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jobean12-blog · 2 days ago

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Lovestruck

Pairing: Javier Peña x female reader

Word Count: 4.2K

Summary: Little do you know, after being in the wrong place at the wrong time- that you've gotten yourself on the radar of some very bad men. Thankfully, you now have the protection of one very good man (and Steve, also good) but when Javi first lays eyes on you he knows he wants so much more than just to protect you.

Author's Note: Again, I apologize for deleting this post a second time. The tags are just not cooperating. I really hope things work this time! Thank you again to those who gave me notes, hope you can enjoy again! No reason for more Javi other than I can't seem to get over him and I don't want to so yay! He's been on my mind extra lately. Wishing you all a very happy New Year filled with love, health and happiness! Thank you for all the support and much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: lots of tension and flirting, some soft sweetness too, Javi is forward but not in a bad way, he saves the day in more ways than one and might be in a little over his head (which he's not used to), fingering, smut (unprotected p in v- but just for fanfic folks lol)

Pedro Pascal Character Masterlist

“Keep staring like that and you’re gonna blow our cover man.”

Steve’s comment goes unnoticed as Javi continues to do just that. Stare.

You’re standing against the bar, drink in hand and talking with your friend, unaware of the pair of dark chocolate eyes glued to you.

“Hey,” Steve says again.

Javi tears his eyes away from you and pins Steve with a glare.

“What?”

Steve gives him an exasperated look. “You’re not supposed to fuck her. Just protect her.”

Javi grunts before finishing off his drink, his eyes sliding back to you as you saunter over to the juke box.

He’s been watching you for days now, his infatuation only growing the more he learns the little nuances of your body and the brightness of your smile. Barely conscious of his feet moving and Steve’s disgruntled objections, he starts toward you, unsure of his intention but at this point, unable to stop himself.

You shuffle through the songs on the screen, chewing your lip with indecision. His teeth sink into his own bottom lip in response, wishing it were yours. As he gets closer, your startled gaze flies up to meet his.

Lightning rockets through his system. If he thought you were beautiful in the photos and from across the room, it’s nothing compared to what he sees standing in front of him now.

He takes a step closer. Talking to women is like second nature to him, yet he finds himself stranded in silence, second-guessing everything that pops into his head.

And if he doesn’t speak soon, his closeness will begin to alarm you. Exactly the opposite of what he should be doing.

“I can’t let you do that,” he blurts out.

“Can’t let me do what, exactly?” you retort, turning to face him with a raised brow.

Your voice slides like silk across his skin and it takes him a minute to recapture his train of thought. He tilts his head toward the song on the screen of the juke box.

“Not that song.”

You smirk. “Elaborate.”

“Everyone picks that song. Aren’t you tired of it?”

You peek up at him, a laugh flirting around the edges of your mouth.

“Do you have a better suggestion?”

“Of course,” he replies. He tries not to stare at your lips. “I like to dance so for me, something like…”

He leans in and starts to scroll through the song list, his warmth and scent sweeping over you in a magnetic wave.

He stops on a song you don’t recognize but when it begins to play the beat is lively and makes you want to move.

Your eyes meet his once more, humor lurking in their depths. “I like it.”

“Oh yeah?”

You nod and with a sultry smile over your shoulder you head back toward the bar and your friend, an extra sway to your hips that matches the music.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” Steve says when Javi returns with a smug grin. “You could blow our cover.”

“How?” Javi asks before he motions for the bartender.

“I’m surprised you let a woman get to you like this.”

“Like what?”

“Are you just going to answer all my questions with more questions?”

The corner of Steve’s mouth lifts with his last string of words and he waits as Javi just looks at him blankly.

When the song ends Javi turns his attention back to you and he finds you watching him. Without a second thought he walks over.

He smiles at your friend then asks you, “what did you think?”

“I liked it,” you tell him. “I’ve never heard it before.”

“I should definitely play another one then. And you should dance with me.”

He catches your sharp intake of breath and realizes you might be waiting for a significant other. He feels a sharp jolt of jealousy that surprises him.

“Are you here with someone?” he asks.

Your brow quirks at his growled-out question, but you answer anyway.

“Just my friend here,” and you motion to Samantha.

Relief washes over his expression.

“So why not dance with me?”

“I’m here to spend time with Sam,” you explain, even though you can tell she wants you to go dance with him.

“She can hang out with Steve,” Javi says, throwing a thumb over his shoulder in Steve’s direction. “He’s loads of fun.”

“He’s cute,” Sam chimes in, giving Steve a little wave.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Javi says, earning a chuckle from both you and Sam.

“So, is that a yes?”

You look incredulous. “No. The only thing I know about you is that you like to dance.”

“What would you like to know about me?” he shoots back as he leans against the bar, looking more than comfortable.

“Nothing. I’m not dancing with you. In fact, how do I know you’re not some creep trying to abduct me.”

At your unintentionally keen words Javi gives up the battle with a smile. “I’ll get you dancing sweetheart.”

“We’ll see about that…”

“Javi,” he finishes and holds out his hand. “Javier Peña”

You hesitate a moment but then hold out your hand and give him your name-even though he already knows it.

“Pleasure,” he croons as he lifts your hand to his lips and kisses your knuckles.

Warmth tingles up your arm and down your spine, rendering you speechless for a moment. Samantha pulls you from your stupor when she nudges you in the side.

“Enjoy your night ladies,” he says but not before looking you straight in the eye and adding, “I’ll be seeing you again.”

When Javi is back at Steve’s side he sighs.

“What happened? She tell you to fuck off?”

Javi practically rolls his eyes. “Not exactly.”

“Well, hope you didn’t freak her out too much because we have a job to do.”

As the night goes on you catch Javi looking your way more than once and you find it hard not to look back. He doesn’t approach you again though and the disappointment you feel is unexpected.

By eleven pm Sam is ready to go so you say goodbye and go to use the restroom before heading out. The night air is damp with impending rain, and you jog quickly to your car, hopping in and setting your bag down on the seat.

You put the key in the ignition and turn it. Nothing happens. No lights. No sound. Nothing.

“SHIT!” you shout and hit the steering wheel. Is it your battery? A faulty starter?

You’re just about to dial Sam when you hear a light rap at your window. You jump but quickly see that it’s Javi and let out a relieved breath.

You press the button to roll down the window.

“Problem?” he asks with a sideways smile.

“My car won’t start,” you sigh.

His lips turn downward. “Shit.”

“That’s what I said.”

“I can try to jump it if you want,” Javi offers.

“Really?”

“Of course.”

Javi pulls his car up close and starts to fiddle around in the trunk for the cables. Once he has everything ready you meet him by the hood.

“How come you were out here anyway?” you ask, watching as his long fingers make easy work of the clamps and wires.

“Just a feeling,” he says nonchalantly.

After following his directions and trying to start your car again you realize it must be more than the battery and let out a string of curses.

“Sorry sweetheart,” Javi says. “I’ll give you a ride home and you can deal with in the daylight.”

“I can just call Samantha.”

“You can, but it’s after midnight,” Javi says, looking at his watch. “I’m already here.”

You study him. His strong jaw, the dark hair that falls boyishly over his forehead, and the way the open collar of his shirt frames his long neck, the tempting hint of collarbone peeking out just enough to make you want to kiss it.

“Ok,” you say without further thought.

He opens your door and helps you out then waits for you to lock it before he opens the passenger door to his car.

“What about Steve?” you ask suddenly.

“Steve?” Javi repeats. “Oh, yeah. He’s fine. Has his own car.”

When he pulls up to your building he frowns when you don’t wait for him to open your door. You ride up the elevator in silence, the atmosphere between you feels charged.

You’d been more than willing to go up to your apartment yourself, but Javi insisted on walking you.

So, when the elevator opens you breeze out and past him, taking quick steps to your door.

“This is me,” you say without turning around.

You unlock the door and open it, stepping inside and setting your bag down. When you turn, Javi is filling the doorway, one hand on his hip and the other casually resting above his head on the frame like he owns the place.

“I don’t live far. If you need anything…” He holds out a card, his name and number printed on it under the Police Department symbol.

“You’re a cop? You could have told me this earlier. I would have been less worried about you murdering me.”

“DEA agent,” he corrects. “And that was never my intention.”

Your eyes meet and you feel a frisson of heat at the intensity there.

“Well, thank you for the ride.”

“Anytime sweetheart. I’ll see you around.”

He throws you a wink and pushes away from the doorframe, his long legs taking him easily down the hall before he rounds the corner and disappears.

The next morning you drag yourself out of bed and get ready to go about your day. Your thoughts are mostly occupied by Javi, and you’re almost done with your coffee before your brain registers the rest of the night and how your car failed to start.

“Shit,” you grit out. “Ughhhh.”

You think about calling Javi and asking him to take you back to the bar to get your car but then you think it might be asking too much after what he did last night. Instead, you call Sam, who is happy to come get you.

Your car is just where you left it and so is an unmarked cop car, parked right next to yours.

Javi steps out into the sunshine, a sleek pair of aviators perched on his nose and a smile on his face.

“There you are sunshine. I was wondering when you’d be back to get your car.”

He walks close and nods a greeting to Samantha.

You stand there like a fish out of water, your mouth hanging open in shock.

“What are you doing here?” you finally ask.

He shrugs with a devious grin. “Working.”

“The bar is closed.”

Ignoring your comment he continues with, “you have someone to fix this?”

“You mean like a mechanic?”

“Yeah sweetheart.”

“I was just going to call the closest shop.”

He shakes his head, clearly not liking your idea. “I got a guy. Come on.” ��

Samantha leaves you with Javi and he takes you to the shop, helping you settle everything and getting you a good price.

“I hope it doesn’t take too long to fix,” you sigh. “But thank you for helping me out.”

“Anytime gorgeous…now how about that dance?”

“You’re still hung up on that?”

He raises his brows with a tilt of his head, his smile devious.

“Fine, but how am I getting back to the bar tonight. No car. Remember.”

“I’ll pick you up. Seven.”

With that he pulls up to your place and practically jumps out of the car before it stops, rushing around the hood to get your door before you can open it.

You step out and he reaches over you to shut it, trapping you against the car.

“Thanks again,” you whisper as you lean into him.

He dips his head, but you can’t see his eyes, so you reach up to pull the sunglasses off his face. He smiles, lifting his eyes from your mouth to meet your gaze.

You hang them on his shirt, the collar open like it always seems to be, and smooth your hand down his chest. He watches you intently, one hand sliding off the car to settle on your waist. He tugs you forward, lining your body up with his using his other hand to cup your cheek and brush a calloused thumb across your soft skin.

“I told you sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Anytime.”

With one final glance at your lips he slowly moves away and you’re thankful for the strong metal of the car at your back, keeping you upright.

With a steadying breath you peel yourself away and head toward your building, looking over your shoulder to find him leaning against the car, long legs crossed at the ankle and his arms crossed along his chest.

His glasses are still hanging from his shirt, and his hair is slightly messy from the breeze. Your eyes linger and he smiles, pointing his long finger in your direction when he says, “you’re mine tonight.”

The knock at your door makes your breath catch in your throat.

“Be right there,” you shout.

You open the door and his hot gaze sweeps over you from head to toe.

“Hi Javi…”

Before the words are completely out of your mouth, he has you spun around and backed against the wall.

“Did you get all dressed up for me sweetheart?”

Biting your lip, you nod, loving the way your answer makes his eyelids lower; his breath quicken.

He dips his head and runs his nose along your neck with a deep inhale, then places a soft kiss just under your ear. His lips move across your cheek and stop just above your mouth.

“Ready to dance?”

Your knees nearly buckle underneath you, but his weight keeps you upright and you manage a nod.

The bar is crowded but you and Javi find yourself an open space at the bar and order drinks. He stays close. A hand always at your back or on your waist and when he sits on the stool, placing his feet on the bottom bar, he pulls you between his spread legs.

Your hands land on his thighs and you dig your nails in.

He growls into your ear and smooths his hand up your spine, grabbing the back of your neck to drag your face closer.

Right when you think he’s going to kiss you, he stands and pulls you toward the juke box, scrolling through the songs until he finds the one he wants. He presses play and holds his hand out.

You place your fingers in his palm, and he closes his hand around yours. With an ease that steals your breath he tucks you against him as the music starts, slow and sultry. The way he moves his hips so sensually borders on inappropriate, but you can’t find it in you to care.

Instead, you lose yourself in the way he moves and the way he feels. It’s the best kind of foreplay and when the song ends you cling to him, wishing the music could go on forever.

You tuck your head against his chest, but he presses two fingers under your chin, lifting your face to his. He’s grinning, and the way it exaggerates the lines around his eyes and softens the angles of his face makes a flutter erupt in your stomach.

A haze of electricity settles around you and you’re unable to look away. His eyes drop to your mouth and his warm breath fans your cheek as he bends, brushing his lips lightly across yours.

His moustache is soft but still tickles your skin and you want nothing more than to feel it along every inch of your body. Your fingernails dig into his shoulders, and you whisper his name just before your lips meet.

But then his mouth is gone, and a rush of cool air fills the space between your bodies.

“Steve,” you say with confusion.

Steve stands next to you with a tight grip on Javi’s arm.

“We have to go. Now,” Steve says.

“Javi?” Your stomach is fluttering for a whole different reason now, nervousness and fear taking over.

“I’m sorry sunshine,” he says, wrapping you up in his arms. “I need you to go home. Right now.”

“But…” you start, clinging to him.

“Please,” he begs. “Just trust me. I’ll come to you as soon as I can.”

“I don’t have a car,” you sputter out.

“Here,” he says and reaches into his back pocket to retrieve his keys before dropping them into your hand. “Right home ok?”

“Ok,” you say while nodding your head vigorously. “But I don’t understand…”

“I know,” he says, grabbing your face with his hands. “I promise I’ll explain later.”

He stares at you, clearly torn between wanting to kiss you and having to leave. You make the decision for him and press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, lingering long enough that when you pull away his eyes are still closed.

“Be careful,” you whisper.

“You too,” he says before jogging off with Steve, but not without looking back one last time.

Back at your apartment you wait and pace the floor. There isn’t much more you can do and it’s driving you nuts.

By the time you hear the knock on your door it’s past midnight and you’ve fallen asleep on the couch. You wake with a start and stand on shaky legs. Thankfully, you have enough sense to check the peephole before opening the door.

On the other side stands Javi. His leather jacket hangs open and his hair is messy and hanging loosely in front of his forehead. He looks tired but otherwise ok.

“It’s me sweetheart,” he says quietly.

Your door flies open, and you throw yourself at him. He catches you and lets out a huffed laugh that quickly dies off when you slide down his body and move back, a clear invitation.

His eyes rake down your body, lingering on the way your dress is rumpled and sitting high on your hips, exposing the soft skin of your legs. With an audible swallow he takes a step inside, and you shut the door with a definitive slam.

“Are you ok?” he asks.

“I’m fine. Are you?”

“Yeah,” he says quietly.

You can’t blink away from his steady gaze and your blood seems to vibrate. After a calming breath you point to the couch.

“I want to know what’s going on.”

He moves past you and takes your hand in his, tugging you toward the couch before he sits. You stand at the edge, waiting.

His head drops and he presses the palm of his hand to his forehead.

“I…you already know I’m a DEA agent.”

You nod.

“And Steve and I work together…we’ve been trying to bust this drug trafficking group for a while now and somehow you got on their list…”

“List?” you repeat, feeling your palms sweat.

He stands again and takes a tentative step closer.

“Yeah, wrong place wrong time type of thing and it got you on their radar. We got tipped off from one of our informants and Steve and I were put in place for protection.”

“So, all the flirting, the dancing…you’re only here because you’re protecting me? Not because…”

He holds up a hand to stop you.

“No sweetheart,” he says. “Well, I mean yes initially that’s all it was but then I saw you and like a dick couldn’t stay away and…I didn’t mean for it to go this far.”

He looks up at you with pleading brown eyes.

“Actually, that’s a lie. I wanted to take you home from the moment I first saw you and it took everything in me not to.”

You can see he’s starting to ramble, and you soften at the way he seems desperate to make you understand.

“I promise this has nothing to do with work…I want to be here…”

“Javi.”

“And you’re safe. I promise that too. I’ll keep you safe.”

“Javi.”

He opens his mouth to speak again but you press a firm finger to his lips. He goes silent and with your gentle push falls to the couch again.

Slowly, you climb over him, settling in his lap on top of his thighs. He stares at you, eyes shadowed, and adjusts his posture to set two large hands on your waist, warm and strong.

You lean in but he meets you halfway, crashing his lips to yours. His mouth is soft but commanding and he tilts his head, coming at you better somehow, and deeper, his lips parting, one hand wrapping around your hip to pull you flush against him, the other sliding up your neck, cupping your face.

You’re undone by the way his breath shakes against your lips and the quiet groans he strangles down when you sweep your tongue across his.

You roll your hips against him, but instead of bringing relief it only makes you wilder. His mouth chases your kiss, swallowing the sound you make when he rocks up, the thick line of his cock pressing exactly where you need him.

His hand roams up your back, around your ribs, cupping your breast while the other drags you down again, pinning you to his body. You’re rewarded with another groan, and another when you grind against him.

He doesn’t stop you as you reach for his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders before going for his shirt, one by one undoing the buttons until you feel the warmth of his skin along your palms.

His mouth is on your neck, his fingers curling around the strap of your dress, dragging it down your shoulder and lower, until your bra goes with it, and you’re bare to his mouth. He sucks and kisses and your fingers find purchase in his soft hair, pulling and tugging when he continues and his lips close around your nipple in a delicate bite.

With soft grunts into your skin, he encourages you to pull harder, moving with the gesture to where you want him. Rough and desperate hands sneak under your dress to slide your panties down.

“Sweetheart?” he asks into your neck, and you nod, because frankly, he has permission to do whatever he wants.

Long fingers wrap imposingly around your thighs and his palm slides back up, teasingly slow, his kiss still rough, and then his fingertips graze over you, slippery and hot for him. His mouth goes soft and overcome against yours before he pulls away a fraction, watching your face as he fucks you with one finger, and then two, achingly slow.

And you stare at his mouth, the way it shapes the groaned curses and then tilts upward in a smug grin when he presses a thumb to your clit, and you let out a low moan.

Under your impatient fingers, his pants are soon loose and down his hips and you slide yourself over him, coating him and teasing you both until you’re a fevered mess, kisses sloppy and biting, the head of him pressing into you.

It’s a slow, perfect torture. His focus is on your expression and the sounds you’re making. But then it goes from careful to starving the second he’s all the way inside you. His grip on you is bruising, the sharp, rhythmic gasps he makes making you feel out of control.

He stares down between your bodies, slowing to watch, moving to touch you, his thumb stroking.

“That’s it gorgeous,” he murmurs. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

You want to hold back, make it last forever, but it’s too good. The pleasure hits you in a wave, his name falling from your parted lips and your body clenching around him until he captures your mouth and finishes with a lewd groan, slowing and holding you against his chest.

Your face falls to his sweaty neck and your fingers curl around his open shirt. After catching your breath, he gently brings your face to his, pressing his lips softly to the corner of your mouth and then running the pad of his thumb across your lower lip.

He lifts you off him, reaching for the tissues on the side table and helping you clean up. His actions are careful and gentle and once you’re settled he takes the blanket off the couch and drapes it over you before he wraps you in his arms and lays down.

You tuck yourself closer and kiss his neck.

“Javi?” you whisper.

“Yeah sunshine.”

“Will you stay?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, kissing your cheek.

His lips tease along your jaw and you shift to give him better access, feeling his cock stir against your stomach. When his mouth reaches your ear he tugs on the soft flesh, running a hand along the curve of your spine to pull you closer and whisper, “I didn’t even get to use my tongue on you. I hate not knowing how you taste.”

Your little gasp makes him smile and his kisses continue.

“But lucky for me,” he murmurs with a brush of his lips, “we have all night.”

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal narcos #javier peña #javier pena x reader #javier peña x reader #javier peña smut #javier peña fanfiction #sebastian stan #javier peña x you #javier pena smut #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal characters #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x you #javier pena narcos #javier peña x f!reader #pedro pascal fanfiction

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sieveyourtea · 1 day ago

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Born Archivist AU Wrap Up Post

Image ID below the cut. Art by @dcartcorner !

Series Summary:

Agnes Montague was a failure, the ritual poorly planned and even more poorly executed. But for the Ceaseless Watcher and the Avatars who have learned from this mistake--perhaps things could be different...

...Jonathan Sims, John as he prefers, is eleven years old when Mr. Bouchard comes to see him.

A massive thank you to you all. For reading, especially for commenting, and for all the support in getting this over the finish line.

If you're interested in reading or seeing more art, please check out the links below the cut. You do need an Archive account to read!

My ask box is open, I'd love to chat theories, questions, and thoughts anytime! Please don't be shy!

What to Know:

Child of Illumination is a fic series with three primary story arcs that follows John Sims from age eleven to his time as Head Archivist of Magnus Institute after being adopted by Elias Bouchard and Peter Lukas.

All three main arcs are rated T and suitable for those who can enjoy the same sort of content as in the podcasts. CW's are provided on individual chapters.

The Main Story:

Part One: Child of Illumination:

...Jonathan Sims, John as he prefers, is eleven years old when Mr. Bouchard comes to see him.

Image Id at the end. Art by @sarcasticscribbles!

Part Two: Shadow in the Hunting Grounds

Jonathan Sims, John as he prefers, has lived with fathers for six years. Like for a lot of other young people, University presents a time for self-exploration, and a first occasion of being out on his own without someone...Watching quite so closely.

Image ID at the end. Art by @sarcasticscribbles!

Part Three: Blood of the Covenant

Jonathan Sims, John as he prefers, has spent three years working as a Lead Researcher at the Magnus Institute. For someone for whom home has had a less than solid definition, the Institute offers a chance for safe place for John to finally answer the questions that have followed him for as long as he can recall.

Being able to work alongside his father is simply an added bonus, of course.

Image ID at the end. Art by @sarcasticscribbles!

Art:

COI wouldn't be what it is without the amazing artists who have brought it to life!

Official Scene and Summary art is by @dcartcorner who does exceptional work across the board.

Official Covers for all three main stories are by @sarcasticscribbles who's art is one of the reasons I started to engaged in fandom at all!

Official additional art of some choice scenes as done beautiful by @mxwhore who I cant thank enough for their amazing work!

Other creators who have made art related to COI include @obscuravoid, @the-awful-dread-that-leaves, @novae-viking, @basilikum7, @hemi-demi, and @moominmammaonhero1n!

Please, go and show them some love! I will post an Art-chive into the series on A03 as well to link back directly to all of the amazing work that's been made! If you've made something and don't see your name here, please let me know!

Additional Content:

Part of the fun of the series are the additional side fics. They cover a range of topics from John's interactions with various people, time spent with Peter and Elias, and the horror content that makes TMA what it is. There are all flavors, from G to E, and all can be found at the hyperlink above.

These are NOT necessary to understand the story and do NOT contain critical plot points. They're simply for fun! .

A special shoutout to @selinko for a lovely set of memes that absolutely made my day and continue to do so!

FAQ's:

The following are just some things that have come into my inbox the last couple of days in particular!

Can I make fanart of this story?

Sure! Please tag me, I'd love to see and spread the love!

Can I make other fanworks of this story?

Sure! Same as above, please tag me. I'd love to see and spread the love!

Will you be writing more?

I may do additional side pieces, but the main story is happily done. I have a total of 105 fanfics, 104 of which are Magnus if you're interested!

Can I send you questions/thoughts/songs/things that made me think about the story?

Yes, my ask box is open and there is an anonymous option. I will delete rude asks, but otherwise am happy to answer. Any spoilers, I'll put below a bar.

Image IDs:

Cover Art: A painting showing John Sims at the center, playing chess with an unknown opponent. On either side above him are Elias Bouchard, surrounded by books, and Peter Lukas, holding a stack of playing cards. Together, they hold a crown of gold and green eyes over John's head, framed by a spider-web window. At John's feet are three animals--a lion, a cobra, and penguin, looking up from a base of fire that shows Agnes Montague, Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood, and Sasha James respectively.

First Cover: Cover Art of John giving a statement to Gertrude the portrait. He is 11-13 years old, wearing square glasses and talking to her as if she is an old friend.

Second Cover: A family style portrait of Elias Bouchard (aged around 40), John Sims (aged seventeen to eighteen), and Peter Lukas (aged around 50) years old.

Third Cover: John Sims and Peter Lukas are playing a round of cards. John is debating whether or not to be on this hand with chin resting in his hand. Peter is holding a 2 of diamonds and a 7 of clubs, considered the worst draw in Texas Hold 'Em. Elias Bouchard, with a faint green light around his eyes, watches from behind John's shoulder, the whole viewed over by a Portrait of Jonah Magnus with the same faint green light.

Thank You!

Thank you all again for letting me share this story and journey with you. After one year and nineteen days of writing, I am very happy and rather proud to say the series is complete. It's my longest fanworks project by a mile and wouldn't have been possible without all of your lovely support.

With all the love in the world, Sieve signing off.

#tma #the magnus archives #peter lukas #jonathan sims #elias bouchard #my fic #born archivist au #wrap up post

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cuntyji · 17 hours ago

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

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

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

And yes, your type has turned out to be greasy Tim Burton reject loners who wander around school in faded Lord of the Rings hoodies. ➜ no one laugh but my current sort of crush is kind of like that minus the loner but he looks like a tim burton character and he is such a big band nerd and UGH OKAY ANYWAYS BACK TO THE FIC

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

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

Never let anyone tell you that teenage love is simple, or wholesome. Full of first crushes, and sweet moments. Because this? It feels like someone ripped the floor out from under you, the air yanked from your lungs, leaving you stranded. ➜ sat here holding my head in my hands because this sentence HURTTTSSSS. HURTED. HURT MY SOUL. this whole scene from reader asking him to him saying the truth oh god my face has morphed into a perpetual sad face

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

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

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

The next few months slip by like the kind of indie film that you’d see at film festival. It’s bittersweet, and there’s a melancholy that everyone can taste in the air, especially as you all realise that this last blue spring of youth is slipping through fingers like sand. /// Spring arrives like a first kiss. It’s hesitant, not rushing in. Just tiptoes around you, tentative enough as it coaxes you out of winter’s gloom. ➜ I AM SICK. SICK YOU HEAR. IM GOING THROUGH EVERY SINGLE EMOTION RIGHT NOW BECAUSE I HATE HOW THIS IS MY LIFE RIGHT— *GUNSHOTS* the below meme is me right now

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

Once, he was Choso Kamo — the quiet boy you liked in school. Then, he became Choso from the café. Soon, he'll be someone whose name you won't even remember in a few years, someone who's path you'll probably never cross again. ➜ why am i paying internet bills…..yea……..to cry……..that’s whats up

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

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

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

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

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

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

WHAT? LIKE IT'S HARD? ✶ choso kamo

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re not above sending a risky message.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s your point?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You ask Kamo, I’ll ask Suguru.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Choso’s shoulders tense, “Can’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

��You first.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I help you?”

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

Choso Kamo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THREE YEARS LATER.

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

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

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

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

Your mother.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get out,” you blurt.

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

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

“Partner?” Choso finishes for you, deadpan.

“Of all the people in this entire school —”

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

“What are you doing here?”

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

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

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

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

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

“What? Like it’s hard?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Choso just rolls his eyes.

“They…modify bacterial ribosomes.”

“Wrong.”

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

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

“Nope.”

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

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

“Just tell me the answer.”

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

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

“I was close.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing next weekend?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you want to study at my place?”

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

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

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

“Hmm. Sure, I’ll think about it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s not a date. We’re studying.”

“Don’t care. Didn’t really ask.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did I leave the door unlocked?”

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

“Get out.”

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

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

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

Weird. And impossible.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Leave Yuuji out of this!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right.

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

“So, what?”

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

“Are you angry?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re not happy, Satoru?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s he look like again?”

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

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

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

“Hold up! I got visual aid.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now who’s the liar,” Suguru murmurs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You good?”

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

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

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

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

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

Oh. Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

You’re having none of it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There you are.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Without warning, his phone buzzes.

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

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

“What?”

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

“I’m not dating Tsukumo Yuki.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If it’s a proper date, it’s a yes.”

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

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

ONE WEEK LATER.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#recs ★

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finelinevogue · 2 days ago

Note

Hi 🤗 Fluff request! A lazy Sunday in the life of Harry and the reader. Everyone knows Harry Styles, the superstar, but if people could see how Harry and the reader spend a day at home, they would not only love him even more but truly see that Harry is a homebody who loves to spend time with his loved ones.

hiii!! i LOVE a fluff request thank you so much <33 hope this is okay!

word count - ~1.2k

🍯*💛*🍯*💛*🍯*💛*🍯*💛*🍯*💛*🍯*💛* 🍯

The headline read: Harry Styles - Hate To Love Him

Often the tabloids were cruel, but no one had yet published an article with all the reasons not to like Harry - until last night.

Harry had caught sight of the headline whilst you’d been watching a movie together on the sofa. Instead of hiding it and how he felt about it from you, he instantly showed it to you.

The night had ended with soft tears from Harry and a whole lot of loving from you.

You watched Harry sleep.

You two had ended up sleeping on the sofa, having not bothered to move when you were already both so comfortable.

Harry had drawn a blanket over your bodies and your body heats had done the rest. You were snuggled against Harry’s chest with your legs entangled with his. Your body rose as he breathed in - the rhythmic motion enough to lull you back to sleep.

His bare chest smelt so comforting with the remanence of his cologne still sticking to him.

Your finger drew soft shapes against the outlines of his tattoos, watching his chest breathe in and out. It was comforting knowing he was sleeping peacefully, especially after such a horrible evening.

It was cruel that people created up bullshit narratives just so they can earn their pay-check. Why bring others down so much? Didn’t they feel the slightest bit of guilt?

“Harry.” You whispered.

The sun was shining through the curtains telling you it was way past the point of waking up.

Sometimes you both needed a morning in like this though. Some extra time to share between you both. Harry always needed a little extra love after having a rough time with the tabloids. They got him so down that sometimes he couldn’t see a positive way out. Luckily with you the darkness always seemed a little lighter.

“Mm.” Harry made a noise, sounding really gravely as he awoke.

You could tell he was rousing as his arm tightened around your waist, his fingers splaying out over the skin of your back.

“Harry, love.” You cooed.

“Mhm.” He acknowledged you with no words.

“Good morning.”

“Mhm.”

“Can’t find your words this morning, handsome?” You teased, sneaking your hand from his chest and up to his cheek. You brushed some of his floppy curls out of his eyes and cupped your cheek over his morning stubble.

Harry’s eyes opened then, peering down his body to find your face. His triple chin made you smirk as he looked at you.

He flopped his head back down when he had taken in his surroundings, his arm still holding you close.

“How are you feeling?” You asked.

“Eh.” He grumbled, his morning voice turning you on slightly. What? He sounded too good in a morning not to love on it.

“If only I spoke caveman.” You sighed in jest.

Harry’s chest rapidly moved up and down then as he chuckled.

It felt good to see him smile. Extra bonus points because you were the one that put that smile there.

You untangled yourself from his chest, your hair no doubt looking a mess, and pushed yourself up so you could see Harry better. Not that his chest was an unwanted sight, but you wanted to look at him now to really gauge how he’s feeling.

“No.” Harry whined, his arm clamping around you. He must’ve thought you were leaving him, but that was honestly the last thought on your mind.

You fell down on him slightly, his face burrowing in the comfort of your neck. Harry always said that was his safe place, because he could be physically close to you as well as feeling close to you.

“Ahh so you do know words.”

“Piss off.” He mumbled into your neck, breathing in a deeper breath as you assumed he was trying to smell you. He often claimed you were the best smell in the world - whatever that meant.

You let him stay hidden in your neck.

It allowed you to play with his hair - twisting curls around your fingers.

“Want to do anything today?”

“Like…?”

“I don’t know. Cinema? Walk in the park? Ooh - I need to go buy some more milk, we used it all when we made cookies the other night.”

“Can we go to the shop by Harrow Park?” He asked.

You comfortingly scratched the back of his neck the way he liked. Your nails weren’t even that long, but Harry just loved the feeling. It was something he’d never felt close enough with previous partners to let them do, so it of course made it all the more special for you to do.

“Yeah, sure. We can pop in to Jake’s on the way. He still has our casserole dish.”

“Why’d you give him that?” Harry grumbled - yes he was clearly in a grotty mood today, but you liked being the one to coax him out of it.

“That’s what friends do, H.”

“I bought you that dish.”

“And sharing is caring. Don’t be such a grump.”

“M’sorry.” He sighed, leaving the comfort of your neck to look at you.

His head laid down on the pillow, some of his curls fanning on the pillow beneath him.

You held yourself up so you could perch just above him, allowing you to still caress his neck whilst being held up by his arm.

“You look tired, m’love.” You said.

Harry kept his eyes on yours and you could see the pools of sadness in them from last night. Each time someone said something bad about him, it chipped a little bit away from his soul. It was your job to remind him that he was better than them - that he was stronger than he thought and to not let them win.

“I slept well.” He admitted.

“So did I.” You smiled.

“Couch sleeps are always better than the bed.”

“Yeah?”

“Whenever I’m closest to you, that’s when I sleep best.” He nodded.

“Me too.” You smiled, leaning down to give him the softest of kisses. Sometimes you couldn’t believe you were lucky enough to have him this way.

You pulled back with much regret, but you also loved seeing the dazed look on his face whenever he kissed you. His cheeks always reddened slightly, eyes crinkled with a smile and his nose slightly scrunched.

He clearly didn’t want you parting from him though, because his hand cupped the back of your neck and quickly pulled you back to him for a heartier kiss. He used his hand to pull you fully into him, allowing him to move and kiss you the way he wanted.

He pulled you away slightly, but left you close enough so your noses were softly touching.

“I love you.” He said.

“That’s nice to know.” You dismissed him, trying to lean back down to kiss him but he was quick to stop you.

“Hey, say it back.”

“You know I do.”

“Do what?” He raised an eyebrow in mischief.

You rolled your tongue across your teeth and pretend to look unimpressed, but in reality having him joke around like this was a good thing - it meant he was slowly getting over last nights torment and bringing himself back to the light.

He would argue you that you were the sole reason for that, but he doesn’t give himself enough credit.

You were proud of him for slowly allowing himself to get over those horrible tabloids, which is why you rewarded him.

“I love you too.”

“You do?”

“Pretty sure.” You giggled.

“Mm, I’m pretty sure too.”

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfic #ask finelinevogue #harry blurb #finelinevogue #harry styles concept #harry oneshot #harry styles blurbs #harry styles fic rec

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wtfaniii · 2 days ago

Text

"Who are you?"

Note: I apologize if my English here isn't good, I'm Mexican and I'm just beginning to study languages, I didn't find much content from Hwang In-ho and I thought, why not write something myself? I hope you like it.

"Hey..." Gi-hun murmured as he sat down next to me, making me jump a little but I managed to keep the composure, I was still a little shaken up by the second game, I thought was going to die but if it hadn't been for Thanos and that tiny pill I would have surely lost my little patience and been eliminated. "Are you okay?"

"I don't know..." It was crazy, I thought I could play this without feeling on the verge of death but here I was, almost shaking and playing with my fingers, when I felt Gi-hun wrap me in a hug I was able to regulate my heartbeat.

We knew each other years ago when I offered to take care of he daughter for a few coins, then I had a relapse into drugs and I never spoke to him again.

Until now

"It's okay... we'll be fine" Him try to calm myself down "Come, come with us"

I stood up and walked with him to where the rest of his group mates were but Thanos' voice stopped us "Hey! Where are you two going? My friend belongs to the future victors" Gi-hun didn't pay attention but when we felt he presence approaching us I turned to face him.

I wasn't going to let myself be intimidated, yes, I'm scared of dying at the hands of a gunshot to the head but I can stand my ground when it comes to an irritating rapper.

But to my surprise 001 was already right in front of me staring at Thanos with a firm stance. The purple-haired boy stepped back without looking away as he certainly didn't want to receive another beating from him but he didn't want to look like a coward either.

When he turned to us his dark and tired eyes fell on mine "Thank you In-ho" said Gi-hun without removing his arms from my shoulders

Now I knew him name.

When I met his group I was able to introduce myself and release a bit of my tense emotions, they were nice despite the circumstances. "Are you American?" 001 asks sitting on my left side, briefly interrupting the conversation I was having with Gi-hun. "Do my eyes give me away?" I joked, looking back at him.

Unlike them, my eyes were not slanted for obvious reasons, actually, if I were in better circumstances I would say they are my best asset.

He smiled a little, a smile that would have gone unnoticed if I didn't observe each of his features, he was attractive, too much so. "It seems like you haven't played any of the games before"

"I played... a few years ago with him daughter" I said looking at Gi-hun talking to Jung-bae "I was his babysitter"

"Why did you leave?" He asked curiously, it was strange that he knew I had quit but I guess it was just his intuition.

"Let's just say that... I had some setbacks..." I muttered sadly while giving my arm a squeeze right in the area where it was painful to grab because of some needle marks, it was a past I would like to forget "But I have a lot of debts to pay so here I am" I added with a slightly happier tone "Here I earn the money I owe or die by gunshot, for me it's a win either way" I tried to lighten the mood but In-ho's furrowed brow let me know that I was only ruining it "Out there they will hunt me and kill me like an animal... at least here I will have a more or less decent death"

It seemed like he felt sorry for me, or at least that's what his gaze conveyed to me, yeah... maybe I'm a poor damned soul but what does it matter, I have positive thoughts about my destiny.

"If I survive, I'll be a preschool teacher. I love children."

Again, he smiled and nodded.

[...]

The third game's timer was coming to an end, there were only five seconds left and I was alone, there were groups of three people but my lack of socialization seemed to be my condemnation as well.

I closed my eyes and accepted my fate but I was surprised by arms that surrounded me and knocked me to the ground, my eyes met 001 who looked at me with conflict, it was a judging look but at the same time it conveyed to me as if he was having a battle with himself.

"We're going to die" I stammered as the counter hit zero and the pink-masked men entered.

"Don't say anything," he whispered in my ear, causing a shiver to run through me. The lights kept turning on and off, making my vision dim. One of the guards approached us and pointed his gun at us. However, when I saw my life flash before my eyes, In-ho raised his arm and put his hand up in a stop gesture, causing the individual dressed in pink and with a triangle on his mask to lower his gun and retreat

The screams of the other participants being killed filled my ears but despite all that noise In-ho's words were quite clear to me "If you say anything about this it's over for you and your friends" it could have seemed like a threat but behind that tone I also managed to perceive a sincere request.

I wasn't stupid, he had something to do with these games and I would find out what it was before telling Gi-hun.

#hwang in ho #in ho x reader #in ho squidgame #squid game x reader #hwang inho x reader #frontamn x reader #squid game #squid game fic

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yu-huuuu · 2 days ago

Text

𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯?| 𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘴𝘪𝘴!reader| chapter: 01, (you are here)02, 03,

[🌸] phew-- you guys give me so much love in the last part, thanks <3 , maybe you don't know but you always give me a lot of energy to continue, thank you, I love you.

Summary: Perhaps the most important question is not; "How did you end up in this place?". it is; will you be able to finish the unfinished business that your self from this world left pending?.

...

The man took another sip of the steaming tea that resided in his hands, "I searched for you like crazy as soon as I first received your call."

You straightened up; however, you did not speak despite your desire to do so. Laura was sitting next to you.

When the man suddenly appeared at the door, the first thing he said was to know why you were in this place, and of course you were surprised by his words.

He had politely asked to speak to you, which you reluctantly agreed to. Laura, on the other hand, had offered to make some tea for the three of you to drink while you talked.

This man's appearance was so strange and unkempt, yet so... familiar, you vaguely wondered where you had seen him before.

"This is probably too sudden for you", he said, without showing any sign of discomfort at your lack of response. He put the small china cup down on the living room table, then pointed at your new old friend, "Does she have to be here?"

You knitted your eyebrows at her unappreciated words. You opened your mouth to reply before he interrupted, "No, forget it. I just remembered what happened last time I asked you that".

You were speechless; what did he mean by 'last time'...?

"Sorry, did we know each other before?", you asked, completely confused. "You speak as if we have known each other for a long time..."

The man frowned at your words: "Oh, right, you're not her".

"Her?" you murmured. You were so confused; did he think you were someone else or...?

He sighed while frowning a bit. His action and expressions were unexpected for you, but to be honest, it was more like he was mentally preparing himself for what he was going to say next: "How much do you know about other dimensions?".

"I...", what did you know? Only what was necessary, that was for sure. I mean, there was never a question like that on a math or physics test in high school. Goodness, it wasn't even a regular topic of conversation.

The man spoke again, not letting you finish your thoughts he murmured your name, "That's your name, right? I guess your last name is not 'Wayne', that would be too much of a coincidence'.

Wayne? Like the last name of that fictional character from the comics? You were going to ask him what he meant when the realization of what he said first hit you, you hadn't even told him your name yet, "How...?"

"So even names don't change in other dimensions," he said to himself without looking at your face. Then the man snorted; it sounded like an almost graceless muffled laugh. When he calmed down, he looked into your eyes. His look was serious— too serious, a little chill ran down your spine from the intensity of his look. "You are in another dimension... one where you died."

"What?" He was joking, right?

The man sighed, almost as if he were preparing himself for what he was about to say, "You were Bruce Wayne's adopted daughter".

As soon as the man finished speaking, you had enough. "Is this a joke!? Do you think it's funny that—?", Laura's warm hand on yours stopped you in the middle of your tirade. You turned to see her confused, only to see her surprised? She looked as if she had realized something.

Why did Laura see you that way? You could feel that your head was about to explode from everything that was happening. This was all too much; it couldn't be real. It was just impossible. This had to be a very well-crafted joke.

The man called out to you once more. "I didn't introduce myself, right?", he sighed in amusement and then raised his hand for you to shake in introduction mode, "You from this dimension probably would be scolding me for my bad manners. I'm John Constantine".

...

You saw the man's back walking away, his hands inside his coat. When he was a good distance away, he turned to you, "If you need anything, don't hesitate to contact me".

You squeezed the special card he had given you while you nodded vigorously, and then watched with complete surprise how what you assumed was a portal opened and then disappeared with John inside. None of this felt real, you were still taking in what happened an hour ago.

'I'm in another dimension', you thought as you, still very nervous, looked at the news magazine in which on the front page was reported about how the "justice league" managed to successfully catch the "injustice league" who threatened to destroy the entire city of Manhattan.

You knelt down, moving and reviewing different magazines from earlier dates that had different characters as protagonists, some better known than others. There was one of the "teen titans", a magazine that perfectly framed "Superman" flying through the sky to catch a plane with more than two hundred passengers on board that was going down.

You rummaged and moved more magazines until you got to the oldest news. One page featured Wonder Woman in particular as the protagonist of a march for Women's Day. Another page featured Flash, who was named the fastest human being alive. Even one of Aquaman gave an interview on how he managed to clean up the oceans by ninety percent.

There were some from Gotham that you were afraid to see for some reason. 'Is what he told me true?'

You sighed, tired; all this was giving you a migraine. 'Of all the possible things that could have happened to me, it had to be the worst...'

...

A sudden knock on the door startled you.

'Is it John?', was what you thought at first. It had been a few days since you last saw John, and the talk you had with him still weighed heavily on your mind.

"I suggest you come with me", he tried to convince you, but he stopped when he saw your distrustful look, "or maybe I could take you to Bruce", he retracted as he raised his hands a little.

"Why?" you inquired uneasily.

"You'll be safer this way", he explained as he got up from the chair. It didn't take long for you to copy his action, "Are you coming?".

Should you really do it? Was it really safe to go with him? If everything he told you was true, then the world waiting for you outside wasn't safe at all, and you knew it. You weren't foolish at all; you were sure that even John couldn't protect you at all times.

What would happen to Laura? Would she be okay?

John, seeing your indecisive state, hums, "Though- this place is good". He spoke, taking his eyes off of you.

You looked up from the fixed point that you were looking at without realizing it, "huh?"

He just nodded to himself and then looked at you, "I mean, this place isn't safe, it's a small town, but no one would think of looking for anything of value in this place", he explained as he gave you a small but warm smile, albeit something very inside you told you that smile was not really directed at you.

The second wave of knocks on the door took you out of your memories. You were about to get up to open the door when Laura suddenly appeared, waving you to stay in your place, which you obeyed.

"Are you sure that she is here?", it was a woman's voice, getting up from the soft chair, you headed towards the door.

You heard John's sudden voice, though it sounded like he was trying to defend himself, perhaps from some assumption, "Trust me, Zatanna is this house, I'm absolutely sure".

"It's better to be careful after last time-", the mockery in her voice trailed off as you stood in front of the door. She was a young woman, her eyes were a pretty blue, she had beautiful black hair that cascaded down her back; and next to her was John.

"See, what did I tell you?" John exclaimed triumphantly, ignoring the stunned woman next to him. "Hey , how's it going-?", the question hung in the air as the woman took a step towards you.

Laura, who was still standing in the same place, gave the black-haired woman enough space to pass. The soft touch of the female's hands on your face made you pay all your attention to her. Her eyes looked sad as she stared into yours, "You're not the same persona I used to know, are you?"

"I...", it wasn't even necessary for you to say anything else, she understood what you meant.

"I see, I understand. My name is Zatanna Zatara," she explained as she slowly moved her hands away from you, almost as if she didn't want to leave your person.

You felt bad for the woman in front of you.

...

:> Would you give me some love by squishing the heart below? Also tell me your thoughts, you can do it in this post or write it in my inbox!

158 notes · View notes

justluxy · 3 days ago

Text

Hot Roommate Extended

Hot Roommate x Bottom Male Reader

Tw: Mentions of Sex, Alcohol, reader is a bit immature, dub-con (i think since reader is drunk and can't think straight?)

Word count: 1.7k

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ 1:35 ───ㅇ───── 3:47

You recently moved to an apartment in a new city, but who would have thought it was so expensive to live there? You couldn’t afford to pay for the apartment and groceries. So, you decided to look for a roommate! You had two rooms so it wouldn’t be that bad. You made a post and someone answered, he seemed nice so you agreed to share with him, his name was Owen Palacios but damn… he was hot… I mean really hot…

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ 1:35 ───ㅇ───── 3:47

The first thought that came to your mind Owen was damn… how can a man be so hot? Literally he looked like a fucking model! He was muscular and tall. Even his personality was hot, he was nice, kind, and living with him was NOT easy for you I mean, he always walked around in just shorts! You could even see his dick through the shorts and man… that made you pop a boner a couple of times

“Heeey [name]!~” Owen said with his usual sweet tone while grabbing your waist with his big, manly hands and resting his head on your shoulder

“What do you want?” You said coldly, you sometimes hated the way he acted with you because he was so flirty like he liked you but at the same time didn’t! He was playing with your feelings and you hated it

“Sooo I have something to tell you!” He said with the same tone, “I’m having a girl over tonight so I was asking for your permission and thank you!” He said before leaving the apartment and he didn’t even let you answer… What a jerk!

“Son of a bitch” You said before going to your room and started studying for college, usual boring activities but you didn’t complain, you actually liked having a normal, boring life

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ 1:35 ───ㅇ───── 3:47

Fuck… you hated this. You could hear a loud, annoying girl moaning from Owen’s room and you hated it! That girl was so fucking loud and annoying you could not even sleep! You hated the annoying girl and you hated Owen… but lowkey you wanted to be the girl… I mean what?

You couldn’t handle it anymore so you went to the living room and turned the tv on and try to ignore the girl. That was becoming common for Owen, always bringing girls over and being loud… you really needed to talk to him about it

Finally you saw the girl leaving, her legs shaking like jelly and you just sighed and then Owen got out of the room, his clothes and hair messy and with a blush and dumb smile

“Well that was fun…” He said with his dumb smile and sat next to you at the couch while trying to fix his hair since it was all messy from the previous event with the random girl

“I don’t wanna hear about it” You said annoyed and it was true, you didn't want to hear your hot roommate talking about his sexual life in front of you!

“Aww why? You’re jealous?” He said teasing you with his usual smirk that you secretly loved but would never tell him

“Ew never” You said annoyed before going to your room while Owen only chuckled

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ 1:35 ───ㅇ───── 3:47

It was the next day and both you and Owen were in the apartment, the tv was on and you were scrolling through your phone while he was cooking, his food was perfect as always, was there something that man was bad at!?

“Heey [Name] I have a question!” He said while turning the stove off

“What” You said not interested while scrolling through your phone

“My friend is hosting a party and I’m invited so I was wondering if you want to go with me?” He said smiling and sitting next to you on the couch

“Why would I want to go? I don't like getting drunk and loud people” You said still scrolling through your phone but then you felt his big hand around your shoulder

“C’mon [nameee]! It will be fun! There will be a lot of girls there! And I promise if you go, I won't bring a girl tonight!” He said with his face terribly close to yours

“You promise?” You said with your eyebrow raised and he nodded happily, “fine i’ll go with you” you said before sighing

“Yay! Let’s go!” He said before grabbing your hand and practically running to the door and then his car, “Hey I didn't change my clothes!” You said annoyed, “It doesn't matter, it’s a casual party and we are a bit late anyway” He said before turning the car on and driving to the party… you just hoped nothing crazy happened… oh how wrong you were

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ 1:35 ───ㅇ───── 3:47

You didn't like it, no, YOU HATED IT! You were seeing your semi-crush dancing with every single girl in the party! You were… jealous? Why would you be jealous of the annoying guy… right?

You wanted to kill him and the girl! They were so annoying! You didn't want to see them anymore so you went and grabbed some drinks to try and forget him

After three drinks you were ALREADY super drunk and you couldn't even speak properly or think properly so you went and talked to Owen and the annoying girl he was dancing with

“Oh hey [na-”, he said before you cut him off, “Be… q-quiet and let’s go home!”, you said trying to speak properly but it was hard, even walking up to them was hard

“But-” He tried to protest, “Now!” You said creating a scene where every single guest looked at you two, “Sorry cutie, i have to leave okay? Ciao~” He said to the girl as you clung on Owen and giving the girl a mean glance

“Okay let’s go my boy…” He said while carrying you in bridal style to his car and placed and buckled your seat belt and started driving to the apartment, every few minutes Owen looked at you to see if you were okay

Then when you guys got home, and, he carried you to your room and placed you in your bed. He was about to leave when you grabbed his arm with your hand and pulled him down your bed so he was on top of you

“D-Don’t leave…” You said, still drunk and not thinking straight. Then you grabbed him and mare him lay on the bed while you got on top of him while he looked at you surprised

“What are y-” He said but you put your finger on his lips, preventing him from speaking. “You said you’re not bringing any girl tonight… let me satisfy you tonight” you said moving your hips on his crotch, still a bit drunk and not thinking straight

“Mmm… it’s finally happening then~” He said with a smirk as he took off your pants and underwear as you moaned as you felt his hands on your ass

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ 1:35 ───ㅇ───── 3:47

You woke up feeling sore… now you remember why you stopped drinking and going to parties. You looked around and you realized you were in your room but wait… your pillow felt hard and it moved, god did you sleep with someone?

You looked up and you saw… OWEN!? Did you have sex with him? No no this was not good! So you pushed him out of your bed

“What the hell Owen!?” You screamed as you threw a pillow at him

“Shit…” He said rubbing his eye and standing up

“PUT SOME CLOTHES ON!” You said as you threw another pillow at him while he tried to put his boxers on

“I can't believe we had sex!” You said while you covered your face of embarrassment with your hands

“If it makes you feel better, it was amazing! Did you know you’re pretty intense at sex?” He said happily but stopped smiling when you gave him a mad look

“Get out of my room!” You said as you tried to walk up to him but failed as your legs felt like jelly and you fell

“Are you okay?” He asked worriedly but when he got close to you, you punched his balls, “Ahh!” He yelled before sitting on the bed while holding his balls with his hands with a pain expression

“Get out!” You said and he ran away, not wanting to get punched by you again

This was bad… really bad. You felt good that you finally slept with him but you felt bad and sad that you were drunk and that he will probably forget it and act like nothing happened when it meant a lot to him… you didn't want to be just a fuck buddy

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ 1:35 ───ㅇ───── 3:47

Finally when you calmed down you decided to talk to Owen and finally get this over with. He was sitting on the couch doing nothing when you sat down next to him

“We need to talk…” You said seriously while looking at him

“Yeah… listen… I’m sorry okay? I know I messed up… I should not have done that… I knew you were drunk and I still did it… and I understand if you’re mad…” he said with a sincere tone

“It’s just… I like you a lot… but I don't want to just forget it and pretend it didn't happen…” you said looking at him

“You like me? Actually? Wow… I like you too, you know?” He said with a surprised tone

“Actually?” You said surprised too, “Then why the hell you bring girls every single night!?” You asked

“Hehe just to tease you” he said with his usual smirk, “So… [Name] do you wanna be my boyfriend?” He asked while holding your much smaller hand

“Tsk fine…” you said embarrassed and looking away with a blush all over your face

“Then… now you will be the only one making noises at night… no more girls” he said smirking while you could only blush and hide your face in your hands

#bottom male reader #gay #male reader #x reader #reader #gay smut #smut #gay boy

135 notes · View notes

piastri-fvx · 12 hours ago

Text

A Ferrari fan and a Red Bull Driver. Max Verstappen.

Pairing: Max Verstappen x FerrariFan!reader, Max Verstappen x Leclerc!reader, social media and a very short irl part

Summary: When Max Verstappen develops a crush on a Ferrari fan, who happens to be a Leclerc.

Word Count: 1,089

Face claim: different girls from pinterest & Sabrina Carpenter

Disclaimer/s: None!! Just fluff and a bunch of bickering.

Authors Note: yayyyy second story, here we go!! Hope u enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

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

@yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc, alexandrastmleux, lorenzotl, jade_distinguinn, charlotte2304 and 637.581.274 others

yourusername family day in the paddockkkk ❤️

| view all comments...

alexandrastmleux trop belleeee liked by creator

-> yourusername my wife 💕

-> charles_leclerc ???

user1 okay but Max posting her...

-> user2 HE DID???

-> arthur_leclerc he did?

-> user3 i smell overprotective brother

-> yourusername @arthur_leclerc don't even

charles_leclerc my favorite little sister ❤️ liked by creator

-> yourusername i'm your only sister?

-> user4 damn 💀

-> user5 i'm so invested in the Max and Leclerc stuff

user6 i need more footage of y/n meeting people in the paddock 😣

-> user7 real

jade_distinguinn 🥰🥰🥰 liked by creator

-> yourusername my loveee 🩵

-> user8 awwww

maxverstappen1 loved meeting you liked by creator

-> user9 what is going on

-> user10 someone please pinch me

user11 you are gorgeoussss liked by creator

-> yourusername thank youuuu

user12 woahhhhh 😍

user13 oh to have y/ns life

@maxverstappen1

liked by yourusername, user1, alexandrastmleux, landonorris, estebanocon and 4.284.395 others

maxverstappen1 finally summer break

tagged: @yourusername

| view all comments...

yourusername forza ferrari 🥰

-> maxverstappen1 no

-> user1 i'm afraid she slayed

charles_leclerc why are you posting my little sister???????

-> maxverstappen1 what? which sister? you have a sister?

-> user2 damnnnn, the gaslighting

user3 i'm so invested in all of this

landonorris i don't know about you guys, but this looks like a girlfriend appreciation post to me 🙃 liked by creator

-> user4 i fear he ate

-> user5 damn, lando has a point

-> arthur_leclerc they're not dating

-> user6 he refuses to believe it lmao

user7 the leclerc brothers being in denial is my favorute thing ever

-> yourusername real

-> user8 omg hiiii

-> user9 is that a confirmation?

arthur_leclerc no

-> user10 overprotective brother alert

user11 MAX LIKING LANDO'S COMMENT ABOUT Y/N BEING HIS GF????

-> user12 i'm so glad i get to live in this world

user13 okay but why is no one talking about how pretty she is?? like damn liked by creator

scuderiaferrari she's ours

-> redbullracing she won't be for long liked by creator

-> user14 not ferrari and red bull fighting over her 😭

user15 just fell to my knees in a parking lot

-> user16 valid reaction

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

Sitting in the passenger seat of Max's Aston Martin, y/n let out a thoughtful hum, directing her gaze to Max. He glanced at her, noticing the weight of her gaze on him.

"Penny for your thoughts, mijn liefde?" He spoke up, his voice softer than usual. He seemed to have noticed her thoughtfulness as her mind seemed to be racing. He knew the expression on her face all too well.

"What if they're mad..?" She then spoke, her body visibly tensing at the thought. Her shoulders slumped, making his eyes meet hers again, now filled with concern.

"Lorenzo, Arthur and Charles?" He asked, despite already knowing the answer. Of course she was talking about her brothers, she had been quite anxious to tell them about her relationship with Max, and Max knew that.

She tilted her head, her eyes full of nervousness. "Yeah," she simply said, nodding her head and biting her lips, looking out the window of the car to try to distract herself from her thoughts.

"Why would they be? You make me happy. I love you and you love me. They should be happy for us," Max calmly spoke, attempting to make her relax a bit. And he seemingly succeeded, as she slightly relaxed.

"Yeah, you're probably right," She couldn't help but feel butterflies in her stomach as he said that he loved her. He had said it before, since they had been dating for multiple months at this point, but it still felt like the first time.

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

@charles_leclerc

liked by arthur_leclerc, scuderiaferrari, redbullracing, landonorris, lorenzotl and 1.384.294 others

charles_leclerc me when my little sister hangs out with my rival 😒

| view all comments...

maxverstappen1 did someone mention me? liked by creator

-> user1 max verstappennnnnn

user2 lestappen?

landonorris wait until you see his newest post, charles liked by creator

-> user3 i love how invested in this lando is

-> user4 he's just like us

-> user5 he lives for the drama

user6 y/n mentioned

maxverstappen1 me when y/n leclerc 😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍

-> arthur_leclerc i will fight you.

-> lorenzotl me too. back off, verstappen

-> charles_leclerc i will crash you into the barriers on purpose if you hurt her

-> user7 them wanting to fight max is so funny to me

user8 the last few months on f1 social media have been so amazing 😭

alex_albon max has rizz

-> user9 true

-> user10 preach, alexander albon

user11 do do do do max verstappen

-> user12 i live for that song 😭

@maxverstappen1

liked by yourusername, redbullracing, charles_leclerc, niallhoran, louist91, liampayne, joaofelix79 and 5.482.385 others

maxverstappen1 girlfriend appreciation post

| view all comments...

yourusername mon amourrrrr 🥰 liked by creator

-> maxverstappen1 forever yours ❤️

-> user1 your honor, i love them 😭

-> user2 we got y/n and max together before gta 6

user3 i mean, we did get lestappen ☺️

-> user4 yeah, just with a different leclerc than we thought

-> user5 this is so cute

user6 i hope they get married

-> user7 same

louist91 so happy for you both!! liked by creator

-> yourusername thank you, lou!!

-> user8 i love that she's friends with zayn, louis, liam, harry and niall 😣

liampayne yayyyyyyy!! now she won't have to pine when we text or call and talk about how amazing you are and how much she likes you liked by creator

-> yourusername i'll still do that, what are best friends for? 💕 liked by creator

-> user9 i love her sm

-> user10 i love their friendship

zayn my boy finally got the girl liked by creator

-> maxverstappen1 such a romantic way of saying it

-> user11 so real of them

niallhoran romeo and juliet minus the dying liked by creator

-> user12 so slay of niall to be here

harrystyles wanna write songs about you and him with me? liked by creator

-> yourusername check our chat 🥰

-> user13 HS4?????

-> user14 featuring y/n?

-> user15 y/n in her singer and songwriter era?

-> user16 oh, i am SO here for this

joaofelix79 congratssss liked by creator

charles_leclerc don't your dare break her heart, verstappen liked by creator

-> user17 he wouldn't

-> maxverstappen1 i wouldn't, she'll be my woman forever

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

A/N: woooooo!!! second story in two dayssss!! thank you so so much to everyone who liked and reblogged my story, and thank you to everyone who follows me now <333 let me know if you have requests or you want to be on my permanent tag list!!!

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heartzfromel · 1 day ago

Text

undercover

detective!agnes x fem!model!reader

summary; agnes has a bit of trouble in the makeup department. tony is useless, and rio is busy. luckily, miss texas is bored out of her mind in the room next door, and just so happens to be looking for something to do.

tags; queer awakening question mark, age gap but nothing overly crazy

a/n; jen mentioned who cheered, fyi reader doesn’t know she’s queer, also its the 90s so take that as u will, ignore any mistakes

chapter 1 | chapter 2

your stylist, jen, glared daggers into the back of marvin’s head as he paced around the room, answering several phone calls per minute and overall just distracting her from her work, which just so happened to be your hair.

“does he ever stop that?” she mumbled, leaning over your shoulder to grab hairspray.

“i don’t know,” you whispered back, “sometimes i think he’s a robot who got sent to spy on me by my father.”

“wouldn’t put it past him,” jen smirked, combing her fingers through your hair as she fluffed it up, “et voila! all done.”

“thank you kindly jen, your’e a lifesaver.” you grinned, showing her out.

once jen had left, you pushed your door closed and threw yourself onto your bed, rolling over to turn the cd player on, before closing your eyes, basking in your moment of silence.

•☽༻¨:·. ──── ₊☽◯☾₊ ──── .·:¨༺☾•

“what?” agnes deadpanned.

“we don’t have anyone to do your makeup.” tony mumbled, repeating himself.

“are you joking?” she spat.

“no…” he began, “we sorta thought you’d be able to do that yourself.”

“tony.”

“yeah?” he replied terror evident in his expression. he loved agnes dearly, but it didn’t take away from the fact that she was possibly the most terrifying woman to walk on planet earth.

“do i look like the sort of person who would know how to do my own makeup?”

tomy paused. now that he thought about it, he had never in his life witnessed agnes in a dress, nevermind makeup.

“get out.” she spat.

“huh?”

“get out! is that so hard for you to grasp, tony? i said GET OUT.”

•☽༻¨:·. ──── ₊☽◯☾₊ ──── .·:¨༺☾•

you groaned, the sound of a woman yelling filling your ears as you tried to get 20 minutes of sleep. now normally, you would’ve just got annoyed but left the situation alone, but this girl sounded MAD, and you were bored out of your mind by now, so you decided to go investigate.

when you left your hotel room, you realised that the yelling was coming from the room next door. huh, these walls must be thick, you thought to yourself, because the yelling sounded like it had been coming from somewhere a lot further down the hall.

the pristine white door lay wide open, and a man with dark hair was anxiously listening to the woman’s angry voice, before she yelled at him to get out.

before she slammed the door, you caught her.

“hey, everything alright out here?” you asked, shooting her a smile. this was the first time you had gotten a look at her, and quite frankly, you thought she was ethereal. her long dark hair tumbled effortlessly down her shoulders, stopping at her hips, and her skin was glowing, despite the obvious stress she was under. her eyes were piercing and as blue as sapphires, and she was in nothing but a plush white dressing gown.

“oh everything’s fine, hon!” she grinned back, giggling slightly, as she leaned on the doorframe.

“you sure? didn’t sound like it a second ago.” you replied, curiosity getting the better of you.

“well, that was my agent.” she began, “he just came to tell me my makeup artist couldn’t make it on this trip, she had to cancel.”

“oh, well that’s terrible! do you think you can do it yourself?”

“sure! i’ll be fine!” she reassured you, but something in her voice just wasn’t quite right.

“you don’t sound so sure. here, let me come in and help you out.” you offered.

she looked taken aback to say the least, and you were almost worried you had overstepped. that tended to happen with the other pageant girls. you had a really hard time getting them to like you. marvin told you they were just jealous, because after the pageants were over, you had a dozen magazines and perfume shoots booked, but you weren’t so sure, so whenever someone showed any sort of interest in interacting with you, you would jump at the chance, and sometimes you could be a bit much.

you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding in as she stepped out of the way of the doorframe to let you in.

you smiled, and she smiled gratefully back at you as you ushered her to the chair that sat in front of her vanity.

“you got any makeup with you?” you asked.

“i’m afraid i’ve only got this.” she replied, ruffling through her bag, before holding up two bottles, foundation and concealer, looking at them as if she wasn’t fully aware of what they were.

“wait one second.” you grinned, before running back to your room, grabbing your bag and rushing back to the woman’s room.

“i got stuff!” you spoke, excitedly, laying various makeup products out on the vanity.

“oh, thank you doll, you’re a lifesaver.” she sighed, the nickname sending a shockwave through you as it slipped from her lips.

“so- uh, what’s your name, anyway?” you mumbled, trying to brush whatever that feeling was as you kneeled down to her level, pinning her hair out of her face.

“agatha harkness, you?”

“y/n y/l/n.”

“that’s pretty.” she sighed, closing her eyes as you began to apply her foundation to her face.

as you continued to do her makeup, your knees began to get tired, causing you to have to stretch them out every few minutes.

“are you hurting, y/n?” agatha began, “here, get up.” she added, gesturing to the vanity. you let out a sigh ad you sat up onto it. you tried not to notice the fact that her eyes never left you, trailing up and down your body every so often, but you didn’t see that part.

“better?” she asked, and you nodded. as you leaned in to do her eyeshadow, you could feel her breath, caressing your face gently. your own breath hitched as the action, mixed with her unbroken eye contact, sent shivers down your spine. what was happening to you?

you shook it off as you picked your favourite red lipstick off the table, leaning in to paint her lips. as her rich, amber scent enveloped you, all you could think about is how beautiful she was, how inviting her scent was, and how you just wanted to fall into her lap and kiss her right there and then, you hands running through her luscious dark locks and her stunning hands gripping your waist. you tried to shake the feeling off, not knowing what was going on. she’s a girl, you thought to yourself. oh my god, am i-

“am i all done?” agatha asked, staring up at you.

“uh, yeah. all done! i’ll see you later, yeah?” you gushed, not fully aware if you’d been staring at her or not. you quickly rushed out, grabbing your things.

“alright!” she smiled, “thank you!”

•☽༻¨:·. ──── ₊☽◯☾₊ ──── .·:¨༺☾•

agnes was in big trouble. she didn’t know how she’d managed it, but she’d managed to fall for the one person that she couldn’t, and it was made worse by the fact she couldn’t tell anyone. if this didn’t go away, she’d be done for. she had known you for twenty five minutes and was already struggling to keep her composure around you, which was a really bad thing, considering that her whole goal here was to keep her composure.

suddenly, there was a knock at the door. she groaned, moving to open it, before being greeted with tony’s dropped jaw.

“you look fantastic!” he began, “i saw y/n leaving, by the way. how did that go?”

“uhh..”

one thing was right. and that was that agnes o’connor had messed up.

•☽༻¨:·. ──── ₊☽◯☾₊ ──── .·:¨༺☾•

taglist; @hannah-0730 @m1vfs @creaturesaphique @push-on-me @chiar4anna (comment to be added)

#agatha all along #agatha coven of chaos #agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #agatha x reader #fem reader #agatha harkness x you #rio vidal x reader #agnes o'connor #wlw fic #wlw #lesbian #lesbian fic #agatha all along x reader #el thoughts 💭#el’s inbox 💌

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0nlythrowharrybeaux · 22 hours ago

Text

Twelve Days: Part 3**

Part 3 of this littel series! Thank you for your patience and for reading this story! I will create a post for all the parts soon! Hope you guys enjoy and feel free to send theories or any ideas that you guys would want me to consider incorporating.

Warnings: infidelity, break ups, mentions of depression and anxiety and their symptoms, mentions and use of alcohol and drugs, breast/ nipple play, oral sex (m and f receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms

WC: 7.8K

Day Nine:

Harry’s POV:

Harry was still reeling from that steamy night you two had shared a couple days prior. He was relieved that you weren’t regretful of what had happened that night. He wasn’t sure what he would’ve done if you’d shut him out afterwards. He wasn’t regretful of what had happened but maybe just a little bit upset of how it had happened. He never wanted you to feel like he had done that because he was lonely, like you’d said then. Or worse, to get back at Julie for her infidelity. In all honesty, he just liked being around you more than he remembered.

He really was worried that this would feel out of the blue for you. But, meanwhile Julie was off with this Joe guy this time around, he was growing apart from her and his love for her was starting to fade. You were also dealing with a lot and he had wanted so badly to check in and to talk to you, to be there for you, but you had asked for space from everyone and he wanted to respect that. He felt that he could have reached out anyway, just to let you know that he had your back or was there to support if you ever needed it, but he hadn’t. And now, he was a bit concerned that this all would seem like a convenient time for him to get close all to just hook up with you.

The context in general just had his anxiety skyrocketing and he was struggling to play it cool. Even the fact that you were playing it so cool had him worrying just a bit more because he liked you! And maybe to you it was just a thing that you’d done in the heat of the moment and again, he’d end up with hurt feelings. He would jump at the opportunity to do it again though, that’s what was scary to him. And well, like he had mentioned to you before, it wasn’t like he was just realizing what a catch you were. He knew that from way before. And the more he got to know you over the years, the more he grew to care about. He had found himself admiring you before but it was never more than just a thought in the moment. When you started to date Ash you started to pull away from all of them and he didn’t like that. To him, it was red flag behavior to have a partner who always wanted you to change things for the relationship to work. You were sacrificing a lot to keep that relationship going. And sure, you put on a happy face when someone you love asks you to do something for them but moving to the other side of the country where you know no one? Being away from your family? You had done everything you could and still, you were left high and dry.

A part of him understood what you had said when you told him that you felt weak for letting Ash affect you that way. He was familiar with the feeling, he had allowed your sister’s infidelity slide before. In a way, what he had going with her would be better than retuning to England and be neglected by his own family. At least here he knew that your family loved him and supported him. He had friends that were like his family, colleagues and mentors that were like parent figures to him and helped him get to where he was now. For all of that, he felt that staying in an unhappy marriage wasn’t such a big price to pay. But like all things we compromise our happiness for, it started to take a toll and now, he needed Julie to let him go.

Y/N’s POV:

After your first sexual encounter with Harry it was relieving to know that you were both on the same page about it. However, there was still a lingering fear over how far it would go the next time. Would there even be a next time? Should there even be a next time? The day prior had just been spent at the house relaxing with everyone, there were thankfully no weird or tense vibes between you. You’d gone out to shop for the Christmas meal ingredients and the rest of the ladies decided to tag along, which you were a bit bummed about because you wanted to take the time to think about what the fuck you were going to do about this thing with Harry. He was important to you, you did have love for him to a certain degree because he was part of the family, but now you were attracted to him and that could easily become something else. Something more…and well that would be weird, wouldn’t?

“Y/N!” Your aunt raised her voice as she waved her hand in your face.

“Huh?” You asked as you finally snapped out of your thoughts.

“I wanted to know what wine the Christmas meal will pair well with?” She inquired. “I do prefer a white but depends on the red it goes with, I wouldn’t mind it.”

“I’m not too sure to be honest, just get what you like.” You assured her and she seemed satisfied with that answer before putting down the bottle of white she had picked up.

As you turned your gaze to find the scallions you locked eyes with your sister who gave you a slightly questioning gaze. To be fair, you did seem quite out of it and it wasn’t with no reason. You had a lot on your mind right now. When you located the scallions you started making your way over, not missing that she had followed after you.

“Hey, you good?” She asked you and you briefly turned to her and nodded.

“Yeah, just have a lot on my mind.” You explained.

“Mmm…with the holidays and all?” She asked and you just nodded. Obviously, she was asking if this had anything to do with Ash and you just agreed. “I do too. I’m really glad Harry got to be here for this. He really loves you guys and well, vice versa!” She explained, “But I do wish I could spend the holidays with well…” she trailed off.

“It’s that serious?”

“Yeah. Or at least to me. S’why he came a few days ago.” She said and you nodded. “I wonder what Harry’s gonna do when we split up…” she said quietly.

“I think he’ll be okay.” You assured her.

“Yeah… I do hope he finds happiness though.” She said and you felt your tummy do a funny flip when you wondered if you could make Harry happy? But that idea soured when you wondered if your sister would feel the same about Harry’s happiness if he wanted to explore that with you. Regardless, you let the thought go because it was a ridiculous one to ever consider. It’s not like anything with Harry could actually take off. You just offered her a smile before grabbing the little bunch of scallions and put them into the produce baggy.

“Hey, ummm…I really just need some alone time today. Could you maybe talk everyone into going out for dinner so I can just cook something for myself and unwind a little?” You asked and she smiled and nodded.

“Yeah, of course.” She assured you.

With that, you felt a bit more at ease. You were looking forward to having some quiet time in the evening. That was until your sister asked if she could come into your room.

“Yeah, come in!” You called out.

“Hey, would you mind if Harry stayed behind with you? He’s not up for acting like everything is perfect with us.” She explained. You felt your body warming up at the sound of that. “He’s goo about keeping to himself.” She added in, as if you needed any further convincing.

“Yeah, that’s fine.” You mumbled back as nonchalantly as possible.

“Okay, thank you. I don’t know if you noticed that he’s been sleeping in the room over here?” She asked and you nodded.

“I heard him coming in one night.”

“Okay. But I did tell him you really wanted some space tonight so he’ll be mindful of that.” She assured you.

“Thank you for going these lengths.” You smiled at her.

“It’s the least I could do for you after…you heard me out so graciously and-”

“You don’t need to thank me for that.” You assured her and she nodded with a small smile.

“I’ll see you tonight then.”

“You can also take them to get drunk afterwards if you want…” you added and she chuckled.

“We’ll see where the night takes us!” She said before leaving you.

After everyone had gone, you emerged from the shower and lazed around for a few more minutes undisturbed, which seemed a little odd to you. So you made your way out to the kitchen, thinking that you might coax Harry out to join you, but you were nearly done with your carbonara and he had not come out. You’d made enough for him, so decided to go get him. Your gentle raps on his door were greeted by him slightly opening up for you.

“Hey, I made carbonara for us for dinner.” You informed him and his lips quirked up a bit.

“Oh great, I was just about to order in.” He explained and your brows knotted together in confusion.

“You were gonna eat alone?”

“Well yeah, you wanted space, no?” He asked and you nodded.

“Yeah, that’s true but not necessarily from you.” You explained timidly and he smiled a bit wider. “Kinda thought you would’ve come to grab me the moment everyone was gone.”

“Normally yeah. But I just…I thought it was because of me, you know? That you needed some space.” He explained.

“Oh…ummm…I can’t say that our situation hasn’t been on my mind a lot.” You explained, “But it’s more to do with everyone looking at me like a wounded bird.” You explained and he smiled a bit. “Like I get it, but goes back to the pride thing we talked about before. I just hate that I feel like I’m doing good but then everyone looks at me like I’m not and it makes me feel like shit.” You elaborated.

“For the record you are not giving wounded bird vibes. It’s more non-combative and I think that scares your family a bit. They might think it’s a facade when it’s not. You’re just moving through the acceptance of it.” He said, “Well, at least that’s what I gathered from what I’ve seen and what we’ve talked about.”

“Well, thank you for…seeing me.” You said softly and he smiled. “So…do you want to have dinner with me?” You asked again. And he didn’t need any further coaxing before he was serving himself the other half of the food before you two were sat beside each other on stools around the kitchen island as you talked about how your days had gone. Your laughter had just died down from a story Harry had finished telling and you reached over to him.

“Wait, wait, wait….” You giggled. “You had sauce on your chin.” You laughed breathily as he held still for you to swipe it away with your thumb.

“Thanks.” He hummed as you pulled your hand away to wipe it on the napkin by your plate.

“Of course.” You assured him.

“I’ve been…thinking a lot about what happens when we go back home.” He said and the lightness of the mood started to fade.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah… like I…I care about you a lot and I don’t want you to feel like I just used you and I too don’t want to feel… used. I think it would hurt a lot more coming from you.” He explained. “But then, I also understand that no matter how we go about this, it’ll look really bad on us if we decide to…you know?” He said inquisitively and your gaze softened as you started to read between the lines of what he was saying. Did he want to try to be with you? “I don’t even know what I’m saying any more just…forget about it.” He mumbled.

“Harry.” You sighed as you reached for his arm. Your palm anded gently over his bicep. He looked up at you from his empty plate. “I don’t know what the fuck we’re even doing but I know that I feel safe with you. I feel taken care of. You hear me and see me. And whether it’s right or wrong, I have a huge fucking crush on you too.” You admitted “Just saying, you know? In case you…didn’t pick up on that before.” You said with less confidence now as you started to feel a little uncertain of the vulnerability you had just displayed.

However, before you could second guess yourself any further, Harry was reaching for your face and leaning in as his lips kissed yours. You easily melted into his kiss and started leaning into him as well. And as your kiss grew more heated you had been moved onto the couch. You could feel his arousal through his pants and it was making you lose your self-control. You were obsessed with the way his arms squeezed around your waist so strongly, it made you feel small and delicate in his hold. It was different than with Ash, where you often felt like you were the one who did the caretaking. When he was holding you like this, you felt taken care. When he kissed you as deeply and intentionally as he was, you felt safe and warm from deep inside.

“Let me suck you off.” you mumbled again his lips and Harry inhaled sharply.

“You don’t have to.” He breathed out.

“I want to.” You assured him, “Really badly.” You added, your eyes bore into his gaze, asserting your desire. “Please?” You asked softly as you placed a single kiss on his lips and then pulled back. “Know you want me to, so stop pretending.” You hummed with a smirk as you kissed his chin, then his jaw, and then his neck, where you sucked gently.

Harry rolled his head to the side to give you the space to work down the column of his throat with your lips. You were gentle, to ensure you weren’t leaving any marks on him, no matter how badly you wanted to. Your hand started to slither up beneath his shirt, feeling up his abs and his taut chest before bringing your hand down to the elastic band of his sweats. Your finger teased at it before you slid back a bit on his lap, enough to grope around the bulge in his pants. He sighed shakily as you rubbed the heel of your palm over his cock back and forth, making him squirm beneath you. After a bit of teasing you started to slide down to your knees and there was no falsified chivalry on his end any more. Harry was rushing to slid his bottoms down to his ankles while you pulled one of the pillows to the ground to kneel more comfortably. And when his cock was standing tall before your face your mouth started to salivate. You were so impatient to get him into your mouth. You reached for him and give him a few gentle strokes. You smiled up at him as you heard his breath hitch. His hot and smooth skin was making you impatient, so you just lowered your face and gave a testing lick from the base to his tip.

“Fuck, please get me into your mouth.” He muttered desperately. You smirked up at him and proceeded to part your lips and sucked his tip between your lips. You let your tongue swirl around it, finding the underside of it and rubbing against it. You felt his thighs flex beneath one of your hands as he moaned deeply. “Fucking hell…”

You were wet just from hearing his lovely sounds as you sucked him off. You slowly started to take more, enjoying the feeling of his fingers tangling into your hair and helping you keep the pace that was making him shiver. He was bigger than your previous partners, so you were struggling with not being too sloppy, but he didn’t seem to mind it. Specially as you gagged around him as you tried to get him in all the way.

“Fuck, just use your hand for now. S’okay, you’ll get it eventually.” He assured you and that alone had your pussy fluttering, your walls were pulsing steadily from how turned on you were.

Harry was encouraging and vocal and it was the hottest thing that you’d ever experienced. Even more so as he held you gently by the head and started to thrust into your mouth, you relaxed your jaw to help him get in as deep as he was craving. His muttered curses and praises were music to your ears. Despite that tearfulness in your eyes, you were thinking about when the next opportunity you’d get to do this again would be. He was getting close to coming from what he was saying and you were desperate to get a taste of him. You started to suck around his tip again and started to stroke at the pace he’d been thrusting, taking over once again. You felt his body just relax into the couch as one of his hands skimmed over your cheek, feeling the bulge of his cock against it.

“I’m gonna come…fuck…” he moaned deeply as your hot, little mouth worked him to his climax. And moments later you could feel his body starting to tense up beneath you. His breath hitch and you glanced up at him, his head was thrown back into the cushions, eyes squeezed shut as his jaw started to slack until the deepest moan flowed from his mouth as he started to come. His hand went back to your hair, gripping it hard as he held you in place until you felt the first spurt of his cum pooling on your tongue. You moaned around him in response which made his cock twitch as he started to shoot more of his sperm into your mouth. You swallowed around him quickly before you felt a few more spurts fill your mouth with his warmth and flavor before he was panting and threading his fingers into your hair. His thighs were trembling as you gave a few gentle sucks to clean him off before you pulled away from his length and let it plop down against his thigh.

He was still half hard and it made you wonder if he’d get back to full size if you played with him ever so gently. But that plan was soon cut short as he pulled you up onto the couch until you were laying across it. Harry was laid on his side as he kissed you and help you get your own pants and under wear down your legs until his fingers were skimming over your labia and then sliding down to your entrance to feel your arousal. You were so fucking wet, it was embarrassing in the slightest. He spread your arousal around you and started to rub against your clit with two gentle fingers. The circular motions were dizzying as you kissed sloppily. Your legs were spread for him, allowing him ease of access while he pleasured you.

“Please.” You whispered as his two fingers teased at your entrance. He smirked and then sat up and placed the throw pillows beneath your back to prop you up enough against the inner corner of the couch and then he sunk down between your legs onto his knees. You had a perfect view of him kissing up your thighs as he guided one of your legs over his shoulder and held the other open by the back of your thigh and planted it against the couch.

When his lips met with your clit your walls clenched tight. Watching him was something different entirely, it was even more erotic to see him throw all caution out the window as he just buried his face between your legs. His hot, smooth tongue rolled over your clit in intentional swipes until you were trembling. You were pressing him even closer to you, grinding up against his face as you did everything you could to feel even more than you already were. When he finally put his fingers back in you were done for.

Two of his thick digits were gliding in and out of your little hole with ease. The soft squelching sounds of the friction was making you eve more wet for him. The way he was thrusting in and rubbing into your g-spot and then sucking on your throbbing little clit was making your vision blur with pleasure. You just wanted to come for him and if he kept this up you would be making a mess. It was too much in the absolute best way possible. Your blood was flowing hot and heavy through your veins, you were completely losing yourself as your hips started to grind into his movements all on their own. You were right on the edge, just needing a few more seconds of his merciless fingers prodding into your g-spot to get you to come. A broken cry left your mouth and then it happened. Despite how badly you wanted to watch, your eyes squeezed shut and your head rolled back into the pillows as you started to come.

“H-harry! Oh my god!” You gasped as he started to finger fuck you a bit harder and he started to rub at your clit with his thumb instead as he leaned over you now.

“Look at me. Right at me, baby.” He said lowly and your glassy eyes met with his and he smirked at the sight of you all fucked out from his fingers alone. “You’re squeezing so fucking hard. You’re gonna come again, aren't you?” He asked and you nodded, “Come on then. Come for me, baby.” He egged you on and kissed you to swallow down your sounds.

Your walls were spasming around his fingers erratically. Your thighs were trying to close around his body but couldn’t as he was in the way. But thankfully, his pace and intensity started to diminish enough that you started to relax. And when he pulled his fingers from you he sucked them clean before delving back into your space to kiss you. Your lips smeared together sloppily for a few more minutes as you caught your breath and came down from your orgasms.

“Alright?” He asked with a teasing smile and you nodded wordlessly, still reeling mentally. You pulled him back down for another kiss. This one was slow and deep, you both got lost in it for several minutes until the kiss ended naturally. “I really fucking like you.” Harry said softly and you felt your face going all hot with a blush.

“I really like you too.” You whispered back.

Day Ten:

To say that you were on cloud nine after your evening with Harry, was an understatement. You just felt good all around in a way that you hadn’t in quite a long while. Even the lingering concern of what you would do in regards to your sister wasn’t enough to break you out of this high you were feeling.

Not surprising, but everyone was pretty hungover from their dinner and drinks outing the night before. You and Harry had to go and pick then up nearly at 11pm. By then, you two had been cuddled up in your bed and watching a film but the call from Julie soon came for you two to come to their aid, one of you to drive them home and the other to drive back Julie’s car. All this to say that your morning was quiet. By the time you’d returned from your walk, showered, and sat for breakfast, only you and Harry were up and active and found yourselves on the lounge chairs, taking in some sun side by side. The look he gave you revealed that he wanted to be closer, but alas, that wasn’t possible in this particular setting.

It was past noon when your sister emerged from the pool house, she had ordered in some food and was going to get it. The door bell ringing is what roused everyone else and you and Harry made them breakfast for lunch and aided them in balancing out the effects of the hangover. You had retired to your bedroom for a bit and you perked up at the soft knocks on your door. You were fully expecting to see Harry but saw your sister peeking in instead.

“Hey, do you have a few minutes?” She asked and you nodded, suddenly feeling a bit nervous. She dropped onto your bed and exhaled shakily. “Thanks for keeping Harry entertained. I know it’s not your responsibility but-”

“Oh no, it’s alright. We get along well and I’ve liked having someone to talk to.”

“Okay. He seems to enjoy your company as well and ummm…I just…I don’t want you to get hurt any more. Like, maybe he’s doing other subconsciously, but I feel like he’s flirting with you a little just to make me jealous or upset? I don’t know…” she sighed and you felt a lump forming in your throat.

“I don’t get that feeling at all, Julie. I think that it’s nice for someone to see you and appreciate you when you haven’t had that for a long time. He’s not creepy and he doesn’t make me uncomfortable in any way. I think the way that you guys are all walking on eggshells around me trying to not make me feel overwhelmed with care, he’s just being a little bit more attentive towards me. That’s how he’s showing me that he cares about what I’ve been dealing with, you know?”

“And you’re okay with that?” She asked and you nodded.

“He’s not over bearing about it like mom and dad are.” You explained and she nodded in understanding. “Also, we’ve just…gotten a little closer with everything going on. We both needed someone to confide in, you know?”

“And what about me? I confided in you but you’re siding with him?” She asked and you sighed.

“It’s not that simple…I think we’re both in the position of being let down by people we were in love with.” You explained and she sighed.

“Right.”

“Yeah and it’s just…easier to be there for each other when we know what it is that we’re dealing with, you know?”

“Yeah. I get it.” She said curtly and then stood up wordlessly and left. You sighed and were tempted to go after her but decided to just give her some space before bringing it up again.

It was around dinner time when you had stepped out for a little smoke, you had skipped lunch and with this small tiff with your sister now on your mind, you weren’t feeling too hungry for dinner, but you needed to have something. Harry interrupted you and stepped out onto your small patio.

“Hey.” He greeted you and you smiled slightly.

“Hey…so my sister came by and basically wanted to know if I had noticed that you were being really friendly with me to piss her off.” you explained and he sighed. “I told her that I did see it in that way and that we were actually getting along really well and just sharing what we’ve been dealing with and that we were both bonding over the experience of disappointed by people we were in love with.” You continued, “And then she got upset and left. So if she’s pissed at you later it might be because of that.” You informed him.

“Noted…” he hummed and took the joint that you offered over. He took a hit before returning it to you.

“When we get back home, we should make time to hang out.”

“Of course we’re gonna hang out.” Harry said.

“I know that…but Julie might not be too happy about us being friends.”

“Is that what we are then? Friends?” He asked you with a small smirk.

“Yeah. We are…for all intents and purposes.” You explained. “I just really don’t want her to keep thinking that you’re doing this to get back at her for cheating, you know? Maybe if she sees that we have a genuine connection she’ll be more open if anything more pans out.” You explained cautiously. You didn’t want to jump the gun with what this could be with him and you also wanted to protect your sister’s feelings.

“So, just to clear this up…down the line…if I asked you on a date…”

“I’d say yes.” You assured him with a timid smile as your eyes met his.

“Good to know.” He hummed with a smile.

Day Eleven:

You had woken up feeling a bit more deflated. Your sister’s anger had carried over into the night and no doubt into this new day. She was also giving Harry an extra cold shoulder, not really worried about keeping up appearances, like she usually would. That night, she asked Harry if they could go out and talk. Harry did text you that she was still pretty pissed off and you just went to bed instead of waiting up for a visit from him. Sure enough, your theory was proven correct when you joined everyone for breakfast and your sister just shot a quick glance at you before carrying on with fixing up her plate. She also seemed to be ignoring Harry and was being curt with everyone else, so at least her wrath wasn’t limited to you.

But throughout the day, she just continued having drinks, keeping her buzz going until she just had to lay down for a bit. Your family celebrated on the 24th, given your mother’s cultural background so you counted her out of helping you with dinner prep and Harry jumped in, in her stead. You were having a lovely time with him and your mom to prepare the meal you’d all share later on before your gift exchange. After a couple hours of work you’d all gone your separate ways to get ready for dinner. You always did a family picture before eating, so you got slightly dressed up for that. You had just finished your make up and then got into your outfit. It wasn’t anything too fancy, just pair of brown, gingham print trousers and a green button up cardigan. You got some chunky, silver hoops on and left the chain you wore everyday around your neck. For the photo, you got into the ballet flats you’d brought, you’d definitely change back into your scuffette’s after the photo. With a few spritzes of perfume, you were hurrying out of your bedroom since you were being called to hurry up. You saw everyone already out in the living room, talking about what the best arrangement would be for the photo. In the end, you just sat criss-cross on the ground and after a few attempts everyone was pleased with how it came out and you all sat down for dinner.

“Seems like Julie’s back to her normal self.” You said to Harry as she insisted on fixing his plate.

“She’s just really fucking drunk.” He said quietly, “Lucky for us, she’s an affectionate drunk.” He mumbled and you hummed.

Soon everyone was seated and you started having your meal together. Due to her drinking binge, Julie was definitely being the life of the party. At least for now, everything was going as it should have. You were all laughing and getting along, your worries being the last things on your minds. You rushed off to change after eating so that you could participate in the games more comfortably. And it did help, because you were having a lot of fun playing board games with everyone. You and Harry were exchanging heated glances the entire time and it was going by unnoticed thanks to everyone’s slight drunkenness. And soon after, you also enjoyed a couple rounds of karaoke to kill some time before opening the presents. When you guys did your traveling christmases you only did a secret Santa amongst each other since the main expense was the traveling bit. Regardless, your mother had gotten you the lovely earrings that you’d put on your wishlist and you immediately got them on. Everyone else seemed pleased with their gifts and maybe it was because they were so drunk. The first one to tap out was your sister, who disappeared to the pool house as you guys had a few more goes at the portable karaoke mic Harry had brought along before your aunt turned in and then your parents soon followed. It nearing 2am though, so you weren’t surprised and well, your issues with insomnia were coming pretty in handy as you and Harry had another go at a card game, Go Fish, for your benefit.

“You have to know that I’m a sore loser.” You warned with a grin.

“Well, you can work on it.” He chuckled quietly. “Do you have a five?”

“You suck.” You mumbled as you handed it over and he chuckled.

“Losers can get prizes too.”

“Like?” You asked with a smirk.

“Like…loser has to share their bed with me.” He said lowly and your lips twitched up in a slight grin.

“Looks like I have no more sets.” You decided and he laughed quietly before you also started giggling quietly. Eventually, you did lose, but in a larger sense, you’d won.

Your lips met Harry’s gently through your giggles as he walked you down the dark hallway to your bedroom. Thankfully, you’d left the door ajar and you two were able to push inside easily. He closed it quietly before walking over to you and grabbing your face and bringing your lips to his own.

Your kiss was slow and deep, absolutely dripping with the yearning that had been building up between you two over the night. The way his hands started to roam over your body made you feel desirable in the best way. You could get lost in your lust for each other and enjoy it completely. He was so warm, you wanted to feel him skin to skin. So you tugged at the hem of his t-shirt and he very quickly got the hint. Your lips made a quick smacking sound as they parted wetly from his. You reared back to allow him to get undressed and you took advantage and pulled off your top quickly. Before you even had a chance to unclasp your bra he was pulling the cups down and leaning down to suck at your nipple. You sighed happily as his free hand reached around you to get the bra off. You loved how impatient he was and appreciated his urgency. Next thing you knew, you were falling back onto your bed as he kissed over your right breast now. You whined lowly when he nibbled down with a little too much force on your sensitive little bud. Your tight grip in his hair reeled him back.

“Sorry.” He mumbled against your heated skin and then started kissing his way up to your lips again.

“S’alright.” You assured him before he pecked your lips again. “Ummm…I did have a question though… did you ummm…did you want to h-have sex?” You asked him with a slightly nervous tone on your voice.

“Eventually. But I think that tonight we both drank a little too much for comfort.” He brought up, “So to answer your question, yes. But tonight’s not the time. Tonight, I just kinda wanna lay here and hold you.” He hummed with a smile.

“Topless?” You asked and he grinned.

“If possible, yes. I like how it feels to be against you, skin to skin.”

You felt your blood rushing up to your face at this suddenly romantic feeling blossoming between you two. He settled in beside you and draped his arm over your waist to hold you close.

“What I said earlier about waiting? Was that the right answer?” He asked and you smiled.

“Definitely.” You confirmed. “But I still want to. I want to so freakin’ bad.”

“Stop with that please.” He chuckled before landing a gentle smack to your lower back. You grinned and then leaned up to land a gentle smooch to his bottom lip.

“Does that mean no kissing?” You asked.

“No, we can definitely kiss.” He mumbled as he dipped down and attached his lips to yours. Suddenly you heard the sliding door from the pool house open, meaning Julie had emerged. “Shit, shit, shit!” He whisper shouted as he untangled his body from yours. You heard the sliding back door open as well, and just like that, she was inside. Harry was trying to find his clothes without turning on the light.

“Harry?” You heard her calling from a distance.

“Hide! Just hide!” You rushed out as you heard her coming towards the hallway and calling for him again.

Harry rushed out to your small patio and out of sight just as you heard your sister’s soft raps against his bedroom door. You sprung out of bed and grabbed a hoodie you had thankfully left on top of the dresser and rushed into the bathroom to get it on in case she decided to pay you visit. You had just put your hands through the sleeves when you heard your bedroom door open and the first thought you had was to flush the toilet and after a few moments you ran the tap to “wash your hands” and then stepped out to see her splayed out on your bed.

“Fuck! What’re you doing here?!” You asked her, trying to sound genuinely startled by her presence.

“Have you seen Harry?” She asked you monotonously and you didn’t trust your voice, but spoke up anyway.

“Uhhh, nope.”

“He’s not in his room.”

“So he’d be here?” You asked.

“I don’t know…just thought maybe he said something to someone if he took off or something.” She then pressed herself up to sit and sighed. “The bed kinda smells like him.” She said softly.

“I think that’s you. You’re wearing one of his shirts.” You pointed out to her and she glanced down and then let out a little giggle.

“Duh…Sorry…I just…I have a weird feeling.”

“About?”

“Him. He’s been…weird on this trip. Everyone was asking me about it at dinner the other day and I just, didn’t know what to say.” She explained.

“How about a little bit of the truth?”

“No. Way.” She said defensively as she got out of your bed.

“You can’t hide the truth forever. And you don’t have to tell them all the gory details just yet. But, just say that things aren’t going well between you two and are just deciding what the next move is. And not to rub salt in the wood or whatever, but I can’t imagine a world in which any person would be comfortable playing pretend for this long. Maybe you’re better at carrying secrets than he is? Specially if he’s only been keeping it for your sake.” You explained and she sighed.

“I feel like such an asshole every time I talk to you.” She muttered as she walked past you and out of your bedroom. “I’m going to go back to bed.” She said lowly and then closed the door behind her.

You waited in complete silence, ear pressed against the door to ensure that she was actually heading off and when you heard the sliding door to the backyard open you quietly opened up your own little patio door and Harry hurried inside, trembling from the cold.

“Jesus, m’nearly hypothermic.” He chattered and you were quick to pull open on of your drawers and hand over another sweatshirt you had. You liked them oversized, so you knew he could fit into it easily. And he was quick to pull it over his body and then pulled you into his arms to get more warmth.

“I think you should sleep in your room tonight. Julie, she’s got like a feeling about you or something. She seemed upset.”

“As if she had any right to be upset…” he mumbled.

“I know, but we just need to take it easy, I think.” You weighed in and he nodded.

“You’re right. One more day here and then we can figure things out.” He said quietly as he gave you a little squeeze and you nodded.

“Yeah, just one more day.”

Day Twelve:

It was Christmas Day, but it was also your last day at this house. After Julie’s little midnight run in you had a really hard time going back to sleep, so you started to pack up and then got tired around 6am before passing out for a few hours. It was nearing midday when you woke up again because of the commotion in the kitchen. You washed up and then headed out and greeted your family who were barely starting their first meal of the day. You had just finished fixing your plate up when you saw Harry and Julie approaching hand in hand. They were all smiles as they talked while taking their time to make it to the main house. It was so believable to see them like that, it made your stomach drop. And then you felt that ache in your chest that made your throat start to swell up in that familiar way it always did when you were sure to cry.

“Looks like everything’s back to normal.” You heard your mom say before you just forced your gaze away and focused back on the task at hand. Whatever the hell was going on right now, you didn’t want it in your face, so you were planning on sneaking away to your bedroom to eat but where soon called out.

“Hey! Where are you going?” Your aunt asked loudly just as your sister and Harry made it inside. “Come eat with us! It’s our last day.” She insisted with an eager smile. But you were just glancing at Harry who immediately found a way to untangle his hand from Julie’s, but only to pull her into his side. You looked back at your aunt, ready to decline.

“Exactly! Our last day here. We should eat together.” Your father added in decidedly.

“Okay.” You said and found your seat between him and your aunt.

To say that the PDA was on between Harry and your sister, felt like an understatement. This was reminiscent of the when they first started dating. At that time you were very observant and vigilant around Harry. He was new to your lives and you wanted to ensure that his actions matched his words. And obviously, they did and he absolutely fawned over your sister in a way that made you jealous. You were seldom jealous of her but when it came to this kind of attention, she always seemed to be the lucky one. The way her lovers would dote on her and adore her was unfamiliar to you. You hadn’t had that before. You’d always landed the worst people, wolves in sheep’s clothing. You had started to wonder if maybe there was something wrong with you because the way he was looking at her, whether it was genuine or not, was not something you had experienced before. And you wanted it so badly. You finished eating quickly and then slipped away, not wanting to have to look at that, at him, any longer.

After a while, you heard everyone starting to head out to swim and you decided to stop being a party poor and join in. You had just stepped out of your bedroom when Harry stepped out of his room.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” You responded.

“Look, about earlier-”

“No, don’t worry about it.” You shook your head, “It’s a me thing. You did nothing wrong.” You assured him.

“I’m still sorry.” He said and you smiled slightly.

“I must admit…I was a little…jealous too.” You confessed.

“Don’t be.”

“It’s just…always been a little neck and neck with us…a lot of comparisons and competition… so I just…get insecure around her sometimes.” You said as you looked down between you and focused on a spot on the floor. Confessing this to him was hard enough, you would be writhing in discomfort if you held eye contact.

“Look at me.” He insisted. “C’mon.” He insisted and you glanced up into his eyes and smiled at him and then he just surged forward and kissed you passionately. You were lost in it for a few moments before pulling away.

“Not smart.”

“I know, sorry.” He hummed and gave you one final smooch before pulling back. You then just looked at each other for a few moments and then you surged forward and grabbed his jaw and just as you started to tiptoe to reach him you heard a gasp and froze.

“What the fuck are you doing?” You heard your sister question angrily.

“Jules, just leave it.” Harry cut in as you turned around.

“I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking-”

“No! You weren’t! What the fuck?!” She whisper shouted. “I knew it!” She seethed. “Whatever the fuck this is, it ends with this trip.” She asserted, looking between the two of you. “I know that I fucked up but that’s still my husband.” She said to you directly now and you nodded. “And you’ve been sabotaging me, haven’t you? To get to him?” She asked and you scoffed.

“No!”

“it’s not like that.” Harry chimed in and she glanced to him. “Don’t even act offended or territorial over me. You don’t love me.” He reminded her and she clenched her jaw.

“Whether we’re divorced or not, that’s still my sister. It’s fucked up.” She said. “This all ends here.” She stated firmly before rushing off. Your eyes met Harry’s in concern and he shook his head.

“It’ll be okay. It’ll all work out.” He assured you.

“I hope so.”

“It will. It’ll be our Christmas miracle.” He said with a small smile and your own smile started to spread over your lips.

“Okay.” You whispered, deciding to believe him in that moment. You had to believe that everything would work out exactly as it should. These twelve days had been absolutely perfect and it couldn’t end there. There was definitely more to him. To you. And to what you could be together.

NEXT PART...

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