#it's good for your soul and my soul and everyone's soul

[norikuna]

WHAT? LIKE IT'S HARD? ✶ choso kamo

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re not above sending a risky message.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s your point?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You ask Kamo, I’ll ask Suguru.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Choso’s shoulders tense, “Can’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You first.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I help you?”

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

Choso Kamo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THREE YEARS LATER.

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

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

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

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

Your mother.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get out,” you blurt.

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

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

“Partner?” Choso finishes for you, deadpan.

“Of all the people in this entire school —”

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

“What are you doing here?”

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

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

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

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

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

“What? Like it’s hard?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Choso just rolls his eyes.

“They…modify bacterial ribosomes.”

“Wrong.”

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

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

“Nope.”

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

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

“Just tell me the answer.”

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

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

“I was close.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing next weekend?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you want to study at my place?”

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

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

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

“Hmm. Sure, I’ll think about it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s not a date. We’re studying.”

“Don’t care. Didn’t really ask.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did I leave the door unlocked?”

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

“Get out.”

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

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

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

Weird. And impossible.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Leave Yuuji out of this!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right.

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

“So, what?”

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

“Are you angry?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re not happy, Satoru?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s he look like again?”

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

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

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

“Hold up! I got visual aid.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now who’s the liar,” Suguru murmurs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You good?”

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

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

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

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

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

Oh. Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

You’re having none of it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There you are.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Without warning, his phone buzzes.

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

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

“What?”

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

“I’m not dating Tsukumo Yuki.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If it’s a proper date, it’s a yes.”

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

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

ONE WEEK LATER.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[doromoni]

Was it all a dream? | CL16

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚.

Ships : Charles Leclerc x Reader

Genre : Fluff

Summary : You’ve found your soul inside Alex’s body and Charles believes that you are his girlfriend. You're living the dream, but for how long?

Masterlist | Soul Switch Series

< Previous | Charles’ Arc | Next >

A month had passed and you still hadn’t figured out how your soul managed to get into Alex’s body and how you’d taken her place beside Charles. What weirded you out the most is that everything seemed normal and everyone was not questioning anything at all! It was like everything was supposed to be like you are supposed to be in Alex’s body.

Every time you pass a mirror you startle a little because you expect your face … but No. You see Alex, no you are “Alex” now. No one even remembers the art graduate Alex. They see you Y/N L/N.

Weird as it may be you tried going along with everything shoved on you. Gone was the Y/N L/N engineering student because apparently you’ve already graduated engineering and are now working for Red Bull Racing.

Even with your “boyfriend” Charles Leclerc, Ferrari’s golden boy, it’s been a month and you still gasp every time he leans near and kisses your lips. You still couldn’t fathom that you slept in his bed with him spooning you every chance he got.

Ironically, you’ve dreamt of being Charles Leclerc’s girlfriend that one time you were dozing off in Physics class but you didn’t expect to come true! Heck, that dream was so strange to begin with! I mean Leo was horse-sized, Ferrari’s car was actually a bike with 7 wheels and they won the championship with it. Oh! And you dreamt of actually birthing Oscar Piastri and being a family with him and Charles. Weird… it’s so weird.

Everything was just so loopy for you. You expect yourself to wake up and actually be in your body inside your dorm room with a monstrous stiff neck or something. But each time you wake up and open your eyes, you face to see the gorgeous male brunette with dazzling green eyes.

“Good morning, Mon Amore. How was your sleep? Did you dream of your ‘other’ life again?” Charles teased you as he kissed your forehead.

Your first week in this body, you tried to tell Charles the truth. About how you shouldn’t be here and that the real Alex should be. Charles only looked at you as if you were crazy and suggested that he’ll take to you go see a doctor.

The more you pressed on that what you were saying was true and that you’re not crazy, the more Charles wanted to drag your ass to get your brain checked. So you just told Charles that it was just a weird dream you’ve gotten. And now your reality was a running joke for him.

“No~ I dreamt of you switching to become a Red Bull driver and Leo is your engineer” You joked back, poking his bare chest. Wow, Charles and his damn muscles! The times you’ve laid your hands on him for the entire week are criminal at this point.

“Oi, my eyes are up here Y/Niee! I swear you just love me for my body” Charles pouted, a glint of mischief in his eyes— almost daring you to deny it.

“ What?? No! I’m also dating you for your money” You teased back, pecking a soft kiss to his lips before removing the blanket off you and jumping off the bed.

Is it wrong to kiss someone else’s boyfriend when your soul is in that someone else’s body?? Oh, the mental and ethical gymnastics you’re experiencing is taxing.

“Y/Nieee~ come back to bed! Just 10 more minutes please” Charles whined as he stared up at you with the same puppy eyes Leo looks at you when he wants treats.

“No no no~ monsieur! We have a plane to catch remember? You’re racing in Austin and your body needs to regulate and shake off the jet lag” You explained as you went to his side of the bed to try and pull Charles out of the freakishly comfy bed.

“Fineee~ give me a kiss first.”

“I just gave you one!”

“Another one!”

“Oh you needy, needy, needy man,” You said as you gave in to the request of your boyfriend, crashing your lips to his one more time.

“Now let’s get ready and catch our flight~” You muttered as you tried to pry yourself away from Charles.

“Mh, can you prepare Leo’s travel bag, please? Max’s jet isn’t really dog friendly” Charles asked as he stretched his arms above his head. Wow, this man is too hot for his own good.

“Whatever you say handsome” You replied stealing one more peck from the Ferrari driver before zooming out your his bedroom.

“Y/N! Take a shower with me, let’s save water and Mother Earth together~” You hear Charles shout from the room.

“Will you let me drive your car to the airport?” You shouted back

“Over my cute ass, you will!” You couldn’t help but laugh at Charles’ antics.

After a few more shenanigans involving Charles and Leo, all three of you were finally inside one of Charles’ road-safe Ferraris— you being passenger princess of course with Leo on your lap because Charles refuses to be chauffeured around.

He said “Driving is what I’m made for. So let me do my magic, Mon Bebe”

“You park like a blind person though” You replied Which he took offense to a loud gasp as you laughed. Now your boyfriend is pouting as you boarded Max’s jet.

“What’s wrong with Him?” Max being the frank person that he is said the minute you and Charles stepped foot on the plane.

“ Many things are wrong with him, like his undying love for Ferrari” You jokingly said as you squeezed your boyfriend’s forearm before you took a seat with Leo.

“She called my parking shitty” Charles exclaimed to Max

“No, I said you parked like a blind person” You defended, holding back a snicker.

“She’s not wrong, Mate. I’ve seen your parking and wow” Max winced as if imagining Charles’ parking during races.

“I hate both of you! I park fine” Charles took the seat next to you still glaring. Trying to soothe him, you reached up and kissed his cheek.

“Agree to disagree there— but I like you either way. By the way, where is Kel- OW!” You were in the middle of asking Max about Kelly when a sharp pain ran through your spine and up your head.

Warning: Reality Expiration 90%

Where did that come from? Reality Expiration?? What does this mean? Was it all a dream?

“Hey, hey. Y/N? are you ok?” The pain gradually diminished and you saw Charles and Max both worriedly hunched over you.

“I- yeah. Just a sudden headache I guess. I’m ok! No need to worry” You smiled at them, trying to ebb their worry. Charles wasn’t easy to convince though.

“Mon Amore, seriously are you ok?? We can catch another flight if you want to rest first” He asked reaching for your hand.

“Love, I’m fine! I swear, no need to worry~” You explained to Charles trying to convince him that everything was ok— even tho you were panicking so much inside.

What does it mean Reality Expiration? Are you going to die?? What will happen to you when the time expires? The mystery of your future made you fear for your life.

Warning: Reality Expiration 98%

“Y/N… I know you’re not telling me the truth. Mon Amore, what’s happening?” Charles held both your hands, slightly shaking — as if he knew deep inside something huge was about to change.

“Uhm, you know my other life? I think I’m going back there” You said to Charles, your voice quivering. Nevertheless, you tried to smile and look at Charles one more time.

Reality Expiration 100%

Prepare for Soul Regression ...

Your soul has successfully regressed

Dear Y/N, thank you for participating in this reality. You are now in control of your own fate ...

Here you can control whats next : What's your next reality?

CHOOSE NOW or the system will choose FOR you.

~~~

a/n : Answer the poll!! I'm trying something hereee ahe. Hope you find this series intriguing. Tell me your thoughts my luvs

Series Taglist: @simpacholic @stereading @lol6sposts : Open for request!

Maintaglist : @myescapefromthislife @peterholland04 @charlottef1 @fangirl125reader @mel164 @gnarlycore @chloelovesln4 @vickykazuya @merchelsea @ln4author @qzmef @nxk1309 @styl1shl1v @lottalove4evelyn @gr3yhues : open for request!

[helen-with-an-a]

Beautiful Girl - New Year’s Eve(18+)

Happy New Year, everyone. I hope all your dreams come true, and I wish you well for the next year. Here is a totally indulged, dirtier-than-I-intended New Year fic with Alexia to help you welcome the new year in the right way. Also, will I ever learn how to write short smutty things? Probably not. This is the fic that started the Beautiful Girl series and yet I've already released so much for it ahahaha. For the anon back in August who told me I need to make my fics less ambiguous, this is for you. R IS A WOMAN. Have the day u deserve anon 😘✌️

Alexia Putellas x Reader

Beautiful Girl Masterlist

Description: Thank god the New Year's party was cancelled.

TW: Smut, 18+, cunnilingus, strap (R giving - dom R; Sub Alexia)

You had never been more grateful for food poisoning. Watching Patri and the rest of the girls fall sick was hard, it seemed almost cruel to relish in their misfortune. Whilst is was undoubtedly horrific to feel so ill over Christmas, it did mean one thing. One thing you were so, overwhelmingly happy about.

Missing Patri's New Years' Eve party.

With so many of the team members now laid up with various degrees of illness, it was quickly decided that the party wouldn't be happening. Given the circumstances, it was the best choice for everyone, but it also meant you could spend the evening with Alexia alone.

It wasn’t your first year ringing in the New Year with Alexia – this would actually be the fifth you were welcoming in together. Up until now, each new year was brought in surrounded by friends, clinking glasses and a swift kiss at midnight before munching on some grapes. Whilst you loved the parties, the thought of just snuggling up at home was always niggling at the back of your mind.

This year, however, was different. For the first time, you had the chance to bring in the New Year alone.

“Ale,” you called gently, your voice barely above a whisper. She was engrossed in the countdown on the TV, her gaze locked on the screen as they ticked away the last minutes of the year.

“Hm?” she responded, lifting her head from where it had been nestled comfortably against your chest.

“Will you be my New Year's kiss?” you asked softly. It might have been a silly question – but it was something you asked each other every year, a small tradition of your own. It had started your first year together, when you were unsure about how the Catalan celebrated New Year's. The next year, she asked you - the pair of you celebrating in England this time, surrounded by your friends and family and Alexia had been unsure of whether you wanted to kiss in public. By Year 3, it felt strange not asking, even though you knew she would never say no, it felt odd, just assuming.

Alexia's heart softened as she met your gaze. A wide, warm smile spread across her lips, a dusting of pink settling on her cheeks.

“Sí, mi amor,” she said, her voice gentle. “I will be your beso de año nuevos.” Her smile was radiant now, a wide, joyful grin that seemed to light up the room. She added, with a playful glint in her eye, “As long as I can be yours?”

“Of course, my beautiful girl,” you replied, your fingers carding through her hair. “No lo querría de otra manera.”

“Good,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the gentle hum of the TV. She leaned closer, moving up your body with a grace that seemed almost dreamlike. As her lips brushed against yours, the world outside dissolved, leaving just the two of you, curled up in bed, without a care in the world.

She tasted like honey. Warm and smooth nectar that eased your soul. It was the perfect remedy for any issue. Her lips were soft as they worked in time with yours. A throaty hum bubbled up in her chest as you tightened your fingers in her hair.

As you finally pulled away from the kiss, the sudden burst of fireworks outside startled you, their vibrant explosions lighting up the night sky. You couldn't help the smile that spread across your face as Alexia's hand drew you back to face her.

“Feliz año nuevo, mi amor” Alexia whispered against your lips.

Alexia’s eyes sparkled as she looked down at you, her expression full of love. “Happy New Year, my beautiful girl,” you replied softly, tugging her back to you, your lips finding each other again with perfect ease.

When she finally pulled away, her breath came in ragged, deep gasps. She took a moment to let her gaze wander slowly over the length of your body, her eyes moving with deliberate slowness. You watched as she took in your form, bare legs intertwined with hers, a hoodie she was fairly sure used to belong to her on your top half. To Alexia, you had never looked more beautiful. You were the epitome of quiet beauty - a radiance from within that made you glow.

You gently lifted a hand to her chin, your touch tender and deliberate as you guided her back to face you. Her gaze met yours with an almost innocent intensity, her eyes wide and doe-like.

"T'estimo molt, Alèxia Putellas i Segura." You mumbled, your voice thick. It was true, you had never felt like this before. So loved, so safe, so happy.

"I love you, Y/N Y/S/N, so much." Alexia whispered back, her words just as emotional.

You didn't know how long you spent, lying there kissing Alexia. But you didn't really care. All that mattered was the woman above you, the way she rocked her hips against yours, the way her hands explored your body, the way she gasped and moaned as you tugged at her roots and trailed your fingers under her pyjama top.

“What do you need, Ale?” you asked gently in between kisses.

“Tú,” she muttered, her voice barely audible. “Te necesito.”

“What about me do you need, my beautiful girl?" You smoothed her hair away from her head, eyes searching hers. "How can I give you what you need?” Y

“I need … necesito … I …” Alexia’s words faltered. She was slipping into a state of mind that only you could bring out in her – a headspace where she shed all her external responsibilities. She wasn’t Alexia Putellas, the captain of Barça, or the face of Spanish football. She was simply Ale, your Ale, your Beautiful Girl.

“I need your cock, por favor.” Her eyes slid sideways, avoiding your gaze. You hated how she hated being vulnerable around you. It was something you had been working on together, her voicing her desires to you, whether it be as simple as what to make for dinner or as hard as voicing her deepest fantasies. She was doing a lot better, in the early days it had been exasperating to watch her flounder whenever you asked what she needed. But now, the pride welled in your chest as she spoke with relative confidence. You smiled, leaning up to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

“Okay, beautiful,” you said softly, smoothing your hand against the skin on her hip. “Do you want me to get the strap? Or would you prefer to?” You reached up to push a stray piece of blonde hair out of her eyes, and pressing a light kiss to the tip of her nose.

Alexia's response came with a hint of hesitation. “You,” she said, her voice wavering slightly as she made her choice, taking a steadying breath as she did so.

“Alright,” you acknowledged, nodding with a soft smile. “The big black one or the smaller purple one?”

“B-black one,” she whispered shyly. There was a noticeable blush on her cheeks. The black one was her favourite, the one that stung in the best way, the one that made her arch and squirm as you split her open, the one that could leave her limping for the next few days.

A smile spread across your face at her words, your heart swelling with affection. “Okay,” you said gently. “Take off your clothes while I get the strap.” You let your fingers wander underneath the hem of her joggers.

“When you're finished, lie back on the bed with your head on the pillows,” you continued.

Normally, you knew her favourite way to take any strap was on her knees, you lying back beneath her, taking in the glorious sight above you as she moved without restriction. The way she would roll and rock, bounce and shift. The way she seemed so free as she took what she needed from you, as your hands rested on her hips or trailed up her body to grope and squeeze as you pleased. But you had other plans for tonight.

You reached up and pressed your lips against hers in a deep kiss. The kiss was slow and deliberate, you let your lips linger on hers a moment longer, savouring the taste of her before gently unwinding yourself from her embrace.

As you moved away, you went to the wardrobe, shedding your hoodie as you went. The cool air of the room met your skin as you tugged the material over your head, feeling her eyes follow your every movement as she went about her tasks. The sensation of her gaze on you made more goosebumps appear on your skin than any cool breeze ever could.

You opened the drawer and began to gather what was needed. You smiled as you looked down at the contents. The big, shiny black strap with a wider girth and a fake vein running underneath that she needed time to work up to glinted up at you in the dim glow of the lamp. You shuddered at the image of Alexia, hair splayed against the pillow, her eyes screwed shut in pleasure as you sunk into her again and again.

Turning back around, you were met with the sight of Alexia having perfectly followed your instructions. Her t-shirt was folded neatly on top of the dresser, the soft fabric arranged with meticulous care. Next to it, her joggers were laid out in a similar fashion, creating a small, organised pile. You couldn't help the smile, Alexia, ever the neat freak.

What immediately caught your eye, however, was the unmistakable sign of her arousal: her knickers had been removed and set aside. The grey fabric was marked by a noticeable wet patch. You hummed appreciatively as you clambered onto the bed next to her.

“Well done, beautiful,” you said, your voice filled with admiration. “Such a good girl for me."

Alexia’s response to the praise was immediate. She visibly preened, a soft flush spreading across her cheeks as she absorbed the compliment. Her eyes lit up with a mix of pleasure and satisfaction as her body relaxed into the bed below her.

“So pretty,” you cooed softly as you moved to position yourself above her. The warmth and tenderness in your voice made Alexia feel even more cherished and adored. As you spoke, your gaze lingered on her, your eyes raking down her body with reverence.

Your eyes took in every detail with a slow, deliberate appreciation. You started with the swell of her breasts, noting how they were perfectly shaped and inviting, their natural curve accentuated by the soft light of your bedroom. Your gaze then travelled down to the ridges of her abs, the defined muscles revealing the strength and dedication she put into caring for her body. Each contour and line told a story of her commitment and vitality, making her all the more captivating.

Continuing your exploration, your attention shifted to the strong muscles of her thighs. You observed the powerful yet graceful curves, appreciating the balance of strength and femininity they represented. The way her thighs connected with her hips and the subtle play of light on her skin added a golden glow to her already-tanned skin.

“G-gracias, mi amor,” she stuttered, her voice tinged with a mix of appreciation and shyness.

You responded with a warm, affirming smile, “look at you, using your manners. Una niña buena y bonita.”

You shifted closer, your face centimetres from hers. “Can I kiss you, Ale?” you asked, your voice laced with a tender reverence.

She met your gaze with a shy but eager nod, her eyes shimmering with anticipation . Her fingers, warm and reassuring, slipped around your hips, gripping them lightly. You slowly leaned down, your movements deliberate and unhurried, valuing the moment.

She hummed softly as your lips met hers, a contented sound that had your heart quickening. The warmth of your touch was immediately reciprocated, her hips pressing up against you eagerly. The contact of your lips made her skin tingle with anticipation.

As you continued to kiss her, you allowed yourself to ease more of your weight onto her. The gentle pressure of your body against hers helped ground you both. Alexia’s fingers, still resting on your hips, tightened slightly trying to draw you even closer. The world outside faded once again, leaving just the two of you.

You let your hands explore her body with thoughtful slowness. The touch was gentle yet deliberate as if you were memorising every curve and line of her form like you were discovering her for the first time. Each movement was tender and explorative, your fingertips lightly grazing her skin, leaving a trail of warmth and anticipation in their path.

As your hands made their way across her skin, a delicate shiver of goosebumps followed in their wake, spreading out like a ripple of water. Her breath hitched slightly, a soft, involuntary sound that had you smiling against her lips.

“Por favor,” she whined softly as you parted, your lips trailing down from her mouth, moving with careful slowness down her jawline until they found their way to her collarbones. The touch of your lips on her skin was a teasing promise, making her shiver.

“Apresúrate,” she urged, her tone full of frustration and desire.

You leaned back slightly, a playful glint in your eye as you raised an eyebrow at her. “Patience, Ale,” you said. “If you’re going to rush me, I’ll stop.”

Her eyes widened slightly, and a flicker of panic crossed her face at your teasing warning. “Ho sento, ho sento,” she stammered quickly, her cheeks flushing.

You softened your expression, letting a reassuring smile light up your face. “It’s okay, beautiful,” you said soothingly. “Just relax for me.” Your touch was gentle as you placed a tender hand on her cheek, guiding her focus back to you. “Focus on what you’re feeling,” you continued, your voice warm and encouraging. You added a playful wink, watching as she nodded eagerly.

As she closed her eyes, settling into the sensation of your touch, you took a moment to appreciate her trust and vulnerability. With her eyes shut, you began your descent down her body again, your movements slow and sensual. You placed a series of delicate pecks along her skin, each touch a soft whisper of affection. Gradually, you shifted to sharper nips that made her breath hitch, and then to more fervent, intense sucks that drew out a deeper response from her.

You relished the way her chest heaved with each breath, the subtle quiver of her smooth stomach rippling beneath your touch. The contrasts between your tender pecks and the sharp bites you applied created a rhythm that had Alexia writhing beneath you. You cherished every reaction, every shiver, and every sigh as you made your loving way down her body.

“Mi amor,” Alexia gasped, her voice breathless. The sound of her voice sent a thrill through you as you settled between her thighs.

“Yes?”

“I love you,” she whispered, her eyes shining with sincerity that made your heart swell.

“Te amo,” you replied with a soft, heartfelt smile.

You watched with careful curiosity as Alexia moved her hand hesitantly, as if uncertain whether she was doing the right thing. Smiling, you took her hand, letting your thumb smooth over her knuckles. “Hand or hair?” you asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.

“Hand,” she answered, her voice slightly trembling. With a loving smile, you gripped her hand tightly. It always amazed Alexia that you knew exactly what she needed. She had never had a partner that understood her so well, that knew everything she could even want without her having to ask. It overwhelmed her sometimes, thinking about how much she loved you.

“Am I okay to carry on, or do you want a moment?” you asked. Your eyes searched hers for any sign of hesitation.

“Un momento, por favor,” she replied, her voice a little unsure.

“Of course,” you said immediately. You nodded reassuringly, placing a gentle kiss against her thigh.

After a few heartbeats of shared silence, she gently squeezed your hand. Her eyes met yours with a shy but confident smile, a silent affirmation of her readiness.

“Are you sure?” you checked.

“Sí,” she replied with a definitive nod, her voice firm and steady.

“Ok,” you said, your face lighting up with a warm smile. You leaned in and pressed a quick, affectionate kiss to her hip bone, right above the little '66' tattoo. As your lips touched her skin, you let them linger for a moment longer. You took in a ragged breath, inhaling the salty-sweet scent of her skin mingling with the coconut of her moisturiser. The smell was dizzying in the best way.

Leaning down, you took your time to savour the moment, your movements deliberate and tender. You placed a long, gentle stroke across the entire length of her pussy, your touch firm yet soft. The caress was slow and purposeful, your mind relishing in the taste of her against your tongue.

You repeated the action with careful speed. As you ghosted across her clit, you took a moment to appreciate the way her hand gripped yours, her fingers tightening as she sighed.

You decided to show a touch of mercy on Alexia, with a gentler approach, less teasing than you normally would. Your lips carefully enveloped her clit, the warmth of your mouth a welcomed contrast from the cool air outside. As you began to suck softly, your lips moved, alternating pressure and occasionally swiping over the nerves with your tongue.

Her reaction was immediate and visceral. She gasped sharply, the sound escaping her in a breathless rush as her body responded to the new, more tender touch. Her hips bucked instinctively, lifting toward you as you continued your ministrations.

You loved eating Alexia out. The way she enveloped your senses, the mix of her arousal on your tongue and the softness of her thighs around your head as she twitched and writhed beneath you, succumbing to her body's desires. You had never had that before, the casual hookups you had had before Alexia weren't the same. Going down on them had felt like an expectation from you, an accompaniment with your fingers, or like you were returning the favour. But with Alexia ... with Alexia, you were more than happy to spend the rest of your life between her thighs.

It didn’t take long for Alexia to transform into a moaning, squirming mess. You revelled in the rich sounds that filled the room, each one a unique note in the melody that was her pleasure. The gasps that punctuated the air, the moans that rose and fell in rhythmic waves, and the soft, needy whines. You could feel the sticky mess growing between your own thighs. The warmth that spread through you was a deep, satisfying heat.

Carefully, you eased finger into her, your movements precise and slow. You took your time, allowing her to adjust to the intrusion You slowly drew it back out until just the tip was still inside, before pushing back in again, trying to find that perfect spot.

When you finally found it, her reaction was immediate and intense. She squeezed your other hand tightly. From your angle, it was difficult to see the full extent of her expression, but you could vividly imagine her face – her eyes tightly shut, her features contorted in a mix of bliss and focus. One hand clutched yours with a desperate grip, while the other twisted into the sheets, her head pressing down on the pillows beneath her as she succumbed to the pleasure filling her body.

Sensing her increasing need, you added a second finger with practised ease. You could sense that she was nearing the edge of climax when her body began to twist and turn. The way she started to clench around you more forcefully. Her breathing, once steady and controlled, became fast and shallow. The grip on your fingers tightened as well, her hand's clasp around yours becoming almost painful.

“Si us plau,” she begged, her voice strained and trembling as she fought to hold back the powerful wave of her impending orgasm. Her tone matched the tightrope she was walking between control and surrender.

You didn't stop, humming lightly as you continued to work your fingers against her. She shivered at the sensation, her toes curling as she teetered closer to the edge. Her body tensed and arched in response to the wave of ecstasy that swept over her in a series of shudders and spasms. "Amor," she moaned, her voice hoarse.

You guided her through the aftermath, your fingers moving rhythmically in and out of her. You moaned softly, the sound escaping your lips as you savoured the taste of her. The tanginess of her essence was a distinct and cherished flavour. It was one of your favourite tastes – something that only you got to experience.

“Good, my beautiful girl. So, so good for me,” you cooed softly, your voice dripping with affectionate praise as her body finally stilled.

Her cheeks flushed deeply at your praise, the colour spreading across her face as she turned her head, avoiding your intense stay.

“Don’t go shy on me now,” you chuckled with a warm, encouraging smile, waiting for her to look back at you.

“Do you still want the strap?” you asked, your voice low as she locked her eyes with yours. The intensity in her gaze was unmistakable.

She nodded eagerly, but you weren’t going to let her off that easily. You raised an eyebrow at her, she knew your rules.

“Sí, your cock, por favour,” she finally replied, her voice laced with a hint of that earlier shyness but also with the undeniable need that only you could satiate.

“You want my cock, Ale?” you teased, each word dripping with lust. “You want me to fuck you? You want me to put my dick in you? Split you open? Make you cum for me?”

As you spoke, you slipped into the harness with practised ease, the leather straps sliding smoothly around your hips. The click of the buckles echoed in the room, a final, satisfying sound.

“Sí, mi amor,” she replied with quiet confidence.

You nodded, a soft smile playing on your lips as you positioned yourself between her legs. “Bend your knees for me, beautiful,” you instructed gently, hands rubbing gently up and down her thighs. She complied without hesitation, drawing her legs up and opening herself to you with a trust that made your heart swell.

With a careful hand, you lined yourself up, the smooth plastic gliding through her wet folds with ease. You took your time, dragging it up and down. The slickness made the movement easy, but you were in no rush – this was all about her.

“I’ll go nice and slowly,” you promised, your voice soft and soothing. “It’s the big one, remember? Take as much time as you need.”

You offered your spare hand to her once again. She gripped it eagerly, her fingers intertwining with yours, the warmth of her hand in yours was grounding you both.

As you began to press forward, you kept your gaze fixed on her, every subtle change in her expression magnified in your focus. You moved with deliberate care, inching forward slowly, ensuring that every movement was as comfortable for her as possible. Her breathing quickened slightly, and her eyes widened as she adjusted to the sensation of the strap inside her, the stretch more intense than she had anticipated.

“Grande,” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. Instinctively, you froze, your concern for her immediate and palpable.

“Do you want to stop? I can get the oth–” you began, already preparing to ease back, ready to swap out for something smaller, more manageable. Before you could finish, she interrupted, her hand tightening around yours in reassurance.

“No, no,” she insisted quickly, her voice a little firmer now, but still soft. “Me gusta,” she said conspiratorially.

“Is that so? You like being stretched out, Ale? You like feeling every inch of me?” you teased, relaxing at her words. Your voice was playful as you began to push forward again, ever so gently. You drifted your thumb up to brush against her clit, smiling as she sighed softly.

You could see the effect your teasing and actions had on her immediately. Her breath hitched slightly, and her eyes fluttered closed for a moment as she absorbed the sensation, the deliberate, slow stretch filling her completely. The way her body responded, the subtle arching of her back, the way her hips shifted to accommodate you, was all the confirmation you needed.

As you moved deeper, your voice remained soft but teasing, an intimate whisper that kept her focused on every inch of movement. “Tell me how much you like it, Ale,” you murmured, your tone still playful. You wanted to hear her say it, to make her voice the pleasure that was clearly written all over her face.

You continued your slow movement, watching her closely, gauging her every reaction as you pulled back only to push straight back in again. The way she responded to each stroke was mesmerising, making your breath hitch just as much as the way the strap rubbed against your own clit.

“So … so much,” she finally gasped, her voice trembling with the effort to speak through the waves of sensation coursing through her. “I need it, mi amor. It’s like I can’t breathe without it. A veces… when we’re both away… en el camp ... campamento…” Her words were coming in halting breaths now, each one laced with raw emotion. “Sometimes ... Yo tomo ... I take it with me so I can immmmmm" she broke off in a moan. "Imagine you're with me.”

Her confession hung in the air between you, a revelation that sent a thrill of heat down your spine. You sped up your thrusts, torn between watching the pleasure on her face or where the plastic met her flesh, seeing her stretched out around you.

“It hurts so good, mi amor,” she continued, her voice trembling, her legs moving to press against your arse. “And when I sit down the next day and I can still feel the sting, me hace feliz por dentro. At night ... sometimes I sit on it for hours ... and I can barely walk the next day.” She pressed her heels into your arse again, urging you to go deeper and faster.

Her words ignited something deep within you, a fierce pride and possessiveness, The image of her, away at camp as she worked herself up, so desperate for you, burned into your mind's eye. You thanked the lucky stars you were an athlete as you picked up your pace.

You dropped forward onto your hands, your chest pressing up against hers.

“Please, mi amor. Make me yours. Use me. Lo necesito por favor.” Her voice was raw, trembling with desire, a sound that sent a surge of heat through your entire body. You could feel her desperation, her deep, unrelenting need for you, and it only fuelled your own arousal to new heights. You had never been this turned on in your life, the intensity of the moment almost overwhelming.

You leaned down, bringing your lips close to her ear as you continued to move, your hips rocking forward with a steady, controlled rhythm. “You’re already mine, Ale,” you whispered, your voice husky with emotion. “Every inch of you belongs to me. And I’m going to make sure you never forget that.”

With those words, you increased the pressure, thrusting deeper, more deliberately, each movement pushing her further into the pleasure that was building inside her. You smiled at the the soft moans that escaped her lips growing louder, more frantic with every stroke.

Her hands gripped you tightly, one hand twisting into your hair while the other squeezed your bicep. You could see the tension in her body, the way her muscles trembled as she fought to maintain control, and it drove you to push her even further.

“You feel that?” you asked, your tone dark and possessive as you leaned back slightly, just enough to look into her eyes. You pressed down gently on her stomach, thrusting into her determinedly. “That’s me inside you, my beautiful girl. Filling you up. Owning you.” You watched as her eyes fluttered shut, a shiver running through her as your words sank in, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

“Don’t hold back,” you urged, your voice a commanding whisper. “I want to hear you. I want to know how good I make you feel.”

Her response was immediate, her hips bucking up to meet yours. The sounds she made were intoxicating, each moan, each gasp sending waves of pleasure through you as you continued to thrust, your movements precise and controlled, drawing out every bit of pleasure you could from her.

You could tell she was close. Her walls clenching around you tightly, her hips meeting yours with every thrust. You were close too, the strap providing just the right pressure against your clit. Her moans were breathier now, toes curling against the small of your back."So sexy, Ale," you breathed, your voice hitching at the wave of pleasure that buzzed through you.

You moved against her, you lips brushing against her ear as you whispered, “Now, Ale. Cum for me. Show me how much you need this. Cum with me.”

The effect was immediate. Her body tensed, her back arching off the bed as she finally let go, her orgasm crashing over her with a force that left her trembling beneath you. The sound of her release, the way she called out your name, was the most beautiful thing you’d ever heard, and it sent you spiralling into your own pleasure, the intensity searing itself into your memory.

You held her through it, your movements slowing but never stopping as you rode out the waves of your orgasms together, your bodies entwined. As the tremors of her release gradually subsided, you felt her body soften beneath you, her limbs going limp with exhaustion and the kind of satisfaction that made everything else fade away. The room was filled with the suddenly deafening silence; the only sounds were your mingled breaths as you both caught your breath.

You leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her lips, a kiss that was gentle and tender, a total 180 what had just happened.

Breaking the kiss, you hovered just above her and smiled down at her. Her eyes fluttered open, a lazy, content smile spreading across her face as she gazed up at you, her fingers still lightly tracing patterns on your back.

You pulled out gently, using one hand to release the snaps on the harness and throwing it somewhere in the room to be dealt with later. “If this is what it’s like every New Year,” you murmured, your voice playful but laced with sincerity, “We are never going to a party again.”

She chuckled softly, the sound a low, throaty hum that made your heart swell.

“I think I can live with that,” she replied, her voice sleepy but filled with contentment. “Sólo tú y yo, mi amor. That sounds ... maravillosa.”

You brushed a stray lock of hair away from her face, your thumb gently caressing her cheek as you leaned in to place another soft kiss on her lips. “That sounds absolutamente perfecta,” you whispered against her mouth, your heart full of the quiet joy that only moments like these could bring.

She sighed in contentment, snuggling closer to you as you lay down, her body fitting perfectly against yours. “T'estimo,” she murmured, the words barely audible as sleep threatened to take her.

“I love you too, Ale,” you whispered back, holding her close as the world outside faded away once more, leaving just the two of you, wrapped up in each other.

“Happy New Year, my beautiful girl.”

[prettybiching]

MY SISTERS BIG FAT DESHI WEDDING IS DONE AND DUSTED AND IM NOW BACK TO DEVOURING MY FAVOURITE ANGSTY MASTERPIECE HELLOOOOOOOOO

Daemon is taken off-guard by how you pull away from him. He knits his brows, following after you as you head towards his niece, deeply annoyed by how easily you disregard him. But upon hearing the words you speak, he freezes.

For the 722819th time Daemon, please be normal for once (although his lovesick puppy behaviour is doing it for me ngl)

I would lay down my life for you my princess. On other note, I really hope that rhaenyra and the princess are able to find themselves on good terms despite the fact that alicent and rhaenyra are about to hate their guts. My girl needs all the support that she can get.

"Pain is difficult... but I've come to realize," you swipe her cheek, "it makes peace all the more precious." You chuckle under your breath when your own eyes begin to water, "I would know."

Rhaenyra's hand is quickly dropped when Daemon comes to your side, calling out your name. You sheepishly turn to him, apologizing over and back as he escorts you to a seat.

Girl bye, daemons disregard for rhaenyra is making me feel good about the man whore that is daemon 😋😋

...It makes her sorrow all the more sour.

Rhaenyra pls you're going to get your hunk of a bear guard to keep you company, leave him for us and dont pin after him 🙏🙏

You turn to him, sheepish, still, "I am. Thank you, darling."

ZOO WEE MAMA IM SCREAMINGGGGGGG

"Where is your father?" Daemon turns to Rhaenyra, seemingly not noticing your slip up. He did notice, but why wouldn't you call him darling?

omg slay you're so right daemon (for once!) Why wouldn't she????!!!

"No," Daemon quips, placing his silverware down, "I do not want to be subjected to tolling bells and incense."

Hey ho! The last time I checked, you're uncle not aunt. Stop poking your nose in other people's business omg???

"She has your sister," he turns to you, "if they need another companion, lend her your ward."

I want 2 bash his head against a wall. Thanks <3 The award for ruining progress should go to him.

The image of sorrowful wailing still haunts him, and your prayer for death is not something he wishes to hear ever again. You cannot pray such prayers if you are not in that fucking place, "I forbid you from going to the temple."

Something about how daemons intentions have perhaps always been misunderstood growing up and he's always been labeled as cruel/heartless so he stopped explaining himself. He had to bury that soft exterior and only knows how to give commands and now he's subconsciously commanding his wife to stop praying for her death. But she won't get to know it because it would seem like a weakness.

"You impress me with your commitment to understand everyone else but I."

Ugh, Daemon!! You frustrate me so much. How can she?! How can she when you're so busy fighting all different versions yourself at every moment that she can never predict which version of you she will get. I need you, to even for a moment, get over your self-loathing to look - and I mean really look - at her.

More accurately, you cannot. You clutch your chest and try to calm yourself before you slip into a full blown attack. You force yourself to take five deep breaths, and thankfully, you do not feel light headed.

Oh God, I'm not ready. I thought I was prepared for the bad parts but I'm not.

The thing was, you were still a terrible runner, and it if wasn't hard enough to catch your breath, you were screaming out the prince's name as you did, making it doubly hard.

IM GOING TO KILL MYSELF DAEMON JUST LOOK BACK AT HER FOR ONCE

"...as punishment for being unkind to your husband."

MY GIRL NO!!! NEVER. None of it was your fault ever and I can scream it from the highest mountain but you would never believe it, not even if daemon admits it to you. I will hunt down every man that has ever hurt you I promise.

"No!" you grab his arms, "you must not tell him! You must not tell a soul."

Oops I forgot about the baby doom again (mostly because I'm in denial and hoping that the destined chaos will simply never come)

"Papa," you mumble to yourself as you go to him.

No, stop. I will never get over how she instinctively reached for her father. And how Otto reacts to it like it's muscle memory (it is). Because Otto is her father, she has been raised being loved, protected and shielded by him. And Otto has spent her whole life doing exactly that.

The fact that Otto has tried and tested so many forms of consolations on you over the years, and it only goes to show that she has received a father's love- the only parental affection in her life - through the twisted means of Otto.

"The gods with strengthen you, daughter." he turns to Alicent, "I will take care of it, my girl."

Stop, stop, stop noooooo. This is the worst possible thinking that Otto has ever come up with. The idea that Alicent would have to sacrifice herself and her autonomy for the alleged safety (in the Hightowers' eyes) of the princess is going to be her end in itself. She would not be able to handle the fact that her baby sister is going to fall to the sword to save her.

Daemon ticks. He had been gazing into space, but now he has the wits to pours himself a drink, "is she dead now too?"

Fuck off you absolute rat. No but I need to see him react to some far-fetched rumour, perhaps when he has fucked off to God knows where, about the princess being dead and I just knowwwww he's going to absolutely fucking lose it mind like hah you little rat idiot, who is making these nonchalant jokes about her being dead now huh??

Your lips wobble, but you steel yourself away. You crush your sister into your arms and pepper her cheeks with kisses, "my sweet girl. I am five years your senior. I must lend you my ear." You pull away and cup her cheeks. You frown when you see her glassy eyes, "do not worry for me."

My heart just shattered into a million pieces. Justice for these two girls.

"Only I inherited your hair color," you mumble, beginning to tremble, "if my child looks too much like me—" you rapidly shake your head, "he will-"

Only once I need him to overhear just an ounce of her fear. Because I need this rat head to know that just because he feels this palpable love for her within himself, doesn't mean that she knows it and just how afraid she is of him.

Otto closes the door and the boy places the crackers on the table. The man circles 'round to his desk and sits down, "what news do you bring me today?"

I'm going to strangle some1 (possibly daemon)

I couldn't help myself but I already skimmed through ch10 earlier during the wedding festivities and bawled my eyes out at like 3am but gosh I can't want for a reread.

AS ALWAYS THANK YOU AUTHOR FOR KEEPING ME FED I LOVE YOUUUUUU

Tormented Spirit | 9

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 4k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, panic/anxiety attacks, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: GUYS ITS STILL TOO FUCKING LONG I HAD TO CUT IT AGAIN. T_T canon stuff/medieval health care might not be accurate so ROLLLL with it ok. please consider leaving comments/reblogs because they really help me with the fic. | cross posted on ao3

@arabellasleopardcoat @prettybiching @myllovellybones

Daemon takes you to the dining room, and upon entering, you are met with Rhaenyra and Alicent, who were in the middle of eating lunch. For a split second, you are happy to see them both, but then you remember the horrible news regarding the princess's mother.

Daemon is taken off-guard by how you pull away from him. He knits his brows, following after you as you head towards his niece, deeply annoyed by how easily you disregard him. But upon hearing the words you speak, he freezes.

"My deepest condolences, my princess," you curtsy at Rhaenyra before placing a hand on her shoulder.

She is dejected and her eyes are sullen as she turns to you.

"She was in active labor last I saw her..." you shake your head, finding the words to say, "it is terrible to be without a mother," you turn to your sister, placing a hand on her shoulder as well, "the pain never quite leaves you. My sister and I know it well."

Rhaenyra turns back to her food, "how good to know."

You frown and crouch down beside her, "darling."

Rhaenyra slowly turns back to you, tears now falling from her eyes.

"Pain is difficult... but I've come to realize," you swipe her cheek, "it makes peace all the more precious." You chuckle under your breath when your own eyes begin to water, "I would know."

Alicent frowns, quickly feeling her own eyes well up at the display.

The same happens to Daemon. He watches three girls weep and his face hardens as he comes to Rhaenyra's side, "bisa tolī kessa rēbagon, ñuha riña." This too shall pass, my girl.

Rhaenyra turns to her uncle as he grabs her hand, heavy tears stream down her face, "ziry ōdragon." It hurts.

Daemon is supposed to say something, but then he notices Alicent begin to fuss over you. You softly brush her off as you come to stand. Alicent is quick to stand with you, and she is glad to have done so, because you nearly topple back.

Rhaenyra's hand is quickly dropped when Daemon comes to your side, calling out your name. You sheepishly turn to him, apologizing over and back as he escorts you to a seat.

Rhaenyra stares at you as her uncle sits you in the chair across her She watches how Daemon treats you, thinking she's never seen him treat anyone like this before, much less a lady. It makes her sorrow all the more sour.

He brushes your back but only calms after your food is served and he's seen you eat a few bites. He takes a goblet of wine but his eyes remain fixed on you, "better?"

You turn to him, sheepish, still, "I am. Thank you, darling."

Alicent's eyes widen at the sound of the pet name. Rhaenyra rolls her eyes with a huff. It is precisely that sound that makes you realize what you've said. You were used to referring to Alicent and Rhaenyra that, it came so naturally this moment, "I- I mean-"

"Where is your father?" Daemon turns to Rhaenyra, seemingly not noticing your slip up. He did notice, but why wouldn't you call him darling?

Rhaenyra clenches her jaw as she shakes her head, "mourning his lost heir."

Both you and your husband's face fall. You turn from the princess to the prince, reaching for his hand. Daemon clutches your hand as his brows constrict, "your brother is dead?"

"Just last night," Rhaenyra absentmindedly stirs her food, "his and my mother's funereal will be held in a few hours."

Your heart hurts for her, "my deepest sympathies for your losses, princess."

There is a thick silence for a moment. You all find it quite hard to eat, but you do so regardless. You force feed yourself through the unpleasant churn in your belly. After a while, you look across the room, finding that it looked everyone was experiencing the same thing. You break the silence, turning to your sister, "perhaps Alicent can accompany you to the temple to pray. It did always help me."

Alicent turns to Rhaenyra, but she does not react.

Your sister looks back at you and you give her a nod of encouragment. Alicent thinks for a moment, "a walk there would be good for you as well."

You smile at the red haired girl.

"My prayers are terrible," Rhaenyra mumbles.

You huff and frown at the thought, "it is impossible. No prayer is terrible, especially not one spoken in earnest."

Rhaenyra remembers how her septa would use you as an example for praying. She sniffles, "would you join us, aunt?"

You perk and immediately nod, "I would love t-"

"No," Daemon quips, placing his silverware down, "I do not want to be subjected to tolling bells and incense."

You all turn to him as Daemon turns to you. You slowly shake your head, "if... that is the case, you do not have to come."

Daemon's eyes widen ever so slightly in offense.

"Perhaps you can wa-"

"Kesan daor mītepagon ao ñuha ābrazȳrys," I will not lend you my wife, says Daemon to Rhaenyra.

You turn from your husband to his niece. Rhaenyra looks back at you, "he says he will not lend you to me."

Your lips part, giving him a look, "Daemon."

"She has your sister," he turns to you, "if they need another companion, lend her your ward."

A long silence passes.

Rhaenyra stares at her half-empty plate and decides that's as much as she'll ever get to eat in this moment. She pushes her chair back and stands, "I'm quite finished," she looks between the table. Alicent takes a final spoonful before standing as well.

"Raqagon aōha ābrazȳrys, kepa," enjoy your wife, uncle, Rhaenyra says as she walks off. Alicent follows after her, and both girls look at you as you stand to greet them goodbye. Daemon simply looks at his niece.

Rhaenyra, though she always harbored a special affection towards her uncle, could not find it in her to project her ire out on you, for you were nothing but kind to her, and after all, you were her closest friend's older sister. She nods at you as she leaves, "princess."

"Princess," you nod back and do the same for Alicent, "sister. Take care of each other."

Once they are gone, you sit back down and glare at Daemon.

It takes a moment for him to realize it. When he catches your look, his brows contort. You immediately quip, "would it very hard for you to stomach the ambience of the temple for an hour?"

Daemon turns back to his plate. He thinks of the night he came to you at the temple, "just because I came for you does not mean I wish to do the same for Rhaenyra."

You knit your brows deeply, not having a clue on what he's saying, "what?"

The image of sorrowful wailing still haunts him, and your prayer for death is not something he wishes to hear ever again. You cannot pray such prayers if you are not in that fucking place, "I forbid you from going to the temple."

"You forbid me?" you ask, flabbergasted.

"It is my prerogative where I go, and-" he turns back to you, "where my wife does."

You stare at him for a moment. You feel frustration bubble in your belly, "Daemon."

Anger bubbles in his belly.

You reach for his hand and gaze upon him in confusion, "the child's mother is dead."

He looks at your hand before his away, "I knew her mother longer than she has."

You chuckle in disbelief, pulling your head back. He looks at you, jaw set and eyes glassy. You shake your head slowly, "that's not fair."

"Isn't it?" Daemon laughs, hurt by your sentiment.

"Her mother is dead," you shake your head rapidly, "she who taught her everything she kno-"

Daemon stands abruptly, jaw and fists clenched tightly, making you flinch. He stares at you for a long moment and you feel your breath begin to grow heavy. You slowly reach for his hand, half expecting him to rip his arm away. When he does not, you come to a stand, "Dae-"

"You impress me with your commitment to understand everyone else but I."

His words stab you like a spear through the chest. Your eyes begin to water, "is that what you think I'm do-"

"Then what?!" he snaps, tears threatening to fall down his cheeks.

You begin to sob and you take his cheeks, "I'm trying to make you understand what I am thinking, why I want to go with Rhaenyra, because I know what it fee-"

"Do I not mourn?" Daemon swats your hand away from him. He quickly turns away when his tears begin to fall. He does not get to notice how you twitch at his action, nor how instantly your heart begins to race.

He walks off to the door, stopping for a moment, waiting for you to come after him. You do not.

More accurately, you cannot. You clutch your chest and try to calm yourself before you slip into a full blown attack. You force yourself to take five deep breaths, and thankfully, you do not feel light headed.

Daemon, too wrapped up in his self-suffering, does not even think to look at you and storms out of the dining room.

By the time the doors slam shut, you are able to bring yourself to go after your husband. You move as quickly as you can, convincing yourself sprinting was worth it if you managed to catch up to Daemon. The thing was, you were still a terrible runner, and it if wasn't hard enough to catch your breath, you were screaming out the prince's name as you did, making it doubly hard.

Daemon, on the other hand, did not have to try to walk as fast as he did. He is walking so fast, if anyone were to crash into him, they would shoot off and hurt themselves.

It doesn't take long for you to lose your breath, and though you didn't want to, your body to forces you to stop. You were so close. You managed to catch a whiff of Daemon's silver hair, but now everything was turning silver... then black. You reach to the side to lean against the wall, but you miscalculate your reach and shift your weight, only to slip and crash roughly onto the ground.

You're so out of breath, no sound comes out of you when you crash. The pain is immense, yet you are rendered mute. Your ribs throb at the impact of colliding against the stone floor. You do not know it, but your nose it bleeding too.

It's a wonder that you did not pass out. Or perhaps it was the gods' will for you to feel fibre of your body strangle itself from how your lungs struggled, as punishment for being unkind to your husband.

You do know know it, but two Gold Cloaks find you on the floor. They are quick to bring you to the maester's ward. You hear them explain to the measter how they found you, and you muster up your remaining energy to say, "Daemon... please."

The two Gold Cloaks understand and leave with the intent of sending your husband to you. They will not manage to find him till much later for he went off on dragonback.

You lie on one of the cots in the maester's ward, staring at the ceiling you've come to know all too well. You know your maester can do little to help you in this moment, but you are grateful for his care nonetheless.

"You mustn't strain yourself in your condition, your grace," the old man says, "you are carrying a child within you."

You tense at his words. Your sit up and straighten your back, rapidly shaking your head, "b-but, maester, how can that be? It cannot be."

He offers you a solemn look, "your father, Lord Hand, has made us monitor you-"

"He does not finish inside me," you quip and frantically motion, "he- he... he spills on my skin. How then can I be with child?"

The maester is taken aback by your confession. He does not give himself away though and calmly explains, "it is still possible for... the seed take root from premature ejaculation."

You are floored by this information. You shake your head in disagreement, "but— he will not believe me."

"He does not have to. It does not ch-"

"He will do everything to villainize me. He will accuse me of infidelity."

He frowns, "I can explain it to-"

"No!" you grab his arms, "you must not tell him! You must not tell a soul."

He pulls his head back, "your grace..." he brings your hands slowly off him, "you can only hide such a thing for so long."

You shake your head and bring yourself to stand, "it is a worry for another time."

"Wait- you cannot leave-"

"I cannot miss the queen's funeral."

The maester does his best to prevent you from leaving. He calmly tries to lead you back to bed and explain that no one would fault you for being unable to attend. You are persistent however and managed to get out of the room. Two other maesters come and try to reel you back in, and it is the same time your wards come running in.

News of you fainting had spread like wildfire, and both their faces were marked with avid worry. "Princess!" they call in unison.

"Make them release me!" you wail in exhaustion as you fight off the maesters.

"She cannot go," your maester says, "she is far too weak."

"Unhand her this instant!" Erryk barks, ready to forcefully shove the old men away from you.

The maesters pull away in shock and confusion as Erryk imposes upon them. Arryk is the one to keep you upright, and he is horrified by the state you are in. You lean into his armour, lulled by his hard steel as you sigh in exhaustion.

"You would subdue her in such a state?" Arryk snaps.

"She is hysterical," the maester says, "she is not strong enough to-"

"Aye, but she's strong enough to fight off 3 grown men?" Arryk grits his teeth as he keeps you upright, "have you not given her medication?"

He sighs, "there is no medication fo-"

"Then what business has she here?" Erryk raises his brows, "you'd keep her to rot?"

The man scoffs, "I am offended, ser, that you think you know better than I when it comes to the health of the princes."

"I do know better," Erryk snaps, "you will not treat her like a prisoner if she asks to leave again."

"Ha!" the maester snaps, "fine! I'm sure the days you've spent gutting men has made you learned in the ways to heal them, ser."

With that, the maesters leave and you feel a weight lifted off your shoulders. You sigh as Erryk turns to you, seeing the hardness of his face soften in real time. You frown, "you should not have done that."

"My duty?" he narrows his eyes, "they had you surrounded like a criminal."

Arryk nods, "I fear they might have bruised you."

You sigh, fighting back tears. You steel yourself away and shake your head, "I should prepare for the funeral."

You do just that and Erryk and Arryk escort you to the funeral. You immediately spot Daemon, but he was stood beside his brother and niece, so you did not think it proper to interlope. You find Alicent standing just a few paces from Rhaenyra and debate to join her, but then you see the Lord Hand farther behind her, and you feel the need to cry.

"Papa," you mumble to yourself as you go to him.

Your father is quick to recognize your distress once you come to him, and quickly takes you under his arm. It is so instinctive, the Cargyll twins are shocked by it. They were supposed to keep close watch on you, but they decided to give you and your father privacy.

Otto had long decided physical affections were no use to you, and yet in this moment, he pulls you into him, securing one arm your shoulders. You press your cheek into his chest as you steal a glance at the king. Viserys stands before two lifeless bodies, and the sight mirrored that of the day your mother died.

You wrap your arms around your father.

He sighs, eyes throwing daggers at the Rogue fucking prince, "did he take the news badly?"

You shake your head, "I have not told him."

Otto sighs again, agitated and disappointed. His face is crestfallen as calls out your name, "what happened then?"

"I am terrified."

Your father tenses and clenches his jaw. He strokes your hair, doing his best to ignore the awful sounds you were making. "The gods with strengthen you, daughter." he turns to Alicent, "I will take care of it, my girl."

After the funeral, once Otto made sure you are taken care off, he goes to his other daughter and asks about the princess. Alicent is quick to explain to him that Rhaenyra is so much like you when your mother died, "I have not seen Rhaenyra in such a state."

Otto offers Alicent a soft smile, placing a hand on her cheek, "you are ever empathetic, daughter, to both the princess and your sister."

"Sister did not look well at the funeral either. I should check up on her."

"That won't be necessary," her father raises a hand, "I've seen to her already. She needs only to rest now."

Alicent slowly nods.

"You ought to offer some empathy to the king however."

The girl tenses at the thought.

"Unlike your princesses, the king does not have people to go to at this time. Even now, he's secluded himself in his chambers. It would be good of you to go to him from time to time, if only to express how you keep him in your prayers."

Alicent tries to make sense of it. She clenches her jaw, "wouldn't it be more appropriate for you to do this, father?"

He chuckles lowly, "how much sadder would he be if a widower offer another widower his bitter prayers?"

She stills at the thought and understands. Or so she thinks.

Otto smiles and places a hand on her shoulder, "it might be best if you keep private your visits to him. You need not explain your concern to Rhaenyra to further distress her."

She nods in understanding. In truth, she does not understand the true intentions of her father, and will not until it is far too late.

As this was happening, you were trying to get ahold of Daemon. You could not for he was quick to leave the funeral right after it concluded. He had seen you crying to your father and wanted to wash his eyes with alcohol, unwanting to behold such a gruesome sight. It stung far too much that you sought comfort in that cunt face. Why didn't you cry to him instead?

Daemon washes alcohol down his throat instead with members of his City Watch at his favorite brothel. Mysaria is there to keep him company and though her touch and words are gentle, he cannot find solace in them like he once did.

The two guards who had found you on the floor earlier today hear about the gathering and go to the prince to tell him what had happened to you.

"Your grace."

Daemon sulks as he stares at a cup of wine. Mysaria, who was stood behind his chair, looks at the men then to the silver haired man, "my prince. These men want to speak to you."

"Wha-what for?" he snaps through a hiccup.

"Your wife, my prince," one says.

Mysaria stiffens, lips parting. She was not a stranger to Daemon's foul moods and prided herself in easily defusing them. It changed when he married the Hightower girl. Though it was evident most of his frustrations stemmed from you, you were too much of a touchy subject, which is why she says, "I do not think he wants to talk about her."

"A whore should not meddle with concerns she cannot understand."

Mysaria scoffs, thinking about how Daemon fucked her once and called out his bride's name. When she brought it up after, he screamed, telling her he doesn't pay her to ask questions. She steps back and crosses her arms, "be my guest then."

One of the two guards lean forward in an attempt to gain the attention of the distracted man, "prince Daemon. We wished to report something regarding your wife."

Daemon ticks. He had been gazing into space, but now he has the wits to pours himself a drink, "is she dead now too?"

The two are taken aback. Mysaria steps back a few paces.

"N-no, your grace. But she-"

"Then do not FUCKING mention her to me!" Daemon snaps, jolting from his seat. His scream was loud enough to cause the noise to cease. He grabs his cup and downs his drink in one go. He then pushes past the two guards and begins to monologue.

"The gods give as the gods take," he says, voice horse and eyes misty. "Try as they may, I am not so easily replaced."

The room is solemn as they look upon the prince. He is clearly distraught and wholly drunk.

He stares at his cup, "wine does not taste sweeter with tears. Tonight, we drink to the Heir For A Day..." he burps, "perhaps he would have liked wine."

Back in the keep, as Alicent leaves her father's quarters, you go to them, which is why you cross paths. She is concerned by how you lean into ser Cargyll's arm as you walk, and immediately comes to your side, "sister?"

"Alicent," you smile, immediately perking up.

"Lady Hightower," the knight greets her.

"It's ser Erryk," you playfully whisper with a smile.

Alicent turns to you and offershim as soft smile, "ser Erryk."

"You spoke to father, surely," you take her hand, making her look back at you, "is his mood grim?"

She shakes her head, "no. He is... relatively placid, I think."

"Good," you break away from Erryk. He assures you are firmly planted on your feet before releasing you, "I can talk to him then."

"Shouldn't you rather be resting?" she asks in concern.

"It is urgent. I-" you shake your head, "I cannot delay any further."

Alicent realizes then that your hair was fully undone and slightly messy now. You were also in your thick velvet robe, and it only causes her further concern. "I know I am not Gwayne, but if there is anything you wish to speak of," she squeezes your hands, "I am hear to lend an ear."

Your lips wobble, but you steel yourself away. You crush your sister into your arms and pepper her cheeks with kisses, "my sweet girl. I am five years your senior. I must lend you my ear." You pull away and cup her cheeks. You frown when you see her glassy eyes, "do not worry for me."

She chuckles rather sadly, "we help but worry always for those we love."

Erryk heart pinches at the solemn exchange of the two sisters. He is glad to know that at least one more person in your family loved you with gentleness. He makes mental note to encourage you to write to your brother.

When Alicent leaves, you take a breath before knocking on the Hand's door.

"Enter."

You walk in and find your father busy at his desk.

"Father."

Otto looks up at you, immediately coming to stand, "what's wrong?"

You close the door behind him, catching Erryk's encouraging gaze. He nods before you shut the door. You turn to you father, finding he was already walking towards you.

He takes your hand, inspecting you. He speaks your name carefully, and it softens your frigid demeanor, "what has happened?"

You smile sadly, "I cannot sleep."

He sighs, partially relieved it is nothing so severe. He walks towards the door, "I will have one of the maids send you warm milk and honey."

"There is something I must tell you," you say, making him stop.

He turns back you, antsy over your serious tone, "if it is regarding Daemon. Do not worry. I have designs to keep him on a leash."

You release his hand and turn to your feet.

His expression hardens. He knows whatever you have to say is grave because you can no longer look at him. He steps forward and takes your cheeks, "daughter."

You look up at him, face stained with tears.

"Go to bed," he wipes your cheeks, "you'll muster the nerve to tell your husband the news soon en-"

"He does not finish inside me, father."

"..."

"I've-" you choke on your breath, "I've spoken about it to the maesters and he's explained it is possible for the seed to take root from premature ejaculation but-"

"Have you strayed?" Otto tightens his hold a fraction.

You are aghast by his statement and rapidly shake your head, "father, I wou-"

"Then there is nothing to fear," he cuts you off, brows tensing, "your child will be born with silver hair and violet eyes, and-"

"Only I inherited your hair color," you mumble, beginning to tremble, "if my child looks too much like me—" you rapidly shake your head, "he will-"

"Enough," he snaps, shaking you slightly.

You chest begins to tighten.

Otto notices and brushes your hair out of your face. He recites the common prayer you used to pray with your mother, "Seven, hear me. Father, strengthen me. Mother, protect me. Warrior, d—"

"Defend me," you sigh, joining in, "Smith, mend me."

"Mend my daughter," Otto mumbles softly.

"Maiden, beautify me," you say together, "Crone, enlighten me. Stranger, guide me."

Otto nods and strokes your hair, "now breathe."

It takes a few deep breaths, but you are calm now. He leads you to the door and opens it. "Oh, good," he says, once spotting your ward, "you're not entirely useless."

Erryk walks over to you, ignoring your father completely as he takes you by the arm.

"Take her to bed and have some warm milk and honey served to her."

"Yes, my lord," he says, though not sparing the lord a glance.

You, however, do, looking back with a soft smile, "good night, father."

He is about to reply, but then comes a servant boy, holding a plate of crackers and cheese, who freezes at the sight of the crowded entry. He thinks he's made a mistake, so he turns to leave, but Otto raises a hand and beckons the boy over, "come."

The boy walks past you, mumble a soft, "milady."

You smile and nod, "good evening."

Erryk eyes him suspiciously as he enters the room but refocuses on walking you back.

Otto closes the door and the boy places the crackers on the table. The man circles 'round to his desk and sits down, "what news do you bring me today?"

"Prince Daemon at the brothel, milord," the boy says, rolling back and forth on his heels.

The Lord Hand's face twists in contempt. He pulls his desk open and procures a cold coin.

The boy gleefully takes it and begins to explain the events that take place.

[if-loves]

saviour

// Yandere Sunday

sum: Sunday firmly believes that only you can save him.

wc: 955

warnings: ooc sunday prob, some description of drowning

a/n: tried to make this as gn as possible, if there’s any use of gendered pronouns pls lmk! and sowwy for not posting!! hope everyone got sunday!!! and happy (early) new year!!!

likes & reblogs appreciated :)

You’ve always been a particularly devoted member of The Family. You cared not for being noticed or rewarded for your efforts, often blending in the background and doing your work behind the countless screens of Penacony. Backstage, away from the suffocating and headache-inducing fluorescent lights and cameras and worst of all the eyes of the audience, was your calling. You liked hiding.

But Sunday has always been a sharp man. He has always noticed the smallest details, the countless people who drifted between the realm of dreams and reality, and the people who kept the delicate peace. He has always noticed you.

With meticulous planning, he orchestrated your many meetings. The first was what he called an accidental run-in, the second a pleasant coincidence, the third a professional meeting with the head of Oak Family. With an innocent smile and gentle touches, he inches himself closer to you, his gloved hands brushing yours as you tell him of the many requests and suggestions proposed by guests and residents.

Sunday thinks he could fall into your eyes and drown in them. He wouldn’t struggle, is what he believes. He’d embrace the water filling his lungs, the feeling of his airway being constricted, and the darkness that consumes him once the flow of oxygen comes to a full halt. Did you feel the same, for him?

You’re good at keeping a professional front. If his light touches are affecting you somehow, you don’t show it, instead carrying on the conversation despite his dry replies. If anything, he thinks you want this meeting to be over and done with as soon as possible. The thought makes him feel sad, if not a little angry.

“And that is a summary of the most common requests and suggestions that long-time guests and residents have made. If you have the time, I would recommend reading them over individually, however I am aware that you are very busy, so I hope that the summary provides you with sufficient information in order to consider implementing the feedback from our guests and residents.” You look at him expectantly, the neatly stapled papers pushed to his side. He wishes you’d look at him differently.

“Thank you for your work. I will be sure to find some time to read over these reports, and you will be the first to know of the feedback that Penacony will implement.” He smiles at you as warmly as he can, but he knows it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Whether you notice or not, or whether you even care, is beyond him, and it fills him with frustration. He’d do anything for a chance to pick you open and study your being, from your beating heart to the depths of your soul, if it meant that he would finally be able to understand even a little bit of you.

“The pleasure is all mine, Mr Sunday. I will be taking my leave now.” You stand and dip your head in respect, and gather your things and leave without a second glance or hesitation in your steps. He stays seated, staring at where you once were, until the sound of your footsteps fade into silence and he is left to the madness of his thoughts.

Would it be so wrong to keep you for himself? Surely no one could understand the desperate desire that has seeped into his veins, that claws at his very being every second of the day, and surely no one could quell the madness that threatens his sanity other than you, and surely no one would miss you as much as he does every waking moment. If he could be greedy just once, could it be for you? Would you let him?

-

Perhaps having the issue of the memory zone meme isn’t such a bad thing. After all, it gave Sunday the opportunity to take you away. Now, there was nowhere you could run, chained to his bed and confined to his room. He feels like a giddy child as he watches you sleep in his sheets, and he’s almost afraid that he’s the one stuck in a cruel dream.

Removing the glove on his right hand, he hesitantly reaches out to touch your cheek. When your skin touches his, he swears he feels bliss and electricity all the same. A shiver runs down his spine, and he greedily rests his whole hand on your cheek. He thinks he could watch you like this for the rest of time and then some.

When you awake, you find him staring at you, a smile on his face. This one reaches his eyes, and there’s even a sparkle in them. He says it’s the sparkle of happiness, but you’re sure it’s closer to that of madness. Naturally, you thrash and struggle to no avail, and all Sunday does is watch with the same, genuine smile.

Eventually, when you tire of your fruitless struggle, he kneels and takes one of your hands in his. He brings it to his forehead, eyes closed, and you think you see a tear slip down his cheek. The light from the window behind him casts a shadow over him, and to you, he looks like the devil. However, it illuminates you, and he thinks you’ve never looked more heavenly. His saviour, his Aeon, his everything.

“Will you be my Aeon?” He asks, and although he knows that he has forsaken anything and everything holy for this moment of sin, he can’t help the pure happiness that explodes in his chest when you don’t reply. After all, in both your fields of work, no answer might as well be a vote of agreement. You wouldn’t say no to such a devoted follower, would you?

[marksbear2]

Could we get a Peter Parker (Tom holland) x mentor reader? The reader is already an experienced hero and he’s taking care of Peter new injuries and giving him advice.

Peter Parker x Mentor male reader

Tom holland is my favorite Spider-Man so I loved writing this. I also added a title a friend of mine recommended it.

⚠️Warnings — Father figure reader, stitches, patching up, lecturing, canon Peter Parker, mentions of pain and etc.⚠️

Stitches and Lessons

The fluorescent lights buzzed softly above, casting a cold, sterile glow over the cluttered room. Peter Parker sat on the edge of the worn-out couch, his Spider-Man suit peeled down to his waist, revealing a web of fresh cuts and bruises across his torso. He winced as you dabbed at a particularly nasty gash on his shoulder with antiseptic.

"Ow, ow, ow! Could you, like, *not* dig into my soul with that cotton swab?" Peter whined, squirming under your grip.

"Stay still," you said firmly, your voice calm but commanding. You didn't flinch as you pressed the swab deeper into the wound. "If you’d actually dodged instead of playing hero with your face, we wouldn’t be here right now."

Peter huffed, crossing his arms but obediently staying still. "I did dodge! Mostly. I mean, you try avoiding all those guys when their charging at you like a truck with legs."

"That's the point, kid," you said, setting the swab aside and reaching for the needle and thread. "The bad guys you’re fighting are brute. Their predictable. He charges, you move. You don’t have to be faster; you just have to be smarter."

Peter watched as you threaded the needle with practiced ease. His usually chatty demeanor gave way to a rare moment of quiet. "You make it sound so simple."

"It is simple," you replied, though your tone softened. "What’s not simple is you thinking you have to take every hit for everyone else. That’s not how this works, Peter."

You started stitching the gash, your hands steady despite Peter’s occasional flinches. He bit down on his lip, suppressing another yelp. "I can't just let people get hurt," he said after a moment. "Isn’t that the whole point? 'With great power...' and all that?"

You paused, needle hovering mid-air, and looked him in the eye. "That quote doesn’t mean you have to destroy yourself to save everyone else. Great power, great responsibility—it means knowing your limits. Knowing when to fight and when to step back. You’re no good to anyone if you’re out of commission because you thought you could take on everything by yourself."

Peter's shoulders slumped. "Yeah, but... what if stepping back means someone gets hurt? What if—what if I fail?"

You finished the last stitch and tied it off with a firm knot. Setting the needle down, you rested a hand on Peter's uninjured shoulder. "You’re going to fail, Peter. It’s inevitable. No one saves everyone, not even the best of us. But it’s not about how many people you save or how perfectly you do it. It’s about trying your best, learning from your mistakes, and coming back stronger."

Peter looked down at his hands, his fingers playing with a loose thread on his suit. "How do you deal with it? Failing, I mean."

You leaned back, letting out a soft sigh. "You remind yourself why you started. You let the people you save—the ones you can save—be your anchor. And when it gets too heavy, you lean on the people who’ve got your back." You gave him a pointed look. "Like me, for example."

A small, sheepish smile tugged at Peter’s lips. "Thanks... for patching me up. And for the pep talk. Even if it did feel like a lecture.""Anytime, kid," you said, standing and stretching your arms. "But next time, try to get fewer holes punched into you, alright? My stitching skills aren’t for free."

Peter laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I’ll try, but no promises. It’s kind of my thing, you know?"

You rolled your eyes, grabbing the first aid kit to clean up. "Yeah, yeah. Just remember: you’re not alone in this. You’ve got a whole team—and me—to help you figure it out."Peter’s grin grew a little wider, a little brighter. "Got it, mentor dude."

You shot him a mock glare, but the warmth in your eyes betrayed you. "Go home and get some rest, Spider-Man. The city can survive a night without you swinging through it."

As Peter slipped his mask back on and headed for the window, he paused. "Hey," he called over his shoulder. "You’re not as scary as you look, you know." Before you could respond, he shot a web at the nearest building and disappeared into the night, leaving you shaking your head with a quiet chuckle.

"Kid’s going to be the death of me," you muttered, though the faint smile on your face said otherwise.

THE END

[jhyoos]

REBEL GIRL

Chapter 2 : Aftershock

rockstar! sevika x influencer! reader

summary : (y/n) gets her phone blown up by fans while she’s at a promotional event.

warnings : swearing and a cringy ass band name.

notes: thank you all so much for over 100 likes on chapter 1! im forever grateful 🫶

taglist: @graciebloom @swordfemm4 @m00npjm @sevikasleftarm @moodient @fayecreates (comment a 🎸 if you wanna be in the taglist!)

chapters : one, two

The morning sunlight streamed through your apartment windows, casting a golden glow on the sleek black furniture and stacks of PR boxes you’d yet to unbox. A sharp knock on your bedroom door made you groan as you finished brushing the final stroke of your jet-black eyeliner.

“Y/N, are you ready? We’re going to be late!” your manager, Lauren, called out.

“I’m coming!” you shouted back, setting down your eyeliner and grabbing your leather jacket.

Today was a big deal: you were modeling for Eclipse Noir, a major fashion brand known for its bold, goth-inspired designs. It was one of the biggest collaborations of your career, and you couldn’t afford to mess it up—not that Lauren would ever let you forget that.

As you descended the stairs, Lauren was waiting by the door, scrolling on her phone. Her sharp suit and stern expression reminded you of why she was one of the best in the business. But when her eyes snapped up to meet yours, there was an unmistakable glint of irritation.

“So, are we going to talk about this?” she asked, holding her phone out to show you the glaring headline:

TMZ Exclusive: Influencer Y/N Spotted at Shattered Souls Concert in LA!

The article was plastered with a photo of you in the VIP section, looking effortlessly cool as you leaned against the barrier. Fans were already dissecting every detail of your appearance, and speculation about your connection to the band was running wild.

“Send me that. My makeup looks really good,” you said in a joking tone.

Lauren looked at you with a raised eyebrow.

You rolled your eyes. “What’s there to talk about? I went to support Caitlyn.”

Lauren sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You know how this looks, right? It’s one thing to go to a concert; it’s another for everyone to think you’re dating a rockstar—or worse, being used for clout.”

You snorted. “Caitlyn and the rest of the members are good friends of mine. Since when do I care about what TMZ thinks?”

“Since your brand is involved,” Lauren shot back. “You’re about to model for one of the most exclusive fashion labels in the industry. We need to make sure your image stays polished.”

“Polished?” You raised an eyebrow, gesturing to your edgy black outfit. “I don’t think anyone’s expecting me to play it safe.”

Lauren shook her head but couldn’t suppress a small smile. “Fine, but keep your head in the game today. No distractions.”

The Eclipse Noir photoshoot was held at an upscale studio in downtown LA, its interior a moody mix of industrial and gothic aesthetics. Chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, casting dramatic shadows against the exposed brick walls.

You were ushered into hair and makeup almost immediately, where a team of stylists worked their magic. Your outfit—a tailored black leather jacket with studded accents, paired with high-waisted pants and knee-high boots—fit perfectly into your aesthetic.

As the cameras started flashing, you felt the familiar rush of being in your element. Each pose was deliberate, every expression calculated. The photographer praised your ability to embody the brand’s edgy but elegant vibe, and even Lauren looked pleased for once.

“Perfect, Y/N. Just one more look,” the photographer called out as a stylist adjusted your jacket.

Between shots, you caught glimpses of your phone lighting up with notifications. Comments flooded your Instagram posts, and fans were tagging you in the TMZ article nonstop.

It wasn’t until you were in the dressing room changing into your last look of the day that a message from Caitlyn popped up:

“Hey, how are you holding up after the TMZ thing? Let’s catch up. Meet me at Sable Café after my gig tonight?”

You smiled, typing back a quick reply:

“I’m fine, just amused. See you tonight.”

Later that evening, after finishing your shoot and grabbing a quick dinner, you found yourself at Sable Café. The small, intimate space was lit by warm hanging lights and smelled of freshly brewed coffee. It was quieter than usual, which you appreciated after the whirlwind day.

Caitlyn was already there when you arrived, seated in a corner booth with a steaming cup of tea and a cup of coffee she got for you. She waved you over, her usual calm demeanor replaced by a faintly amused smirk.

“Hey,” you greeted, sliding into the seat across from her. “How was the gig?”

“Same as always,” she said, leaning back. “Though Vi was even more over the top than usual.”

You chuckled. “Sounds about right. So, what’s up?”

Caitlyn tilted her head, studying you. “You tell me. That article’s got everyone buzzing about you and the band.”

You shrugged, taking a sip of your coffee. “It’s TMZ. They’ll forget about it by tomorrow.”

“Maybe, but you’re not exactly blending into the background.” Caitlyn’s tone was teasing, but her expression softened. “Seriously, though. How are you feeling about it? You’ve been in the spotlight before, but this is different.”

“It’s fine, really,” you said, brushing it off. “If anything, it’s funny. People are acting like I’m dating someone in the band.”

Caitlyn laughed. “Well, you did have that little moment with Sevika.”

You rolled your eyes. “It wasn’t a moment. She’s just... Sevika. You know how she is.”

“True,” Caitlyn admitted, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Still, you’re handling it well. I was half-expecting you to freak out.”

You smirked. “Give me some credit. I’m tougher than I look.”

As the soft hum of café chatter surrounded you, Caitlyn took a slow sip of her tea, her eyes lingering on you thoughtfully. You set your coffee down, arching an eyebrow at her.

“What?” you asked, a small smirk tugging at your lips.

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “You know, the band’s heading out on tour soon.”

“Okay…” you said, dragging out the word. “And?”

“And,” Caitlyn continued, her tone deliberate, “I think you should come with us.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“Think about it,” she said, a spark of excitement in her eyes. “We’ve been talking about expanding our audience online, and your platform is massive. You could help us create behind-the-scenes content, give fans an insider look at the tour. Plus, we’d get to hang out more.”

You hesitated, tapping your fingers against your cup. “I don’t know, Cait. I’ve got my own projects lined up. And after that TMZ article…”

“That’s exactly why it’s perfect,” Caitlyn interrupted. “Lean into it. If people are already talking, give them something to talk about. Show them the real story.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “And by ‘real story,’ you mean what? Taming Jinx? Me babysitting Sevika and Vi while they flirt with half the planet?”

Caitlyn chuckled. “You’re not wrong, but you’d also get to see what it’s like behind the scenes of a tour. Think of the content opportunities—mini vlogs, exclusive interviews, maybe even some collabs. It’s a win-win.”

You leaned back in your chair, considering her words. The idea of touring with the band was tempting—there was no denying that. The exposure could be huge for your brand, and the experience itself would be unforgettable. But you couldn’t ignore the potential chaos, especially with Sevika in the picture.

“I don’t know, Cait,” you said slowly. “It’s a lot to take on.”

Caitlyn smiled, sensing you were warming up to the idea. “Just think about it, okay? No pressure. But I’d love to have you there.”

You sighed, a small smile creeping onto your face. “Fine. I’ll think about it.”

“Good,” Caitlyn said, raising her tea in a toast. “Here’s to adventures—potentially disastrous ones.”

You laughed, clinking your cup against hers. Despite your reservations, the idea of going on tour with Shattered Souls had planted itself firmly in your mind. And something told you that this was just the beginning of a wild ride

The faint hum of an engine greeted you as you stepped onto the tour bus, your suitcase rolling behind you. The space was surprisingly cozy, decked out with plush seating, a mini kitchenette, and bunks lining the narrow hallway. A faint scent of leather and something faintly citrusy lingered in the air, blending with the faint echo of Vi humming a melody from somewhere deeper in the bus.

“Welcome to the chaos,” Caitlyn said, grinning as she leaned against one of the built-in couches.

Vi popped her head out from a back corner, her guitar strapped across her chest. “Hey, rockstar!” she greeted, giving you a casual salute. “You’re brave for signing up for this circus.”

You laughed, pulling your suitcase into the bus. “What can I say? I like a challenge.”

Jinx, sprawled out on one of the couches with a drumstick twirling between her fingers, snorted. “You’re gonna regret saying that when Vi starts her late-night jam sessions.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Vi said, plucking at her guitar strings. “She loves it.”

“Lies,” Jinx quipped, smirking.

Caitlyn nudged you gently. “Come on, let me show you where you’ll sleep.”

You followed her down the narrow hallway, passing bunks stacked two high. She stopped in front of one with a neatly made bed, the bottom bunk open for you. “Here you go,” Caitlyn said, gesturing. “Home for the next few weeks.”

“Perfect,” you said, sliding your suitcase beside the bed. “Thanks, Cait.”

“Settle in. We’ll hit the road soon,” Caitlyn said before disappearing back to the front of the bus.

-

You knelt by your suitcase, unpacking essentials and carefully organizing them into the small shelves above the bunk. The space was tight but manageable, the rhythmic hum of the bus adding a strange sense of calm. You reached up to place your toiletry bag on the highest shelf when you felt it—a bold, unmistakable hand pressing against your ass.

Startled, you snapped around, ready to deliver a sharp retort. Instead, you found yourself face-to-face with Sevika. She leaned in close, one arm lazily gripping the rail of the top bunk above you, effectively caging you in. Her towering frame loomed over you, and her signature smirk was even more infuriating this close.

"Nice view," she drawled, her voice low and rich, dripping with amusement.

You arched a brow, crossing your arms as you tilted your head up to meet her gaze. “Wow, straight to harassment. Do you always skip the foreplay?”

Her grin widened, clearly delighted by your sass. “Foreplay’s overrated. I like to get to the point.”

You let out a dry laugh, leaning casually against the bunk behind you despite the way her proximity made your heart race. “Is that what you call this? Because right now, it’s giving ‘desperate.’”

Sevika chuckled, her gaze flicking to your lips for just a second before returning to your eyes. “Desperate? That’s a bold assumption, sweetheart. Seems like you’re still standing here talking to me, though.”

“Only because you’re blocking the way,” you shot back, nodding pointedly toward the arm she had resting above you. “Or do you think looming over people is some kind of charm tactic?”

She shifted slightly, leaning in closer, her smirk never faltering. “It’s working, isn’t it?”

“Not the way you think,” you replied, your voice steady, even as your pulse betrayed you. “But hey, if this is the best you’ve got, I can see why the fan girls swoon. Low standards must really be your thing.”

Sevika laughed at that, a deep, rumbling sound that somehow sent a shiver down your spine. “You’ve got a sharp tongue, Y/N. I like that.”

“And you’ve got no sense of boundaries,” you quipped, reaching up to tap the arm she still had braced above you. “Mind moving? I’ve got things to do.”

Instead of retreating, Sevika leaned in even closer, her smirk softening into something more challenging. “What if I said I don’t mind staying right here?”

You tilted your head, refusing to back down as you matched her stare. “Then I’d say you’re about to have a real boring time watching me unpack.”

She grinned, finally stepping back and dropping her arm. “Alright, you win—for now. But don’t think I’m done with you, sweetheart.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you replied with a sly smile, brushing past her. “But next time? Try asking nicely. It might get you somewhere.”

As you turned back to your suitcase, you caught Sevika’s low chuckle behind you, her voice floating down the hallway as she sauntered off. “You’re going to be fun, Y/N.”

You smirked to yourself as you resumed unpacking. Let her think she had the upper hand. If Sevika wanted to play games, she’d quickly learn you weren’t one to lose.

This is gonna be a long tour.

[sergioguymanproust]

Blessings to all my dear followers ! May you all receive what your heart and soul desires most. May you find time to enjoy your holidays and make time to grow spiritually by meditating and being grateful for all the good things you now have ,a family ,good and solid friends and for those who are singles ,may you find happiness and peace next to someone who matches your vibrations,frequency and energy to help you grow and completes your life and journey .As a Shamans a wish for each and everyone to fulfill your dreams and aspirations.May your guide animal walk next to you and inspires you to become a better human being. Always remember you are never alone ,you never will be alone ,just know that if you telepathically call for a good soul to assist you ,that soul will appear in your life but you must believe it deeply and honestly. Words by Sergio GuymanProust.

[deesseshesca]

PAC : How will your pregnancy go ? (18+)

Just reminder ... that ... I AINT THE ONE !

PERSONAL READING (SALE) (LINK)

FIRE TO THE MOON

FUTURE LOVE + SEX DOUALA = 40$ (2for1)

DOWN TO MY CORE

CHARACTER UPDAPTE + LORE DUMP = 40$ (2for1)

PILE 1

SONG : THAT GUY - Tyler the Creator

P H Y S I C A L

Chariot, 3 pentacles (reverse)

First thing, first Pile 1,you don’t understand the impact that your pile had on me. When you are going to be pregnant you are still going to achieve everything you set for yourself with great happiness. You are going to be so lucky pregnant, you have no idea. Everyone that will rub your stomach, if you allow it, will whisk a bit of luck their way. All this because you understood a very important soul lesson from the very beginning of the journey. Your breast is going to be so full, y’all may jump 2 cups bigger but Lord are they going to be extremely sensitive. Your nipples are always going to be hard. Y’all we suffer from extreme hunger (that’s what I call it) like if you don’t eat, you will actually lose your mind. The uber better not be late because you will blow up their phone with no shame. The craving are so weird and are not just in the privacy of your house, you will have the audacity to ask restaurants to fix their dishes to your weird liking. If a restaurant refuses to change, then you are leaving and throwing a fit in your car until the next food stop. You guys may develop asthma in your pregnancy or have frequent asthma attacks. When I make a list of everything that’s going to happen to you, you may look at your screen with a stank face. The reality is you are not going against your body. You know it is useless. You know there's a price to pay for everything and you are ready to pay the price necessary for your ultimate miracle. You don’t hate your body nor do you get mad at yourself for reacting. There's no such a thing as over-sensitivity or over-reacting, there's no such thing as too intense or moody or even too horny. Everything is good to create the greatest gift given to you. You don’t waste your time comparing, hating or sad, you prefer finding innovative ways to deal with your sensitive tits, your food cravings and bad breathing habits. Breaking any obstacles in our way, achieving so much and radiating love every step of the way. 

L I F E S T Y L E 

Devil (reverse), knight of wands 

You have an extremely cut-throat energy with people around you. You won’t mind blocking anyone that does not understand your boundaries. No warning, they fuck up, bye bye. People that didn't support you during pregnancy but are trying to find their way in when the baby is born … are going to hit a closed door. You don’t play this game. From day one, any older person trying to come in and tell you what's up better be ready to be disrespected because you don’t need people's opinion to weigh you down in the most vulnerable moment of your life. The midwife wants to get smart, not only is her access revoked but if you have time you may press charges ( as you should because there are too many mean nurses in this world). Your man is even scared of you as he should. He eats too loud, looks at you the wrong way or even eats something that makes you sick … the lethal tone is coming out. Your tone is so soft but your words actually annihilate. I heard : You: ‘’ Can you please chew even louder maybe then I will found my 14 reasons since you are my 13 one ?’’ all in a calm tone and a killer gaze. 

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PILE 2

SONG : Tranquility - Jack Harlow

A completely reading was necessary for you guys. Don't worry, Chérie d'Amour is nothing bad.

Full of love reading

PILE 3

SONG: Hello,Hi - Little Smiz

P H Y S I C A L

8 swords, page of swords (reverse)  

You're going to find out you're pregnant with a sneaky link. You know damn well, they ain't ready for the commitment and so is you. So you are not mad. You are not even stressed when you are going to find out because you know you have options and it’s not really a baby until you choose it to be. You are going to announce it to them and they are going to have a panic attack and still be extremely polite and kind with you while telling you they can’t be a father.  Which you know … you just wanted to tell them. I have a vision of someone sitting in the dark and actually analysing what your life has become. Then suddenly a change of perspective which is weird because you never been nothing but pessimistic in you life. I hear the script of Alice in Wonderland: ‘’ They can always paint them red

What an odd thing to say’’. 

You are going to keep the baby. Is important to note that your finances are excellent, you have your degree, you have your own car, like you are set. The reality is you have been set. The only thing stopping you is yourself and you are going to realize that once again when you are starting to live your dream life. The only reason you are stuck in the same place is because you don’t want to leave. You are like a chain animal. Is not because you cut the chain that they will actually leave. I see you moving, changing jobs, everythings happening quickly and nothing is chaotic. Which makes sense since you have had the plan. You know what to do but you refuse to take the leap for yourself but you did for your child. You will meet somebody new that’s going to be your dream partner. The fact that you are pregnant is a blessing and not a burden. They are going to jump quickly in the father role. Y’all may not live together at first because you will have signed the lease before meeting them but I see an organized agenda regarding the baby. They will stay over for weeks to take care of the baby. The baby will forever know them as their dad. Y’all are going to have an amazing and active sex life. He’s going to put you to sleep. You guys will often fuck twice a day. 

L I F E S T Y L E 

8 pentacles, Hierophant

The reason for why you're having your dream life after a baby or while pregnant is because you are the one late. Life has been waiting for you to make a move. The perfect friend group, the perfect job, the perfect partner, they all came because you made the final decision and followed through with it. So all your blessings are going to fall upon your life at once. You have unlocked a door that’s been waiting for you. That’s why everything goes extremely smoothly. Also there's no self doubt coming from you since you are so focused on creating the perfect cocoon for your bundle of joy. Self doubt breaks the flow of blessings. All’s well that ends well ( tout est bien qui finit bien). 

PREVIOUS READING

2) Wanna know the love story the universe has for you? 💫 In 8 parts, I spill all: first meet, first kiss, confession, sexy time, and more. Don’t miss out! 👀💖 (LINK)

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[winchesterwild78]

Unspoken Words pt 1

Master List

Characters: Jensen Ackles x Reader, Reader’s daughter, other characters

Warnings: Nothing too bad, mention of single parent struggles, child with special needs. 

A/N: Another collab story with @cheekygirl2309. This one is about a single mother with a nonverbal autistic daughter who loves Supernatural. The reader is going to a Supernatural Convention with her daughter and things unfold from there. The daughter character is near and dear to my heart. I have someone very close to me who is nonverbal, but he’s such an amazing kid. 

*I know how convention photo ops work, again this is a work of fiction. I have however been in the photo op room where they accommodate a child and turn the music off and ask everyone to be as quiet as possible. 

This is a work of fiction and does not depict real life. Jensen is single in this story. 

All work is my own and @cheekygirl2309, don’t take it or use it as your own. Reblogs and likes are appreciated. 

Minors DNI 18+

My daughter Lily is such a beautiful soul. At 7 years old she’s smart, artistic, and is obsessed with the show Supernatural. I had watched the show long before she was born, and now we watch it together as a way to bond. 

Lily’s father left me when I found out I was pregnant, so it had just been Lily and I since she was born. My best friend Sarah was like an Aunt to her, and was always there to help me. 

Especially after Lily was diagnosed with autism at the age of 2. She is nonverbal, and at times it can be very hard and frustrating. Navigating being a single parent is hard enough, but being a single parent to a nonverbal autistic child is really hard. Sarah is my constant support. 

I have an amazing job working at a local attorney’s office in downtown Austin. Everyone there loves Lily and the attorney’s are incredibly kind when it comes to me needing time off to take her to therapy or other appointments. 

“Hey, Y/N, did you hear there’s a Supernatural convention in town next month, and Radio Company is playing 2 concerts the Monday and Tuesday after.” Sarah was always trying to get me to a convention or a Radio Company concert, especially in Austin. 

“I know. I saw. I wish I could take Lily to the convention. I think she’d love it. She might be able to handle the convention, but I’m definitely not taking her to the concert. She would be overstimulated.” 

“What if I buy tickets to the concert and you and I go out?” I smiled, “I wish I could, but who would watch Lily?” Sarah nodded. 

Later that afternoon I sat at my desk thinking about the possibilities, but quickly dismissed them. I knew what Lily could handle, and I knew it wasn’t a concert. 

The rest of the week was a blur. I reached out to my parents to see if it was even a possibility for them to watch Lily so I could go to the concert, but they were headed on a trip to see my Aunt Mary that week. Apparently it was a big birthday for her, so they wanted to go visit. 

I pushed the concert and convention out of my mind. No sense in keeping my hopes up. 

Two weeks before the convention my boss, Mr. Jones called me in his office. I noticed his brother, the other attorney was in there too. I was nervous. “Y/N, take a seat, please. How have you been, how’s Lily?” 

“We’re good. She is doing well in her therapy. We are going to try an adaptive device to help her communicate. Her therapist is filling out the paperwork so insurance will cover it and the program. She uses one at speech, and does well with it.” 

“Wow, that’s awesome. I really hope it helps her communicate easier.” I nodded.

“So Y/N, the reason I called you in here today is we wanted to thank you for being such an amazing employee. You are selfless and give so much of yourself to the company, to your co-workers and of course Lily. When do you do anything for yourself?” 

I looked down at my hands and fidgeted, “I don’t. Not really.” “That’s exactly what we thought, so we got together and wanted to give you this.” 

He handed me an envelope. “Can I open it now?” He nodded and smiled. 

I took a deep breath and opened the envelope and unfolded the papers inside. I softly gasped as I read them. Tears filled my eyes and spilled out, “Are you serious?” “Yes, and don’t worry about Lily the night of the concert, Annie is going to keep her at our house.” 

“Oh my god, this is a dream come true. Lily is going to be so excited to go to the convention. Thank you both so much! Can I hug you?” They laughed and nodded. I wrapped my arms around them both. I couldn’t believe this. 

I went back to my desk to call Sarah. “Girl, guess what?! My bosses just gifted me tickets to the convention, complete with photo ops, and tickets to both nights of the concert. Please tell me you’re going to go with me to both. I have three tickets to the convention and two to the concerts. Annie, Mr. Jones’ wife is going to keep Lily. Lily loves her and Annie is so good with her. She’s a special education teacher and is amazing at her job.” 

“Of course I’ll go with you. That’s awesome, you totally deserve it. I can’t wait for you to tell Lily.” “Me either.” 

Later that night after Lily and I got home from speech therapy I showed her the tickets, “Look Lily, we’re going to meet Dean.” She smiled and clapped. Anytime she got excited she would clap or flap her hands. Even though she couldn’t speak, she communicated in other ways. 

Later that night Lily walked over to me with the TV remote in hand. I knew she wanted to watch Supernatural, but it was late and I was tired. “No, Lily. It’s bedtime. No Dean right now.” 

She pushed the remote at me again and huffed. “Lily, no. Now go brush your teeth, it’s time for bed.” Again, she pushed the remote at me and huffed louder. “Lily Ann, I said no!” She threw herself on the floor and wailed and screamed. 

I just walked into the kitchen. I knew she was doing it to get her way. She wasn’t hurt or being hurt, she was mad. So I let her feel her feelings by herself. 

I grabbed a glass of water and drank it. Then I heard her walk into the kitchen. “Are you okay, now? I promise we will watch tomorrow.” She took my hand in hers. I hugged her and she went to bed. 

The day of the convention finally arrived. Lily was a little overstimulated when we arrived, so I ran in to get our badges while her and Sarah waited in the car. The atmosphere was electric and I began to get very excited. 

I went back out to the car to see if Lily was ready. “You ready baby girl? I’ve got our tickets.” She wiggled in her seatbelt, so I let her out. 

I grabbed her bag and headphones just in case. We walked in and her eyes went wide. I saw something in her shift. 

Lily seemed more present, more aware of the surroundings. I was in awe. 

I grabbed a schedule and saw Jensen’s photo ops were later. So I figured I’d take Lily to the merchandise room and buy her a few things. 

We were walking around looking at everything they had. Lily saw shirts and other items with Jensen on them and immediately wanted them. 

Then I heard a laugh that instantly pulled my head in the other direction. Standing at the Radio Company table was Jensen. 

My heart beat wildly. Lily didn’t hear or see him at first, but then he started talking and she saw him. 

Her eyes went wide and before I could stop her she ran towards him, arms wide and hugged his leg. 

“ Oh, who’s this?” He said as I walked up. Clif was instantly by his side. I was so scared we were about to be kicked out. 

“I am so sorry. She saw you and got away before I could grab her. Lily, let go. Come on baby.” She held tighter. Jensen smiled at me and bent down, “Hello Lily. It’s nice to meet you.” She held tighter. 

“I’m so sorry. She doesn’t speak. She’s nonverbal but loves Dean. We watch the show together as a way to bond. Lily, please let go. He has to leave. We have to leave.” 

She shook her head no. I took a deep breath trying to hold myself together. Jensen placed a hand on my shoulder, “Hey, breathe. It’s okay. She’s okay.” 

“Dean!” Sarah and I stood shocked. Lily hadn’t spoken in years, and even then was a babble. 

Jensen looked at me and I at him. Tears pricked my eyes. “Dean, no go.” 

The tears fell fast and heavy as I hit the floor. 

Sarah gasped and looked at Jensen, “She hasn’t spoken in years.” Jensen’s eyes filled with tears and he got down beside her “Hey sweetheart.” She looked up at him and smiled. 

I was in awe of him and her. She hardly looked at anyone, let alone a stranger. 

He reached his hand out to me and grabbed mine, “She’s okay. Are you okay?” I nodded, “I just can’t believe she talked. I’ve been alone in this, except for Sarah. Her father left and I fight everyday to make sure she’s happy and has the things she needs in life. Her not talking scares me, so this is huge.” 

He leaned over and wiped the tears away. His handlers told him he had to go to photo ops. Jensen raised a finger and told them one minute. 

I looked at Lily who was still clinging to him, “Lily, it’s time for pictures. Jensen has to go. We will see him in a minute. Come on baby girl. He has to get ready for the pictures.” She looked at Jensen and then back at me, “go?” Jensen nodded, “Yes, but I’ll see you in a few minutes, okay?” 

Lily nodded enthusiastically. Jensen stood and helped Lily and then myself up. 

When his hand touched mine I felt electricity through my body. I gasped softly. He smirked and winked. 

He walked away with his handlers and Clif, before they disappeared behind the curtains Jensen turned and looked at us again. My heart was in my throat. 

“Y/N, are you okay?” I heard Sarah ask. “Um, yeah. What was that? She talked, Sarah. She talked to Jensen.” She touched my shoulder, “Yeah. That was amazing. Come on, let’s get in line for the photo ops, they’ve called for gold tickets to line up.” 

I nodded and told Lily we were going to get our pictures taken with Jensen. 

We stood in line and as we got closer to the door I could hear the music playing and excitement in the room. I worried about Lily so I handed her the headphones. 

She put them on and I could tell she was getting nervous. I handed the lady our ticket to scan and then we saw Jensen. Lily tried to bolt to him again, but I held her. She started to get upset and my heart sank. 

“Want me to take her out of here?” Sarah asked. “No, I don’t want her to miss this. She should be okay.” 

“Lily, honey, take a breath. See, Jensen is right there. We’re going to get a picture.” 

It was almost our turn and we were at the front of the line. Jensen saw us standing in line and smiled, but then turned his focus to the people getting their picture taken. They wanted an elaborate pose, props and all, which meant a bit more time. Lily was at her limit. 

Before they could usher us up she melted down. When it was our turn Jensen looked at me and smiled, “I’m sorry, we can’t do this right now. She needs a minute. Is there any way we can come back?” I asked the woman scanning the tickets.

“Let me see what we can do.” She said and I smiled. She walked over to Jensen and the photographer. The decision was to clear the room and turn off the music. 

There were some grumbles from other fans, I understood completely, but I was amazed by their generosity. 

Jensen walked over to me and then bent down to Lily. “Hey, Lily. Want to get a picture taken with me?” She looked up and nodded.

He scooped her up, wiped her tears and grabbed my hand. Chris the photographer was so sweet. He offered a photo of just Lily and Jensen, and then all of us. “But I only have a ticket for one.” He touched my arm, “Let me worry about that.” He smiled and I nodded. 

Lily had her arms around Jensen’s neck and smiled bigger than I’d ever seen her smile. My heart was so full. 

She giggled, and kept saying “Dean” over and over again. 

“Sweetie, his name is Jensen. Remember?” I said looking at her.

I walked over to get in the picture and Jensen put his arm around me. I looked up at him and looked in his eyes, oh how beautiful his eyes were. I lost time for a bit. Everything around me melted away. 

“Mama.” I broke eye contact and gasped. “She’s never called me mama before.” Jensen smiled, “That’s amazing, sweetheart.” 

“Mama, Jensen.” Sarah was just as shocked. “My baby is talking.” I stood and cried. Jensen held me tight. 

“Mama, Jensen go home.” I looked at her and then him. He chuckled. “No baby, Jensen can’t come home with us. He has to go to his house.” 

It was like a switch flipped in her. She was talking. I couldn’t believe she was talking. 

“Baby, we have to go. Jensen has other pictures to take. Come on sweetie.” She refused to let go of his neck and I was starting to panic. “Jensen, I’m so sorry. She’s never acted like this before. I know you have all those other people waiting.” 

He took my hand, “Hey, it’s okay. I want her to be comfortable. Do you think she’d be okay sitting over there until I’m done?” He pointed to a table to the side, but in line with him. “We could try, but you really don’t have to. You don’t know her or me, and don’t owe us anything.” 

That’s when he cupped my face and my breath hitched, “I don’t know you two, but I’d like to. Besides, my nephew means the world to me, and I know how hard it is for my brother and sister-in-law. It definitely takes a village.” 

I nodded, swallowed hard, “Lily, come on. We’re going to sit right over there and wait for Jensen, okay?” 

She turned and looked then climbed down and sat in the chair closest to Jensen. I chuckled, “I guess it’s okay. Thank you, Jensen.” Clif stood near us and they resumed pictures. 

In between photos Jensen glanced our way and when he looked at me he smiled. I couldn’t believe everything that had happened. Lily had spoken, Jensen Ackles was being so sweet, and I was sure I was having a fever dream. 

After photo ops Jensen was escorted out of the room, before leaving he took my hand and grabbed Lily, “Come on. Let’s go backstage.” I nodded and Sarah followed with our stuff in tow. 

Once in the quiet solitude of backstage Jensen and I started talking. Lily curled up between us and fell asleep. I explained that when she got overstimulated for long periods of time it would drain her to the point where she needed sleep. 

He looked down at her and smiled, “She’s an amazing kid, Y/N. You’re doing great.” “Thank you. That means so much to me.” 

“So if you don’t mind me asking, tell me a little about yourself. I know you have an incredible kid, and you’re an amazing mother, but I’d like to know more.” 

I bit my lip and talked. Told him about work, Lily, our lives, everything. He was completely focused on the conversation. He told me about his life, spent between here in Austin and Vancouver. He said he’d been busy with shooting schedules, but loved doing the conventions. 

We talked about the upcoming concert, and he was excited I was going. “I’m not bringing Lily. She wouldn’t be able to handle it, but I’ll be there both nights with Sarah.” He looked over at her and smiled. “I’m glad you’re coming, sweetheart.” 

There it was again, “sweetheart”. It made my heart flutter and my face flush red. “Well darlin’ I have to get to a meet and greet, y’all are welcome to stay back here as long as you need. I hope to see you later.” 

I nodded, “Thank you, Jensen. You’ve been incredible with her. I really appreciate it.” He nodded and turned to leave, stopping as he got to the door, “Here’s my number, text me so I have your number. I’d like to make sure Lily is okay for the rest of the convention.” 

I took the paper, sent him a text and he smiled, “Got it. Thank you.” He winked and went out the door, leaving me and Sarah in silence. “Girl, he’s got it bad for you.” I chuckled, “Yeah right, he’s just being sweet because of Lily.” 

“He’s definitely being sweet to Lily, but he’s enamored with her mom too.” I rolled my eyes and laughed, but deep down I was feeling something.

My phone went off with a notification, I looked down and smiled. It was from Jensen. 

Jensen: Hey sweetheart, I have the pictures we took. They are amazing. I’ll bring them to you soon. 

Me: That’s great. I can’t wait, and Jensen, thank you again for being so sweet to my Lily girl. 

Jensen: She’s a great kid, I’d like to get to know her and her mom better. That is if you’re open to that. 

I looked at my phone and looked up at Sarah. I showed her the message, “What do I say?” “Maybe you want to get to know him better too.” She wiggled her eyebrows at me. “Shut up you perv.” We both laughed. 

Me: She’d like that, and so would I. 

Jensen: Good. Talk to you soon sweetheart. 

Me: I can’t wait. 

Tags are open, if you want to be added or removed, let me know.  

Tags: 

@nescaveckwriter @kr804573 

@k-slla @jackles010378 

@jawritter @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx 

@roseblue373 @cheynovak 

@jassackles  @chriszgirl92

@suckitands33 @arcannaa 

@n-o-p-e-never @ladysparkles78 

@smoothdogsgirl @hobby27 

@manicjk @stoneyggirl2 

@deans-spinster-witch @snowayumi 

@shadowqueen1318 @shanimallina87

@muhahaha303 @fitxgrld

@nancymcl @baby19sthings

@cheekygirl2309 @oceean

@kindollss @foxyjwls007

@lmg14 @cevansbaby-dove

@spxideyver @reignsboy19

@deans-baby-momma @deansimpalababy

@ladykitana90 @quietgirll75 

@superrey @kamisobsessed

@obliviousap @ninii-winchester

@mischiefnevermanaged89-blog @whimsyfinny

@bobbdylan @star-yawnznn

@reignsboy19 @monkey-d-hoshizora98

@depressionbarbie2023 @livingdeadblondequeen

@mandee7 @barnes70stark

@spnaquakindgdom @djs8891

@pughsexual @spnaquakindgdom

@lunaleah

[jeahreading]

Year-End Moots Post

@glorfie394 - Honestly, i don't think i need to say much other than the fact that you were probably one of the very few people I consider my best friends irl. We've been talking less and less and I really hope we can talk more this year.

@1indigoisles You used to say that I shouldn't consider you a good friend because we haven't even known each other for a year. Well now it's been more than that, so we should also be really good friends, while we didn't talk for most of this year that's only because of academics and I can't promise it won't happen again but I really REALLY want to talk more with you, even if I take time responding once in a while.

@pb-dot - quoted from you, last year "You and I seem to mostly pass as ships in the night, but sometimes the distant sound of a foghorn can be just the thing, to torture the metaphor a little" Honestly you were the first blog I sent an ask to and your clockwork boy amazed me to bits, we're still ships but maybe not so much in the night anymore, dusk?

@mycatisatool - I still remember how we talked last year just a few days before New Year's and how I ranted to you, a random person. Talking to you has never and will never feel foreign, I hope we remain friends or even acquaintances for many more years to come!

@joytri I'm not sure what I should say except the fact that YOU'RE SO AESTHETIC, omg I wish i was even close to how pretty your blog and posts are dffsnbsjdhjf I so wish i could by your stationary T_T.

@chichihuahua1413 - MY SISTER FROM ANOTHER MISTER, nobody can convince me that we AREN'T twins separated at birth. UGH, I wish I had come to that gathering it's been SO LONG SINCE WE'VE MET. Wow, can you believe we've known each other for 9 years now?? seems absolutely surreal.

@clarablightt - we met unexpectedly and I am SO glad we did, we didn't talk much at first but now when we do I am happy the whole day. Sometimes we talk for hours and it feels like minutes, I wish you all the happiness in this world and someday we're gonna meet istg

@owlsandwich - O yem GEE, even though many years separate us talking to you has never felt that way, you talk with a young soul if that makes any sense, and of course, you being absolutely adorable doesn't help. Heard somewhere that pets represent their owner and seeing Miss Zero, you both seem carefree and loving. I hope you have the best year ever!!!!

@fangirlghost-19 - Found your blog in the most detective way possible hihi, but so glad I did, you're absolutely amazing and you just have that pizzazz not everyone has!

@shua-f4lmings Started talking to you because I really wanted to talk to someone who likes skz, no regrets, I am in LOVE with your aesthetic, that blog change was ICONIQUE.

@baxieblur-turnip Heyyyyyyyy we met on chance and babe that hexagone is hexagoning so hard, we need to talk more frrr

@ek-ajnabee-haseena hamari jugalbandi honi zaruurat hain!! we should sing because i just know it's gonna be so freaking good!

@hxart-of-thx-ocxan - bestie so aesthetic i quacking in my boots, looking at your blogs makes me want to float away on a boat into the ocean and never look back again 🤤🤤

@book-girl4evaaa - I'm pretty sure we first talked because I thought you were desi but you are AMAZING all the same, seeing you talk about the heather is adorable asf and you're fashion sense makes me jealous 😭😭

@dinnerbug - saw you on my side and you actually genuinely intrigued me so much I followed you and honestly you are one of my most curious mutuals. I'm pretty sure I once sent an ask to you telling you to drink less coca cola lmaoo

@zeherili-ankhein - CHINIIII!!!!!! top 3 best persons i've met on this app fr, the mark of true and honest friendship is that we KNOW we disagree on many things but that does NOT stop us from being such close friends, i don't think you realise how badly i want to be irl friends with you istg 😭😭

@no--net - If someone asked me one thing I wanted for you, I'd wish you could understand bangla, i just know I would recommend SO MANY feluda and byomkesh bakshi. 😫😫

@paloma-ascends-into-hellfire - I don't quite remember why we started following each other but I glad we did all the same, my first thought seeing you was literally that one song by Paris Paloma, solely because of the name, which btw hold you high HIGH in my mind!! Wish you the absolute BEST year ahead!

@anonymouse-is-here We haven't talked much but YOU'RE SO ADORABLE!!!! And also your blog is just 🤌🤌

@im-on-crack-send-help CHOTIIII!!!! you're like the sister i never had and i will kill to have 😀🔪. You should really be on less crack and more happiness cuz you deserve it :D. Also beware at night because I will come to you house to steal your eyes and hair and wardrobe, beware.......... ily uwu<3

@telugu-girl-13 - Honestly you're going to be the 2nd reason why I read pjo. You're blog gives me old b&w vibes and it's just top tier imo <3 adorable kwnekjfrnkjnr

@inhachoi0901 - we need to meet more often cuz YASS talking to you is so freaking fun, we also need to like sing together!<33(you also need to tell what shampoo you use)

@mi-stress-of-chaos - you're blog 🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇 teach me how to be aeshtetic like you sensei. Also, I'm grabbing a bucket and taking the stress far FAR away from you. you need a vacation i swear<33

@shadowseductress - omg you're like really beautiful, like beautiful like I'm gonna start singing apsara aali and then promptly trip and fall on my face, you're so badass ngl i kinda idolize you 😀😀😭.

@shinchansbitch - you need a shiro in your life, one that talks fr. You're weird but like the really fucking awesome kinda weird. I need tips from you, we need to sit down and you need to tell me your autobiography babe.

@no-idea-where-i-am-lost - Oh my god you're like dangerously adorable, like i need to put orange traffic cones around you, when you and @wulfricnavy get married invite me to the wedding, ashirvaad aur atta dono deke jaoongi.(cutie pie cutie cutie pieeeeeeeeeeeeee)

@natures-marvel - Solving that scavenger hunt with you was so freaking fun!!!!! you're amazing to to talk to and I think we have an mutual want for episode three 😭😭😭

@ineffable-bastard - You're so cool omg, LOVE that fact that your hair always a different colour and please NEVER stop tagging me you're like my no.1 source of tag games and tag games are a straight path to love <33

@hellincarnation - honestly in terms of you, i just don't know what to say, you are kind, you are sweet, you care, you are cute and adorable and with just the correct amount of spice, you're like god's perfect recipe, we met late in the year but it's like we've knows each other for years, getting to know you made ,my year infinitely better and holy shit i just want to minimize you put you in a jar and carry you around with me everywhere, you're an A+ dipshit but also a brother, please take care of yourself and keep showing up so that we can fight more.<333

@mireyaaaaaaaaa - you're not just a ray of sunshine you're the whole freaking sun, you're like and endless energy reserve(stop hogging all the energy give us peasants some!!), you love book and I love book, and now I love you<333. Let's interact more this next year, and all the very best for your 10th you will do well I just know it!!

@fujimomozane - I'm pretty sure we haven't talked yet but, you're always there, for that I thank you(psst you afk art gives me life<33)

@your-reluctant-optimist - you, I'm gonna put you in a little terrarium and I'm going to keep your pocket sized everything in my pocket<3333333333333333

@randomx123 - Dada !! Your art is just *chef's kiss 🤌🤌🤌* and the durga pujo at your house is "bhalobasha", this year we didn't talk very much but whenever you're on my dash I always get happy :D. Don't worry shob kichu bhalo jabe, relax and keep doing what you think is best 😁😁.

@hj-lives-on - yo! i don't think we've talked about anything relevant lmao, but i will say good music taste and let's like, talk about things that are...normal :D

@lyrebirb - You are ADORABLE period. i need to know more about you i swear you are utterly fascinating, we should 100% talk more please!!!<3

@androgynous-bhajipav - i can't believe we became such good friends in this short time!?? Payneland brought together and our dymanic kept us together<33

@mersinia - Us meeting was the best coincidence of this year lmao, the amount of tumblr things we have in common is baffling, we REALLY need to talk more.

@shubhadeep385 - Gave me gangster vibes from the beginning and turns out i was right 😂. But you're also an older brother, like fr. In the proper sense lmao, you told me to never trust boys and also told me the boy I have a crush on is *chomu*, if this isn't proper bhai behaviour i dunno what is. Take care of yourself next bochor, I'm always there 😁😁.

@sittininthepoopchair - I also saw you on my side blog and your adorable ass dad vibes were just too adorable for me to ignore. I might not be your target or comfortable audience but you're absolutely amazing and Seeing you talk about your kids always has been smiling <3.

I'm soo sorry if I missed anyone, but if you are someone I missed just know I love you I love your blog you are adorable as fuck and HAVE THE BEST NEW YEAR EVER!!!!!<3333333

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!

[stayandot8]

Dreams

Genre: fluff

Relationship type: bsfriend!Chan x fem reader

Important Contents: it came to me in a dream, what can I say.

WC: 1k

masterlist

It was one of those dreams again.

I came to my senses always before I wanted to. Right when the dream was getting good, I would become very aware that there was a bright light coming from somewhere, a window maybe. My next notion was that my blankets were too hot; my fan wasn’t quite doing its job. Sucky fan. 

Yet another dream about finding the love of my life with blackish-brown hair, a big smile, and a laugh that filled your soul. This one felt so real though. We had been in this big house with all of his friends and my friends and they were desperate to see us get together and of course, all of the attempts were obvious. The boy was blushing so hard his ears turned red, but he never asked them to stop. My friends were doing everything they could to clear a room for us. I tried to shoot them pleading looks all night but to no avail.

It felt earlier than normal. I was certain my alarm would go off any second now to pull me away from this happy middle ground I was in the middle of. It was such a nice dream that I thought if I could just drift off again, I could go back to it. But the blankets were too hot, my breathing was too shallow, and I felt myself slowly rise from that dreamland, probably never to be found again.

But things were different. 

Outside of my consciousness, the air around me was off. The familiar scent of my bedroom wasn’t filling my nostrils like it should have. No, instead, the smell of something…edible…

It was still a struggle to open my eyes. A blur, everything blurred together and I couldn’t see straight. That’s what I blamed it on, anyway. Because there was no way that most of the stuff in my bedroom was black. And where did those LED lights come from? Where is my phone? Whose fucking house am I in??

A knock on the door brought my bleariness to full alert. And then that boy that I had been dreaming about came through the door. Eyes soft, black hair with some curls poking through, and a soft smile that made my heart jump. He was bringing a plate of something over to the bed that I was laying on, face-first into a pillow. 

“Hey, sunshine.” 

I grumbled something incoherent. 

“Tough night, huh?”

I furrowed my brows, and looked at him through my smushed face. Huh?

“What are you on about, Bang?” 

“You crashed pretty hard last night. You would barely move off the couch.”

“Then how did I get here?”

“I had to carry you so you wouldn’t get a crick in your neck.” His laugh squeaked out of him. “After everyone left, you passed out.”

“How drunk was I?”

“You started renaming all of our Skzoos. What does that tell you?”

I chuckled at the memory that was then coming back to me. “Oh yeah. Leebitch.”

“You named Bbokari ‘Dinner’, which was very creative by the way. Felix is waiting for your apology. And that was just the start.” He laughed. “You tried to draw vampire teeth on WolfChan before I took the marker away from you.”

I scoffed. “You should see what Stay says about that music video, vampire man.” He squeaked out another laugh.

“Oh, I know.” A pause as he looked over at me, in his bed. A question came to mind. 

“If I slept here, where did you sleep?”

“You wouldn’t let me leave. You have an iron grip when you’re drunk. I couldn’t even get up to brush my teeth.” 

“Which I bet was the first thing you did this morning, wasn’t it.”

“...Maybe.” He handed me the plate of kimchi stir fry he had brought and settled on the empty side of the bed. “So…do you remember what happened last night?”

My fork froze mid-air. “Uhm…Not really. Fill me in?” I said, staring at the plate. 

“Everyone was teasing you about me. Any ideas why?”

“Did Minho make this? Because it’s really good.” I scarfed down more so my mouth was full.

“After your conversation with Felix, everyone made themselves scarce. Which was convenient, I thought, considering your plan.”

I swallowed. “Plan? What plan?” I braced, unsure if I wanted to hear my drunken foretellings of what I had wanted to go down last night. I had an inkling of course, given my hidden undying love for the boy sitting in front of me but would I say that out loud?

“Your plan to get me to fall in love with you after everyone leaves.”

Shit. Yes, yes I would say it out loud. 

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck

I snorted, trying to let my attempt at ease become real.

“Now why would I say a thing like that? That’s…crazy, Preposterous, even. That’s sooo unlike anything I would ever say.”

“Oh yeah?” Chris raised his eyebrows at me, peering at me like I had stolen something. That shut me up. I just stared at him. 

“Why are you not freaking out?”

“Because your plan worked.”

I choked on the rice. After a serious coughing fit and the tears stopped welling up, it was all I could do to continue to stare blankly at him and just say “What?”

“Dude. I’ve been in love with you for several months now.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been professed to while it is being proceeded by the word ‘dude’.” He just kept laughing. 

“Sorry, it slipped out. But I mean it.”

I didn’t know what to say. I just stared. 

“You can keep staring at me after you take a shower, I promise.”

That broke me of my stupor. 

“Did you just tell the love of your life that she smells?”

“Who said you’re the love of my life?” He called over his shoulder, heading to the bathroom. 

“I believe I did. Just now.” Climbing out of bed was a struggle, but the giddyness of the events that had just unfolded was enough motivation. “Are you joining me in this shower?”

“Maybe!”

[goodlucktai]

Now that 2024 is coming to a close:

1) Of everything you've made this year, which ones are you the most proud of?

2) What are a few of your favorite things (art, comics, fics, etc) that someone else has made this past year?

thank you so much for the ask ! i'm going to do my best, but i just know i'm going to leave something out and kick myself for it later

regarding my own stories from this year, i would say the archer au raised on little light and my rise movie remix now the darkness comes alive are the two that i'm the most proud of. but coming in right behind them would be my orphan leo au till you can breathe on your own and post-movie rise splinter study a bigger heart grew back

as for other people's stuff from this year:

everything @remedyturtles and @dandylovesturtles writes is deserving of accolades and a million dollars each, but specifically stare directly at the sun (i say, surprising no one) and Firefight by rem, and I May Be Invisible... and emotional support water bottles by Dandy

@mykimouser wrote You could make this place beautiful which changed my life, and Forget-Me-Nots which ruined it /pos

You can have three wishes... (as well as the rest of their rise fics honestly) by @mad4turtles

London Bridge has Fallen Down by ParvumAutomaton is their latest in a line of amazing rise fics, and as always i went back for an immediate reread the first time i finished it

everything by @angelmichelangelo but definitely the brothers au !

Pod Save Manhattan by CaveDwellers is such a feel-good turtle soup for the soul type of story, i loved it immensely

two lies and a truth by TheFifthPevensieChild hurt !! a lot !! but the resolution more than made up for it

Keep the Nightlight On by @liketheletter-l is a comfort fic of mine if i'm being so honest and so is tuck your head under the covers by lasanya539, i reread these when i need to feel a shrimp emotion

The Neon Void by sugarpastels was very intense (and it gets worse before it gets better) but i just adored the ending

Martry's Mother Tongue by @mangogreent is something i will never stop thinking about (and that is a threat)

Power Up by @pickledcarrotsandradish gave me 12 brand new mental illnesses, radish knows what she's done

Growing Pains by TwiceTheTrouble is one that i've enjoyed following, the characterization of everyone in it is just chefs kiss

@soldrawss' It Keeps Us Dancing AU is so special to me and her art is beautiful and she also created an animatic for my son gio in the archer au that i have literally watched 306 times

Here There Be Turtles ( @heretherebeturtles-comic ) by @theelvishfiddler has been absolutely INCREDIBLE, the skill is off the charts, i look forward to every new post !

@wickcipher's comic You've Been Portal Jacked! is another one that's definitely worth checking out, the art style is so colorful and shaped /pos

quick departure from tmnt into one piece to add @fluffyartbl0g's fishbowl comic here because i have never been and will never be the same after it

Water is Thicker Than Blood by @where-does-the-heart-lie has brought so much joy to 2024, the character voices and the art style are so SO good

@swordsmans is an incredible writer and also bookbinder ! they are an absolute master of their craft(s) i live in healthy awe of them

and they aren't specific stories or AUs but @charcoaldustonmyfingers, @miniyunart, @irestotles, @dying-marshmallo, @lallelol, @cupcakeslushie, @notsotinyblob, @kiingbiing and @koolaidashley are artists whose work i've really enjoyed recently !

[szoboobszlai]

THEY DON’T KNOW ABOUT US

word counter: +1,8k

pairing: trent alexander-arnold x physiotherapist!female reader

warnings: none!

author notes: hey everyone! first of all, i just wanted to wish you a very happy new year; 2024 was absolutely amazing for me, and having your notes and feedback on my writing is something that really made me grateful, so, THANK YOU!

this is a new part of my one direction lyric-based writing series, that you can find here. also, click here for my full masterlist.

liverpool football club has always been more than just a job for you. as the team’s physiotherapist, you loved every moment, every pass, every win and loss. it was your place, your purpose. but what you didn’t expect was that football would bring you face to face with a completely different kind of challenge.

trent alexander-arnold. his name echoed in your head constantly since he started being your patient. the young player, with an impressive skill, an unwavering dedication to the team, but also a quiet, enigmatic energy, something you always noticed but never dared to explore.

it all started with an ankle injury trent had. the need for more intense care meant you were the one who treated him most often. the physiotherapy sessions became moments of conversation that went beyond what was necessary; you talked about games, the team, the season’s expectations… but slowly, you started sharing more than just that.

“do you really think this injury is going to take us out of the title race?” trent asked one day, as you applied ice to his ankle, his brown eyes meeting yours.

“you’re strong enough to overcome this, and you know liverpool needs you.” you said, smiling at him, trying to stay professional, but there was something in his gaze that made you feel there was more to it. “you can’t give up now, trent.”

he laughed, a genuine smile that made your heart beat faster. “you know, you always talk like you’re our mental therapist, not just the physical one.”

“i am, i am.” you laughed back, trying to push the growing tension between you both aside.

but, in your hearts, you knew it was more than just a professional relationship. with every touch during the treatment, every furtive glance, the connection grew stronger. you couldn’t deny what you were feeling, but you both knew that something so delicate needed to be kept secret. what would people say about a physiotherapist and a football player being involved? the club, the teammates, the fans… no one would understand.

the view of his smile echoed in your mind when you thought about what was beginning to grow between you two — you had shared so many moments, but never in front of others. on the field, he was the icon, the standout player. you, just the physiotherapist who, with skilled hands, helped the team stay on their feet. but when you met in private, away from the curious eyes and microphones, it felt like the world was too small for the two souls that had found each other.

it was on an autumn night, after a hard game, that the tension between you two finally overflowed. liverpool had won, but trent, still exhausted, was feeling the pain in his legs. you followed him to the locker room for one last check, knowing he was in good shape, but also aware of how physically affected he might be.

after the treatment, you found yourselves alone, a rare moment in the busy routine of training and games. he looked at you, his brown eyes deep, locking with yours. the silence between you both grew heavy.

“y/n…” he began, his voice low, hesitant. “i need to tell you something.”

you felt your heart race, the professionalism you always maintained starting to waver in the face of the intensity of the moment.

“i have something to tell you too.” you smiled, trying to stay calm, but the anxiety took over you. you both knew what was about to happen. you were about to cross the thin line between what was acceptable and what was risky.

trent took a step closer, his hands now intertwining with yours. “they don’t know about us, y/n. no one knows how real this is.” he moved even closer, until your lips met for the first time, softly, like a silent promise.

the kiss was quick, but it was etched in your memory. it felt like time had stopped. but when you pulled away, the world started spinning again, and you were back in reality: you were hidden.

“i think we need to be careful,” you whispered as you pulled back slightly, trying to breathe.

“i know, but i can’t act like it’s not real anymore.” trent said, sincerity in his eyes. “i need you, y/n. but if this is too much for you…”

you interrupted him, smiling at him. “i need you too. but let’s keep this between us. just the two of us.”

in the following days, the tension grew in a different way: the chemistry between you was more visible than ever, but no one spoke of it. you and trent continued with your routine, keeping up the professional facade in front of everyone else. but with each meeting, each furtive glance, the connection between you two grew even more. you were being careful, trying to hide what no one could know.

this is how things had to be. a secret shared only between you two. when trent felt weak, you were his strength. when he won, you were there to celebrate, silently, always by his side, but never visible to others.

and even though the outside world didn’t know, you both knew what you had. a love no one could understand, but that remained strong despite the external pressures. a love that, no matter how much the world tried to ignore, was unbreakable.

and maybe that’s what made what you had even more special. the secret you shared in the glances and the silences. you both knew that, in the end, what mattered was what was between you. and that, no one could ever take away.

[nikalaeva]

So, SJM and mythology

For a start, ACOTAR series is a horrible mishmash of mythologies. Irish, Scottish and Welsh names are mixed with Latin, Greek, Hebrew and even French. We have the Scottish ballad "Tam Lin", and next to it the Slavic Koschei and the Firebird. Feyre is like Cinderella and Belle and Janet and probably Persephone at the same time. WTF?

If Prythian is Britain, then the map should be changed. For example, let the northern courts (Night, Winter and Autumn) be "Ireland", the southern ones (Day, Summer and Spring) - "Scotland", the Dawn Court - "Wales". Although it would be better to divide the Courts into western and eastern. Idk what would be correct, and may citizens of these countries forgive me if my ideas insulted them. But I think after ACOWAR any other idea would be better. Did everyone realize that Hybern is Ireland? Fuck 😡. This daft woman just shit on beautiful country and its history. We know nothing about Hybern, the king DOESN'T EVEN HAVE A NAME (dear publishers, are you fucking out of your mind releasing something like this?).

Sorry. Let's continue with cold blood. So, Britain was a part of the Roman Empire historically. The Romans conquered many countries. They called everyone who was not Roman "barbarians". Slavery was a big part of their economy and society. Just come up with a country like the Roman Empire. Change the damn map so Prythian was BETWEEN that empire and the continent with human kingdoms. Write that the Emperor offered High Lords to let him through or join him to enslave humans. High Lords refused - so the war began. Then it's clear where the characters got Latin names - they have ancestors from there. Amaranta is also a Latin word/name.

Prythian is an ugly chimera of different cultures molded into one. We see togas and leggings, Summer Court next to Winter Court, evil Ireland versus good Britain, a Slavic and a Greek creatures (for me, the Weaver is obviously an Arachne reference). It's literally a dump. Where the hell is Celtic mythology, paganism, fairy world? And I don't want to hear the excuse "it's just fairy porn". This is a published book, not a first grader's fucking essay about how he dreams of spending summer.

I only liked Calanmai. It's a Welsh festival marking the beginning of... summer? 🤨 If Tamlin is "Scottish", it must be Imbolc, the Gaelic festival of the beginning of spring on February 1st. Correct me if I'm wrong. Real Calanmai is definitely not an orgy, but in ACOTAR version it's so fae and weird. Let that Calanmai be celebrated in the Spring and Dawn Courts.

I'd like to see colorful Beltane in the Summer and Day Courts. If Calanmai is a fertility festival, let the faery version of Beltane be a more "social" festival, with costly, high-sounding, mass weddings. Let it be a symbol of family, no matter what kind of - unrelated, childless, polyamorous etc.

I'd like to see a creepy, otherworldly Samhain in the Autumn Court. The dead literally rise and wander around Prythian, reminding us of death, but thanks to the Autumn Court they do not bother anyone. Let the restless souls have a chance to confess, repent of their sins and receive forgiveness from any fairy who will listen to them. And at the end all of them return to the land, so the nature falls asleep for the winter.

I'd like to see, maybe, Yule in the Winter and Night Court. I know, it's a Germanic midwinter festival that the Christians replaced with Christmas. Okay, let there be a Solstice, but make it not like Christmas. Let this be the longest and snowiest night of the year. Let the snow literally cover the towns and villages, shining as brightly as the starry sky. No lights or bonfires, only night and winter - frighteningly beautiful, like the fairies, but cruel and deadly dangerous. Let this festival be a symbol of the ancient history of Prythian, its wars and victories. Citizens honor the warriors, heroes and rulers who led the people through the same darkness and cold into a bright, peaceful future.

But I've seen nothing. Except poor imagination of SJM, of course.

P.S.: you may think I'm being too picky, but that's my opinion - if you want to write about a fantasy world with non-human creatures, work with the lore. Or just write a contemporary romance novel and don't embarrass yourself.

[corkinavoid]

The Court Jester from FUKASE

Inertia from AJR

Pomegranate Lips from Derivakat

For requests for fiction ideas, please and thanks you ❤️

'The Court Jester' made me think of a full-on animatic in my head since it's not exactly a vibe-song but a tale-song. But, the thing is, said animatic doesn't exactly fit in a small ficlet, so instead, I'm going to just describe the bits and pieces here.

I am the Jester, my job's to entertain — Vlad Plasmius, wearing the colorful jesters clothes, the cap and the suit and the slightly creepy smiling makeup, is doing some tricks in the middle of a room full of pretty dressed people

And it seems that soon enough it too will be my job to reign — a brightly lit throne room, where Pariah Dark is lounging on the big sparkling throne, lazily tapping his fingers on the armrest, and Vlad's creepy makeup smile widens

As the king is slowly dying, any moment he could go — a dark room with no lights on, where Pariah is kneeling on the floor and clutching his head, as Vlad's smile is barely visible in the window behind him

As I trace my fingers on these haggard walls within your keep — Vlad's fingers over the stone cold walls and cell bars, shackles on his wrists

Though my exile still stands, I heard my duty call to me — the shackles turn back into the bright jester robes, and Vlad is back in the throne room, performing yet again

Because I am the Court Jester, I've grown tired of my sleep — everyone is clapping, but Vlad's smile is now only in his makeup, while he himself is not smiling anymore

What good is a crown if the brow it sits on is that of a dead man — Pariah's face glitches into a skull, and his crown slides off, but the next moment everything glitches back to normal

I'll wear my cap and painted smile with pride, my trusty baton in my hand — Vlad's smile grows wide again, and his face glitches from jester makeup to wearing a crown and back

And you will see me, sire, I'll make my way back to you — Vlad confidently walking up to the throne where Pariah sits, an evil grin on his face

The people soon will realize that your feeble body can't forestall — Pariah devolving into a coughing fit, falling down from his throne, his hands are bloody

You are human, you are dying, yes know I it's bittersweet — Pariah in his bed, looking sickly pale and still, staring into the ceiling with empty eyes, a disembodied jester's smile is hiding in the corner

But you knew this day would come, and you can't borrow steal or cheat — in a brightly lit, sparkling throne room, Vlad is walking up the stairs to sit on the throne while still wearing his jester clothes

Yes, your maker gave you time, but you've run out, and soon you'll meet — as Vlad sits on the throne, a red cape with white fur and a crown appear over him, the picture is covered in blood splatters and Vlad is smiling wide

I was awoken by some nibbling in my brain — Danny wakes up with a gasp in the darkness

Myself entrenched in ancient earth, with roots and vines my arms were bound — it's still dark, his limbs are tied with ivy vines and roots, he is buried under a tree

Were these my memories? or something else? and soon, I felt the urge to get out — Danny is clutching his head, tears in the corners of his eyes

Vines and leaves gave way easy just because — he is crawling his way out of a grave, fingers digging through the earth until he makes it out to the surface

Soon, I knew what caused me to awake - Danny gets up to his feet, his clothes ripped and dirty, and looks to where, behind him, a majestic white castle can be seen in the distance

I felt something bubbling in my chest — Danny's dirty fingers with broken nails clutching the fabric of his shirt on his chest

Peals of laughter rang into the distance from my soul — he is laughing hysterically, a mad glint to his eyes, and a wide, creepy smile on his face

I can not recognize a single thing in front of me — Danny, in his dirty clothes, walking through a town

The world as I knew it now is gone, is this reality? — looking around in wonder and confusion until he seems to find what he was looking for and enter a door

Absurd and nonsensical, fantastical and daft — glimpses of him putting on bright, different colored shoes with pom-poms on top, and different colored sleeves and gloves, all bright and in a jester style

All that is left to do is sit right down and laugh — Danny drawing a wide, jester smile on his face

Oh this world that I left you in has been tainted by your sin — back to Vlad, who is still sitting on the throne, but now no jester clothes are in sight, he is wearing something pretty and covered in jewelry

And as such I have now taken it upon myself to reinstate the reign of laughter and in health I will return - Danny walking up to the castle, a comical stick with a sack tied to the end of it on his shoulder

Oh, I am making my way back I will return — Danny, in all his jester glory, is walking inside the throne room as everyone is cheering and clapping as he performs

Soon, the people will remember the reason why they burn — Vlad's face is donning a very fake smile as he, too, claps for Danny

Pointing fists and shouting out with no more reason for concern — the cheers of the crowd become loud and extatic as Danny relishes in the attention and smiles

Soon you will see! the world will turn upon its head! — the throne room becomes all glitter and gold, people smiling and laughing as Danny continues to entertain them

Just you hope that you can see it 'fore you're dead! — Danny turns to look at Vlad across the room, a bright, confident smile on his face

Foolish king, you sit in empty meaning on your throne — Vlad's face is twisted and full of barely concealed anger as he grips the armrests of his chair

But in my time away you've ended up alone — his face, just like Pariah's face before, glitches into a skull and the crown falls off his head, but the next moment, everything is fine again

Oh, all the power in the world could never save you now — Danny's jester makeup, just like Vlad's before, glitches into having a crown on his head and then back to normal

As the time at which your curtain's called draws nearer, get ready to take your bow — flashes of pictures are changing too fast to notice, but there are moments with Vlad's coughing up blood and looking panicked, Danny in shackles just like Vlad before, and then Vlad lying in bed, tears streaming down his face

And now I, the mere Court Jester, will his majesty depose — Danny, wearing a crown and full king regalia, is walking up to the throne

Because I am the Court Jester, not all thorns come with a rose — he sits down, a smile on his face that slowly turns into a smirk

After all, I am the jester, and this future I propose — Danny raises his arm, and there's a sword in his hands that he brings down, the picture is covered in blood splatters again

Let the fool, let me, the jester, bring the olden tales to close — in the darkness, Jazz wakes up with a gasp

Let the fool, let me, the jester, a new saga now compose — she is crouching over the grave she just got out of, her clothes dirty and her hair messed up, and then she turns to look at the white castle that can be seen in the distance

~•~•~•~

I did miss a few lines because I didn't have anything specific imagined for them. Also, just so you have the idea of the color scheme and vibe for this whole thing, here are some pictures:

[P.S. I have not, unfortunately, came up with anything for 'Inertia' by AJR, but there's a piece for 'Pomegranate Lips' by Derivakat that I'm in the process of writing <3]