#parlor entertainments

[inclineto]

The K-Pop Cat Agenda

tagged by @tautline-hitch for 10 tracks from my On Repeat, but one thing to be clear about before we start: Spotify is for k-pop.

People / Agust D [2023's SOTY, holding in 1st place on this playlist since January and making a strong bid for a repeat victory]

Holssi / IU [somebody had to be at baby's first k-pop concert, and making it IU and our 20,000 closest Korean-speaking friends was a great choice]

Hype Boy / NewJeans [if we're picking things from the NewJeans catalogue, I'm honestly surprised this is higher on the list than Super Shy, and also that it beats out both Le Sserafim and (G)I-DLE]

What You Waiting For / Jeon Somi [somehow I'm in my Jeon Somi era right now, and I'm not quite sure how it happened?]

1-800-hot-n-fun / Le Sserafim [I am a mess mess mess, but they are not. <3]

Wife / (G)I-DLE [my mother, getting the point instantly even without pop music experience or mv subtitles: is this allowed???]

Accendio / Ive [bring it on, you witchy body double bad girls]

Sugar Rush / Bibi - [I love everything about this, the filthiest song of 2024, including that it shares album space with Bam Yang Gang, 2024's sweetest breakup song]

Smeraldo Garden Marching Band / Jimin, feat. Loco [Face was a riskier, more interesting album than Muse is, but it's growing on me. You know, though, something that occured to me about my bias: he never puts moppets in his mvs, and that's a great call.]

Lucifer / SHINee [sometimes there's a guy who likes to preach loudly about the wages of sin on our street, and when he does I crank the volume and play this out the window. I don't think he cares for it. Petty? Sure, but if it's good enough for the Seoul pride parade, it's good enough for me. I usually follow it up with Guilty, just to get a really good dose of Catholic guilt in there: thanks, Taemin.]

...plus one, because Supernova finally won me over on Aespa's ultra-aggressive, jerky transitions (still can't with Next Level, though)

Tagging @sea-changed and anyone else who hasn't gotten this umpteen times already (or who has and feels like doing it anyway).

[robustcornhusk]

a new bookstore (well, used) opened near me with a name such that i cannot tell if it's an honest-to-god anti-trans bookstore or if they just kinda picked something that sounded cool without thinking too hard about it

[dangofox]

[docholligay]

The Mushi going, 'Oh bitch you thought" over here as they take her away from her ungrateful husband.

Obviously, I thought this was going to be about teaching her a lesson, but it appears I was dead wrong there, as we're definitely teaching HIM a lesson here.

Also, it was hilarious, when I first heard him say her name out of the corner of my ear, I thought he said "Michiru" and boy wouldn't have that led to a whole nother set of circumstances for this liveblog.

PLease please do not spoil anything for me in your excitement. I don’t want to know anything! I don’t even want to know if something is a  cultural difference, or if you can’t wait for me to get to a part. If I  wonder about something, please don’t say stuff like “Just wait til…” You know what is great for all that? The discord! Which apparently has its own mushishi channel now, which must mean y’all are excited for it!  

[virfujiwara]

Tafí del Valle is beautiful but I think Cafayate can beat it to a pulp

[chuluoyi]

✎ baby to the rescue

- gojo satoru x reader

in which gojo recruits your baby son to “save” you from a credit card salesman

genre: immense fluff !! baby gojo and dad!gojo shenanigans~

note: based on this and this reel. with this i hereby declare that anything past chapter 235 is null and void HAHA anyway, i truly want to post remarried empress au by this week but since 261 leaks hurt me so much, i need more fluff so have to postpone it to next week :') tagging @karikari19hikariiii <3

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

Your husband Gojo Satoru... is handsome as hell, which means your baby son is also undeniably good-looking.

"Why do you pout at me?" Satoru poked his squirming baby's cheek while pursing his lips too. "C'mon, smile! That auntie is smiling at you!"

Everyone who passed by them in Shinjuku shopping district turned heads to admire him and his pumpkin just a little longer, and Satoru visibly enjoyed the attention. He smiled back at them, occasionally winking even.

If only they knew how pretty his wife was too...

Wait, no! On second thought, if they know how hot you are, there will be problems!

You had left him to go to the nearest pharmacy to restock some things, while Satoru decided to entertain his baby in the toy section. He basked in the starry-eyed looks people were giving him... until he heard some strange sounds and turned to his baby boy—

—who was chewing the beak of a duck toy with all his might. Satoru was mortified.

"—! Let that go! Your mama will beat me if she sees you eating this!"

Your baby paid him no mind though, desperately pushing the duck into his mouth. Satoru sat him on one of the empty racks and began the tug of war—

"Let go!" he reprimanded. "You're so naughty, gods—!"

Some people were now openly giggling at both of them. His son tried to resist by rolling, and Satoru clicked his tongue. He then yanked the toy away until his baby finally let it go, sniffling sadly that his papa wouldn't let him have the duck.

"Oh, you..." he picked him up again and consoled the pumpkin. "You can't do that, you hear? First, it's not clean. Second, mama will grow two heads to chew you and me both, understand?"

No, your son totally didn't understand a thing. Satoru sighed, seeing his little blue eyes welling up with tears. He ruffled his head and pulled him close. "There, there... I'll get you ice cream, okay? Now let's go."

Satoru was determined to turn his son back into a smiling, happy baby. But just as he was about to head towards the ice cream parlor, he encountered the most unbelievable sight—

"Miss! I guarantee you'll love this credit card features!"

You. That was clearly you, and a salesman (or a bozo, in Satoru's eyes) was trying to bother you.

You raised an eyebrow. "Uh, no— thank you—"

Yet the bozo was still persistent, like the pesky fly he was. "You can use it to pay for your monthly beauty treatments! Someone as pretty as you..." He eyed you from head to toe, blinking suggestively. "Oh my! Your skin is flawless! You have to maintain it this way! I can also give you recommendations for—"

You were wearing a flare dress that made you look so young and petite, and obviously, Satoru too was lusting after you. And true, your skin was smooth like a soft serve of mochi, but still!

You are meant for him and his eyes only! Oho, this bozo would get heavenly punishment.

He had to get to you somehow, but this was public space and if he cooked up some sort of shenanigan, you would put him in sex ban. I can't have that! so Satoru wracked his brain to think of another way...

Once again, his gaze fell on his now calm baby, who was also looking at his mama over there with utter curiosity. And an idea immediately popped up in his mind.

"Hey, kiddo, look at that, a bad man is trying to take your mama," Satoru nudged him as if trying to egg him on. "We can't let that happen. Will you help me to save her, hmm?"

"Mama..." your baby looked back at him so innocently before smiling. "Mamaaa!"

"Good boy." Gods, his baby was so adorable, he almost felt bad for doing this but...

Swallowing his guilt, thinking he would make it up later, he pinched his son's butt a little too firmly—

"WAAAA!" and suddenly, the little boy burst into tears, and even Satoru was surprised by the sheer volume of his wail.

The sudden inconsolable sound of your baby sent you scrambling in panic, your eyes wildly searching for him, completely disregarding the credit card man. "My baby!"

"Eh?" the credit card man was visibly surprised. "Oh... so, you're married...?"

You immediately made your way towards Satoru and snatched your baby from him, hugging him tightly. "Oh, there, there... What happened to you?" you shot your husband a distaste look as your son kept wailing. "Satoru, why is he crying?"

He nonchalantly shrugged. "Maybe missing his mama? Dunno~"

By now, you had completely forgotten the credit card bozo, but he still looked at the three of you in mild surprise. Satoru took this chance to approach him and whisper in his ear:

"You see, my wife doesn't need your credit card," he whistled. "My cards or lumpsum money will do more than enough."

After seeing how pale the bozo looked, Satoru chuckled darkly... before leading you and your son away from the crowd, with one arm possessively around your waist.

Epilogue

"I'm sorry— I'm sorry, okay!?"

Satoru looked down at his son in utter hopelessness, as the little boy refused to be held by him, looking at him with teary, resentful eyes, and backing away from him in his playpen.

Can babies hold a grudge? Satoru didn't know, but his son definitely was not happy with him, and he couldn't think of any other explanation other than his sin against him back this afternoon.

"I've bought you mochi ice cream!" he opened his palm to reveal the treat. "Don't you want some? Papa will give you some, yeah?"

Baby looked skeptical now, and at that moment, he resembled you so much—accusing eyes, pursed lips, exactly like the expression you would pull when you were unsure of what Satoru might do next. He almost chuckled at the resemblance, feeling giddy.

"C'mon, forgive me, yeah?" he patted his son's little beanie and offered his hand for him to take, eyes crinkling in fondness. "Now, here comes your treat, come closer?"

Your baby crawled closer, seemingly accepting him, and Satoru was all smiles, until—

Whack!

It happened in a flash. He could have avoided it, but he was too taken aback. The pain exploded in his jaw, so intense that he grunted loudly.

"What the—?! You... you—! You kicked me— in the face!"

[alteredphoenix]

Had a little comment thread on FB earlier today with a friend who said one of my older drawings can be made into tattoos, and that gave me the idea of repurposing the drawings - or, at least, parts of them - into sketches I can sell for a pop that can be taken to the parlor to be done.

Don't know when that'll be, but it's something I want to keep in mind for the future. I'll update this later on when I have things sorted out.

[swordsandholly]

Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor au

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | masterlist

Part 8: Nobody’s Son, Nobody’s Daughter

You hate how weak you are, sometimes.

That a text can ruin your whole day.

>> Hey. I hope you’re doing well. I miss hearing from you.

You’re fuming. Absolutely fuming. In under fifteen seconds you’re on your feet, face hot and heart pounding as you stomp across the old wooden floor.

“I’ll be right back.” You grunt to Johnny and Kyle, ignoring their wide, confused eyes and fast walking past them and out the back door.

The sun is up for longer now, only just beginning to set. It’s hot and hard to breathe, which only makes you more pissed off. Your skin prickles and blood rushes in your ears. You hate the way your hands shake. Your boot connects with the dumpster hard. It hurts, but you’re too pissed to really care. You just need it out of your system - the metal sending a ringing, gong-like sound bouncing around the back alley as you repeatedly slam your foot into it.

How dare he?

Miss hearing from you? YOU?

He ignores you for your whole childhood and teenage years - didn’t even try - and he misses hearing from you!? Couldn’t ever remember your age or grade when you did see him and he hopes your doing well!? Blew you off for his other kids for years and he fucking misses you!

How the hell did he even get your new number? Your mom, probably. The traitor. Fuck.

“Think that bin’s ‘ad enough, bird.” Simons voice startles you. He glances down at the dent you somehow managed to make. Your foot throbs when you put it back on the ground, shifting your weight onto the other one. One of your toes is bleeding, you think. You hand feel it soaking into your sock.

You look away, face hot from embarrassment now. “Didn’t know anyone was out here…”

Simon takes you in for a moment. Usually you don’t mind it - his intense silences - but right now it feels like being dissected. Like he’s pulling your skin back to reveal that squirming, tar-like creature aways simmering just a layer beneath. The pathetic little worm you try so hard to cover with a functional facade.

“Smoke?” He tilts the pack toward you. You wrinkle your nose - it’s a shit brand - but at the moment you wouldn’t care if it was made of actual shit as long as it had nicotine.

You pick one out and plop down on the weird curb that lines the opposite side of the alley. Simon sits beside you, raising his lighter toward you cupping his hand around the little flame to light your cigarette. It’s intimate, in a way, and if you had the emotional elasticity for it you might have blushed.

“Wanna talk about it?” He asks after a few drags.

You shrug. “Dads suck.”

Simon hums. “That they do.”

“It’s just like-“ You make an exasperated sound and run your fingers through your hair. “Like if you’re not around for fuckin’ twenty years, you don’t get to act upset when I don’t want to talk ever. Just because now I’m the one that set the boundary. It’s stupid. It’s mean.”

Simon nods along as you ramble, your voice trailing off eventually. You both sit there quietly, for a moment. This is the type of silence that you don’t mind. Enjoy, even. Just existing together. At first you thought he hated you, or just didn’t like much of anybody, but you’ve come to theorize that he’s the same as you. That he gets stuck in his head, too. It’s nice, having someone to sit with without the need to entertain them. To preform.

Your lip quivers even as you attempt to stop it by sinking your teeth in. A killing blow. It doesn’t work. You bury your face in your hands. “I don’t know why I’m crying…”

“Because you’re hurt.” Simon bluntly replies. It’s soft, though. As soft as a voice like his can be.

“He doesn’t deserve it.” You sob, messily wiping at your eyes. Your eyeshadow is probably smudged to hell now but you can’t bring yourself to care. Hopefully the others don’t ask about it.

An arm wraps around you, tucking you close. The surprise of it almost knocks you out of your crying fit entirely. Simon isn’t touchy. With anyone. He doesn’t look at you, just keeps his eyes forward while he takes a long drag, but that arm remains around your shaking shoulders with you pressed to his side.

It’s quiet, as it usually is when you close up with just Simon. The others took off for the night. Johnny said something about a date before dragging Kyle off arm in arm. They must have set up some kind of double date for the evening. John’s last appointment had to reschedule so he knocked off early as well. It’s nice, really, to be alone in the shop with Simon. He lowers the music, helps you with sweeping and the trash. Tells you the newest joke from wherever the hell he gets them. Popsicles, you think, based on his sweet tooth and the quality of pun.

“C’mon. We’re takin’ a field trip.” Simon tilts his head toward the street past the turn to your apartment. He still insists on walking you home, even if the sky is still relatively bright.

You look up, frowning. “Where?”

“You’ll see.”

You follow him down the quiet street. It’s warm and muggy as you go. You keep glancing up at Simon, waiting for some sort of tell. Some hint at where he’s leading you. In the back of your mind, you become innately aware that Simon is probably the only man you’d follow this blindly.

You nearly knock into him when Simon comes to a sudden stop. “Here.”

You look up, squinting at the tacky sign in what you can only describe as “intense manly man” font. Bold, blocky letters in bright orange with faux cracks scattered through the letters.

TANTRUM TANK

A mixture of stunned and curious leaves you quietly following Simon in. You press the spot between your brows to dissipate the confused frown. The lobby is pretty basic with a few decorations that mimic the style of the sign. Cracked facades and black walls. The room is lined with plastic chairs and a couple safety posters reminding patrons not to hit each other with the bats. A large television screen flashes between images of people in hazmat suits smashing various garbage and debris, pausing on a menu of times and prices.

“Simon!” A man appears behind the counter, face bright. “Here for your usual hour?”

Simon steps up to the counter, nodding in your direction. “Actually, I’ve got a plus one.”

The man’s brows raise and he looks you over, giving you ashort, polite greeting. You nod and smile back, pretending like you know why you’re here at all. You just watch as Simon briefly chats with the clerk who obviously knows him well. He’s a regular here, then. He doesn’t give anything away, just makes some brief, perfunctory small talk before taking a key and waving you after him. Why’d he bring you here, of all people?

Your heart skips at the thought of Simon wanting to do something with you, though. He brought you here because he wants to hang out - in his own way. He must do this with the other boys, too. Maybe one of them bailed on him or something. Part of you wonders if he didn’t want to come alone, but that doesn’t sound like him. Plus, you can’t say that its’ at all out of character for him to decide something and just do it with no other communication. You also can’t say you mind much. Not with him.

“You come here with the others a lot?” You ask as you follow him back to the room.

“No.”

You frown. Oh.

The two of you lapse into silence as you put your things away into designated lockers. There’s a sort of interim room before the actual rage room with storage and a few stacks of protective gear in various sizes. Simon’s quick about it. Practiced. He slips on the protective plastic suit quickly while you grunt and struggle with unfolding it. Your hair crinkles with static as you finally get the mass of plastic unfurled and step into it. Of course the one that fits you around is too damn long. At least the gloves fit.

“Simon?” You murmur, finally finding your voice - as weak as it comes out. “Why’d you bring me here?”

He looks you over for a moment with that same steady gaze as before. You’ve never felt seen like you do with Simon. Even with the others… they don’t see to the core of you like he does. Maybe that’s just wishful thinking. Some pathetic little part of you left over from your misunderstood teenage years.

“I ’ad a pretty shite father.” Simon says as he zips up his suit. “Taught me a lot of anger. I didn’t- I don’t want to be like ‘im. Don’t want people t’be scared…”

You stare, wide eyed, frozen in place. As if any movement would disrupt this new found honesty - would frighten the man away from confiding in you. It’s sudden and far more than you’ve gotten out of him in the months you’ve known each other. It’s too special to risk.

“Sometimes you’ve got t’get it out of your system. Better than breaking your foot on a skip.” He snorts, stepping forward and carefully pushing a pair of safety glasses over your eyes. One hand runs over your hair just for the briefest moment; another lightly pats your cheek before he turns on his heel, grabbing one of the bats hanging on the wall and making for the door.

You stare after him, shell shocked by both the admission and uncharacteristic physical touch. You involuntarily reach up to trace your fingertips over the cheek he touched.

Don’t want people to be scared…

A part of you breaks in the back of your mind. The obvious, unsaid ‘of me’ sits heavily on your tongue. Some distant image of what he might have looked like as a child. Small and blonde with those big dark eyes… You gulp down a tight breath and follow after him, just a little too close to crying at the implication.

Simon gestures toward a crooked, half broken office desk. “Ladies first.”

And oh, if that first swing wasn’t the best release you’ve had in a long, long time.

A/N: Sorry for being inactive the past couple weeks, I could literally write a novel with how much as happened irl🙃

Anyhoo next part y’all are getting lots of Price because that homecoming skin has got me fucked up

[alastor-x-reader-stories]

"Bite Me" - Alastor x Reader

next

You were a strange addition to the hotel.

A quiet sinner demon with no merit to speak of who just waltzed in without much fuss or fanfare. No blowing up walls, no trying to kill anyone, no entertainment what so ever.

You were so boring, Alastor didn't even want to mess with you.

...

At first.

Then, quiet and unassuming, you slowly established yourself as both over-forgiving and sharply blunt.

It was amusing watching the whiplash on a demon's face when you flip between them so much in a single day.

Once, Angel Dust was high as a kite and practically lobbed a brick at your head. Your response was "No harm done, don't worry about it." later that same day, the spider-fellow draped an arm around Vaggie's shoulder and slung some sort of ridiculous insult. You moved his arm off of her and said "You need to learn to watch what you say or I'm ripping this arm off and shoving it down your throat."

Usually that last threat would lead to some other comment, but the flat way you said it and moved on to a different subject left the spider fellow standing there without much else to say.

How amusing!

Even he was no exemption from your two-faced nature, it seemed. One moment apologizing for accidentally blocking his path, the next informing him that you'd use his antlers as forks if he didn't leave you alone. Silly little threats that were oh-so pathetic when said by such a...underwhelming, individual.

Alastor's favorite of yours was 'I'm going to eat your kidneys'. Then how rude you were to decline the cooking lesson he offered!

Typically your quips and comments were about trivial things, little things that Alastor would purposely do in order to get a reaction.

THIS TIME, THOUGH

He had a particularly annoying run in with Vox one day, trudging back to the hotel with his patience already at its limit. Husk knew better than to comment on it, shying away from him as he prowled through the lobby. Angel Dust was at the bar counter, eyeing Alastor as he strode on through.

"Ya look like shit." He commented passively.

"Thank you ever so much for the keen observation." Alastor said with a smile. Husker flinched, ears dropping. It was only then he noticed you there as well, a forgotten drink in your hand as you gaze lingered on Husk, a frown setting to your lips.

The rest of that particular exchange wasn't of any significance. It wasn't until later when you sought him out in the Hotel's parlor things escalated.

"You need to calm down."

His grin hitched up and he leered down at you. You were more than a foot shorter than him and your big eyes did little to make you look more intimidating.

"I beg your pardon, dear?"

"I said you need to calm down." Your tail swished in agitation. "I get you had a bad day but that's no reason to take it out on other people."

Alastor chuckled "Oh goodness. My apologies, my dear. But you have absolutely no ground to tell me to do anything."

He back you up against the wall, hands planted on either side of you. His antler stretched out and his eyes took on the appearance of dials as he leaned down. Sharp teeth grazed your face, hot breath stung your eyes. Claws carved their way into the wall on either side of you.

"So, my dear, what was it you said? I'm afraid I didn't quite catch it."

"I said you need to calm down."

Alastor's eye twitched, his grin twisting into something so much more unhinged. No hesitation. Were you stupid?

A look at you said yes, but you knew damn well the danger you were in. You were trembling, pupils shaking breath shallow. But you still had the nerve to speak to him that way?

"All right, what if I don't?" He purred, tracing a claw over the side of your face "Go on ahead and let me hear whatever pathetic threat you have."

"I'll bite you." spoken in that flat tone of yours.

Alastor laughed "As amusing as always-"

Pain burst from his shoulder, sharp and sticky as fangs burst through flesh. Perhaps it was shock that had him stumble back, perhaps it was amusement that allowed you to get away from him. You opened your jaw, withdrawing your teeth from his shoulder as skin and cloth clung to the spaces between your bloodied fangs.

You gave him a pointed glare as your wiped some excess blood off of your face and prowled off without so much as giving him a second glance.

He had every right to hunt you down and rip apart your soul right then and there.

Instead he found himself losing his balance, falling onto his rear on the floor. Fingers curled over the fresh and large bite mark on his shoulder. The damn thing nearly covered the entirety of between his collar bone and his arm socket.

He pulled his hand away to stare absently at his own blood.

You must be venomous. That was the only way to explain why his heart was suddenly racing and his face suddenly felt far too warm. His breathing was off, shallow and uneven.

You actually bit him.

Were your threats actually not so empty?

Did you really intend to use his antlers as forks?

He laughed to himself, letting his hand drop back to his side. This was ridiculous! If you meant even half the strange threats you threw at him....then...

Well. He was in danger.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Homesickness.

Pairing: Yandere!Silver x Reader (TWST).

Word Count: 1.6k.

Commissioned by the very lovely @felix-the-lemon-king.

TW: Unhealthy Relationships, Physical Intimidation, Arranged Marriages, and Manipulation.

“You’re going to miss the ball, beloved.”

You flinched into yourself as you heard his voice, accompanied by the sound of clipped heels against stone floors and the slight reverberation of both disruptions against barren walls. A foolish, naïve part of you had convinced the rest that a royal guard – no, a general would have too much pride to be found absent from his own betrothal celebrations, let alone be seen in a servant’s hall, but you should’ve known better. There were many in Briar Valley who let their pride distort their vision, countless who allowed their rank and titles to overshadow even their most basic sense of rationality. Silver was, tragically, not among them.

And Silver was, tragically, the only resident of the valley you were engaged to.

You didn’t rush to respond. Patiently, you counted the seconds until he was standing at the base of the stairwell you’d took refuge in – not unlike the way you used to hide in spare bedrooms and vacant parlors as a child, whenever your parents were entertaining guests who had too many questions about your pointed ears and the scales on the backs of your hands. And, tangentially, you couldn’t say the bolt of dread that would always strike your chest when you heard you parents calling you out of that day’s chosen hiding place was totally dissimilar to the fear that knotted in the back of your throat as Silver stepped into your line of sight, coming to stand in the doorway at the stairwell’s base. He was still dressed in his regalia, his clothing evenly divided between the pitch-black armor of the royal guards and the formal attire that would be expected, given the occasion. His sword was sheathed at his waist – a sight that, weeks ago, might’ve made you somewhat wary, but that you’d since grown desensitized to. No part of you found comfort in the fact that he seemed to be constantly within arm’s reach of a weapon, but it was hard to be scared of something he never seemed to draw.

It took him a moment to find you in the darkness, his eyes more limited by it than your own, but he seemed to soften as his gaze finally landed on you. “You’ll miss the ball,” he repeated, his tone concerned rather than irritated. Another small blessing – for a knight, your betrothed seemed remarkably slow to anger. “Is something wrong? I know Malleus took charge of the arrangements, but if something doesn’t suit your preferences, I can—”

“It’s beautiful,” you assured, because it was. Because it had been. Because for any little girl from the Briar Valley or any other fae land had been in your place, this all would’ve been nothing short of a dream come true, but you weren’t a little girl, and you weren’t from Briar Valley, and you found very few things beautiful about the idea of getting married at all, let alone to a man you had only recently met. “It’s only…” You curled your hands around the fabric of your own attire. “I’m afraid I’m just… not very good at parties, I guess. I’m sorry.”

You half-expected Silver to frown, to urge you back to the banquet hall he’d come from, but he only sighed, shaking his head in a sympathetic sort of way before taking to the stairs and seating himself beside you, leaving a measured gap between your body and his. “You don’t have to apologize. I know you’re not used to being here, just yet.” He paused, flashed a small smile in your direction. Even at the best of times, you struggled to read his expression – not because he was overly cold, but because he always seemed to radiate that same uncanny, only a touch above off-putting warmth. At least a portion of it had to be insincere. Fae or human, there wasn’t a person alive who could be so consistently affable. “It took me months to adjust, the first time I left the valley. Everything was so alien – if I hadn’t been travelling with my father, I wouldn’t have lasted more than a day.”

It was difficult, but you did your best to smile, to laugh. Although your pairing had seemed strange at first, it did make a twisted kind of sense – a fae born without magic, raised by the human nobility of a country with only negligible ties to Briar Valley, arranged to marry a human with magical prowess in spades, raised in service of a fae king, for the mutual benefit of their homelands. You wouldn’t have been surprised to find out it was a part of some elaborate joke, the type it was rumored your kin were so fond of. It was only unfortunate that you had to be the target of their humor.

“The dark bothers me more than anything,” you admitted, before you could think better of it. “Where I come from, it’s almost always sunny. Having to live someplace without light and with so little warmth—” And so many cruel faces, and so many gnashing teeth, “—I suppose I’m at a bit of a loss.”

“It’s not always like this.” It was the most eagerly you’d ever seen him speak. “You’ve come during a poor season for it, but the view from the castle’s highest tower on a clear day is one of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen, and the valley’s coasts get much more sun. I’ve heard they tend to hold their festivals around this time of year, too.” He seemed to pause, to consider, then went on, “After the wedding, I’d be my pleasure to take you to one.”

At that, you let yourself relax. He was aloof, sure, but he was kind, too. You could be thankful for that, if nothing else. “I was planning to return home as soon as possible, but I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to stay a little longer.”

“Of course.” If you hadn’t known better, you would’ve thought you heard him moving closer to you. “Malleus suggested we continue to stay in the castle while you settle, but… it would be nice, if we had our own home.”

Your delicate smile wavered. “Silver, I know we haven’t talked about this but—”

“Unless you’d like to stay here, I mean. But, I’d still like to show you the cabin where—”

“Silver,” you tried, again, letting out an exasperated laugh. “I meant that I’m not going to stay in the valley at all after the wedding. I understand why I’ve been asked to marry you, and it’s not that I haven’t enjoyed my time here, but—” Another laugh, a pleading glance in his direction. “I don’t belong here, as you wouldn’t belong anywhere but Briar Valley. You know that, don’t you?”

Now, it was Silver’s turn to go quiet. When you found the nerve to look toward him, you found him staring blankly ahead, his lips ever so slightly quirked downward. Huh.

So that was what he looked like, after he’d gone cold.

You didn’t see him draw his sword. His hand was on his hilt, grip tight enough to bleed the color from his knuckles, and then, your back was pressed against the harsh slant of the staircase, the flat of his blade pressed to the base of your throat and Silver above you. You didn’t scream. You didn’t move. You might’ve forgotten to breathe, too, if you hadn’t been shocked enough to let out a single, airy gasp – just loud enough to be audible.

“After the wedding,” he started, speaking slowly, carefully, as if he was afraid you might not understand. “I think you should remain in the valley, with me. I’ll build us a house – a cabin not far from the castle – and you’ll be safe and warm for as long as I can take care of you. Would you like that?”

You opened your mouth, but suddenly couldn’t remember how to move your tongue. Silver angled his wrist, the slant of his blade pressing into tender flesh. “Would you like that, beloved?”

“I---” You forced yourself to swallow, to shut your eyes. “I want to go home, Silver.”

This time, you felt something razor-sharp and frigid bite into the skin just below your jawline, drawing the thinnest possible trail of blood. “And you will.” Then, after a measured pause, “And that home will be with me.”

He wasn’t cruel enough to make you say it aloud. All it took was a quick nod, a pathetically fractured whimper, and he was drawing back, returning his sword to its sheath as he pushed himself to his feet. There was no mention of swords or cabins or the blood now dripping down your neck – only long, weighted look, the implications of which you didn’t wish to examine. “Stay here.” Almost reflexively, you moved to stand, but all it took was a tilt of his head and a flash of his blade to have you falling back into place, paralyzed. “I’ll tell Malleus that you won’t be returning. When I’m finished, we’ll return to our chambers together.”

You hadn’t formerly been sharing chambers, but pointing that out felt redundant, if not entirely useless.

You watched as he started to turn away, only to hesitate and return to you. With a deliberate kind of slowness, he lowered himself onto one knee in front of you, taking your limp hand in his. “Of all the people I could’ve been betrothed to, I’ve found myself increasingly glad that I’m betrothed to you.”

His smile was warmer than it ever had been, and yet, you’d never felt so cold.

“And, eventually, I know you’ll feel the same.”

[inclineto]

“The definitive Hanon exercises.”

[spider-stark]

GREED IS GOD

Kaz Brekker x Reader

Summary - If Kaz Brekker insists on being a jerk to you, then why does he keep threatening the boys you like?

Warnings - fem!reader, toxic, subtle power dynamic, kaz being emotionally constipated, could deviate from canon, based more on book!kaz than show, !minors dni 18+!

Word Count - 2.2k

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

“You had no fucking right, Brekker!” 

The words tear straight from your throat, rageful as you swing open the door to one of the Crow Club’s private gambling parlors. Inside, several heads snap to where you’re looming in the doorway. Some of them wear baffled looks, unsettled by the violence of your intrusion, while others look as if they’re holding in a cheeky laugh behind tight lips.

You’re not sure what they find so funny, whether it’s the prospect of Kaz Brekker getting his ass handed to him by a girl or something to your expense.

The grunts—about ten of them, in total—sit around a black poker table, the center of which is lavishly adorned with the striking silhouette of a crow, styled in sleek, bloody crimson. At its head is Dirtyhands himself, his elbows digging into the bolstered edge, leather-clad fingers pressed together in a stiff steeple. 

His eyes slide to yours, cold and detached. 

Your chest locks, lungs constricting around a breath. 

“I assume you’ve all been introduced,” Kaz rasps, a terse nod in your direction, “to the Dregs dearest asset and resident instigator.” 

There’s a snort or two, but no laughter. No one can ever tell when Kaz Brekker is making a joke, and as such, it’s best to never laugh at him. 

In the main hall behind you, the Crow Club’s usual clamor seems to grow, low-lives and thugs barking over games of Blackjack and Craps. It’s loud and obnoxious, a rival to the incessant pounding in your head, your blood turned to an erratic rush in your ears. 

It hits you this might’ve been a bad idea. 

Then—like an idiot—you choose to double-down. 

“You had no right.” The words catch in your teeth, serrated on the way out. You point at him. “You over-fucking-stepped, Brekker!” 

It’s a domino effect, the low snicker of one grunt setting off the next until they’re all laughing at you, chortling like a bunch of rowdy pigs. Your fingers curl, rage smarting—but then there’s embarrassment, too, red hot as it crawls up your neck. 

Why is it that a man's anger earns restraint, but a woman’s is entertainment? 

Before you think to find the answer in the way Jesper would—by drawing the pistol at your hip and shooting a Saintsdamned hole in the ceiling—Kaz lifts a commanding hand. 

“Shut up. All of you.” 

Kaz doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t have to. 

The grunts fall into a wary silence. Kaz’s glower drags around the table, marking each face. The men start shifting in their seats like the cushions have been set on fire, but they’re too afraid to stand up. 

“Get out.” 

Chairs screech back. Cheap boots scuff against polished floors, the grunts shuffling toward you in a disorganized heap. You suck in a breath, turning sideways to let them file out past you. They avoid your gaze—not because they’re scared of you, of course, but because Dirtyhands had already snapped their leash once tonight. 

When the last grunt skulks out, Kaz gives you an order, too. 

“Close the door.”

And damn if your feet don’t obey, so used to blind obedience that you immediately step into the parlor and do as he bids, a palm pressed flat to the door's glossy-black paint, feeling it in your bones when it clicks shut. 

The air shifts. 

A lump forms in your throat. The sensation of a noose getting tighter, tighter—the persistent, strangling fear of a child who knows they’re about to be scolded, who's still innocent enough to wonder if maybe, just maybe, they can escape it by crawling under their bed, by keeping their back turned. 

But you’re not a child. And this isn’t your fault. 

You turn around. 

“Do you know what keeps men in line?” Kaz asks, giving you no time to answer before he continues, “I’ll give you a hint. It’s not respect. Not loyalty, either. So what is it? What keeps a gang from going off the deep end, from turning order into chaos?” 

You swallow. Try to feign nonchalance. “I don’t know, Brekker. The enduring power of friendship?” 

Kaz doesn’t so much as blink. 

“Fear,” he answers simply, firmly. “Fear keeps them in line. Fear of consequence, fear of uncertainty—” he leans slightly forward, gaze unnervingly intense—“fear of me. And do you know what jeopardizes that fear?” 

Your skin feels tight. “Me?” 

An irked, tight-lipped smile. “Exactly. You.” 

Kaz relaxes back into his chair, and it strikes you how he almost looks like a fixture of the room—his dark, austere style blending seamlessly with the parlor’s imposing black-and-crimson decor. Or maybe that’s not right. Maybe it’s the other way around—the parlor, the Crow Club itself, exists merely as an extension of Kaz. It’s his blood woven into the crow’s silhouette, the blackness of his soul that paints the walls. 

A tired, gloved hand combs through his slicked hair. Pink lips part with a sigh that feels purposeful. “So. Next time you want to act all big and make a fool of yourself, give me enough time to clear the room, hm? That way, I don’t have to deal with men getting it in their heads that they can talk back to me all because you do it without losing your tongue. Understood?” 

You suck on a tooth, glancing off to one side. It takes a minute for words to find you, and when they finally do, they spill out in a frustrated heap. “Raske told me about Leon,” you tell him, more an accusation than a statement. 

Images flash in your mind, the spattered freckles and gap-toothed smile of the dealer you’d gotten sweet with. 

The dealer that, as of a few days ago, disappeared from the Crow Club without a trace. 

“What,” you press, brows lifting expectantly, “you’re not even gonna say anything? Deny it, even?” 

His expression is one of perfect neutrality. Still, the tiniest hint of satisfaction slinks into his tone. “I’m not sure why you’re so upset,” he tells you, almost patronizing. “Did Raske not tell you everything? I was quite gracious, all things considered. He even convinced me to let Leon keep his tongue.” 

A scoff pushes from your lungs, frustration bubbling into childish fury. It takes all your restraint to keep from stomping your foot at him. 

“You broke his hand, Kaz!” 

He looks offended. “I broke both of his hands,” he corrects you, the distinction incredibly important. “Leon should consider himself lucky I didn’t take a finger for all the times he’s been caught skimming. So long as the bones heal, he should relearn his shuffle just fine.” 

But you’re no fool. The bones won’t heal. Not properly. 

Leon will never deal again. You’ll never see him. And Kaz… 

Kaz wins. 

“Leon isn’t a skimmer,” you defend, a bitter growl as you stomp for the poker table. You stop opposite him, palms pressed flat to the felt-top as you hold his stare. “And even if he was,” your voice cracks, “we both know that wasn’t your reason, Brekker.” 

Kaz lifts his chin, the muscles in his shoulders tensing in a slight, barely perceptible shift. “Oh?” 

You count on your fingers. “Leon. Junip. Teller.” 

Each name tastes acidic in your mouth, cheeks burning with the memory of friends and almost-lovers, boys with nothing more than the misluck of smiling at you in a place where Dirtyhands could see. 

“Kerrigan, Donni.” Your voice climbs, “Mikael, Alyn!” 

How many have been punished? Made to pay for fallacies at the cost of shattered bone or cut-off digits? And why, why is it that anytime you seek happiness, Dirtyhands comes to tear it away? 

“Do I need to keep going?” you finally spit. “Or have I painted well enough for you to get the picture, Brekker?” 

He nods, dusting a speck of lint from his suit coat. “Oh, you’ve painted plenty well enough. This is becoming an epidemic, isn’t it? Parents giving their children such stupid names.” A harsh shadow flickers across his face. “Or was the point simply that you get around?” 

The words land like a blow—and you falter with the impact. 

Your stare drops, nails scraping against the felt-top. “This isn’t fair,” you mutter, head shaking. 

“What isn’t?” 

“This!” 

It’s an exasperated breath, an explosion that wracks through your body. You shove back from the table. Kaz sits straight, a line between his brows. 

“I do my job, Kaz!” 

“As is expected.” 

“I do more than my job!” you argue. “I do everything you ask!” 

“Good.” 

“I scale every rooftop, climb through every window, gather dirt on every fucking rat in this absolute sewer of a city!” 

His head tilts, antagonizing, “As does Inej.” 

You jab a finger to your chest. “I helped you steal a DeKappel!” you hiss, careful not to speak too loud of the one-hundred-thousand kruge painting you’d nabbed from Van Eck. “A fucking DeKappel, Kaz!” 

A sigh slips from his nose. Two leather-clad fingers press to his temple, rubbing in circles as if to soothe some budding ache. “Could we speed this along?” he asks. “I’m a busy man, and dealing with Leon took precious time out of my–” 

“Why?” Your voice is wretched, desperation lashing with every syllable. “Why is it never enough? Why can’t I have one, just one thing outside of my obligations to you? One thing to make me happy, one thing to-” 

His hands brace the table, shoving to his feet so quickly the chair screeches from underneath him, clattering back onto the ground. “Because it makes you weak,” he snarls, low and threatening. “It distracts you.” 

Bullshit. You audibly call bullshit. 

Then something snaps. 

Kaz slams a fist against the table, hard and loud enough to make you jolt. He won’t look at you. “Because,” he starts, pained as if the words have to slash and claw up his throat, “it distracts me.” 

Everything. 

Your wretched feelings, your childish fury, your anger for Leon. 

It all fizzles into something static. 

“It… what?” 

“You heard me.” 

You blink. Once. Twice. 

A third time for good measure. 

“Well—I did, but… Why?” 

Kaz sucks a breath deep into his lungs. Low, to himself, he admits, “Because Inej was right.” Dark eyes look up. “I am selfish and violent. Hungry to the point I feel it in my bones. Greed is my god,” he rasps, wavering, “and you, you are my altar.” 

Oh. 

You take a step back, nearly stumbling over your own feet. “Sorry, I…” a breathy, humorless laugh. “What do you… what does that mean, exactly?” 

Fucking hyperbole. 

A gloved hand rakes through his hair. “That I want,” he starts, only to trail off. 

But then the words settle. Become their own sentence. 

“I want.” You’ve never heard Kaz this desperate. Never seen his eyes this soft, this hazy with apprehension. “It’s abhorrent and I’ve tried to stop, but I can’t. I can’t stop wanting,” a pause, a space left for the word he can’t quite form. You. You, you, you. 

There’s a moment. 

Silent consideration, internal debate. 

Kaz is a monster, one part of you argues. He doesn’t think before he speaks, shatters the bones of any boy you bat eyes at. 

Kaz is a shield, whispers the other. He’ll dismiss a room on your behalf, threaten the lives of any who might hurt you. 

There’s a moment. 

Then, all at once, there’s motion—glorius, frantic, thoughtless motion. The scuff of your boots across the floor; the shocked catch of his breath; the feel of stiff fabric bunched between your fingers, pulling him closer closer closer by his lapels, brow furrowing when his head turns to dodge your lips. 

Gloved hands settle on your waist, the electrifying feel of cool leather brushing bare skin, shirt lifting as Kaz pushes you backwards, up onto the poker table. 

“I can’t,” he struggles. But your legs tighten around his waist, core pressed to the growing bulge in his trousers, and hips seem to meet yours to the tempo of Oh, but I want to. Saints, I want to.

“I can’t,” it's a pant, a moan, his head shaking, dark eyes fluttering, “I can’t be what you deserve.” 

“Then be what I want,” you beg, “be what I need.” 

Your palms lay flat against his chest, slowly drifting up toward the smooth nape of his neck. Your fingertips barely graze the warmth of his skin before a leather-clad hand snaps from your waist, roughly taking hold of both your wrists. 

“No,” he almost chokes, desire held back by fearful restraint. “Not yet.”

His grip loosens—trusting you to obey, to let him set the pace.

And he does.

Nimble fingers are already sliding your pistol from the holster at your hip, sliding it across the table before setting to work on your trousers, fiddling with the flimsy closures before tugging them down, bearing witness to the parts of you he’d only ever seen in dreams. 

Not yet, you think, hot and desperate, cool leather grazing against sensitive skin. But eventually, inevitably. 

Perhaps greed is your god, too. 

a/n - yeah, idk guys? i guess i just can't write smut. the amount of times i walked up to my sister while writing this just to scream "I can't take Kaz Brekker's pants off" was alarming. alas, this exists now and maybe some of you will enjoy it! i'll give true smut another go at some point, probably will something shorter so i don't get distracted with other things lmao

anyways, would love to hear what you think (what works, what doesn't work, what you love, what you hate lmao) and thanks for reading! 

[dewdropdinosaur]

Kinktober Day 2: Double Penetration

Summary: Your harmless little question about your boyfriends cloning ability lands you face down, ass up in the bed of the King of Hell himself. Warnings: DP, P in V sex, P in A sex, nipples, cum...lots of cum, clone sex, etc. MDNI< 18+. I am not responsible for your media consumption. Kinktober Mention of the Day: @hazelfoureyes. THEIR KINKTOBER STUFF IS ALREADY FIRE. I mean who would expect anything less from the leader of the Horny Dear Cult TM.

It was supposed to be a harmless request, a simple inquiry you had for your boyfriend. You didn’t think it would land you face down, ass up on the king of Hell’s plush king sized bed; drooling and letting out incoherent praises at how good he was making you feel. 

It started with watching Lucifer preform a few parlor tricks to entertain the masses of the Hazbin Hotel, cloning a few apples to juggle with. While that in and of itself was an innocent act, it couldn’t keep you from wondering what else he might be able to conjure up and clone. This lead you to pulling him aside later that night and popping the question. 

“Luci, dear. May I ask you something?”

“Why of course my love! What is it?” He was simply beaming at you from across the dinning table, as if every syllable from your soft lips was a heavenly tune he couldn’t wait but to indulge in listening to. 

“About your magic act earlier—“

“Oh it was so fun wasn’t it! I am sure Charlie loved it!”

“Yes, yes. It was nice and I am super impressed but it left me wondering…can—what can you clone?”

Furrowing his brows together, Lucifer was somewhat taken aback by the inquiry. It seemed so simple to him to just clone something, the powers that come with ruling Hell seemed bland and denzinet considering how long he had been using them. Rising from his chair, Lucifer slid over to where you were sitting, propping his elbows on the corner of the table next to your spot. 

“Mhmm, I think close to everything. Ducks included. Oh I need to tell you about that time that I cloned 1000 rubber ducks for Charlie’s fourth birthday—“

“Lucifer, darling. I would love to hear that story but maybe another time? I have…another question.” Placing your hand gently on his forearm, you bring him back from reality. His eyes burning into yours with an intense curiosity, as you sheepishly smile and fiddle with a bracelet on your wrist. It was silver, adorned with a red and gold pendant; given to you on your one year anniversary as a sign of your boyfriend’s never ending love. 

“Can you…can you clone yourself?” 

And that is how you ended up as mentioned before. Face down, Lucifer himself laying under you, pounding into your weeping pussy as a clone of him matched his pace as it drove into your ass. Gripping the sheets, the pleasure was blinding; with every thrust you swore you could see Heaven itself and how God himself had blessed you with such a specimen of a boyfriend. 

“Fuck—Ducky, you’re squeezing me so tight!” Lucifer couldn’t help but shudder with every thrust into your cunt, its velvety walls wrapping around him in an inviting way that almost had him cumming on the spot every time. Slowing his pace below you, he took the time to suck on one of your hardened nipples; releasing a short cry from your puffy, lipstick ruined lips. 

“This what you wanted sweetheart? For me to take you like this….gosh you’re gonna take my cum so well. Gonna take it nice and deep inside both holes for me Ducky.”

A hot wave of pleasure coiled itself in your stomach, a taught line on the edge of breaking. It was unbearable…almost. Lucifer’s clone continued it’s relenting pace into your ass, occasionally coming to smack down or dig it’s nails into the soft supple flesh of your behind. 

“Come on sweetheart…cum for me—cum for us.”

Your body acted on command, letting out moans of sobbing pleasure as your release hit you like a freight train; squirting all over Lucifer. Not mere seconds later did he and his clone find their own high; cumming hard into your cunt and ass, the liquid gold seed seeping out of both holes. Gasping for air, you peeked your head down to see Lucifer’s eyes completely dialated and black; staring at the way your body soaked up his seed. Taking his fingers, he pushed some more back into your overstimulated hole with a smirk. 

“Think you can take us again sweetheart?”

[cece693]

Fun (Lestat de Lioncourt x M! Vamp Reader)

Summary: You found this whole thing amusing—it was Lestat who pushed for an open relationship, not you—so how was it your fault when your companion became jealous?

tags: jealousy, typical Lestat, no mention of Louis or Claudia, reader doesn't really care, he loves seeing Lestat come undone, does mention Antoinette, fluffy/happy ending

You struggled to hold in your laughter, watching as Lestat paced the parlor of your home after scaring off your latest lover. "I don't see what's the problem." You drawled, crossing your arms as you leaned against the doorframe, enjoying the spectacle that was a non-composed Lestat.

"You were the one who said we could see other people, fuck whoever we pleased, as long as we returned to one another. So, what changed?"

Lestat whipped around to face you, his eyes blazing with a mix of anger and something deeper—something almost vulnerable. “What’s changed?” he repeated, his voice low and dangerous. “What’s changed is that I didn’t expect to find someone draped all over you like a cheap coat, looking at you like you’re theirs to keep!”

You raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Isn't that how Antoinette sees you? A man who'd given her everything—even the Dark Gift?

The moment you mentioned Antoinette, you saw something flicker in his eyes, a brief flash of guilt that he quickly masked with renewed anger. “That’s different." Lestat shot back, his tone harsh, almost desperate. “I never let her think she had all of me. I never gave her what’s ours. She's just—”

“Just what, Lestat?” You interrupted, "Just a convenient distraction? Someone to keep you entertained when you’re bored with me? Or is she something more, something you don’t want to admit?”

“Don’t twist this around!” Lestat snapped. “You’re the one who brought this on! You’re the one who’s been pushing the boundaries, flaunting your little affairs in my face, acting like it doesn’t matter—”

“Maybe because it doesn’t!” You shot back, the words slipping out before you could stop them. "I asked you many times, Lestat, if this was what you wanted, and you said yes every single time. Why should I feel guilty when I'm finally enjoying myself?"

"Because I never thought you would!" Lestat roared, his voice echoing through the parlor. His eyes were wide, as if in disbelief at what he said, but there was no taking it back. “I didn’t think you’d actually let someone else get close to you—close enough to make me feel like I’m losing you.”

The parlor grew silent after Lestat’s revelation, and while you wanted to comfort your companion, a grimace tugged at your lips. He spoke of his fear of losing you, but you couldn’t help but think about his ongoing relationship with Antoinette. Despite being a distraction, Lestat had returned to her for a century. Meanwhile, none of your lovers had even lasted a week.

"You're a hypocrite, Lestat. You truly are. Just admit it, you don't want to lose control over me. I'm to stay at home, waiting at your beck and call while you're out fucking anything that catches your fancy!"

"That's not true—"

"Stop lying!" You interrupted him, patience wearing thin. This conversation wasn't supposed to go this deep, neither you nor Lestat were good at conveying emotions, but perhaps this was the time to put aside shame and bear it all. "Just tell me if you want to continue this arrangement or not. Be honest for once."

Lestat’s eyes widened, his struggle evident as he searched for the right words. “I—” He hesitated, his mind racing but his heart already knowing the answer. “I want you.” Seeing the confusion on your face, he took a deep breath and continued, his voice steady but filled with emotion.

“I want us to be together, without these complications and uncertainty. I'll end things with Antoinette, even dispose of her, if you desire, to prove my sincerity and love."

Smiling, you abandoned the doorway and walked toward your companion. While it had been amusing to see Lestat angry and out of his element, this display of vulnerability was even more compelling. Gently tracing his jaw with your fingertips, you leaned in and kissed him, your lips brushing against his in a tender, reassuring gesture.

Lestat's eyes fluttered closed, his initial surprise melting into a soft, almost relieved expression. “I hope you keep to your promises.” you whispered, your breath warm against his skin as you broke apart. Your arms were still wound around his waist, tightening when the vampire laughed with joy.

“Oh, for you, I’m willing to do anything.” 

[sonotpattismith]

while i'm here writing songs for you

pairing: musician!choso x childhood friend!reader word count: 10.6k content: childhood friends to lovers, everyone knows they're in love except them, jealousy, mentions of virginity loss, dying on the grunge choso hill, lil angst, fluff, smut, 18+ inspired by: bless the telephone by labi siffre

“Hah! Your old man’s gonna kill me.” 

Through shut eyes, a freshly eighteen-year-old Choso bit back an amused grin as best he could as to avoid disrupting his uncle’s work against his face. 

“Nah, he caught Yuji at a casino this week, so I’m the golden boy for the foreseeable future while he’s grounded.” The boy muttered with a small smirk. He did feel for his little brother, often sneaking into his room with his console to entertain him for at least a short while in the midst of his prison sentence. Still, he had to admit that his timing was impeccable— giving the older sibling the perfect cushion to fall back to when Jin sees what his son had done to celebrate his birthday. 

“Shit, yeah, I almost forgot.” Sukuna mumbled with a tickled shake of his head as he gripped at his nephew’s forehead in concentration. “Let the brat know I’ve still got his money whenever my boring ass brother lets him off house arrest.” 

“Choso!” 

The boy was eternally grateful that his uncle wasn’t as jumpy as he was, the man tightening his grip around his head in preparation for his jolt of surprise at the sudden shout. 

“Ohhh, I’d be more scared of your girl than your dad, punk.” 

You had burst through the doors of the tattoo parlor like a bat out of hell, your breath heaving slightly with the expended effort of hauling ass all the way over here from the restaurant you worked part time at. After receiving a cryptic picture from your best friend of him sat in his uncle’s tattoo chair with that deceivingly sheepish smile on his face, you could barely concentrate on taking orders correctly the remainder of your shift. Huffing out a sigh, you spotted those familiar, black combat boots hanging off the end of one of the leather seats. 

Choso didn’t bother to correct Sukuna’s labeling of you as his girl, as it was proven a wasted effort after years of telling him that wasn’t the case. It also didn’t hurt that the title made his stomach flip excitedly each time he heard it. 

“Oh my god.” You gaped once you finally reached the chair he was laid at. Half of the deep burgundy, nearly black mark that was being tattooed across his nose was already finished, and you could already picture the crash out Jin Itadori would have when he laid his eyes on his eldest son. 

Cracking one eye open, the birthday boy took in the sight of you, cheeks still red and puffing from the run you took to get to him. Underneath that first layer of shock though, he could see the barely disguised wonder in your eyes as you assessed the situation at hand. Sukuna paused his ministrations to give his nephew a break, and so that you could see the progress. 

“What the fuck! Your dad is gonna kill you.” You laughed incredulously, stepping closer to get a better look. Choso was just glad that his face was already tinged red from the irritation of the needle so you wouldn’t notice how he flushed insecurely under your gaze. 

It was his main reasoning behind the oddly placed tattoo, actually. Since he was little he could remember his face growing noticeably hot over the tiniest of compliments, looks, or touches. Maybe it was far-fetched, but he hoped the imposing mark across his nose and cheeks would draw the attention away from that little quirk of his. It also didn’t hurt that the stencil looked cool as fuck. 

“Not if you’re with me, he won’t.” Choso suggested with a sly, hopeful smile on his face, and you quickly shook your head at him. His face fell into that pout he had mastered to use specifically on you. “C’mon, he’ll take it easy on me if you’re there, please!”

“It was bad enough having to be your human shield when you got your nose pierced, Cho— no way.” 

“I’ll let you check my back for blackheads.” 

It fell silent for a moment as you contemplated his offer.

“You two are fuckin’ freaks.” Sukuna scoffed in disgust beside you before dragging his nephew’s chin back to face forward to continue working. You winced watching the needle begin to pierce at his already irritated skin, and you found yourself instinctively slipping your hand into his to squeeze it. 

“Does it hurt?” You grimaced, leaning a bit closer to watch. 

Choso almost said no, because, truthfully, he had gotten used to the pain about half an hour ago, but he took note of the way you clutched at his hand to comfort him. His lips twitched nervously at the feeling as he closed his eyes once again. 

“Uh— yeah, kind of.” He mumbled, taking the opportunity to lace his fingers through yours under the guise of having something to squeeze onto when he was in pain. His uncle watched the interaction with a deadpan expression, knowing full well that the kid hadn’t so much as flinched once since he’d sat down. Shaking his head with a quiet tut, he barely tried to conceal his amused smirk. 

“What about you, birthday girl, huh? You getting some celebratory ink too?” Sukuna questioned, wiping at the side of Choso’s nose that he’d just filled in. You cringed as you watched the tiniest amount of blood trickle at the bridge of his nose. 

“Don’t know, I think Cho took all the balls in this friendship.” You admitted with a defeated smile.

“Don’t be such a wimp.” Your best friend teased with a careful smile as he stretched his lower half against the stiff chair. The black sweater he was wearing rode up a bit, practically commanding the attention of your wandering eyes. There was a barely noticeable trail of dark hair leading down into the band of his joggers, and your lips parted as you tried to recall when the fuck that had happened.

The last couple of months in your friendship with Choso had been… getting a little difficult. You two had been practically joined at the hip since you were six years old and yelled at a group of first graders for not singing happy birthday to him as well after having overheard his dad wishing him a happy birthday that morning during drop off. For a while, the two of you would tell people at school that you were twins even though it was so clearly not the case, but six-year-old you and Cho were sure that you had everyone convinced. 

He had always been a bit of an introvert, so you had been the greatest birthday gift he could have ever hoped for. So, the awkward boy stuck to your side from that day on. Wherever one was, the other was never too far behind, and this would now be the twelfth birthday you two would be spending together. 

Choso had certainly been… changing though from that lanky little boy who would sniffle and cry each time you two parted for the day (as if you didn’t attend the same school). He had grown taller, his voice had dropped a few octaves, and these days you were finding yourself worrying about the timeline of your best friend’s happy trail. For a while you blamed it on the raging hormones that came along with puberty, but you were eighteen now and weren’t sure how much longer that excuse would hold up in your denial-filled brain. 

This was just one more way he was changing, you convinced yourself as you anxiously waited for him to unlock the front door of his house, his nose and cheeks still glistening with the antibiotic ointment Sukuna had slathered onto his fresh tattoo. He would have never had the courage to do something so bold even just a couple years ago. You had to admit though, the odd choice of tattoo did suit him, emphasizing those tired, chocolate eyes of his so nicely. 

It was silent in the Itadori house as you two crept in, scanning the area apprehensively with each step you took. You clutched at the back of his shirt, tugging him to lean down as you whispered into his black-studded ear. 

“I don’t think anyone’s—”

“Happy birthday you—” Poor, sweet Jin Itadori’s shout of celebration got stuck right in the back of his throat as his eyes fell upon his eldest son, a lit up birthday cake still clutched in his hands. He blinked a few times as though there was possibly just something in his eyes, but the wide-eyed expression of anxiety on the boy’s face gave him away. “What in god’s name did you do to your face? Was this your uncle? Did he tell you this was a good idea because I—”

“It was my idea.” Choso corrected, not-so-subtly attempting to nudge you forward as if you would soften the blow of his father’s wrath, who’s honey eyes fell frantically upon you. 

“Did you know about this? Please tell me you two are punking me or something.”

“She didn’t know.” He quickly defended despite the fact that it would have been a lot easier to share the blame. Rubbing at the back of his neck, he attempted a light-hearted smile. “C’mon, don’t I look—”

“You look like you’re about to be stuck working in that tattoo shop with your uncle the rest of your life because no one is going to hire you with that thing!” The man had begun pacing the length of the kitchen with the cake still in tow, shaking his head in disbelief before stopping to gape at his son in horror once again. “You couldn’t have at least waited until after prom? Graduation? All your photos— ruined! Oh god, I think I’m going to pass out—”

“Calm down, it’s not that big a deal— not like I did anything illegal, y’know like sneaking into a casino while underaged.” Choso attempted to distract him with a sheepish smile, stepping forward to take the cake out of his hands lest he really pass out. With his now free hands, Jin was tearing at the roots of his hair as he continued his frantic pacing, mumbling about not reminding him of Yuji’s recent run in with the law. “Besides, I’m not going to prom anyway.”

Now it was your turn to gape at the freshly-tattooed birthday boy. 

“You’re not?” You questioned, desperately trying not to sound as dejected as you felt. Though you two had never talked about it, you had just assumed that you’d be going to prom together given all the other important milestone events that you had completed hand in hand. Hell, you had even been putting off an offer from a fellow classmate of yours with the impression that Choso would be asking you to be his date— platonically, of course.

“You’re not?” Jin echoed in horror, finally looking up from where his face had been shoved into his hands. The man didn’t miss the disheartened expression that flashed across your face despite your best efforts to conceal it. “Why not? You’re only a high-schooler once, Choso, don’t be silly.”

Perhaps his nervous convincing was a bit overkill, but damn it how he was tired of watching his clearly love-sick son grow older and older without growing any wits about him on what was going on right under his nose. After hosting years worth of playdates for you two as mere children, to encouraging his son to be a little gentler with you as you began going through those awkward years that plagued every pre-teen girl, all the way to having to watch with barely concealed frustration at the way you two fell into one another’s ebb and flow so gracefully without any semblance of self-awareness— Jin was sure that he was more excited than the actual seniors for prom to come around, eager to force you two into the most obvious of couple’s poses for photos before sending you off for the night. 

“Why would I go to prom? You know I hate that kind of stuff.” He explained obviously before turning to see the settling shock lingering on your face. It made him blink a few times, brows furrowing in confusion. “I-I mean, are you going?”

“Um…” You stammered over your words, trying to suppress the flush of embarrassment that you felt creeping up your neck for having assumed that Choso would ask you to prom. He felt his heart in his throat, breath hitching in slight anticipation, because he was sure he wouldn’t have too terrible of a time if it was you he was going with, but the last thing he wanted to do was make things weird by asking you to be his date. “Y-Yeah, I was planning to go. Geto had asked me a few days ago, so—”

“You’re going with Geto?” It felt like his heart had fallen straight through his ass, and it took every inch of restraint in him to not begin banging his head against the dry-wall in a bitter rage, because why did he not think to ask you first? “I didn’t know you two talked like that.”

Jin wasn’t sure how much more of this he could stand to watch before he wrung his son’s neck out. He cleared his throat in an attempt to subtly get Choso’s attention and hopefully send some sort of telepathic communication to him, but he was far too focused on this Geto character that you had mentioned to get his head out of his own ass. 

“We don’t really, but… he asked me, and I wanted to go.”

My god, does she have to spell it out for him? Did I fail somewhere along the way as a father that my son turned out such an oblivious hard head? Just ask her— ask her!

“Oh. Well… that’s good, I guess.” 

Jin hoped to god that as Choso blew out half the candles on you two’s shared birthday cake that he was wishing for some common sense. 

You two did the best you could to shake off the sudden awkwardness following the conversation about prom. At the very least, you two still had to give each other your gifts, so you figured that would cushion the tension. You followed him up the familiar path to his room where you had had Yuji drop off his gift for you so it’d be here when you two got back, biting down an excited smile. 

“No way.” Choso gaped just seconds after opening the door. Stepping in to get a closer look, he quickly turned on his heels to stare incredulously at you. “No way— this is too much. I-I can’t take this.”

There leaned upon the side of his bed was a sleek black electric guitar— one he’d been keening over since the acoustic guitar his dad had gotten him damn near nine years ago now had mysteriously snapped at the neck. Okay, maybe it wasn’t so mysterious because you did tell Choso that climbing up onto his shoulders to get the spider that had been terrorizing his ceiling wasn’t a good idea, because sure enough as soon as the wretched thing moved an inch, you jolted back, sending both of you tumbling to the ground with only his poor guitar to break the fall. 

“After all the fake flirting I had to do to rack up enough tip money for it? You sure as hell can take it.” 

“Please, I can’t—”

“You can, and you will.” 

His face was burning with the guilt of how much you had spent on him, but the glimmering shine of the fresh guitar in his peripheral was helping to soften the blow a bit. The boy’s fingers were practically twitching with the anticipation of getting his hands on the thing, but he stopped himself. With a shy smile shot your way, he crouched down to pull out a box that had since been hiding under his bed. You smiled eagerly before sinking down to sit criss-crossed straight across from him, your present filling the small gap left between you. 

He laughed affectionately as he watched you struggle to pry the box open, deciding to put you out of your misery after a minute or so and tearing the cardboard apart for you. The first thing that caught your eye was a vinyl record— your favorite album that you had introduced Choso to a few years back. It held a tender spot in both of your hearts for that very reason, and its lead single had consequently been the first song he learned to play on his guitar all those years ago. 

Even all these years later he could still feel the sting in his fingers that had yet to callous protectively against the instrument’s strings as he stayed up until the sun rose that next morning trying to perfect each chord so that he could play it for you when you came over. It was choppy at best, what with all the scrapes on his irritated fingers and the lack of sleep, but the dewey eyed look on your face made him feel like he was Jimi fucking Hendrix, only fueling his motivation to get better— to impress you. So, despite how his fingers began to bleed, he played it for you over and over again until you were satisfied.

The sight of the nostalgic album nearly made you tear up pathetially, but you pulled yourself together to beam up at him with all the light of a thousand suns. He flushed under your gaze, quickly looking down to push the box toward you again with a jut of his chin. 

“There’s still something in there.”

Tearing your eyes from him, you pushed back the flaps of the box to get a better look, finding a far too expensive looking record player sitting at the bottom of the large box that he’d definitely been begging neighbors to let him clean their car or mow their lawn in order to afford. Gasping softly, an incredulous laugh bubbled up your chest as you shifted onto your knees. 

“Cho, this is so cool!” You guffawed, fingers struggling to wrangle the turntable out of the damned box to no avail. Unable to fight back his smile, he moved to brush your hands away and grab it for you, setting it down atop his black comforter. Running your fingers down the glossy box, you looked up at him with raised brows. “You’re gonna come back to my house to help me set it up, right?”

“You putting me to work on my birthday?” He quipped with a smirk as he fell back against the bed, hoisting up his new guitar to rest on his stomach. 

“I’ll give you the day.” You caved in mock resignation as you laid beside him, head shifted to observe the way he fiddled with the tuners. “New face tattoo, new guitar— your rockstar look is really coming together.”

“Yeah?”

“For sure— just missing some guyliner.”

His nimble fingers paused against the strings, lips pursing as he peered over at you. It was dead silent as a slow smile spread across your face— because you could practically hear the wheels turning in his head. It was only a mere five minutes later that you found yourself digging your fingers into his jaw to stop him from flinching away each time the eyeliner pencil drew a little too close to his iris. 

“Sit still, dude.” You grumbled, stepping closer between his spread legs as he sat impatiently in his desk chair. 

Huffing out a sigh, he tried not to squirm at your burning proximity. Your tongue was creeping out the corner of your mouth in concentration, and the hand that had since been on his jaw moved to brush the hair away from his forehead. He could feel the warm puffs of your breath fanning against his face, driving his legs to squirm against the floor, which seemed to be the final straw for your patience. 

Choso thought his heart would leap out of his chest when you planted yourself firmly on his lap, your legs hanging over the side of his chair. His arms quickly fell to his sides as though weighed down by bricks, dangling limply as his fingers flexed  apprehensively. Gulping anxiously, he tried not to focus on the way the fat of your thighs squished against him. 

“Close your eyes, Cho.” You murmured quietly as you began working on his lids. He did so swiftly, eager to not have to worry about where to place his gaze.

“So, um…” The boy cleared his throat, trying desperately to get his mind anywhere else before he created a problem that would be embarrassing for the both of you. “You’re really going to prom with Geto?”

“Mhm.” You hummed simply, chewing on your bottom lip as you smudged the freshly placed liner with the edge of your thumb. Perhaps you should have said more, but you weren’t sure that you trusted your voice if you were to speak right now. 

“Do you… I mean are you—” 

“Look up for me.” 

Cursing himself mentally to just get it the fuck together, he tried again as he did as he was told, warm eyes glancing up at the ceiling. 

“I just didn’t know you liked him is all.” He finally got out as his pulse pounded against the fingers you had pressed against his jaw and neck once again. “You’ve always told me about stuff like that.”

With a tickled smile, you leaned back in his lap to narrow your eyes knowingly at him. Upon noting your silence paired with the way you had stopped your work against his eyes, he finally looked back down, and you had to bite back the delighted gasp from seeing the way the smudged, dark liner paired so beautifully with the rest of him, making his already mysteriously dark eyes that much more sultry. 

“You’re jealous, Choso!” 

“What? N-No, I was just—”

“You are so jealous that I didn’t tell you about Geto.”

“I’m not jealous!”

“You are!”

“Am not!”

He was so jealous, Choso determined as he stared up at his ceiling the dreaded night of prom. His fingers idly strummed at the new guitar that laid across his stomach, trying to get his mind off of the fact that you hadn’t even bothered to send him a picture of your dress. It had always been him that was the first to see your new haircuts, fresh manicures, and imaginative outfits, and it was eating him alive that for the first time in twelve years, another guy was going to get to witness that little spin of display you did each time you wore something you felt particularly pretty in. 

It didn’t help that he’d already gotten an earful from his dad when he got home from school that day about the fact that he still hadn’t righted his wrong and asked you instead. Jin must have gone on for at least an hour about what a shame it was that of all the experiences you two had shared, one as important to you as this one would be hand in hand with someone else. For the first time since the start of your long-winded friendship, he was sharing you with someone, and Choso was quickly realizing that he was selfish— and unashamedly so. 

The event had already been going on for about two hours now, and he was coming to terms with the fact that he wouldn’t hear from you tonight. The familiar notes of that favorite song of yours that he had learned all those years ago filled his ears as he began absentmindedly plucking at the strings under his fingertips. Ever so slowly, the melody began shifting into one he’d never heard before, taking its own shape as it filled his melancholy room with feelings of you, and how much he’d taken it for granted all those times he had you laying beside him as he toyed with the notes, telling him what sounded nice and what he needed to work on.

The notes suddenly screeched awkwardly as his phone began buzzing in his back pocket, yanking him from his pensive sulking with its imposing tune. Blinking a few times, he frantically tossed his hips up to wrangle his phone out from behind him, the head of his guitar smacking him in the face with the sudden movements. 

He shot up out of bed pathetically upon seeing your name lighting up his screen along with a picture he’d taken of the two of you in the mirror a few months ago when you tried to give him red highlights. There was dye nearly everywhere except where it was supposed to be, yet you still beamed up at the mirror despite the red streaks covering your face and arms, gloved hands still tangled into his hair. 

Clearing his throat, he quickly swiped to answer the call before it went to voicemail. 

“Did someone spike the punch or—”

“Choso?” Your voice sounded hushed, but it still wavered ever-so-slightly against the sound of music blaring in the distance. The smile quickly fell from his face. “Do you think you could… come get me?”

“Y-Yeah, yeah, I’m coming. What’s going on?” He was barrelling through his hectic room to find any pair of shoes to shove on, nearly tripping over himself as he hopped toward the front door on one foot. 

“Um… nothing, I just… really wanna go home.” 

There wasn’t even the tiniest part of him that was convinced, but that would just have to be a conversation for later because there was a timid vulnerability and tremor in your sweet voice that he’d never heard before. Snatching his dad’s keys from the hook by the door, he was requesting your location before racing down the street. There was a slight possibility that he had run more than a few red lights on his way to the hotel that was hosting your school’s prom in the banquet hall. The car had barely come to a stop when he was flinging the door open to rush toward the bench you were sitting at out front. 

“What are you doing out here by yourself? Where’s Geto?” 

But your eyes were fluttering around you cautiously, scoping the surrounding area with a shake of your head as your best friend pulled you up by your arm. 

“Please, can we just go? I don’t—”

“Right— yeah, okay, come on.”

It was silent on the ride home save for your hushed request that he take you back to his house for the night instead. Cautionary side long glances were continuously tossed your way throughout the drive, and you could practically feel the concerned curiosity eating alive at him as your body faced the passenger side door. You were eternally grateful for the fact that the other two residents of the Itadori household had already turned in for the night when you two arrived. 

Choso flipped the lights on in his room, carefully inching the door of his room closed so as not to wake anyone up. When he turned, he was finally able to get his first good look at you, and he was absolutely bursting at the seams to know what Geto must have done to fuck up a night with you as his date looking as ethereal as you did standing in the middle of his room. 

You were sighing dejectedly as you tugged open his drawers to fish out something to change into, but Choso was still stuck by the door, eyes taking in each detail of your glittering makeup and intricately lined lips. 

“You…” His words drifted as you turned your back toward him so he’d undo your zipper. “You look beautiful.”

You paused, head slowly turning to look over your shoulder at him with misty eyes. 

“Thanks, Cho.”

Quickly working your zipper down, he turned to face the door as you stepped out of your dress to shrug on a pair of his sweatpants and a crewneck. His leg swayed anxiously while he listened to the gentle rustling of clothes behind him. 

“Did… did something happen?”

Upon hearing the subtle creak of his bed as you sank down onto it, he carefully turned around. The bed dipped by your head where he sat himself, and you felt him absentmindedly begin pulling the myriad of pins from your hair. Flushing red, you covered your face with your hands as you recalled how your night had progressed, not caring how you were smudging your makeup against your hands. 

“He… he just wanted to have sex with me.”

Choso felt his heart crack at your shaky explanation, the guilt he had been experiencing for not having asked you to prom himself returning tenfold. The bobby pin in his grasp bent between his fingers as he thought about how Geto had ruined what was meant to be a special night for you. 

“That guy’s a loser, he’ll probably die a virgin anyway.” He attempted to lighten the mood with a hesitant, breathy laugh, but it died in his throat when you slowly sat up to look at him, your now loose hair falling messily in your face and tears brimming your eyes. His stomach dropped at the mortified expression scrunching up your typically cheerful face, and he gulped down the bile rising in his throat. “Oh.”

A sob racked your body as you moved to curl into a tight ball, your head resting against his tense thighs. His hands hovered over you uncertainly before slowly coming down to brush at the hair invading your face.

“So, you…” He couldn’t even bring himself to say it, the words tasting bitter on his tongue.

“I feel like an idiot.” You cried, fisting at his pajama pants. “I stopped him right after he— he put it… in, but—”

“It’s okay.” Choso cut off your embarrassed rambles, pulling you up to wrap you in a tight embrace. He wasn’t sure if he could handle listening to the details. “Did he stop when you asked him to?”

A heavy sigh of relief left him when you nodded against his shoulder. It was silent for a few minutes, your soft cries soaking into the fabric of his tattered, band t-shirt.  

“I’m sorry.” He whispered dejectedly, trying desperately to get the image out of his head of you underneath of Geto with your makeup done up so prettily for someone who didn’t deserve it. He thought about how none of it would have happened had he just grown a pair. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask you to prom. I should’ve taken you, none of this would have—”

“It’s not your fault.” You interrupted, finally lifting your head from where it had burrowed into his neck to look up at him, your lip still trembling as your once pristine makeup smeared down your red cheeks. 

As you stared into his dewey, warm eyes, you allowed your thoughts to wander to how your night might have ended had Choso been your date, how you had stopped Geto after the gruelling realization hit you that no hands felt as right against your skin without the gruffness of guitar-string callouses. Your stomach churned nervously, and you laid back down against his lap, unable to face him as the words came tumbling from your lips. 

“I wish it would have been you, Cho.”

Choso’s heart sputtered to an abrupt halt— at least that’s what it felt like as your words sunk in. Slowly, he laid back against his pillow, careful not to jostle you in your spot against his thighs. Staring up at the ceiling, his mouth opened and closed a few times. 

“Y-You mean as a prom date, right?” The question came out apprehensively, because, deep down, you both already knew the answer. You closed your eyes nonetheless, a final tear slipping down your cheek. 

“Yeah, as a prom date.” Your lie came out barely a whisper as he chewed on his bottom lip.

“I wish it would’ve been me too. Y’know, your… prom date.”

It was the first time both of you knew that something had shifted in your relationship, though neither of you were brave enough to mention it the next morning when you woke. 

That fateful night was two years ago now, and you had had ample time to come to the realization that perhaps you should have been more upfront with him, because Choso was now hundreds of miles away at an arts school with only a telephone keeping you two together. 

It had been a difficult conversation with shifting eyes and unnecessarily guilty frowns, but when your best friend had broken the news to you that he’d been accepted into a different university than the one you’d be attending, you couldn’t have been happier that he was pursuing his passion for music. When he dropped the bomb that it was nearly six hours away— that was a tougher pill to swallow.

You two had been doing the best you could though— calling each other every other night and texting in between to make sure to keep up to date on everything university life had to offer you. Still, things would get busy sometimes, what with Choso’s occasional shows that he’d been playing with a local band in his college town, and your downright diabolical class and exam schedule. Things certainly weren’t the same anymore, but you desperately tried to cling onto him.

Additionally, in your absence Choso was reminded of just how much of a clutch you had been for him. He had never been the best at talking to others, relating to the types of casual niceties that seemed to connect people, but he had never had to until now because you had always been just enough for him. Sure, he had warmed up enough to his bandmates, but it was never the same— not when he sat alone in his room at night strumming melodies he only wished he would have played for you earlier when he still had the chance to do something about these things he was feeling.

On your end of the world, it certainly didn’t help that his band had grown a modest following, and it seemed that for the first time, the rest of the world was also beginning to notice Choso. 

Choso, the one boys and girls alike used to veer away from in the halls at school because of his terrifyingly blunt, resting bitch face. 

Choso, the one who spent the majority of highschool with limbs that seemed too long for his body until he grew into his own. 

Choso, the one who, unless you were beside him, often took jokes too literally and ended up embarrassing himself each time he opened his mouth. 

Choso, the one who you had stuck beside throughout each awkward phase and experimental hairstyle until he landed on the shag cut that suited him so nicely. 

Choso, the one who had been receiving the nastiest of thirst comments under each of his band’s social media posts as the rest of the world caught onto what you had known all along.

And, god, how it stung to scroll through each one, but it was like you couldn’t look away, wondering with each username if he was enjoying all the new attention he was getting. You wondered how far he had leaned into this rockstar persona he had been dreaming of his whole life, if he snuck girls backstage and pocketed their bras as evidence of his conquests.

 I mean, the guy had gone damn near his entire life without so much as a second glance from any girl he’d come in contact with— except for you, of course, and you underestimated just how deep his loyalty ran and how much he remembered who it was that had been with him through it all.

So, to hell with every creatively intricate thirst comment under photos that even had you contemplating starting a burner account to appreciate with the masses, none of them mattered despite all the nights you’d spent chewing at your fingernails with thoughts of what he might be up to. Each fan account could burn in hell though—  because it was you he called as soon as he’d received the news that his band would be touring, opening for an indie band that you two had actually been fans of for quite some time. 

“I wanna fly you out.” Choso insisted breathlessly, still winded from the sheer velocity at which he raced for his phone upon hearing the news. It made your heart stutter, because it had been now going on three years since you last saw him, your schedules never having seemed to line up just right. There were a few times when you had contemplated flying out to surprise him at one of his local, bar shows, but with your building mountain of school work, you’d had little to no time to get a job that could afford you the extra change at the end of each month to buy a plane ticket. At your silence, he huffed, and you could practically hear that damned pout from over the phone. “C’mon, our birthday is coming up. We used to spend all our birthdays together.”

Smiling wistfully at the memories of how easy you two once had it, you shook your head. 

“Well that was before you became some heart-throb rock star, Cho.” You teased, fiddling with the hem of your shirt as you wondered if he still blushed so easily at little comments like that, and, if so, what shade his cheeks were at the moment. 

“How am I supposed to be a rock star with no groupies? That’s just lame.” 

“Oh, trust me, I’m sure you have a long list of contenders waiting in line. Have you been checking your instagram comments lately?”

This made him pause, the tiniest of knowing smiles creeping onto his face. 

“No, but it sounds like you have.” 

For once, it was you flushing that burning shade of red that once graced his cheeks so frequently, and you wondered when he’d begun reciprocating your teasing banter instead of just stammering through his responses while trying not to look you in the eyes. Shaking his head with a nearly silent chuckle, he decided to put you out of your misery, clutching his phone tighter against his ears. 

“Let me fly you out, please? I know you’ve gotta break coming up. I wanna see you.” 

So just three months later, though truthfully it felt like a year as you and Choso counted down the days until you would see each other again, you were on a flight courtesy of his now modest earnings from his band. And sure, it was no fancy seat with the luxury accommodations he just knew you deserved, but he felt so proud to know that he was able to do something for you. He had been waiting at the airport nearly two hours before your flight was actually supposed to land, flowers clutched in his clammy hands as he checked the time repeatedly. 

Much to his frustration, your flight kept getting delayed, and, after the third push back, he had to begrudgingly resign himself to the fact that he wouldn’t get to be there when you landed, having to get back for sound check for the show tonight. After sending a long winded explanation text, he insisted that you text him as soon as you land as well as as soon as you got to the hotel and as soon as you made it to the venue, and— well, you got the point. 

With all the sudden delays, you only had time to drop your luggage off at the front desk of the hotel, who assured you they’d get it to your room for you before you had to haul ass to the venue before you missed any second of Choso’s band opening. He had given your name to security, who had your pass waiting for you when you arrived and quickly led you toward a less crowded section reserved for the talents’ guests. 

You were slightly winded from the nonstop moving you had been doing since you woke up this morning, but even with how spent you felt, you weren’t sure anything could have woken you up faster than the sight of your best friend on that stage after three years of not seeing him. Sure, the two of you had been keeping up with pictures and the occasional video call, but none of it did him justice— not with the way the boy you once knew had grown into such a… man.

The once lanky limbs that hung awkwardly at his sides had certainly filled out, emphasized nicely by the gaping muscle shirt he currently had on. His biceps flexed with each rip of his guitar as his grown out hair fell into his chiseled face. To your surprise, he had a mic situated in front of him and was occasionally offering back-up vocals that you were straining with everything in you to pinpoint amongst the rest of the music.

His eyes swept across the designated guest area, and you and your poor, weak heart nearly gave out upon realizing that he had begun lining them just as you did for him all those years ago, smudged out across his lids and adding a spine-tingling depth as they spotted you in the crowd. That earth-shattering smile lit up his face as he took in the sight of you looking up at him, because none of this success and fulfillment of lifelong dreams felt nearly as sweet without you being in the audience for him to impress.

Choso was breath-taking on that stage, commanding it with a confidence you had never seen on him before. It was a blur as the set went on, your shouting out the lyrics to the songs of theirs that you’d kept up with over the year, your already spent body expending the fumes of energy it had left to thrash around to the eardrum-crushing beat.

 You found yourself anxiously checking your phone when his band finished their set and disappeared backstage, not knowing if you were going to have to wait until the end of the show to see him. Thinking back to the phone conversation you two had had months prior, and how you really were starting to feel like his groupie. The thought made you smile in amusement, shoving your phone back into your pocket as the main band came out on stage. 

Your questions were answered just one song in when a pair of nearly steaming, sweat clung arms wrapped around your shoulders and chest from behind, squeezing you into an equally sweaty chest. 

“Ew, Cho, get off! You’re soaked!” You tried to sound disgusted, but your delighted laugh deceived you, because you were sure that he could have been covered head to toe in blood right now and you’d still allow him to latch onto you as he was doing so ardently.

“What happened to being my groupie?” He shouted over the blasting music, surprising you when his lips met your cheek in a sloppy kiss. Even he wasn’t sure where he’d worked up the gall to kiss you, but maybe it was the fact that he’d spent the last three years regretting his inaction, and he’d be damned if he was going to let you board that flight back home without at least trying. 

Hoping he didn’t see the way your cheeks flushed at the little stunt, you took note of the fact that he had yet to release you. 

“Your groupie is gonna need a few drinks if she has to deal with your stench for the next hour.”

In typical Choso fashion, he quickly obliged your request, planting yet another kiss against your temple before disappearing in the blur of security and venue workers to find you something to drink. You felt like your head was spinning with his sudden forward shift in behavior, but you chalked it up to the fact that you two hadn’t seen each other in so long.

 So, you didn’t question it when he came back with two vodka Red Bulls and continued to cling onto you the remainder of the show. He hoisted you up on his back when the crowd around you began to grow so you could get a better view of the band and didn’t care that you were screaming along to the songs right into his ear because you were finally here with him, and he could buy you drinks and give you front row seats to one of your favorite bands, and for once he thought that maybe he was brave enough to admit that he wanted something more with you after all these years of convincing himself that there was nothing he could offer you that’d be worth your while.

He was riding on the high of your giddy smile the entire taxi ride back to the hotel, unable to wipe that lovesick grin off of his face even when you asked him if there was something on your face that was warranting all the staring.

“I’m just gonna shower really quick, and then I’ll come to your room so we can order some food, ‘kay?” You explained while fishing out the room key that you’d received from the front desk earlier that day.

Choso’s brows furrowed as he pushed the respective button on the elevator and adjusted his guitar case over his shoulder. 

“What do you mean? We’re going to the same room.” 

Looking up from the inside of your bag, you stared at him with a slightly dumbfounded expression. 

“You only booked one room?” You questioned with a fluttering gaze. 

“We’ve always shared a room.” He explained obviously, making his way down the hall once the elevator doors opened. You could hardly argue with him on that logic, because you two had been sharing a room, hell— sharing a bed since you were kids. As you followed close behind him, butterflies churning in your stomach, you came to the conclusion that Choso had neglected to account for the fact that you two weren’t kids anymore.

Still, he had flown you all this way, and you had missed the endless nights you two would spend together watching horror movies until Jin would stumble into the room, exasperated as he asked you two to please turn down the volume or, better yet, watch anything else that didn’t have him jolting awake from the incessant sounds of blood-curdling screams emanating from his son’s room at ungodly hours of the night. Bonus points if you two had snuck Yuji in to watch them with you and had to shove him under the bed until their dad left the room lest he find out his youngest was watching movies far too mature for his age.

Yuji and Jin weren’t there to interrupt though, and you were currently hyping yourself up in the bathroom mirror to go out and spend the night with the man you’d known for fifteen years now. Looking down at yourself, you cursed at your choice of sleep wear that you’d clearly chosen before you knew Choso would be sleeping beside you. His old Metallica t-shirt had tiny holes in the shoulders and was discolored from so many years of wash cycles, but it was just so perfectly worn in, and it was a little reminder of him each time you went to sleep. 

The tattered hem fell just above your mid-thigh, and you were once again punching yourself in the leg because why would you not pack any pajama shorts? Pants? A longer shirt? Literally anything other than your fucking jeans that you’d rather bear the humiliation for than wear to bed? Huffing out a final sigh, you hung up your towel before exiting the steam-filled bathroom outwardly displaying far more confidence than was actually present in your muddled mind at the moment. 

“Shower’s open, Cho.” You informed with your eyes cast downward, shoving your dirty clothes into the respective section of your suitcase. 

He looked up from the room service menu he’d been studying for the past few minutes, his heart nearly leaping out of his chest at the sight of your bare thighs that still glistened from whatever lotion you had slathered on after your shower, and oh god was that his shirt? His brain was short-circuiting on the spot, and he was so grateful that he was jumping into the shower now, knowing that knob was about to be turned to the coldest setting he could manage. 

You sighed in quiet relief when the bathroom door shut behind him, thanking your lucky stars that he hadn’t mentioned anything about your choice of sleepwear— or lack thereof, hoping it meant that he didn’t notice.

 Finally allowing some of the tension to fall from your shoulders, you looked around the slightly bougie hotel room, smiling at the sight of his guitar leaning against the wall. Taking the opportunity to be a little nosy for nostalgia’s sake, you unzipped the case and carefully pulled the beloved instrument out. It was hardly recognizable now, what with all the decals and stickers he’d adorned it with over the years, but it was that same electric guitar you had scraped up all your tip money to buy for him.

Humming fondly, you sat crisscrossed in the middle of the plush bed to fiddle with the strings, recalling all the nights Choso had spent desperately trying to teach you how to play, but you never could make good on his diligent efforts. You could only vaguely recall the chords to that first song he’d ever learned to play, the one you’d watched him strum what must have been hundreds of times for you. Pursing your lip, you tried to angle your fingers just right along the neck as you dug into the far corners of your memory. 

“Your hand is too far up the neck.” 

In your fierce concentration, you hadn’t even heard Choso exiting the bathroom. Not looking up at him lest you break your focus, you shifted your hand as he’d instructed.

“Here?” 

He tutted softly, though you could practically hear the fond amusement oozing from him. After a moment, you felt the bed dip behind you, and your breath hitched as you felt his chest press against your back, and you suddenly didn’t feel as embarrassed at your lack of clothing since he hadn’t bothered to put a shirt on following his shower. His hands soon came up to close around yours, guiding them to the proper placement.

“Try now.” He instructed softly, tucking his chin over your shoulder to watch your movements. 

Trying to control the way your fingers trembled with the feeling of the muscles he never used to have pressed right up against you, you tried again. When he let out a quiet hum of disapproval, you didn’t have the chance to ask what you had done wrong before he was scooching you back to sit in his lap for better access to the instrument. 

“You’ve gotta spread out your fingers a little more.” Choso’s tips were falling on deaf ears, because his scent was enveloping you like a warm blanket, he was so warm pressed right up against you, and his cheek was brushing against yours as he adjusted your fingers. 

As he had been telling himself since he saw you in the audience earlier for the first time in three years, he wasn’t that awkward boy anymore who was too scared to be honest with himself, and he knew better than to believe that the flush in your cheeks right now was from your shower. Smiling softly, he eased up his hands as you began to get the hang of it, only occasionally reaching up to correct your placements. You gradually allowed yourself to relax against him, your shoulders drifting back to fall along his broad chest. 

“Do you ever think about that night of prom?” Out of all the ways he could have eased into this conversation, he wasn’t sure why that was what had come out of his mouth, but he was relieved when you scoffed out a light laugh. 

“You mean the night I lost my virginity to Suguru Geto?” You shook your head at the once damn near traumatic memory, a bitter smile gracing your lips. “I try not to.” 

It was silent for a moment, and just as he thought you had all but forgotten what you had said to him that night, you spoke up hesitantly.

“Do you? Y’know— think about it?”

“All the time.” 

Your fingers paused against the strings, but a hushed whisper in your ear to keep playing had you jolting back into action, but your subtle squirming against his lap gave you away. 

“Why the hell would you be thinking about that?” You mumbled, keeping your voice low as you desperately tried to maintain your composure.

“Because I can’t stop thinking about what would’ve happened if it was me instead.”

His hand came up to tighten your grip around the neck of the guitar that had loosened with the implications of his words, and you heard those familiar words falling from your lips just as they had from his three years ago. 

“You mean as my prom date, right, Cho?” 

His head shifted ever so slightly, and you shivered as his nose grazed against your temple. The hand that had been guiding your fingers over the strings drifted down to ghost over your bare thigh. 

“Yeah, as your prom date.” He lied, just as you had that night. The pads of his fingers dug into the fat of your thigh momentarily, giving you the opportunity to push him away should he have been reading all the signs wrong. You didn’t though, you only held back the softest of whimpers when the metaphorical green light prompted him to run his hand further up, brushing back your already maddeningly ridden up shirt. “I think about how much of an idiot he was, what I would’ve done different.” 

The way your comparably smaller frame was expanding and deflating against him in tandem with your labored breaths was making it hard for him to think, and he was sure his body was acting purely on autopilot. 

“Like what?” You dared to whisper, not even quite sure that you were ready to hear his answer, but oh was he willing to give it to you. 

“I would’ve told you how pretty you looked that night— because you did. You looked like an angel.” Choso rasped out against your ear, and his fingers were curling around the warmth of your inner thigh, just barely grazing against your rapidly heating core. Your fingers stuttered once again against the strings, and his other hand quickly came up to grip at the column of your neck, pressing you back against him. “Keep playing for me, angel.”

And you tried, hands trembling as they fumbled to find the right chords again. 

“Did he touch you like this before he ruined your night?”

“No!” You gasped out desperately, arching against him as he pushed your panties to the side to collect the pooling slick at your entrance, using it to aid in the tentative circles he began working against your clit. “H-He didn’t touch me at all— ah!”

With a vexed tut of disapproval, Choso’s fingers dipped down to plunge into your sopping heat. His movements were choppy, and it was clear that he wasn’t sure what exactly you would like, but his focused gaze on your side profile as he studied each of your reactions told you that he was going to figure it the fuck out.

“I would have taken the time for you— I would’ve made sure you were ready.” His regrets were spilling past his frantic lips in a manner teetering on a whine as your head fell back against his shoulder. “Keep playing.”

“I can’t— I can’t, Cho.” You cried deliriously as his fingers began curling up in response to your frantic reaction. You were soaking through the underwear that had been pushed haphazardly to the side, and if you were more lucid you would have been embarrassed at the way it pooled onto the sheets below you. 

At once, he had released the firm grip he had on your neck to push his guitar off the bed. 

“Then come up here and let me show you how I would have taken care of you.”

Choso, with his eagerness to please and this newfound Herculean strength of his, didn’t give you the chance to comply with his request, because he was ripping at your flimsy underwear and shifting you around to face him. It was enough to give you whiplash, but the bruising grip he had around your waist assured that your balance wouldn’t fail you as he laid back against the unsuspecting hotel sheets and yanked you up to hover over his crazed face. 

“Choso, y-you don’t have to—” 

“I want to.” He pleaded, his lips glistening with an anticipatory drool as those puppy-dog eyes of his locked onto your core, and he was once again reminded of the fact that Suguru Geto had to be the dumbest man on this fucking planet. Craning his neck up, he couldn’t help himself as he dragged his hot tongue up the length of your folds, his strangled moan vibrating against you. “Mmph, sit— please.”

Leave it to Choso to not forget about his manners as he begged you to suffocate him between your trembling thighs. You complied, moving ever-so-slowly to lower yourself against him before he dug his fingers into your thighs and made you sit. Hunching forward, your forehead fell against the plush headboard with a choked cry as he all but unhinged his jaw around your core. 

He watched through dazed eyes at the way your face crumpled with each symphony of pleasure that slipped past your bitten lips. There was no sense in dwelling on the past now, but he couldn’t help but feel so utterly idiotic for having been so blind all this time. It had always been there— in the lingering touches and the intimacy of trust that had forged between you two over fifteen years of falling back on one another.

Choso’s eyes rolled back as you rolled your hips against his tongue, momentarily blocking any passage of air through his mouth and nose, but, even with the clenching in his lungs that told him that he needed to breathe paired with the ringing in his ears, he thought he’d much rather have your weeping pleasure as the cause of death on his obituary, because any life where he hindered that impending high you were cravenly grinding toward wasn’t a life worth living.

His tongue dipped into your entrance for an exasperatingly brief tour before its pointed tip was dancing up to swoop under the hood of your already painfully sensitive clit. You squeaked out a pitched moan, nearly tumbling down if one of his hands hadn’t shot up to press against your sternum to keep you upright. A choked sob of pleasure shook your shoulders, and your hand flew down to tangle into the very haircut he maintained for so long just because you said it looked cute on him.

There was a sharp sting on his scalp as you yanked at the roots, the subtle pain at the hands of you nearly sending him to an early grave as his hips bucked up against the air. He was only met by the infuriatingly gentle friction of his sweatpants brushing against his leaking tip, but you were crying out his name and using him so sweetly with every craven thrust of your hips, and it was enough for him after all the sleepless nights he’d spent wishing he could have changed the past. 

Evidence of you was dripping grotesquely down his face, dragging as far up as his nose that glistened proudly in the wake of your sloppy thrusts against him. His eyes were barely open by the time you timidly glanced down at him, half-lidded to match the dopey smile you felt morphing against your folds. 

“Stop looking at me like that.” You murmured through burning cheeks as he leaned you back to sit on his chest. 

“I’ve waited fifteen years to look at you like this.” His words were damn near slurred, but the sentiment remained the same. Brushing the dishevled hair from his forehead, you slid down slowly to straddle his waist, gasping tenderly at the feeling of his abs brushing against your sensitive clit, though your eyes never once left his. 

With wanton eyes drifting down his pink-tinted face, his eyes drifted shut as he leaned up to meet the kiss he was sure he was finally about to get, but it instead landed tenderly on his forehead. A warmth spread down his spine, making his fingers curl tighter around your waist. 

“Put me out of my misery already.” Choso whispered, but his actions deceived him as he reached up to keep you pressed against his forehead. Just as you slipped out of his grasp, lips dragging down the bridge of his nose until they ghosted over his. With a clouded gaze, he whispered against your lips, “Did he tell you he loved you?”

With a delirious shake of your head, you crashed through the tiniest of barriers that had been left between you.  

“I love you.” He mumbled desperately against your kiss, hands sneaking up under your baggy shirt to graze along your spine. “More than just a— ah— a prom date. I love you.”

“I love you, too— more than just a friend.” You confirmed as you snuck your hand down between you to creep into his waistband. 

He flinched away from you with a quick, hissing breath, reaching down to grip at your hand in record timing. Pulling away from him with a start, you blinked down owlishly at him. 

“Oh— I-I’m sorry, I just thought you wanted to…”

“I do!” He sat up faster than you could blink to miss it. With that signature flush of his cheeks, he cast his gaze to the side. “Just… give me a little bit, okay?”

Raising a brow at his sudden timidness, you decided not to make it known that you had already felt the tacky wet splotch currently making a mess of his sweatpants. Saving him the wallowing self-pity you just knew he’d fall into for the rest of the night, you opted to lay beside him, tracing the tattoo that lined his nose absentmindedly as he looked anywhere but you. With a soft laugh, he finally turned his head to face you again after a moment of silence, smiling sheepishly down at you. 

“Happy birthday, angel.”

Glancing over at the bedside clock, you noted with a cacooning warmth that it read 12:02 AM.

“Happy birthday, Cho.”

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[ozzgin]

hi! I'm the anon who said that Daitou is my #1 sweetheart, and I saw your post talking about time-skip Daitou kind in dilf vibes... I'm interested, take all of my money right now !!

also wondering how Daitou would react with a darling who wants kids 💭💭 imagine of she is having a hugeee baby fever ( not me projecting whattt)

Turning this into a general "Would the yakuza men want children?" and other bedroom habits. There's a more detailed answer for Daitou here. Content: female reader (pregnancy talk), mildly NSFW, fluff

You may think of Boss as old-fashioned, but he's seen a fair amount of depravity back in the day. Before gambling was deemed illegal in Japan, he'd owned several casinos in big districts like Ginza and Kabukichō, and consequently spent a lot of time in various parlors. Unlike many of his men, however, he never really cared much for adult entertainment. In his drunken rants he used to say that women would be his downfall, and no one would want to be involved with him, anyways.

He might be into you calling him daddy, although you should expect a lot of dad jokes to go with it. He’s a silly old man like that. Could be interested in shibari, because it takes a lot of patience and skill and he’d probably enjoy taking his time and gazing at you after each knot. It’s quiet and intimate, and he gets to tease you about it afterwards, especially if it’s an arrangement to go under your clothes. “What’s the matter, (Y/N) love? Tongue tied?”

His recurring humor around his age makes you wonder if he’d even be interested in children. When you finally bring up the topic, Boss is very casual about it. “Sure”, he’ll say with a grin, “whatever the missus wants.” You suspect he’s not taking you seriously, but after settling you on his lap and having a hearty laugh about it, he’ll conclude, this time with confidence: “Have a look outside this room. See all those rascals? I raised them! Ya think I can’t handle a bunch of kids?”

Daitou can be surprisingly (and unintentionally) kinky, especially if you encourage him to. He’ll apologize the day after for being too rough, even if you tell him it's fine and you quite literally asked for it (See Valentine's Day incident). Overall, though, I’d say it depends entirely on you. He can be dominant or submissive, according to your wishes. You can go all out with him, he’s sturdier than most and takes great pride in it. If you’re into more extreme hobbies like knife play, you’re certainly in good hands.

Daitou lives in the moment and hasn't really planned too far ahead. Such is the life of a yakuza: you never know when you might lose a limb or more in the next gang fight. He's therefore quite surprised by your proposal of having children in the future. Is it even something realistic for someone like him? On the other hand, it's hard to refuse that enthusiastic smile you're flashing at him each time the topic comes up. "Do you, uh...", he begins one day while looking at baby toys in the store. He fidgets with his prosthetic eye nervously. "Do you really think I'd make a good dad? Heh."

Kazuya can be quite kinky and loves teasing you in public about it. Last time you were hanging out with him and his underlings, you happened to pass by a park bench you'd recently used during your nightly strolls together. “This location is familiar”, he’ll hum with a smirk. “Isn’t this where we…ah. Nevermind.” Despite your frequent protests, he always struggles to keep his mouth shut. Can you really blame him for wanting to brag to others? You're an undeniable catch.

"Kids?" he repeats with a raised eyebrow. Good question, although something he's considered many times already. What, you thought he wouldn't notice your curious glances whenever some woman walks by with a baby stroller? He pretends to ponder your suggestion and declares after a long moment: "Well, you'd certainly make a great milf, and I obviously can't have anyone else do the honors." He picks you up with a mischievous grin on his face. "When do we start?"

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