.” from there, the series becomes 3 volumes of angst and pining. of course, there’s so much more that happens, but i won’t say too much for the sake of spoilers.
despite it being a ryden fic, it’s incredibly well written (if you’re able to get past the explicit smut), so i do recommend reading it at least once in your life. i’m gonna keep it 100, i’ve read this series at least 10 times with a yearly reread and have physical copies of it.
anna also wrote some ficlets to go along with it, such as one from brendon’s pov and just some extra stuff that didn’t end up in the final cut. she also wrote a lot of other iconic fics (all of which i also recommend), like the black rose season, how a resurrection really feels, posing in a ballroom, miguel sanchez’s grand slam of love, amongst many, many others. sadly, she purged her entire livejournal account, so you would have to turn to internet archives to read anything other than throam [iii].
unfortunately, this fic also reached the icon status that the milk fic did so multiple people from the bandom sphere know about it and have acknowledged it. for example, keltie, ryan’s ex-girlfriend, has read it and mentioned it on twitter multiple times (embarrassing for her but whatever) [iv]. jon tweeted about it once [v]. also, i swear that vicky t from cobra starship mentioned it (i wanna say it was on instagram, but i could be wrong); however, i can’t find the comment she made anymore.
link to throam for those who are curious
jac and keltie:
these are two of ryan’s exes from the panic! days.
jac vanek was a scene queen in the early 2000s, and they dated from november 2005 until feburary 2006 [vi]. it was a pretty cringey teenage relationship that was overly (grossly) chronicled on livejournal, and if you’re interested to read more, there will be a link in a later tier.
an interesting tidbit is that while ryan was dating jac, brendon was dating another scene queen named audrey kitching, which will also come up later in this iceberg.
keltie knight (née colleen) and ryan started their relationship in august 2006 after meeting at the vmas, where panic! was performing and keltie was a backup dancer (she was a rockette). he was 19 and she was 24, which may not seem like a big deal, but it definitely played into some power dynamics in their relationship. for example, in keltie’s book, she says she often had pay ryan's bills for him. also in her book, she stated that he didn't take their relationship seriously, leading him to propose to her and asking her to move in (maybe he wasn't taking it as seriously as you because he was barely in his 20s keltie just a thought). they broke up in 2009 right before the split. we’ll touch on that again later. there is honestly so much more that i could say about this relationship/keltie, but some of it will be covered in this iceberg and the rest will be linked along with the jac info.
sun and moon:
another ryden entry. this refers to a theory about ryan and brendon about which one is considered the moon, and the other is the sun; it’s based on their personalities, like who embodies which more. polar opposites and all that. when ryden was still relevant, who is the moon vs who is the sun was a hotly debated topic (ryan is the moon, while brendon is the sun is the only correct answer).
this also loosely tied into some lyrics from panic and their solo music. for example, when the day met the night is often referenced in relation to this theory, although this song is definitely about keltie [vii]. also, in 2014 ryan wrote lonely moonlight, which also could refer back to this theory and kind of calls back to the lyrics in when the day met the night [viii]. however, this song is most likely about keltie too, if not another past relationship (not brendon).
dead end kids club:
this is a band/touring project that ryan was part of, including z berg, dan keyes, and the band palm springsteen. it was first announced in july, 2019. later that same year, they went on tour, hitting 8 cities for fall balls. this was referred to as the “1st annual” but….[ix]
in 2020, they released a song called lonesome town that featured a lot of videos from fans [x]. also that year, palm springsteen was accused of assault, which dekc posted a couple of statements about on twitter, here and here, stating that they had been removed from the project “a long time ago” [xi]. they pretty much disbanded after that and haven’t been active since october 2020.
livejournal:
iconic. livejournal (aka lj) was basically tumblr before tumblr existed. similarly, it could be used as a personal blog, a place to post rpf fic, an emo poetry hub, a photo album, etc. it’s on this iceberg because ryan was very prolific on livejournal, under the username i_amclandestine, and it’s essentially where panic! got its start. ryan made contact with pete wentz through lj, sending him the early demos, which lead to pete signing them and then cue domino effect to a taylor swift song.
anyway, ryan made many iconic posts on there, some of which will be addressed directly in this iceberg, but i will leave a link to an archive of his lj account for further viewing. he made his last post in june of 2006, but he deleted the account in july of that year after receiving a spam of hate. at the same time, brendon changed his (part_time_lovah) to friends only [xii].
along with the links to ryan’s old lj, i’m also going to link a youtube video by one of my favorite channels, the cozy representative, in which julian goes through ryan’s posts.
this is the web archive for ryan’s lj (does not include his last post):
this is a tumblr masterpost of all of his entries, including the last one missing from the above link:
and finally, julian’s video:
youtube
ryan and spencer childhood besties:
ryan and spencer became friends when they were around 5 or so years old, which was always the saddest part of the 2009 split to me. ryan and spencer were in the og band before panic!, which will be discussed later.
in 2016, spencer’s wife tweeted that ryan and spencer were still friends. however, ryan did not attend spencer’s wedding, which could have been for a number of reasons, one of which we will also discuss more heavily later on [xiii]. of course, there is no way for us to know whether ryan wasn’t invited or if he just decided not to go.
mcr makes me dance:
in 2004, ryan went to the chemicalromance livejournal community and posted, “hey im ryan im new i live in las vegas my chemical romance makes me dance” and history was made [xiv]. this became a "meme" amongst panic! fans, and they started bringing signs with that phrase written on them for ryan told in pics. this has continued even in recent times.
newsboy cap:
this is another iconic piece of ryan ross fashion. he wore it a lot in 2004-2006 cause he’s a little fruity. like seriously, this hat had him in the biggest chokehold.
now, we move onto some of the deeper stuff and into the waters.
tier 3
references:
[i] https://www.instagram.com/theyoungveinsmusic/
[ii] https://pathetic-at-the-disco.tumblr.com/post/171475122211/did-keltie-knight-ever-steal-ryans-dog-or
[iii] https://web.archive.org/web/20170606154418/http:/beggarsnotes.livejournal.com/
[iv] https://youngveins.tumblr.com/post/141384273691/keltie-has-read-throam-this-is-not-the-twitter
[v] https://twitter.com/iamjonwalker/status/958805938227433472
[vi] https://pathetic-at-the-disco.tumblr.com/post/170958104996/the-tragic-love-life-of-ryan-ross-part-2
[vii] https://genius.com/Panic-at-the-disco-when-the-day-met-the-night-lyrics
[viii] https://genius.com/Ryan-ross-lonely-moonlight-lyrics
[ix]https://www.instagram.com/thedeadendkidsclub/?hl=en
[x] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EzcWGQQiFDU
[xi] https://twitter.com/DeadEndKidsClub/status/1275849828459823105, https://twitter.com/DeadEndKidsClub/status/1283511345330049026
[xii] https://prettyoddfever.tumblr.com/post/629056560433446912/why-ryan-ross-deleted-his-livejournal-and-brendon
[xiii] https://pathetic-at-the-disco.tumblr.com/post/171901498176/so-i-saw-your-ryanspencer-post-and-i-was-just
[xiv] https://chemicalromance.livejournal.com/96360.html?page=1
#ryan ross#the young veins#panic! at the disco#jon walker#ryan ross iceberg#spencer smith#brendon urie#patd#ryan patd#panic at the disco#Youtube
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different songs for different saiki k characters:
saiki (kusuo): my ordinary life by the living tombstone. that one was obvious
saiki (kusuke): aishite aishite aishite by Kikuo. he just like me fr (or dumb dumb by mazie but idk)
kaido: kimi wa dekinai ko by Kikuo. i fucking hate his mom. if u stan his mom dni. just leave tumblr if you like kaidos mom. but another song is SPIT IN MY FACE! by ThxSoMch cuz hes a certified 100% emo. or if you're in a KuboKai mood Sports by Beach Bunny.
akechi: i/me/myself by will wood. idk why its just so, akechi
teruhashi: Liquid Smooth by Mitski. idk what to say but its very teruhashi (she just like me fr 2.0). or Prom Queen by Beach Bunny. or Blue Hair by TV Girl.
toritsuka: How The Fuck Can This Man Have The Same Voice Actor As Tanjiro What The Fuck by asexualcloud
rifuta: girls by girl in red. what can i say. except "SIIIIIIMP" (and we love her)
normal dude: shape of you by Ed Sheeran. no offence to Ed Sheeren fans (yes offence)
m*koto (🤢): kijutsushi no baire by Yoshihisa Hirano. the people that get it get it. the people that dont dont. (look it up)
yumehara: Heather by Conan Grey. *insert funny haha joke here*
hairo: OMG by NewJeans. its just so peppy.
kuboyasu: Hayloft II by Mother Mother.
feel free to come up with more idk.
#some of these are based of the lyrics or vibe and some are based off if i think the character would listen to them#time to tag shit *sobs*#saiki k#tdlsok#i made this cuz i was listing to aishite aishite aishite and thought of kusuke#saiki kusuo#saiki kusuke#kaido shun#akechi touma#kokomi teruhashi#reita toritsuka#imu rifuta#satou hiroshi#makoto teruhashi#yumehara chiyo#hairo kineshi#aren kuboyasu#oh shit#now i gotta tag all the songs and artists#bbbbbbbemmmmmmmmeeeeehhhhhhh#my ordinary life#living tombstone#aishite aishite aishite#kikuo#kimi wa dekinai ko#kaidos mom#like shes here to ig#but fuck her tbh#spit in my face#thxsomch
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Stats from Movies 601-700
Top 10 Movies - Highest Number of Votes
Buffy The Vampire Slayer (1992) had the most votes with 1,347 votes. Absentia (2011) had the least votes with 54 votes.
The 10 Most Watched Films by Percentage
Buffy The Vampire Slayer (1992) was the most watched film with 44.6% of voters out of 1,347 saying they had seen it. The Inhabitant (2017) had the least "Yes" votes with 0.6% of voters out of 785.
The 10 Least Watched Films by Percentage
Exorcist II: The Heretic (1977) was the least watched film with 69.7% of voters out of 538 saying they hadn’t seen it. I Am Alone (2015) had the least "No" votes with 11.3% of voters out of 531.
The 10 Most Known Films by Percentage
Buffy The Vampire Slayer (1992) was the best known film, 6,7% of voters out of 1,347 saying they’d never heard of it.
The 10 Least Known Films by Percentage
I Am Alone (2015) was the least known film, 88,10% of voters out of 531 saying they’d never heard of it.
The movies part of the statistic count and their polls below the cut.
The Poughkeepsie Tapes (2007) Unhinged (2020) Tales from the Hood (1995) Tales from the Hood 2 (2018) Tales from the Hood 3 (2020) Quarantine (2008) Quarantine 2: Terminal (2011) I Am Alone (2015) The Hitcher (1986) Lady in White (1988)
Ghostland (2018) Dark City (1998) Event Horizon (1997) Exorcist II: The Heretic (1977) The Exorcist III (1990) Exorcist: The Beginning (2004) Dominion: Prequel to the Exorcist (2005) The Exorcist: Believer (2023) Tragedy Girls (2017) Martin (1977)
Saint Maud (2019) A Cure for Wellness (2016) The Devil's Advocate (1997) Alice, Sweet Alice (1976) 1408 (2007) Good Manners (2017) The Crawling Eye (1958) Un Chien Andalou / An Andalusian Dog (1929) Cadaver (2020) Skinner (1993)
Cube (1997) The Bees (1978) August Underground (2001) The House (2022) The Lodge (2019) Stay Alive (2006) Shallow Grave (1994) Contracted (2013) Messiah of Evil (1974) The Red Queen Kills Seven Times (1972)
Llamageddon (2015) One Hour Photo (2002) Absentia (2011) You Might Be the Killer (2018) The Haunting (1999) Onibaba (1964) Abandoned (2022) The Offering (2022) The Crow (1994) Call Back (2009)
La Llorona (2019) Suicide Club (2001) 1BR (2019) Where the Dead Go to Die (2012) El Conde (2023) Black Mountain Side (2014) Piggy (2022) The Neon Demon (2016) Prom Night (1980) Hello Mary Lou: Prom Night II (1987)
Prom Night III: The Last Kiss (1990) Prom Night IV: Deliver Us from Evil (1991) Prom Night (2008) Rift (2017) Slaughtered Vomit Dolls (2006) ReGOREgitated Sacrifice (2008) Slow Torture Puke Chamber (2010) Sweet, Sweet Lonely Girl (2016) The Club (1994) The Last Exorcism (2010)
Braid (2018) Red Mist (2008) Knock at the Cabin (2023) Revealer (2022) Piranha (1978) What Keeps You Alive (2018) Buffy the Vampire Slayer (1992) Teeth (2007) Martyrs (2015)
The Woman In Black (1989) The Last Thing Mary Saw (2021) Thirst (2019) Tigers Are Not Afraid (2017) An American Haunting (2005) Troll Hunter (2010) The Power (2021) Post Mortem (2020) Vampires vs. the Bronx (2020) Bulbbul (2020)
The Inhabitant (2017) The Cleansing Hour (2016) The Wind (2018) The Mimic (2017) Errementari (2017) Witches in the Woods (2019) There's Something Wrong with the Children (2023) Antrum (2018) Love at First Bite (1979) The Night of the Hunter (1955)
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🔮 Spooky Watchlist 🔮
I figured I’d share what I tend to watch around this time of year! This includes a wide range of shows/movies ranging from family friendly to rated R stuff so there’s something for everyone! That being said, I know not everyone will like everything I listed, please be kind!
Shows:
Over the Garden Wall
Buzzfeed Unsolved
Scooby Doo
Scream Queens
What We Do in the Shadows
X Files
Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Halloween/ Spooky Episodes:
BTVS:
season 2 episode 6 (Halloween)
season 4 episode 4 (Fear Itself)
season 4 episode 10 (Hush)
season 5 episode 1 (Buffy vs. Dracula)
season 6 episode 6 (All the Way)
Suite Life of Zack and Cody:
season 1 episode 19 (The Ghost of Suite 613)
season 3 episode 12 (Arwinstein)
Simpsons TreeHouse of Horror
(I’m not gonna list all of these because there are over 30)
That 70s Show:
season 2 episode 5 (Halloween)
season 3 episode 4 (Too Old to Trick or Treat, Too Young to Die)
Wizards of Waverly Place:
season 3 episode 2 (Halloween)
iCarly:
season 1 episode 7 (iScream on Halloween)
Zoey 101:
season 2 episode 4 (Haunted House)
Movies:
Scream (1996) (franchise)
Halloween (1978) (franchise)
Twitches (2005)
My Babysitter’s a Vampire (2010)
Halloweentown (1998)
Hocus Pocus (1993)
Corpse Bride (2005)
The Addams Family (1991)
Addams Family Values (1993)
Scooby Doo (2002)
Scooby Doo Monsters Unleashed (2004)
Scooby Doo Camp Scare (2010)
Scooby Doo and the Witch’s Ghost (1999)
Scooby Doo and the Goblin King (2008)
Scooby Doo on Zombie Island (1998)
Scooby Doo Abracadabra Doo (2010)
Scooby Doo Alien Invaders (2000)
Scooby Doo Legend of the Vampire (2003)
Coraline (2009)
Jennifer’s Body (2009)
Van Helsing (2004)
Blade (1998)
Underworld (2003) (film series)
Practical Magic (1998)
Clue (1985)
Zombieland (2009)
Zombieland Double Tap (2019)
Happy Death Day (2017)
Freaky (2020)
Fear Street (film series starting in 2021)
Ready or Not (2019)
A Quiet Place (2018)
A Quiet Place II (2020)
It (1990)
It (2017)
The Omen (1976)
Poltergeist (1982)
The Shining (1980)
The Evil Dead (1981)
Evil Dead II (1987)
The Exorcist (1973)
Horror of Dracula (1958)
Vampyr (1932)
The Birds (1963)
Rear Window (1954)
Vertigo (1958)
Psycho (1960)
Silver Bullet (1985)
Buffy the Vampire Slayer (1992)
I know What You Did Last Summer (1997)
Prom Night (1980)
The Town That Dreaded Sundown (1976)
Jeepers Creepers (2001) (this is a series but I’ve only ever seen the first two)
American Psycho (2000)
The Cabin in the Woods (2011)
Cloverfield (2008)
Paranormal Activity (2007) (also a series but I’ve only seen the first one)
Blair Witch Project (1999) (tbh I have never seen this I’m too scared)
Feel free to add anything you think I might have missed!
#halloween#spooky#autumn#spooky season#horror#slashers#movies#tv shows#watchlist#spooky watchlist#fall watchlist
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So a few nights back I watched Prom Night and like, it was aight, it had an extended and choreographed disco dance scene with Jamie Lee Curtis which gave it some points, actually likeable teens and Leslie Nielsen in his most subdued role ever (go watch Creepshow if you wanna rightfully watch him ham it up in a horror movie), but I think it fell pretty flat on the actual horror and especially the kills.
That being said, I got nothing better to watch so last night I decided to watch Hello Mary Lou: Prom Night II, and it was fucking DECENT, like what the fuck? The totally unrelated sequel to itself mediocre low budget slasher flick had way better kills, a way better villain, music, effects, plot etc. And while it's very much a Nigjtmare on Elm Street clone I'd easily put it above a lot of their sequels, it's basically a better executed Nightmare part II AND THE VILLAIN IS A CUNTY 50'S COQUETTE PROM QUEEN BACK FROM THE DEAD.
Oh and it has Michael Ironside in it, as if I didn't have enough reasons to love this movie.
This is all to say that you should absolutely go watch it, at least where I am its free on Amazon Prime with occasional ads, oh and this is a Mary Lou Maloney Stan blog now.
#hello mary lou: prom night ii#prom night 2#prom night ii#prom night#mary lou maloney#michael ironside#horror#horror movies#jamie lee curtis#horror films#70's horror#80's horror#b movies
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1A
Princess (The Liar Princess and the Blind Prince) VS Eruca (Radiant Historia)
Sapphia (High-Class Homos) VS Zara (Disney Princess Enchanted Journey)
Lucina (Fire Emblem Awakening) VS Beatrice (Rune Factory 5)
Ace (Love Nikki) VS Angela (Trials of Mana)
Princess Pride (Mega Man Battle Network) VS Katora Paige (Inazuma Eleven GO Galaxy)
Kaguya Houraisan (Touhou Project) VS Miranda Vanderbilt (Monster Prom)
Elodie (Long Live the Queen) VS Merurulince Rede Arls (Atelier Meruru)
Pecorine (Princess Connect) VS Parasoul (Skullgirls)
2A
Princess (Twisted: The Untold Story of a Royal Visier) VS Princess Minnie (Mickey, Donald, Goofy: The Three Musketeers)
Rapunzel (Tangled) VS Catania (Barbie Mariposa and the Fairy Princess)
Mermista (She-Ra and the Princesses of Power) VS Starfire/Koriand'r (DC Comics)
Coronabeth Tridentarius (The Locked Tomb) VS Princess Vespa (Spaceballs)
Melinoe (Hades II) VS Blaze the Cat (Sonic the Hedgehog)
Chibiusa Tsukino (Sailor Moon) VS Midna (The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess)
Eilonwy (The Black Cauldron) VS Allura (Voltron: Legendary Defender)
Nefertari Vivi (One Piece) VS Rue Kuroha/Princess Kraehe (Princess Tutu)
1B
Aurora (Sleeping Beauty) VS Star Butterfly (Star vs. the Forces of Evil)
Isla Kokoro (Barbie: Princess Charm School) VS Merida (Brave)
Ariel (The Little Mermaid) VS Clara (Barbie in the Nutcracker)
Princess Peach (Mario Games) VS Belle (Beauty and the Beast)
Snow White (Red Shoes and the Seven Dwarfs) VS Aurora Syalis Goodereste (Sleepy Princess in the Demon Castle)
Shirahoshi (One Piece) VS Princess Selenia (Arthur and the Invisibles)
Marianne (Strange Magic) VS Nunnally vi Britannia (Code Geass)
Ahiru/Princess Tutu (Princess Tutu) VS Poppy (Trolls)
2B
Kilala Reno (Kilala Princess) VS Griselda (Ys: Memories of Celceta)
Tsunami (Wings of Fire) VS Gruier Serenity (Mouretsu Pirates)
Priscilla Barielle (Re:Zero) VS Lucia Nanami (Mermaid Melody Pichi Pichi Pich)
Momo (Magical Princess Minky Momo) VS Princess/Hime-sama ('Tis Time For "Torture," Princess)
Princess Luna (My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic) VS Sofia (Sofia the First)
Stella (Winx Club) VS Haruka Haruno/Cure Flora (Go! Princess Precure)
Harumi (Ninjago) VS Princess Iron Fan (Lego Monkie Kid)
Mouscedes King (Monster High) VS Elena (Elena of Avalor)
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