#these are the takes that you’ll only ever find on Tumblr

[norikuna]

WHAT? LIKE IT'S HARD? ✶ choso kamo

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re not above sending a risky message.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s your point?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You ask Kamo, I’ll ask Suguru.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Choso’s shoulders tense, “Can’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You first.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I help you?”

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

Choso Kamo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THREE YEARS LATER.

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

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

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

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

Your mother.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get out,” you blurt.

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

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

“Partner?” Choso finishes for you, deadpan.

“Of all the people in this entire school —”

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

“What are you doing here?”

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

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

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

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

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

“What? Like it’s hard?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Choso just rolls his eyes.

“They…modify bacterial ribosomes.”

“Wrong.”

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

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

“Nope.”

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

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

“Just tell me the answer.”

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

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

“I was close.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing next weekend?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you want to study at my place?”

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

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

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

“Hmm. Sure, I’ll think about it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s not a date. We’re studying.”

“Don’t care. Didn’t really ask.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did I leave the door unlocked?”

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

“Get out.”

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

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

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

Weird. And impossible.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Leave Yuuji out of this!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right.

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

“So, what?”

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

“Are you angry?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re not happy, Satoru?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s he look like again?”

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

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

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

“Hold up! I got visual aid.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now who’s the liar,” Suguru murmurs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You good?”

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

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

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

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

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

Oh. Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

You’re having none of it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There you are.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Without warning, his phone buzzes.

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

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

“What?”

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

“I’m not dating Tsukumo Yuki.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If it’s a proper date, it’s a yes.”

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

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

ONE WEEK LATER.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[rainydayathogwarts]

hi, this is the first time I'm writing a request on tumblr but I really like your writing (and unfortunately I'm very picky about writing styles🫣) I have tons of ideas for one shots in the back of my head so I'm coming to you with this rather simple one: reader x remus

Remus & reader are sth like friends, they have a secret crush on each other; remus is the casanova of gryffindor tower and all the girls (and probably boys) are crushing on him, Remus isn't quiet aware of the impact he has, reader reveals it to him in a convo (maybe while studying?) they're having that everyone finds him attractive and he asks if reader does aswell and so onnnn...

honestly, do with it what you want, I'm sure you will slay it! in case you hate the idea pls just ignore my request haha!⭐️

What about you? - Remus Lupin

summary: despite having a whole fanbase of girls who want him as their boyfriend, remus is only interested in your opinion wc: 1k

The giggles you heard as you walked past a group of girls with Remus had you rolling your eyes, cutting off the middle of your conversation. You couldn’t even have a single trip back from the library without a group of Remus’ fangirls making a big deal over him, but the boy didn’t notice them, only taking note of your unusual reaction.

Remus brushed a hand to the back of your arm, his soft touch stealing your attention from the group of insolent girls. “You alright?” Remus asked, carefully watching your expression change from one of annoyance to empathy. “They don’t bother you?” Remus’s eyebrows furrowed, a crease forming between them “Who?” You glanced around the hallway, looking for another group of Remus’s fans. Finally, at the sight of some third year girls huddled around in the corner of the hallway, nervously glancing towards you both, you nodded your head in their direction, softly elbowing Remus in his side. “You know, your little fanbase of girls?” Remus stopped in his tracks, making you look back at his when you realised his disappearance. 

“My little what?” You laughed at the shock in his voice, repeating “Fanbase. Honestly Rem, it shocks me every time that you don’t have a new girl in your bed every day. You could have the entire school lined up to have a turn with you.” Remus stammered, finally picking up his pace, hooking his arm with yours to drag you back to the common room with him. “You need to start over, you’ve lost me.” He said, coming to a stop in front of the fat lady’s portrait to mumble the password.

“I’m surprised you don’t know.” “Sweetheart, just give it to me straight.” He begged, slumping down on the couch in front of the fireplace and patting the spot next to him. You didn’t fail to take notice of the jealous eyes following your figure as you sat close to Remus. You felt your chest swell with pride, and almost wanted to call out ‘Yes, I’m closer to him than you’ll ever be. Cry about it.’ But there were pros and cons to being Remus’s best friend. Pro: you were Remus Lupin’s best friend. Con: you were only Remus Lupin’s best friend. And you feared that with the discovery of all the girls who wanted to have him as their boyfriend, all you’d ever be was his best friend.

“There’s nothing much to it. You know, apart from the fact that every girl in the castle wants you as their boyfriend.” Remus was silent as he processed the information, blinking slowly. “You know, it’s just always been this way. I think people started realising that you’re more than just a pretty face.” “Pretty face?” He mumbled. “Wait. Every girl in the castle?” You shrugged, replying “More or less. I mean, I can assure you that Lily isn’t one of them.” You both laughed at the comment, an image of the infatuated couple displaying in your head. Remus slid his hand into yours, squeezing it softly. “Well, what about you?” You felt your face immediately heat up at his question, trying your hardest to maintain eye contact with the boy, but you couldn’t help the way your gaze dipped down to look at the way Remus held your hand.

You gulped. This was not the first time you and Remus held hands, not at all. But you’d never held hands in this context, with the boy asking if you wanted him to be your boyfriend. “What about me?” You echoed, returning your gaze to Remus’s eyes. The boy seemed to suddenly get nervous, his face flushing as he began to stumble over his words, voice quieting down significantly. “You said every girl in the castle wants me as their boyfriend. Does that apply to you?”

You were very aware that Remus could probably hear the fast thumping of your heart, and you could too. You only wished you had a trick to know how he was feeling too. “It’s fine if not!” He announced at the same time you said “Only if you want it to!” A painful silence settled between you. You cleared your throat, watching as Remus opened and shut his mouth. He didn’t make a move to say anything, forcing you to speak up. “It’s fine if not…” You started, “Does that mean you want it to apply to me?” 

“I mean, it would be pretty nice if the girl I like wants me to be her boyfriend. But if she doesn’t, I guess it’s…” Remus’s words trailed off as he saw a wide grin on your face. He swallowed thickly, forcing his face to cool down, but that wasn’t possible. Not when you were cupping his cheeks and leaning forward to press a bold kiss on his lips. Remus’s hand curled around the nape of your neck to keep your lips pressed against his, only pulling away when he deemed himself ready. “Let’s go out!” He announced the second your lips parted, standing up abruptly. 

You blinked quickly, looking up at the tall boy and asking “Now?” Remus nodded, holding his hands out for you to take. “Yeah, let’s go out now. On a date.” You took Remus’s hands, letting him pull you off the couch. He let go of one of your hands, the other one sneakily intertwining his fingers with yours, leading you out of the common room. Remus led you onto the Hogwarts grounds to spend time together, but it was impossible to have a conversation when neither of you could take your eyes off the other’s lips. Instead, your first date was spent chasing each other for kisses by the black lake, where watchful eyes allowed the news of your relationship to be spread all around hogwarts by the time you got to the great hall for dinner.

taglist:

@ravisinghs-wife, @amatoanima, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe, @hiireadstuff, @superlegend216, @treefairy-28, @superlegend216, @kitkatkl

[lizdive]

hello! platonic aventurine, jing yuan, blade, sunday, boothill, dan heng and dr ratio with a teen!reader who is like lynette from genshin?

please do include lynette’s backstory as well :3

love my girlie lynette i remember when i first got her i maxed her out as quick as possible she’s so pretty <33 idk why tumblr wasn’t cooperating with me while i was trying to format this istg,,,, tysm for requesting !! sorry this took some time,, if you’re unsatisfied just tell me and i’ll redo it !! <33

notes 𐙚 gender-neutral reader — "you" used to refer to reader ,, reader is a teenager ,, reader is based off of "lynette" from the game genshin impact ,, platonic relationships ,, mentions of being sold, close to being 'used', creepy old men, and other things relating to lynette’s past ,, yanqing is referenced in jing yuan’s part ,, mention of silver wolf in blade’s part ,, mention of march in dan heng’s part ,, mention of screwllum in dr ratio’s part ,, this is not proofread pls ignore typos especially bcs this is so long i cannot proofread this all rn

⭑ AVENTURINE has worked with many people and therefore has seen it all when it comes to appearances and personalities, but you by far are the most interesting person he’s met.

⭑ He’s tried to interact with you before, and every time you give him a bizarre and odd response he only tries harder. Mostly because he wants to properly hold a conversation with you, but also because he wants to see how odd your replies can get.

⭑ He doesn’t blame you for not trusting him so easily. Many who have joined the IPC have done it out of force and therefore trust nobody. He actually feels a bit proud that you are not naive and stay guarded around the other workers so they don’t take advantage of you. Still, he’ll try his best to befriend you so you aren’t alone.

⭑ Finds your swordsmanship very impressive. Your agility and strength brings you praise from him and sometimes he’ll watch you train. You don’t say anything to him as usual. Whenever you spot him you just stare at him with that poker face of yours and continue as if he isn’t even there.

⭑ When he notices how much tea you drink on a daily basis, he’ll gift you the finest tea on the market as a 'good job' for completing missions successfully. You’ll know it’s from him because of it’s value and because he always leaves little notes on the boxes.

⭑ If you ever invite him to have some tea and sweets with you, trust that he will be there whether it be physically or using a hologram if he’s far away. He’ll prepare tea in his location and make it look like he’s actually present with you physically in the moment.

⭑ The longer AVENTURINE spends time with you, the more he finds himself subconsciously keeping a sweet treat with him at all times in case you’re craving something. If you’re off on a mission he’ll make sure to give you money for your tea and sweet treats alone and will ask you to send him pictures of what you got.

⭑ He’s is very interested in your feline features and traits. When you tell him about your rare case of atavism, he’s very intrigued. He may do his own little experiments like buying you cat toys to see your reaction which is up to interpretation. Also, he’ll bring you fish dishes during your lunch breaks whenever you forget to bring your food!

⭑ Loves watching your performances and would be honored if you asked him to assist you! If you ever want to hold something grand-scale he’ll be more than happy to rent you a full theatre to perform in. Best advertisements for your shows and everything.

⭑ When you open up to him about your past, he can only sit there is surprise and pity. You were so young yet already went through so much before joining the IPC. He can relate to you in some ways as well. He knows what it’s like to be sold off to men who only used instead of cared.

⭑ If you tell him that man may still be alive, he’ll do a bit of research. If he is, then AVENTURINE will have a lovely gambling match with him! No worries, it’s all for fun! Fun for you, at least, when you get to go shopping with all the money the man once had but now lost. Buy yourself some nice outfits and self-care products, you deserve it !!

⭑ If you ever have moments where you feel bad or icky from your past, or have nightmares, he’ll always be there to comfort you. Call him, text him, go up to him and ask for comfort, or if he’s near and notices he’ll come and ask you if you’re okay and if you wanna talk about it. He’s good at distractions. Why not have some snacks with him, It’s time for shopping, there’s this new restaurant that opened that serves purely seafood.

⭑ He’ll do the talking for you. If anyone tries to switch from him to you he’ll either let you give the weirdest response ever or steer them back to him. He also appreciates how you don’t beat around the bush and how frank you are.

⭑ You’re bad with machines and tech? AVENTURINE doesn’t think much of it until you wreck the fifth computer that month.. oh well, he’ll just buy you a new one. He’ll try his best to teach you and help you improve and fix your machinery clumsiness, but he’ll also tease you and joke about it.

"Tea is ready, now it's time for a short rest."

"Alright, just let me finish the last paper in this file and I’ll be right there. I have some new news about [+] from the genius society~"

⭑ The general of the Luofu attending your performances instead of working? More likely than you think! You various tricks and acts are a nice pass-time when he doesn’t feel like completing the mountain of paperwork stacked up on his desk. While you aren’t the most expressive person which may lead to some acts come off as dull, he finds amusement in how your personality contradicts your occupation.

⭑ A bit concerned when he spots you walking around the large ship without any supervision on multiple occasions, but it’s not his place to ask and you don’t look distressed or anything (not that you ever do.) However, he’ll order some cloud knights to keep a close eye on you just in case anyone were to try anything.

⭑ JING YUAN found out about your swordsmanship skills from Yanqing. It was when the young boy had returned from his training, utterly exhausted with his hair looking like had been attacked by a wind storm, that he is told about the teen with the feline features has some impressive swordsmanship.

⭑ That’s when his interest was piqued and he tries to interact with you. After performances he’ll give you some praise and ask how you’re doing. This, of course, makes you a bit nervous as this is the general of the luofu and here he his talking to you like you’re his kid,, so you do what you do best and hit him with one of your outlandish responses that makes him pause.

⭑ JING YUAN laughs thinking you’re pulling off one of your acts, but then you do it again and again and by the end of the interaction you have successfully made the general question if his age was getting to him.

⭑ Still, he will continue to praise you and ask how your day is after every performance, sometimes offering a game of starchess if you’re not too busy. His consistency is what gets you to trust him as he shows no ill-intent, especially after you grow closer to Yanqing behind the scenes as the boy constantly spars with you.

⭑ He doesn’t mind how frank and straightforward you can be. Like Aventurine, he’s worked with many different people and appreciates it. Your pokerface is also something he’ll praise you for as it’s very useful in combat and when playing against him.

⭑ When you open up about your past, JING YUAN can’t help the seed of anger that has been planted in him, and the more you share, the more that anger grows. He knows this world is cruel, but he had secretly hoped that it had been kinder to you. His relief is very evident on his features when you tell him that the man hadn’t been able to do anything relating to your body.

⭑ Will issue an order to a small group of cloud knights to find the man who had dared to put you through such a horrible experience. They won’t be the one to use him as a training target, however. That is for JING YUAN to enjoy. Oh, don’t mind him. Something important came up. Don’t worry, he’ll be back soon. You just enjoy your tea and sweets.

⭑ Speaking of tea and sweets, JING YUAN will always be down for tea time with youHe’ll try to clear at least a nice period in the afternoon to dedicate it to tea time with you. It becomes a tea party as Yanqing join you both sometimes. Takes tea time very seriously and will pause whatever he’s doing to attend. Clock strikes tea time? He’s leaving mid-conversation.

⭑ Cat naps!! It’s a big pile of you, him, mimi, and sometimes Yanqing, all curled up together and slumbering peacefully under the warm sun. He’ll use the excuse of keeping an eye on you when you’re napping just so he can nap as well. He indulges your cat instincts / traits a lot (sometimes you think he’s secretly a cat, too.)

⭑ Finds the fact that you’re very clumsy with machines very funny but also surprising. You’re so skilled with your blade and you perform such intricate acts and tricks that take years go master yet you struggle using a vacuum?? It’s a pretty bad case especially because the luofu is very mechanical-machinery reliant, so if anything randomly breaks, JING YUAN will just sigh as he knows it’s most likely you.

⭑ He won’t always be there to do the talking for you, but he’ll do his best. Plus, not many people will chat with you when the general is around. They’d either be too intimidated or just think it’s not in their place. If you ever wish to avoid social interaction, just stick next to him.

"Animals can also express their feelings. If you listen carefully, you can tell what state they are in. For a kitty, 'Meow~' means they are much happier than 'Meow meow meow!', and in that situation, you can pet them as much as you want and they won't run away."

"Hmm… is that so? Well, mimi makes more of a 'Meow… meow meow meow!' noise when I pet her. What emotion does that convey?"

⭑ This man does not interact with anyone, so how you two became close is still a mystery to the other stellaron hunters. Still, it’s clear that you both have some sort of bond that’s inseparable.

⭑ Missions with the both of you is just comfortable silence. The two of you are like the social outcasts of any setting. Well, at least the missions are completed swiftly. Most of the time, the third person of the mission doesn’t even have to do anything in the combat department. You both just slice and dice.

⭑ There is no doing the talking for each other because nobody talks to you both, anyways. People are too intimidated to talk to you both with how doll-esque you seem and how scary he is. You both are social interaction repellents and it can be a bit annoying for some, but people like Silver Wolf love it.

⭑ You both bond over not being the best with technology and machinery. You both never rarely use your phones and therefore are victims of having your phones used by other people. You both really couldn’t care less.

⭑ BLADE will watch your performances whenever he isn’t busy with missions. If you want him to help you, it’ll take a bit of convincing, especially if it involves you being in enclosures like being in a glass box with water or something. During dangerous tricks like those he’s very focused so nothing bad happens. Would prefer if he was the one at risk instead of you,,,

⭑ If you want to spar with him, he’ll be hesitant. Yes, you’re good with your sword, but he’s much much more skilled and he’s worried he’ll accidentally hurt you. He’l mentor you, however. Teaching is fine, but sparring is a big nono.

⭑ Doesn’t really care much for your feline features. BLADE has seen a lot of hybrids in his time so yours are not a shocker. He’ll be considerate of any boundaries and will make sure people don’t touch your ears or tail of course, but he won’t treat you any differently than any other person.

⭑ Will drink tea with you occasionally but he won’t eat the sweet treats. Likes tea himself, so he’ll enjoy your little tea times. He’ll bring back new types of teas you have yet to try during missions. If he’s going back to the planet or if it’s nearby and you liked a specific type, he’ll buy it again in larger portions so you can drink as much as you want.

⭑ Opening up to him is like talking to a wall. He looks stoic as always on the outside but trust that on the inside he has already thought of over 100 ways to make that man’s life a living hell. Like Jing Yuan, he knows the world is cruel. He will simply be crueler. Doesn’t take long for him to find the man who had bought you, and that day Blade’s bounty is soaring with how big the increase is.

⭑ Not the best with comforting others but if you’re having a bad day because of the memories or feel icky or something BLADE will make sure everyone gives you space and lets you have your you time. Will prepare tea and a snack for you, too.

"I used to think that the golden sun and dark shadows of the night could never understand one another. But in you, I see a kind of strange complexity that has needlessly piqued my curiosity..."

"…mmn.."

⭑ Another one that attends your shows! The news of a rising feline-featured performed piqued his interest, and so on opening night for your first show he could be seen seated in the spectator seats up top.

⭑ Really enjoys how your stoic demeanor balances your dramatic acts. While he knows your lack of enthusiasm isn’t the most encouraging for people to return or interact, he appreciates how different it is from the other over the top performers that litter penacony. SUNDAY soon becomes a regular at your shows.

⭑ It was you who came up to him first. You simply wanted to thank him for his consistent attendance and constant support, but he soon swept you int conversation and no matter how many odd and bizarre responses you gave him, he always managed to adjust to keep the conversation going. You cannot win with him.

⭑ These back-stage / after-show conversations soon become almost as frequent as his attendance to your performances. Also, his frequent attendance does not go unnoticed and when news of the head of the oak family being seen during almost every performance goes viral your popularity skyrockets.

⭑ Have you ever thought of security work as a side-occupation? It was when SUNDAY was escorting you to call a taxi that he saw your swordsmanship in action. Your theatre borders some dangerous territory, but memes were usually taken care of. He now knew who dealt with him as he watched you obliterate the ones that appeared. It reassures him knowing that you can take care of yourself.

⭑ Everyone in his residence knows how serious tea time is. Servants are rushing around in the kitchens trying to prepare the perfect sweets and snacks. To prepare the tea just the way you both like it, hot enough for SUNDAY but cool enough for you. The poor servants’ stress levels are always through the roof when it’s tea time preparation, and you are blissfully unaware of it all. By the time you’re in sunday’s office or lounge, everything has already been prepared.

⭑ Just like you are intrigued by SUNDAY’s halovian features, he is intrigued by your feline features. When you both are close enough, he’ll let you preen his wings and you’ll let him groom your ears and tail. He’s much more fussy with you, however. The second he spots a stray strand of fur in his office, he’s demanding your presence so he can get rid of the rest of the loose fur. He’ll get even more fussy before your performances and will always do last-minute checks before you’re out on stage.

⭑ Another one that appreciates your honesty and how you always cut straight to the point. Can always rely on you to tell him what he needs when he needs it. Also, your attention to detail is very useful and sometimes he’ll ask of you to focus on certain people during a show and report back to him.

⭑ The second you begin to open up about your past, SUNDAY is right beside you reassuring you to take it slow especially when you tell him about the man you were sold to. He’s pissed, rightfully so, but during the moment he’s supportive and makes sure to make it very clear that you are not anything negative you say about yourself should you do so.

⭑ SUNDAY is very good at interrogations, and with THEIR ability he’ll know if that wretched scum lies to him. There is no justifying, there is no 'the past is past' — there is no redemption. Once the man admits all he has done, he will be rid of. Vanished off the face of the cosmos. Nobody will know anything about him.

⭑ He’ll help you practice for performances, but he won’t go up on stage with you. He’d rather watch from afar as he doesn’t want to steal the spotlight from you. Your show nights are all about you, and he’ll make sure of it. There will be no disturbances and no casualties.

⭑ Funds all of your performances. Buys you any and all equipment you want and need. Want to expand your theatre? Done and without any charge. SUNDAY is your number one supporter and defender !!

⭑ He doesn’t mind doing the talking for you, but he’ll try and encourage you to talk for yourself. It would do you good to indulge in some small talk and conversation every once in a while! But if you insist you don’t want to and just want to be left alone without conversation, he’ll understand and drop it.

"After the sun goes down, the desires hidden in people's hearts will rise to the surface... I mean— evening shows are spectacular. Should I reserve a ticket for you?"

"Ahaha, yes, please do reserve a ticket."

⭑ Was creeped out the moment he met you. You were so still and expressionless that he thought you were a doll until you suddenly rushed forward and beat ass. If he had a heart it would’ve definitely stopped.

⭑ BOOTHILL couldn’t deny your swordsmanship was praiseworthy, however. Your agility, your sharp cuts, everything about it was impressive for someone your age. He tried to praise you but you gave him that stoic look and blurted out the most random sentence he’s heard and walked away leaving him dazed.

⭑ It doesn’t matter if your shows are expensive or not, BOOTHILL WILL get himself a ticket just to be able to figure out what it is with you. Also, because the idea of your dull expressionless self doing magic tricks had him doubling over in laughter. However, he was surprised at how professional you were with every act and trick.

⭑ Managed to sneak backstage and looked around for you only to find you gone. Was disappointed because he really did want to praise you for your skill— well, now skills. And maybe wanted to know who the hell trained you and how you were so good for a teenager.  Oh well, there was always the next show.

⭑ Or, there was always that same night. Saving you from some creepy men who were trying to do Aeons know what was all it took for you to glue yourself to him and use him as your meat shield. Not that BOOTHILL minded, it was kinda of in his job description and his morals to protect innocent people, especially when they were on the younger side.

⭑ He’s still a bit creeped out by how you’re so.. doll. You follow him around like a reserved duckling. And it’s not just following him around until the end of his stay — no, he literally finds you grabbing onto his jacket as he makes his way to leave to complete another bounty. There’s no getting rid of you and he’s accepted that.

⭑ He’ll definitely tease you about your feline features and behaviors. Calls you a clingy cat and will buy you cat toys as jokes. If you get upset, he’ll quickly apologize and make it up to you by taking you to your favorite seafood restaurant and letting you get whatever you want. If you don’t mind the jokes, then you’ll have a pile of cat toys that grows with each month!

⭑ Didn’t understand why you’d always stand in the corner of his mechanic’s shop when he was getting upgrades or repaired. He though it was just some teenage shyness but then one night he watched you blow up a literal vacuum. Terrified of you messing with his wires while he’s asleep charging. He tried to help, but gave up and backed away when you proceeded to fry your phone because it overheated.

⭑ Finds it absolutely hilarious when you’re interacting with people. Whether it’s your brutal honesty when talking to others or just one of your flabbergasting sentences to get them to leave you alone, it’s all comedic gold to him. Until it’s targeted at him,,, then uhm,,, yeah,,, okay maybe it’s a bit funny but still,,,,,

⭑ BOOTHILL knows he can come off as intimidating, and he’ll use it to his advantage if you don’t want anyone to talk to you. If someone tries to push it, they’ll have a nice revolver in their face and a protective cyborg ready to shoot at any moment should they push it even more.

⭑ When you open up to him about your past, all he can feel is rage — so much so that his internal fans are whirring to cool him down. He immediately asks you if you remember his name, his appearance, anything. He’ll also comfort you if you feel bad or feel like it’s your fault, which it definitely isn’t.

⭑ Oh sorry, he just got a new bounty you can’t go on. It’s just too dangerous! Don’t worry, you stay and spend all his money like some spoiled teen if you want. He’ll be back soon, you just relax and have a little you time!!

⭑ Would love to take part in your performances. He’s cautious if he’s on stage, however, and will probably use a disguise so nobody notices him since he is a wanted man, after all. He doesn’t want to risk your safety because of his status. He has yet to find out you also have a rising bounty on your head because you’ve been spotted numerous times with him.

⭑ BOOTHILL doesn’t mind your little tea time as long as it doesn’t get in the way of important bounties and dangerous missions. Even if it does, he’ll just tell you to maybe change your schedule? He’ll take you to a nice tea shop to make up for it but please focus on the bounty so it can be over with and you’ll be safe,,,

⭑ Really wants to know how you do that teacup card trick,,,

"I'm not accustomed to expressing myself, but I consider myself a good listener. If you have any troubles, tell me. I'll guard your secrets."

"I don’t doubt ya, kid."

⭑ DAN HENG initially did not expect you to trust anyone quickly when you first joined the express. It takes one to know one, but he can tell rather quickly that you were cautious of everyone despite your poker face. He doesn’t talk too much with you, not that he gets the chance as you give your weird replies to everyone who tries to talk to you.

⭑ He doesn’t realize that you inviting him for tea time in your room is a privilege only he has until March complains about your 'favoritism'. He’ll ask you about it and you’ll confirm it. He won’t ask why but it’s nice to know you trust him more than anyone else.

⭑ You both are social outcasts 2.0. He’ll do most of the talking for you both, but if anyone else from the crew is present, especially March, then they’ll do the talking for you both. He’s also the only one to understand your random response and to this day nobody knows how he does it.

⭑ Just like he needs to tend to his vidyadhara traits, you need to tend to your feline ones. Doesn’t mind if you randomly start shedding but will get a bit bothered if you leave your shedded fur around in the archives. If it gets to much he’ll sit you down and comb through your tail and ears’ fur himself. Also, if you’re comfortable with it, please put in some data about your avatism in the archives.

⭑ DAN HENG doesn’t seem all that enthusiastic during your performances, but he does enjoy them. He’ll clap and give some words of encouragement, but he’s not full on beaming. He just doesn’t know how to properly show his support physically so he’ll show it with praise and giving you trinkets and things he thinks you would or could use.

⭑ Also doesn’t mind helping you with acts and performances, and it’s funny how the both of you have this deadpan poker face while doing the most dramatic over the top jaw dropping trick. You both have a bit of a reputation on some planets that you’ve publicly performed during free time on missions,,

⭑ DAN HENG, like Blade, isn’t the best at comforting people — he can barely comfort himself. He’s a bit emotionally awkward. Still, he’ll try his best to comfort you as you open up to him about your past. He’s upset, but never at you. He’ll pat your back comfortingly or let you hug him.

⭑ If there’s ever a mission where he lays eyes on that man should he still be alive, DAN HENG will act on your behalf. He just needs to keep his skills sharp, that’s all. WORLD CLEANSING DRAGON—

⭑ If you have nightmares, you’re always free to sleep next to him in the archives. He knows how bad nightmares can be as someone who has suffered from them, and if you get embarrassed because you think it’s childish due to your age, he’ll pretend to still be asleep when you enter his room late to snuggle next to him.

⭑ Your clumsiness with technology and machinery genuinely concerns him. He’ll try to keep as little tech in your room as possible and will supervise you whenever you do literally anything with objects of the sort so you don’t hurt yourself or anyone around.

⭑ There’s a lot of things DAN HENG doesn’t realize he’s doing unless someone points it out. How he orders dishes that have some fish in them so he can give them to you, how he always makes sure your tea is cool enough for your sensitive tongue, how he know when you’re upset or not just from your ears.

⭑ Doesn’t mind sparring with you, but he’ll go easy on you. If you want him to mentor you, he’ll take it very seriously. He wants to make sure that you’ll be able to defend yourself should anything happen. Yes, he knows your swordsmanship is impressive for your age, but he also knows that impressive does not equal safety every time. He may be a bit strict, but it’s for your wellbeing so please don’t get upset.

"Go to sleep, I still have some loose ends to tie up from work today... I still have to fix the vacuum cleaner I broke.."

"That’s the third one this month.."

⭑ Was a bit surprised when he entered his lecture to find a feline-featured teenager sitting front row staring at him with a dead look. Was a bit creeped out, but whatever. He was fully expecting you to drop out after the first class.

⭑ Was surprised once again when you showed up for the next lecture. And the one after and after and after. Not to mention you were diligent and observant. You noticed a lot of things and after you two grew close, he’s a bit intimidated by how much you know and notice.

⭑ Some of the other students hate you for it bcs you can easily snitch on them if he ever asked you to. They can never say anything about it because you either ignore them or VERITAS steps in and scolds them.

⭑ You’re like a therapy cat for him but not in a weird way. If you let him, VERITAS will study your case of avatism. With how cat-like you behave, he’ll do some tests like scratching your ears and petting you. Would also see your reaction to cat toys. Now, why do I say therapy cat? Because your purring calms him down always. Also you make him feel like a cat dad.

⭑ He’ll get annoyed if you freely shed all around. Will scold you every time and then expect you to groom yourself properly. If you don’t he’ll get all huffy and frustrated as he does it himself but he really doesn’t mind. He just puts up an act.

⭑ You both are a scary duo. Some people think you’ve gotten your frank and brutal tongue from VERITAS, but you were like that since young. Still, many firmly believe you got it from him. You needn’t worry about unecessary conversation — people are too scared either you or him will rip them a new one for even looking at you. (exaggeration)

⭑ And while many are intimidated and scared of you, getting easily offended at your lack of sugarcoated words, VERITAS appreciates how blunt you can be. Will tell other people to be like you and doesn’t care if they get offended LMFAO

⭑ Probably the one on this list that’s the biggest enjoyer of tea time. You’ll be working on your assignments and be’ll be grading others’ assignments while enjoying sweet snacks and tea. Either that, you both sit in comfortable silence, or you’re dropping all the latest gossip you’ve heard and things you’ve noticed about your classmates that he hasn’t.

⭑ Contrary to the popular belief of his students, VERITAS finds himself enjoying your magic tricks and performances. It takes skill to do what you do, and he has to give credit where it’s due. He won’t really help during your acts, but he’ll give his input and ideas on how to improve like a better angle or quicker actions.

⭑ Also, VERITAS would encourage you to better cultivate your swordsmanship! I’d like to think he has connections, so he’ll find you someone if you want a mentor. If not, then that’s fine too. He’ll remind you everyday to go train for at least an hour. He won’t force you if you don’t feel like it, of course. As long as you’re with him, he’ll be able to protect you anyways.

⭑ Also one of the not-so-good comforters on the list when you open up about your past. So instead, he’ll brutally degrade the man you were sold to until you feel better. He’s trying his best, please understand that. He’ll give you an awkward pet to the head to top it all off.

⭑ I feel like VERITAS wouldn’t do anything to the man physically. Instead, he’ll care for your skills and enhance them until you’re known across the cosmos. Be it as a scholar, a sword fighter, a performer, or something else. Because in his eyes, that’s the best revenge.

⭑ Should that man still be alive, he will see that the one he saw as nothing but a toy to use is now one of the brightest stars in the cosmos, known all throughout while he is rotting away like the scum bastard he is.

⭑ Now, VERITAS is very prideful with his favorite and best student and he supports you, but,,,, but what is this,,,,, how are you so horrible with technology and machinery???? Were you born yesterday??

⭑ Like Dan Heng, he’ll supervise you whenever you’re using anything that has tech and/or machinery in it. Almost got a heart attack when he saw you tinkering with something that piqued your interest on Herta’s space station — VERITAS genuinely thought you’d bring the end of the station by blowing it up.

⭑ Would implement things in divergent universe (domain based off of tea time, occurrence, etc.) that relates to you and he wouldn’t even realize it until Screwllum points it out to which he denies.

"Making tea looks simple on the surface, but it is actually quite complex. The quality of the tea leaves, the temperature of the water, the number of times to add water... Only when every variable is properly controlled can tea of the purest taste be brewed. Would you like a cup?"

"You truly are passionate in the art of tea making, hm? But, yes, I would like a cup."

[fawnhunter]

natural instincts…

sick and laying in my bed which also means i can’t stop thinking about cregan and the stark baby making gene that definitely runs in the family. cw: dis is mostly smut with a side of fluff, no angst at all. talk of breeding and imprégnation, as well as some talk of family life.

so it’s no secret to any of the beautiful brains on tumblr that the stark men have a certain habit of tripping and falling and maybe putting a baby in their pretty lady wives. and well i believe that cregan stark is no different. it’s so fucking cold in the north, and even though he is a man grown that doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy a nice warm cunt to settle into at the end of the night. he works so hard :/ constantly walking around and performing his duty as lord of the north.

i can imagine how insufferable he’d be before you are wed. the thought of building a family with you always on him mind. sneaking into ur chambers before the sun is y over the hills, just to slide into bed with his hand on your stomach and dream about the life he can’t wait to have with you. talking over ir shoulder until you go to sleep and slipping back into his own chambers. it gets even worse once u finally belong to him under the eyes of the seven. on ur first official night together, during the bedding ceremony, he was incredibly gentle with you. so grateful to have you as his wife that he could even think to push you abt heirs. no he’s never allow those old fuck in the room to watch as he takes you over and over again, he allows them to listen to ur cries through the walls, opening the chamber doors and tossing the sheets at them after splitting u open on his cock for the first time that night. happiest man on the planet once he gets you back in his arm and under one of his favorite pelts.

i can imagine one day he sees you talking one of the young lords who had gotten lost and was search for his mother. stumbled upon you coddling him and wiping his tears until another his morhwr is found again. the whole ordeal has him feeling some kind of way, he can’t even find it in himself to approach you over the feeling of him stiffening between his thighs. he thinks about it for the rest of the day, the thought of making you a mother. just lalala scatter brained cregan stumbling around the training grounds things about stirring up ur guts the second you get back to ur shared chambers and keeping you on ur back until ur sure to be taken with his seed.

nsfw!!!!

baby making time! cregan is my man with a plan. he has been planting little seeds in ur brain for weeks now. talking about how cute having someone who looks just like you would be. or how much he would love to see ur belly get rounder with ever passing moon. wrapping his hands around ur stomach and pressing down right where ur womb would be, rocking you back and forth while pressing his slowly gardening cock into ur backside. his plan is going so well that it’s only be a matter of time before he has ur body crowded against the sheets of his bed. face down with tears wetting his sheets while his pillow sits comfortably underneath ur hips. sliding his cock in the space between ur thighs before finally oushing past the tight space of ur cunt. his front pressed against ur back while he lifts his hips and slams back into you at a toe curling pace. one hand keeping ur hips pressed against his while the other wraps around ur front, groping at whatever he can feel to lift you back into him, swallowing ur whines with a kiss. when all is said and done he likes to pull out and admire his work, the mess he’s made of you. rolling you over and sliding the pillow back under ur hips so you’ll be sure to bless him with a mini stark sometime soon.

he also is not the kind of man who refrains form touch you while you are with his child. it’s hard to ignore the way ur chest starts to swell along with your stomach, spilling out of the lovely dresses you wear. or the way ur body starts to beings softer.. more plush. completing him to dig his fingers into ur hips and revel in the marks he leave behind. so head over heels for his pregnant lady wife that he might wanna start keep her that way. swollen and sweet with his child.

this was typed during a fever dream so sorry for any mistakes. hotd requests are open!

[lurkingshan]

Japanese BL Starter Pack

It’s been awhile since I dropped a rec list, so I am here today to share one that is very near and dear to my heart—a Japanese bl primer for those who are new to the jbl game. I created this for @neuroticbookworm to help her on her journey when she decided she wanted to start getting into Japanese works. The fandom (on Tumblr and generally) tends to focus primarily on Thai shows because they are the easiest to access for international fans, since Thailand is working its way toward world domination via ql media and wants us all to be able to watch. But there is a lot of great stuff to watch beyond the easy access Thai channels, and Japan is the country where this genre originated, so its shows are important for anyone who considers themselves a bl fan. Japan doesn’t cater nearly as much to the international audience so tracking down the shows sometimes takes some ingenuity and can-do spirit, but that’s part of the fun!

And so, the list! Bookworm is about halfway through it and having a ball, so I figured it was time to stop hoarding it and share it with anyone else who would like to dip their toes into jbl and isn’t quite sure where to start. A few notes: 

I am not here to teach you about the deep roots of the jbl genre or give you a primer on yaoi manga. I am by no means an expert and there are other places to find that information. Start here with this great post by @nieves-de-sugui and then maybe wander over to @absolutebl to read up more on the evolution of the genre.

This list is by no means an exhaustive accounting of every important Japanese bl ever made; it is simply a nice sampler platter of the cream of the crop among various styles you will find in jbl. Watching through this whole list will not only expose you to some fantastic shows, but also give you a sense of what makes jbl unique and how the country’s style differs from others, and point you toward the types of jbl you’ll like most (they tend to put shows in pretty specific style and tone lanes and once you find the ones you like there are lots more where that came from). 

If you’re coming to this post as a jbl lover and you don’t see your favorite here, I promise it’s not because I don’t love it very much; I simply had to make some choices to get this down to a reasonable shortlist. Feel free to leave extra recs for others to find! 

I’m putting these in a loose suggested watch order that will take you through the various jbl lanes in a kind of popcorn style, because I always think it’s good to change it up so you don’t get too stuck in one mode, and it works its way up to most of the extremely Japanese stuff (you will know what that means by the time you finish). But do what’s in your heart and change up the order if you want, friends, I am not the boss of you! 

Cherry Magic (Crunchyroll or grey)

gif by @liyazaki

I believe everyone on Tumblr is pretty familiar with this one, which is not a coincidence—this is one of the most accessible jbls. Not in terms of actual access to watch it, mind you (we’ve all jumped through shady internet hoops to watch it) but in terms of its content and style. Cherry Magic is a classic workplace romcom with a magical twist, and it is charming af. It’s a great exemplar of Japan’s light and zippy comedy lane for bl—a lane in which, importantly, the romances stay chaste even when the actual plot is about sex, or lack thereof. My friend @waitmyturtles would kill me if I didn’t make sure you know that Cherry Magic also has a lovely follow up film. And bonus: there is now a Thai remake airing so if you watch the original you can get in on the discussion about the different adaptations between countries. This is pretty easy to find these days in all the usual places, but I strongly recommend watching it here.

Old Fashion Cupcake (Viki)

gif by @liyazaki

Moving on to a slightly more mature workplace romcom. Old Fashion Cupcake, another Tumblr favorite, is an age gap boss-subordinate romance, and it’s both very adult and somehow wholesome af at the same time. Sure, there is a lot of carnal desire going on here, but there is also a lot of wooing via fluffy pancakes. It’s a tight five episodes and a fantastic example of what Japan, with its extreme technical precision in writing, directing, editing, pacing, and acting firing on all cylinders, can do in two hours. There’s not an ounce of flab on this thing and you’ll want to watch it over and over again.

Utsukushii Kare (Viki)

gif by @wanderlust-in-my-soul

Time to get a little weird! Weird is a key feature of Japanese media, and lots of jbls explore unusual relationship dynamics rooted in complex psychology. This is the first show on the list that will likely feel very Japanese if you’re new around here—my advice is to lean into it and finish the show, even if you get uncomfortable along the way. In Japanese media, discomfort always serves a purpose. This is a high school story with a twisted relationship at its center, and I’m not saying any more than that. Don’t spoil yourself and go watch it! This one also comes with two sequels—one short second season and one movie—that continue from the original story. They are less essential but still excellent.

I Cannot Reach You (Netflix)

gif by @my-rose-tinted-glasses

Next up, another high school tale, but with a totally different vibe. This show is kind of a revelation in its willingness to tell a story about overwhelming desire—including sexual desire—with young protagonists. It’s rooted in a classic but often misunderstood trope, friends to lovers, and takes the angst of it seriously, giving us a low stakes story that feels extremely high stakes to our leads. It’s also gorgeous and uses a classic Japanese visual style (bokeh) that you’ll be dying to learn more about. 

His (Viki)

gif by @gabrielokun

Time for a break from high school, and we’ll sprinkle in a movie for some added flavor. His is a jbl film featuring a second chance romance between a stoic, introverted man who moves to a remote town to start over, and his ex-boyfriend who follows him there unexpectedly, adorable child in tow. Importantly, this movie does not take place in what we often refer to as the “bl bubble” where homophobia doesn’t exist; the leads’ experiences of being gay men in a homophobic society are hugely important to the plot and themes of the story. It’s a beautiful film and I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve watched it. @bengiyo would surely also like me to tell you that this film follows a brief prequel show called His: I Didn’t Mean to Fall in Love about the characters originally meeting in high school; I do not think it’s really necessary to watch it but completists can start there.

The Pornographer series (Gaga)

By now you should be ready to get into some classic Japanese fucked up psychosexual material, right? Right! The Pornographer series is told in five installments in this order:

The Novelist, a six episode miniseries

Mood Indigo, a six episode prequel series

Spring Life, a 15 minute short

Pornographer: Playback, a two hour film

Spring Life Continued, a 15 minute short

Confused by that distribution model? So say we all; sometimes Japan likes to make us work for it to make sure we really appreciate its many gifts to us. The story across these installments is about a very difficult to love protagonist, what makes him the way he is, and the also-unhinged-but-in-a-different-way man who finally gets through to him. It’s an extremely satisfying love story and one of the best character arcs I have ever seen, full stop. For this one, you’ll want to just pull the word problematic out of your pocket and store it in a drawer; nearly everything that happens in this story is problematic and that’s the point. Lean in! All of these installments except for the film are on Gaga, if you get that far hmu and I will supply you with the final puzzle piece.

Our Dining Table (Gaga)

You could probably use a break after those last two, so it’s time to shift over to a heart-tugging twofer: family trauma mixed with the cutest shit you’ve ever seen. ODT is an example of another classic type of Japanese show: the food drama (you will see the GOAT in this category at the end of this list). In Japanese culture, food is love, and the act of preparing food for your loved ones is a common path to romance. You’ll love this story about an isolated office worker who meets a pair of brothers, learns to cook as a way of connecting with them, and begins to heal from his own trauma as a result. The image above is a scan from the manga, which @troubled-mind curates to make extremely cool comparison sets like this one. Many jbls are faithful adaptations of yaoi manga source material, so it’s good to have a bit of familiarity with them.

Minato’s Laundromat (Gaga)

gif by @liyazaki

Japanese media loves to explore taboo, and often manages to do it in a way that is surprisingly light and chaste. This is an age gap romance between a teenager and his adult neighbor that explores internalized homophobia, emotional repression, and falling in love across seemingly impossible social chasms. It’s also a great example of old school yaoi seme-uke dynamics that still show up across the bl genre. Also, take my advice: end your journey with this one with the first season and just pretend season 2 doesn’t exist.

Eternal Yesterday (Viki)

gif by @wanderlust-in-my-soul

Remember what I said about weird? Time to do that again, but with a heaping dose of grief and pain on top. It’s not a spoiler to tell you this show involves a major character death; a major character death is, in fact, the root of the entire story. This is a magic realist tale of first love turned tragic, and it will hurt and heal you. It is one of my favorite dramas of all time.

Restart After Come Back Home (Gaga)

And now for a break for your poor exhausted brain. This film is basically the jbl version of a Hallmark original movie, about a city boy who goes back home to the country and falls in love with a total sweetheart while working together on a farm. Enjoy it, bestie, you’ve earned it! 

Tokyo in April Is… (Gaga)

gif by @wanderlust-in-my-soul

You’ve probably noticed by now that emotional repression and failed communication are big themes in Japanese works. This second chance romance has plenty of both, and it’s a great example of a kind of muted emotional style that Japan does so well, where the surface of the story seems almost placid and calm even as deep emotion roils underneath. This one (and Eternal Yesterday above) are part of a special line up of jbls on Japanese channel MBS called Tonku (Drama) Shower. The shows air one after another in the same time slot on Fridays (in Japan, perhaps Thursdays for you depending on where you live) and you truly never know what you’re gonna get, but they’re all interesting. Warnings on this one for sexual assault and trauma. 

The End of the World With You (Viki)

Time for sexy and weird again, but even more so! This has to be one of the most unique bls ever made; it goes to some truly divine and strange places, and it feels incredibly queer while doing it. Made by the same screenwriter/director of the Pornographer series with a lot of the same sensibilities, but in a more heightened apocalyptic setting. This one has existential angst, a road trip, a redemption tale, and a variety of interesting side characters in the mix.

What Did You Eat Yesterday? (Gaga)

gif by @my-rose-tinted-glasses

Congratulations, you’ve reached the end of the list and your reward is watching one of the best bls of all time, and a perfect slice of life food drama to boot. WDYEY now has two seasons (along with a couple specials and a movie that fall in between) because the universe clearly loves us. You can now get it on Gaga for easy access but I’m partial to the versions over at @kinounaniresource for better subs. Wherever you watch, settle in to get cozy with Shiro and Kenji and make sure to always eat before you hit play.

[cloudcountry]

just realized i NEVER posted this to tumblr??? HELLO??? if it wasn't for ao3 this shit would have been lost media because i literally cannot find it in my google docs??? HELP???

ANYWAYS!! WELCOME TO WHAT THE TWST BOYS LEFT YOU WITH AFTER YOU BROKE UP

its bittersweet. you guys broke up on good terms. post-formatting auburn here and omfg what was i THINKING this shit HURTED. OW. CRITICAL HIT I NEED A HEALER. FUCK.

Riddle Rosehearts leaves you with an appreciation for learning, a strong sense of awe at the bookshelves lining the walls of NRC’s library. He leaves you with a pen, tucked at the bottom of your backpack that you forget about until a late night study session. You find it and giggle, remembering the time he gave it to you when yours ran out of ink, and you begin to take notes with the red-rose ink.

Trey Clover leaves you with a sense of nurture. You pick up cues from people that you never would have seen before and know exactly how to act, and it isn’t until you find yourself “babying” Ace that you step back and laugh. Of course Trey rubbed off on you, he always was taking care of you with nobody to help out him.

Cater Diamond leaves you with extensive knowledge of camera angles. When you’re taking pictures with your friends or just you, it's like you know exactly which filter would look best with every shot. Sometimes you’ll stumble upon a filter you only ever used on his pics, and you’re filled with a bittersweet happiness. Simple photo editing holds so many memories, and you can only hope he’s making new ones, too.

Deuce Spade leaves you with a motivation to protect yourself. When you started dating him all that time ago, he insisted on giving you some form of self defense lessons just so you could protect yourself. He made you more confident, even if he never knew it. You’ll always be thankful for the way he unknowingly made you stand up straighter, like you were proud to be yourself.

Ace Trappola leaves you with a lighter soul. He’s always been a goofy person, and you know full well that he’s never changed. He made you way more optimistic just by dealing with things the way he did, always being true to his heart no matter who he was speaking to. You always admired that about him, and it made you feel like you could be more like yourself even when he wasn’t there anymore.

Leona Kingscholar leaves you with a piece of his pride. He always told you to keep your head up especially when you’re scared half to death. You find yourself using his advice every time you face a situation you’d rather not be in, and slowly conquer everything that used to freak you out. You finally glow with the pride that you know he would have been so proud of if he was still with you, but you’re starting to think that maybe he’s proud of you anyway.

Ruggie Bucchi leaves you with a determination to constantly fight for better. You need to make the best of your circumstances, being transported to a world where you’re powerless with nothing but the shirt on your back. He’s taught you to be crafty and resourceful, and to never let yourself be taken advantage of. You can’t thank him enough...and really, you can’t anymore, but that’s okay.

Jack Howl leaves a carefully planned school year in his wake. You find yourself planning out your day, little events scribbled into your calendar and schedules created in the margins of your notebook. Jack had always reminded you of things and you wanted to let him know how much you valued his efforts to keep you on track, so you started writing down his schedules too. It isn’t until you flip back through your notebook to find older notes that you see “Track and Field Meet - 5pm” and feel a pang in your heart.

Azul Ashengrotto leaves you with a ton of home-economics knowledge. Long after you two have broken up, you still find yourself checking on your monthly expenses and tweaking your meal plans, and it isn’t until you’re laying in bed one night that you realize you wouldn’t be nearly as efficient as you are now if it wasn’t for your previous sweetheart.

Jade Leech leaves you with a fascination for the world around you. He took things that you didn’t think twice about and twisted them into beautiful sights, and you never quite looked at them the same way. It’s not a bad thing, it’s quite the opposite, actually. Your world has never been more beautiful, even if the boy that opened your eyes isn’t there to see it with you.

Floyd Leech leaves you with a restless need to do something. Sometimes, during your down time, you’ll set down your phone and start pacing around your room, wondering why your legs just can’t seem to sit still. Then something clicks—Floyd used to barge into your dorm and dance with you at random intervals, but he doesn’t do that as much anymore. Laughing to yourself, you slip on a coat and decide to take a walk—anything to get the fidgeting out of your system.

Kalim Al-Asim leaves you with a brighter smile and higher patience. You’d always had to chase after him on whatever misadventure he decided to go on that day, apologizing to Jamil with a wobbly smile on your face once the day was done. Kalim never failed to make things brighter, even your breakup. You two still hang out sometimes, but you aren’t as close as you used to be, even if the memories of your adventures remain.

Jamil Viper leaves you with some of his best recipes. It may seem silly or insignificant to anyone else, but you know exactly how much time he spent cooking and baking for Kalim and his entire dorm on a daily basis. He even found time to bring you and his club snacks occasionally. You still know how to make his favorite curry, and if a recipe calls for dates you scratch them out from the ingredients out of habit.

Vil Schoenheit leaves you feeling beautiful. He never once looked at you wrong, whether you had just woken up or had gotten into another mud fight with Grim or if you were wearing a swimsuit. There was nothing but love in his gaze and a reminder to keep your head up on his tongue, because in his eyes you were precious. Because to Vil, you were unapologetically beautiful (and you still are. You always will be.)

Rook Hunt leaves you with an eye for detail. After picking up on everything you did and telling you about every habit he examined, you became keenly aware of your habits and how to manage them. You’re far more observant when it comes to your own self care, and you know you wouldn’t be as diligent if it wasn’t for the insistence of your ex.

Epel Felmier leaves you with a love for nature. You’re hyper aware of how long it takes apple trees to grow and what you can do to help them along. You whisper to your plants now and sing little songs to them and you water them. Your friends have even started coming to you for pointers, and despite the fact that Epel isn’t your partner anymore, you refer them to him automatically.

Idia Shroud leaves you with an absurd amount of techy knowledge. With all the gadgets Ramshackle has because of him, you’re thankful he took the time to explain how they worked. The gifts he made for you almost make the fact that he had to end things with you because of his...family business and that you’ll likely never see him again easier to swallow.

Malleus Draconia leaves you with a greater love for the night sky. You had a person to share the sight of the stars with for once, someone who loved looking up at them just as much as you did. You can still feel the chill of his hand over yours as he reached for it, holding it like you were the most precious treasure of all. Now, when you look up at the stars, you feel a pain of longing in your chest. You miss him.

Lilia Vanrouge leaves you with knowledge of the worlds you’ll never see. You find yourself drawing parallels between this world, your world, and the mystical places Lilia used to talk about. Even Trein has been impressed by the knowledge you’ve displayed in his essays despite not being from this world, and you can only force a laugh.

Silver leaves you with a safety net, something you can use to calm down whenever. His childhood lullaby. He sang it for you time and time again when you were having trouble sleeping in an unfamiliar place when your anxiety got a bit too much. Whenever you have a nightmare now, you find yourself humming the old Briar Valley tune, in hopes that it will give you some comfort.

Sebek Zigvolt leaves you with a greater appreciation for reading (and a pile of bookmarks tucked in an old leather box he presented when he started “courting” you.) You still find yourself exiting Ramshackle on the weekends, and heading to that very same tree you two used to read under. There’s a part of you that wants to look for him, to check and see if he’s also heading to your tree, but you don’t.

[peppertoastuniverse]

pep reads: geto suguru – long fics

But dang, i didnt realise we were all so thirsty for geto the brainrot is so real

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ

☆ as we walk by cerialilith [AO3] [status: unknown ◦ 29/? chapters] [singledad!geto] [slow burn] [eventual smut!] [nocurses!AU] #sweet, softest sugu

He only loves two things in life: the scent of coffee and his daughter. But perhaps he can make a few adjustments.

— In which the single mother across the hall manages to catch Geto’s eye without him realizing it.

☆Temptations by @peachsayshi [AO3/tumblr] [status: ongoing ◦ 5/6 chapters] [ smut!] [nocurses!AU] #sugu treats you RIGHT #pep MELTED Suguru Geto is a playboy. A man who's had more lovers than he can even count. You've never been in a relationship, not even experiencing a real kiss when you first meet Suguru. But the two of you fall for each other, and you know that he's the one you want to experience all your firsts with.

☆ Breathe Me In by lovelied [AO3] [status: completed ◦ 5/5 chapters] [smut!] #pep love this characterization of Suguru Desperate for distraction, a troubled Suguru Geto began inviting you over each night. It began as a casual arrangement, but over time, you found yourself yearning for him in ways you couldn’t quite explain.

☆The good morrow by @temozarela [AO3/tumblr] [status: ongoing? ◦ 2/? Collection of fics] [smut!] #pep’s comfort fic

You narrowed your eyebrows as you felt your body being jolted, large hands gripping your face, and then your shoulders. Groaning softly, you turned in your sleep, trying to make sense of the voice fading in and out of your brain. It didn’t sound like it was from your dream… It was hushed… low… soft…

It sounded like your name.

aka.

geto finds you after his defection to say goodbye

☆ Mascara by softsellars [AO3] [status: unknown ◦ 5/7 chapters] [smut!] [tw!cheating] [nocurses!AU] [artist!suguru] #complex reader, patient sugu

You've never been a particularly good person, you're self-aware enough to know it. It's your only flaw, and recently you've actually been working to better yourself.

For example: paying for a 30-dollar Uber so you can take your friend home only for her to ditch you for some guy when it comes down to it. Although you’re pissed, you decide to try and make the best of it instead of get into a screaming match with her.

It's an easy thing to do when Getou Suguru is offering you everything to do just that. Everything a party entails: liquor, weed, and sex with a perfect stranger.

And Getou knows perfectly well you have a boyfriend, so it's not like he'll want anything serious.

***Porn with a little plot

☆ Whisper of the Petals by @nanamis-baker [tumblr!] [status: on going ◦ 2/? chapters] [slow burn] [College!AU] #SO SO SWEET #sugu with dumb feelings

A mystery blooms on your doorstep. A breathtaking bouquet of white flowers, a silent whisper of apology... but it's not for you. Delivered under the name of a man so handsome he takes your breath away, the mix-up sets your heart racing.

Fate seems determined to keep throwing you together, and soon you're caught in a whirlwind of chance encounters and undeniable chemistry. It was almost as if it was trying to bring you together. ☆ AFFECTION'S EDGE by @rush-the-stars [AO3/tumblr] [status: completed ◦ 3/3 chapters] [omega!verse] #THE INTENSITY?!

“You’ve got it all wrong,” he murmurs, “but what am I to expect from a stray like you? You’ve lived off scraps and abuse your whole life; of course you don’t know what to do now that I’ve given you food and shelter.” Suguru’s fingers ease up towards your neck as he continues, “a warm bed to lie in. Toys to play with. A collar—so you’ll never be lost again. No one’s ever given you this before, hm?”

*** Suguru tries to tame you.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ

bonus!

☆ Musubi by Penrose_Quinn [AO3] [status: unknown ◦ 2/? chapters] #LOVE THE CHEMISTRY

Then there was a quiet shrewdness in the way he carried himself. You would call it cocky, but this one proved to be more poised and collected on how things would unfold for him. Framed with the anchor of his composure, legs stretched out in front of him but not overly laid-back, and his mind – whatever unfathomable brilliance that dwelt underneath – was unperturbed, self-assured. You wouldn’t claim to have known him entirely though like this, Suguru looked more like himself. “But you won’t disappear,” he concluded. “Not yet anyway.” You gave in to a hum. “You’re really making it tempting for me to leave you hanging on nothing.” Suguru listened, waiting. His pursuit was a game of patience and you chased after the gamble.

Or: the string of each encounter was an entanglement to what brought you closer to him, twisted in each other’s darkness, torn and tied back together throughout the years.

[gatorbites-imagines]

Hiya I saw your requests were open so I was wondering if we can get a Tim Drake x male reader

The reader is a bigger older guy, like not too older than Tim but reader does have a streak of gray hair due to the stress of taking care of Bruce's dumbass.

Reader is kinda sly and fox like.

Idk why but I can see Tim liking someone older than him

Tim Drake x older male reader

Headcanons

I feel like tumblr has been deleting requests from my inbox, I swear some go missing. This one didn’t though, so here you go.

It’s been a while huh? Who’d have thought getting ready to graduate would be so stressful.

Reader is about Dicks age, so around 26.

You didn’t meet through hero work or anything like that. You were actually the CEO of a larger company called Aces co. It had been in your family for many years, and your father and grandfather had worked with the Waynes.

So, when you took over at 18, you started working with Bruce Wayne, even though you thought him nothing much more than a himbo at the time. Later, when Tim took over, you’d work side by side with the younger man.

One way or another, you learn Bruces secret identity, and soon you end up mixed up in the vibrant and extremely stressful world that is heroes and vigilantes, you’ve lost count how many times you have had to cover for any of the batclan.

You almost burst into tears when you see the first grey hairs appear at your temples. Your father had gone grey much later in life, and here you were, 24 and greying, all because of the bats. Of course, it wasn’t all the bats, running a billion-dollar company was stressful too, but they sure didn’t help.

The media called you the fox prince, because of the sharp look in your eyes and how sly and underhanded you could be, insulting someone straight to their face and they would first realize days later. Or somehow tricking someone into revealing all their secrets to you.

None of the bats can ever seem to reach your level of mingling and information gathering, even Bruce who has been doing it longer than you’ve been alive.

You never become a hero, or a vigilante for that matter, but you do get involved every now and then if needed. You didn’t take over Aces co. for no reason at 18, you have always been a genius, but a sly and cruel one in the eyes of many.

Unlike Bruce, you don’t feel a soul deep duty to save the world and save as many people as possible. You simply do what you can, without putting yourself in too much danger. Which mainly resolves to you gathering too much information, and enough blackmail to have the entire congress of America and the EU buckling under for your whims.

You are an extremely cold and calculated businessman as well, to the point where underhanded companies like Lexcorps won’t work with you because they know you’ll rip them apart and leave them with nothing.

It was your cruel but very effective business methods that drew Tim to you, especially when it turned out you were a lot more friendly behind closed doors. He did get to hear you complain about him and his family a lot, and it gave him a good laugh to see Bruce open a bill for your hair treatments to get rid of your greys.

The alliance between Wayne enterprises and Aces Co. only grows stronger between you two, and you end up closer to Tim than you’ve been any other bat, even Dick, despite the fact that you two are the same age and have been around each other the longest.

It ends with you going out of your way to score the best deals for (Tim) Wayne Enterprises, and Tim finds ways to benefit (you) Aces Co. Its like flirting and foreplay at the same time between very powerful rich businessmen.

For some reason I can imagine most of the batfam is shocked when Tim and you started dating, whilst some of them aren’t surprised at all. Bruce is uncomfortable in the beginning that one of his former business partners is dating his son, until someone (most likely Jason) points out that you aren’t even 30 yet and took over your company the moment you turned 18.

Your relationship is kept a secret for the media, mainly to keep the drama and paparazzi away. You aren’t a very publicly affectionate person, and Tim doesn’t really like mingling with the media if he doesn’t have too, so it’s a win-win.

The two of you don’t go out of your way to be super secretive though, you just aren’t all lovey dovey all over each other. Some people may notice you getting a lot crueler and colder to those trying to cross Wayne Enterprises, and Tim striking down hard on anyone who tries Aces Co.

It’s assumed it’s just cuz you two are both young CEOs who are trying to strengthen the relationship between your companies. All your mutual friends and families knows its cuz you are both protective and a little possessive.

You are most likely the one in the relationship with the most experience since Tim has spent most of his time being a vigilante, so you’ll have to guide him in the beginning. He’s a great and enthusiastic learner though, so Tim probably ends up doing all kinds of research.

He lovingly calls you his old man, or jokingly calls you a cradle-snatcher, since you look older than you actually are cuz of your greys. It probably causes some drama online when your relationship finally gets out, until people are like “He’s literally only 26, he’s just greying early”.

Tim will comfort you when you end up with your face in your hands because of those comments, weeping for your once beautiful and not grey streaked hair. He loves it though, and always tells you.

You tell Tim he likes it cuz of his daddy issues, and he ends up being all “maybe so”. Doesn’t stop him from loving it though, or loving to see that foxlike glint appear in your eyes when you are about to strike on a deal.

[deuxadeux-if]

WELCOME TO DEUX À DEUX.

THIS GAME IS ON INDEFINITE HIATUS.

Hi all, I’m Ray, and this is the official Tumblr of the WIP interactive fiction game “Deux à Deux."

This post contains:

Socials

Current Demo Status & Patreon Status

Short Synopsis

Long(er) Synopsis

About the Game (ROs and a basic “things to do” summary)

Content Warnings

Demo

***The game is planned to have some mature content, so 18+ only from here on out, please :-) ***

Socials: Pinterest | Spotify | COG Forum | Patreon

Demo & Prologue Status (10/05/2024):

| Public Demo |

Prologue is available. You should also see an ending page which allows you to restart/share game, you should have a stats screen, and you should have 4 save slots.

| Patreon |

Prologue is available. R Burns POV #1 (for prologue scene) is available for free & paid members on Patreon. Erin Pinsky Diary #1 and T Lyons POV #1 are available to Obsession tier on Patreon. Two free drabbles are on Patreon (you can find them here, too, though).

Short Synopsis:

You’re barely scraping by your dead-end job when a couple leaves a note as they leave: “Quit your job—we’ll take care of you.” Calling the number on the note throws you headfirst into a world of luxury, intrigue, power, and lust. Tread lightly.

Long(er) Synopsis:

As a server at a self-proclaimed “upscale” restaurant in New York City, most of your shifts end with exhaustion, total rage, or vague annoyance. When a beautiful couple leaves you a note with their receipt (instructing you to quit your job and let them “take care” of you), along with a $500 tip, you’re intrigued.

You don’t expect much from the note, but it quickly becomes obvious that you’ve caught the Lyonses attention. They’re persistent as they are mysterious, but you soon realize there’s a dark underbelly to their glamorous, luxurious lifestyle. Whether you stay in it or not is up to you.

Will you become part of (or break up) the Lyons couple, or will you find another path with their permanent “house guest”? Maybe you’ll be the fourth piece in their puzzle. You could stay at your crappy serving job and get closer with one of two coworkers, to the horror of the Lyonses—or maybe even your boxing coach.

Whatever happens, it won’t come easy.

About the Game:

-----------------------------ROs---------------------------

T Lyons.

T (Tom/Tess/Tory) Lyons is wealthy, mysterious, and cold. They’re married to N Lyons, and the two of them are the very picture of a New York City “power couple."

T takes an immediate liking to you when they meet you at La Table (the restaurant you work at). Their interest is what sweeps you into the Lyonses life, into their own luxurious, illicit, private world.

Appearance: T Lyons is American and black. They have black hair, sharp lips, and cold brown eyes.

N Lyons.

N (Noah/Natasha/Nico) Lyons is T’s devoted spouse, and is in turns alluring and terrifying. N is apprehensive to have you join their world, despite their immediate interest in you, because the Lyonses only ever have one “house guest” at once.

N Lyons will be a little harder to win over, but they may prove a more loyal ally. You also wonder how much they pull the strings of the Lyonses’ lives behind the scenes. Only time will tell.

Appearance: N Lyons is Mexican-American and brown. They have very dark brown hair, long eyelashes, and calculating black eyes.

M Nguyen.

M (Mason/Molly/Mars) Nguyen is the current house guest of the Lyonses, and you immediately wonder if they find you an unwelcome intrusion or a possible savior.

M is more reserved than either of the Lyonses, but then again, they don’t have much to talk about. They don’t leave the house much, but they want for nothing under the Lyonses care. You just wonder if they’re in a gilded cage, or truly satisfied.

Appearance: M Nguyen is Vietnamese-American and tan. They have black hair, angular cheekbones, and thoughtful black eyes.

R Burns.

R (Ronnie/Roxanne/Rainn) Burns is one of your closest almost-friends in your “real life.” They’re your boxing coach, the best around, and you consider them mostly (or completely) to thank for your combat skills.

You’re always entertained with R, but you’re torn between deciding if there’s real care beneath the easy amusement on the surface. Do you want to get closer to R, or leave them in the dust?

Appearance: R Burns is Punjabi-American and brown. They have black hair, a prominent nose, and dark brown eyes.

Erin Pinsky.

Erin Pinsky (genderlocked) is your almost-almost-codependent coworker. She’s a very talented server, always lighthearted and charming … if you cared more about your job, you might be jealous.

She seems to really like you, too. The question is, is that affection only surface-level, or could there be something more there?

Appearance: Erin Pinsky is American and white. She has poorly bleached hair, always-on black eyeliner, and bright brown eyes.

Theo Ferreira.

Theo Ferreira (genderlocked) is another of your coworkers, but you can’t really tell if he thinks anything about you … like, at all. He doesn’t really give a shit about La Table or his job, so he’s more stern than charming as a server.

For some reason, the customers eat this up. Sometimes he’ll sneak you stolen food from the back and insist you bring it home, but otherwise he’s pretty quiet. Still, he’s very handsome.

Appearance: Theo Ferreira is Brazilian-American and brown. He has buzzed brown hair, expressive eyebrows (though he hates this), and shrewd black eyes.

----------------------THINGS TO DO---------------------

In Deux à Deux, you can romance several people at once (whether there will be consequences or not is anyone’s guess … mwahaha) or devote yourself to one RO. You can also date nobody, I guess, but that will be a lot less fun in this game, sorry!

You can throw yourself wholeheartedly into life with the Lyonses, including going clubbing, eating fine dining, going on impromptu vacations, etc.

You can also reject their frivolous lifestyle entirely, avoiding them when you can (although they’re quite persistent) and spend time boxing, hanging with your coworkers, or trying to get M out of the Lyonses lives.

Or, if you’re feeling ambitious, you can try to balance both.

This game will have:

Romance (duh)

Stat checks with consequences (there will be 2-3 majorly game-defining stat checks, so choose wisely)

Combat (everyone has a few skeletons in their closets, right?)

A fair bit of drama.

Content Warnings:

These will be updated more as I continue writing and completely solidify things, but this is a start.

Combat: knives, guns, street fighting

Violence: blood, bruising, unconsciousness

Stalking (not by ROs or MC)

Swearing/cursing (your MC can choose not to curse, though!)

Sexually suggestive content

Sexually explicit content (can opt out via “fade-to-black”)

NOTE: there is no sexual violence or allusions to it, EVER. There is no human/sex trafficking or allusions to it, EVER.

The Demo:

Link: https://dashingdon.com/go/17086 OR click here.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thank you so much for your interest in my game!! So excited to continue sharing this with you all.

XO

Ray

[carnalcrows]

Yandere (fem) vampire head-cannons

cw: yandere traits, mentions of blood, giant age gap (bc she's a vampire lol)

disclaimer: I want to emphasize that I do not endorse or support this type of behaviour. This content is purely for entertainment purposes.

Yan!Vampire, who’s lived through centuries of change, has walked through empires that have risen and fallen, and yet remains effortlessly modern, adapting to every era with ease.

Yan!Vampire, who’s had countless lovers over the years, each of them fleeting and forgettable, none of them ever stirring the depths of her immortal heart.

Yan!Vampire, who spots you one night at a bustling modern bar, standing out to her like a flame in the darkness, your laugh echoing in her ears like a melody she can’t escape.

Yan!Vampire, who watches you from the shadows, her crimson eyes tracing every detail of your expression, every movement, and feels something she hasn’t in centuries—a pull so strong it’s almost frightening.

Yan!Vampire, who casually approaches you, exuding a charm that’s impossible to resist, her words smooth and her confidence unmatched. “You don’t belong in a place like this, you know. You shine too brightly.”

Yan!Vampire, who keeps finding excuses to see you again, always showing up where you least expect her, each encounter leaving you feeling both unnerved and exhilarated.

Yan!Vampire, who laughs at your awkward attempts to impress her, finding your human quirks utterly enchanting in a way no one else has ever been.

Yan!Vampire, who grows possessive quickly, though she masks it with playful teasing. “I hope you’re not letting anyone else charm you. That’s my job.”

Yan!Vampire, who refuses to acknowledge that her feelings for you are different at first, chalking it up to a passing fascination—until she catches herself imagining you by her side for eternity.

Yan!Vampire, who can’t help but bristle with jealousy when you interact with others, her fangs briefly flashing as she suppresses the urge to scare them away.

Yan!Vampire, who admits her nature to you in a moment of vulnerability, her usual confidence softening as she says, “I’ve been around for centuries, and I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.”

Yan!Vampire, who takes her time convincing you to trust her, using her charm and wit to show you that she sees you as more than just a fleeting amusement.

Yan!Vampire, who knows she’s had many lovers in the past, but swears to you, “They were distractions. You’re different. You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted to keep forever.”

Yan!Vampire, who proposes the idea of turning you so casually it almost takes your breath away: “It’s not a big deal, darling. Just a little bite, and we’ll have forever together. Doesn’t that sound perfect?”

Yan!Vampire, who’s uncharacteristically patient when you hesitate, but her patience has limits—especially if she feels like you might slip away.

Yan!Vampire, who lingers close to you at night, her touch cool but her gaze burning as she whispers, “You already belong to me. This is just a formality.”

Yan!Vampire, who grows more possessive with time, her playful demeanor slipping when she sees someone else vying for your attention. “They’re not worthy of you. Only I am.”

Yan!Vampire, who reassures you with a smirk, “Once you’re like me, you’ll understand. You won’t want anyone else either.”

Yan!Vampire, who’s been through eons of heartache and fleeting passion, but for the first time feels a deep, consuming love—and she won’t let anyone, not even you, deny her this eternity.

Yan!Vampire, who looks at you like you’re the brightest star in her eternal night and swears, “You’ll never have to face the darkness alone. Not anymore.”

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time, and I take a genuine effort to do it.

[librababe99]

Weathering the Storm

A/N: Hey Y’all! So I’ve always been someone who lurks, reblogs and enjoys the work that others put out on Tumblr. I have attempted to write things in the past but end up keeping it to myself or scrap the idea altogether— BUT after watching Deadpool and Wolverine my love for those two has hit me hard!  Anyways, here’s a little angsty blurb I wrote for Logan. 

Please let me know what you think! I'm open to suggestions and comments!

- Libra ✧ : *✧･ﾟ:*

Warnings: None.  Word Count: 620

The rain pounds against the window, a relentless downpour that mirrors the storm brewing inside you. You sit on the edge of the bed, arms wrapped around yourself, trying to hold it together. But it’s hard. It’s so damn hard when everything feels like it’s falling apart.

Logan is pacing the room, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. You can see the tension in his muscles, the barely contained fury that radiates off him in waves. He hasn’t looked at you since the argument started—since the words that neither of you can take back were thrown like daggers.

“Logan,” you finally say, your voice breaking the heavy silence. He stops but doesn’t turn to face you. His shoulders rise and fall with each breath, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s even listening.

But then he speaks, his voice rough and edged with pain. “I can’t keep doin’ this,” he mutters, the words barely audible over the rain. “Every time… it’s like I’m losing you a little more.”

Your heart clenches at the raw emotion in his tone, and you stand, taking a hesitant step toward him. “You’re not losing me,” you say, though the crack in your voice betrays your own doubt. “I’m right here.”

He finally turns to look at you, his eyes shadowed with something that makes your breath catch. There’s anger there, yes, but beneath it, there’s something deeper—something broken. “But for how long?” he asks, his voice rough with a vulnerability he rarely shows. “How long before you walk away? Before you decide you can’t handle bein’ with a guy like me?”

The accusation stings because it’s not entirely unfounded. You’ve both been through hell, and sometimes the weight of it all feels like too much. But the thought of leaving him? Of walking away from the only person who truly understands you? That’s a pain you can’t bear to even consider.

“I’m not leaving you, Logan,” you insist, your voice trembling. “I—” You swallow hard, trying to find the right words. “I’m scared, okay? Scared that one day I’ll wake up and you’ll be gone. That something will happen, and I won’t be able to stop it. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to be with you. I just… I don’t know how to deal with this.”

He’s silent for a long moment, his gaze piercing as he studies you. Then, with a heavy sigh, he steps forward, closing the distance between you. His hand reaches up, his rough fingers brushing your cheek. “You’re not gonna lose me, darlin’,” he murmurs, the anger in his voice replaced by something softer, something laced with the same fear you feel. “But I can’t keep fightin’ this battle alone. We’re in this together, or we’re not in it at all.”

His words hang in the air, a challenge and a plea all at once. You meet his gaze, feeling the weight of the decision before you. It would be easy to walk away, to let the fear and doubt win. But as you look into Logan’s eyes, you realize that leaving him would hurt more than anything else ever could.

Taking a deep breath, you place your hand over his. “We’re in this together,” you whisper, the resolve in your voice stronger now. “No matter what.”

For a moment, the tension between you lingers, but then Logan pulls you into his arms, holding you tight as if afraid you might slip away. You bury your face in his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart against yours. The storm outside rages on, but in Logan’s embrace, you find a sliver of peace—a promise that, despite the darkness, you’ll face whatever comes together.

[definitelynotafurinasimp]

Robin with a reader that's a journalist

Characters: Robin x gn!reader

warnings: none, just fluff

a/n: It's ya boi, definitelynotarobinsimp, I have returned from my exile of writing for Robin and logged into Tumblr to write… for Robin... I gacha’d for the whole c4 Robin, I’m gonna use the whole c4 Robin!

I could have returned sooner with one or two stupid posts, but with this one we are at 999 posts and I am not wasting number 1000 on a shitpost. /hj

Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Robin

Truth be told, when you told Robin you were a journalist, she couldn’t help but be concerned. A part of her committed to answering your questions for as long as they remained sensical and didn’t pry into her private life, while another worried about what she would do if you turned out to be another obtrusive one that wouldn’t leave her alone no matter what.

However, when you proceeded not to ask her anything afterwards, simply continuing with your conversation as if nothing had happened, Robin couldn’t help but wonder what your deal was. Were you not interested in interviewing her or did you simply want to lure her into a false sense of calm to get things out of her you usually wouldn’t?

And so, the first few times the two of you chatted with each other, Robin remained on her guard, making sure not to say anything she’d regret, only for nothing to happen each and every time and before she knew it, her walls were slowly but surely coming down when talking to you, the two of you growing closer as they did.

As Robin got to know you better, she came to realize that your interest in writing stories about her was as non-existent as it could be. Even if she said something she realized she had meant to keep a secret, there’d be no headline to suit it the following day, you simply responded with a secret of your own. Whether it was to make her feel better or to give her ammunition to assure mutual assured destruction, the songstress didn’t know, and before she knew it, she didn’t care either.

What you found great pleasure in however, was writing news stories about people writing news stories about her. Sometimes she’d find your name under an article writing about creeps taking photos of unsuspecting women while the pictures you took of paparazzis whenever you noticed one following the two of you on an public outing littered the article, other times she’d find it while reading about you being sued for the very same articles.

And yet, no matter how often she tried talking you out of it, you’d do it again.

The moment the two of you saw a bright flash emanate from a nearby bush, you hastily pulled out your camera, aiming it at the source before Robin even had the time to react, quickly trying to talk to you as you snapped your first pictures.

“Oh, I got his face”, you marveled excitedly as you glanced down at your camera, reviewing the photos you took as the songstress’ words failed to reach you.

“Wait, you don’t have to do this”, Robin desperately whispered to you, knowing full well how much trouble you were once again going to get yourself into, causing you to finally respond to her.

“Don’t they bother you?” You asked earnestly, only for her to quickly shake her head, cheeks growing ever so slightly red as she wasn’t used to voicing her less positive thoughts.

“Of course they do, but-” That was enough for you, as you shot her a big smile before once again looking down at the screen of your camera.

“Then I’ll do it. I already have a great headline in mind.”

“You’ll get sued.” She tried one last desperate attempt, only for you to almost look amused, that possibility never having stopped you from doing your thing.

“I have great lawyers.”

[justagalwhowrites]

The Savage and the Sanctuary - Ch. 6: Justice

A friend visits as Joel reckons with his feelings. A continuation of The Savage and the Sanctuary, a no outbreak TLOU story, from the prologue through chapter 5 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

CW: ATTEMPTED SUICIDE. No use of Y/N. Whole fic will be explicit so minors DNI, 18+ only.

Length: 8.3k

A/N: Please be aware that we see Joel's suicide attempt at the start of this chapter and really get into his headspace just after Sarah dies. It's rough. If you aren't feeling up for it, jump to the second italicized date in this chapter.

Take care of yourselves! Love you!

Fic Masterlist | Masterlist | AO3 | Prologue | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

October 5, 2019 

The decision had been an easy one. 

Almost shamefully so, really. 

It had been surreal, watching the casket that held his daughter’s body be lowered into the ground. He’d half expected it to be raining even though the forecast didn’t call for it. It just didn’t make sense for the sun to be shining the day he buried his child. 

Everyone he’d ever met was there, it seemed. All of Sarah’s classmates, too. So many people came to pay their respects for his baby girl. Like it made a damn difference now. So many people he had to thank for their sorrow, so many people who said they wanted to help but couldn’t because how could you help something like this? 

He decided before the first shovelful of dirt was on her casket. It was a relief, in a way. It was all finite. This pain that had all but devoured him in the last week was going to end and he was never going to have to wake up in a world without his daughter again. 

“Sure you’ll be alright?” Tommy asked, hands awkwardly stuffed in his pockets as he hovered in Joel’s entryway, the one button down shirt he owned already open at the collar, tie loosened. 

“Yeah,” Joel said. It wasn’t even a lie. He would be alright. Soon, he’d be alright. 

“I can stay,” Tommy said. “I’ll just go by my place, get a few things…” 

“Don’t need to,” Joel said. 

“Joel.” 

“Go home, Tommy.” 

His brother watched him for a moment, jaw clenched, eyes going over his face again and again. 

“Promise me you won’t do anything stupid if I leave you here alone,” Tommy said, his eyes stuck on Joel’s. 

“Not gonna do anything stupid,” Joel said. That wasn’t a lie, either. It wasn’t stupid, it was the only smart thing he could fucking do. 

Tommy watched him for another moment. 

“Alright,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow, OK?” 

That, however, would be a lie. Joel clenched his jaw. 

“Joel,” Tommy said. “I will see you tomorrow, right?” 

“Yeah,” Joel said. “You know where to find me.” 

“Alright,” Tommy said, hesitantly, before pulling Joel in for a hug, clapping him on the back. “I know it… it’s awful, man. It is. But you’ll get through it.” 

“Yeah,” Joel said. 

“I love you, brother,” Tommy said, holding him close for a second. 

For the first time since he’d decided, Joel felt a twinge in his chest. Something akin to fear or regret or apology, something that made it feel like leaving his baby brother was the wrong thing to do. He just didn’t really care.

“Love you, too,” Joel said, voice thick. 

He watched the front door for a minute after Tommy left, his hands in his pockets in his oddly silent house. 

He went to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of whisky, staring at the mug Sarah had left by the sink the last day she was alive. He couldn’t bring himself to clean or even move it and it was going moldy, rot already claiming the parts of her that were still here. He drank the whisky. 

Joel considered writing a note but decided not to. What else was there to say? Every word he had died with her. And it wasn’t like there was anyone to fight over what little he had to his name. Just a small life insurance policy that may not even pay out and the equity he had in the house he’d bought so his daughter had roots. Tommy could handle it. He’d proven, over the last week, that he was more capable than Joel had given him credit for. 

He went to Sarah’s room. It was still in a state of teenaged disarray - he hadn’t been able to do anything about that, either - with a diorama she was building for her history class on her desk and her comforter shoved down toward the foot of her bed. She kicked it off in her sleep, she always got warm in her sleep. She was cold now. 

Joel took it all in, committing it to memory. He looked at all the posters - the pop star in the middle of a dance move and the movie star staring out at nothing - and ran his fingers over the spines of the books. He even picked up the teddy bear on her dresser, small and pink with worn fur. He ran his thumb over the bear’s face, remembered tucking it next to his daughter when she was a newborn. Tommy had brought it for her when he came to the hospital to meet his niece for the first time. 

“Figured, it’s pink,” he’d said then. “Girls like pink.” 

“Don’t think she’s old enough to like anything yet,” Joel said, not looking at his brother, too busy watching the tiny bundle that was now his whole world. 

“She will,” Tommy said. “Once she figures it out. She’ll be the best little girl in the whole world.” 

Tommy was right on both counts. She had loved pink. She had been the best little girl in the whole world. 

He couldn’t handle being there very long. The room was already starting to smell different, less like Sarah herself and more like her body spray and hair serums and detergent. She was already fading from the place that had been hers and he couldn’t bear to know the world was moving on without her. 

When it felt like he couldn’t take it anymore, he left, closing the door softly behind him, going over the space again and again in his mind. He went to his room, to the gun safe in his nightstand drawer. 

Joel didn’t really like guns. But he wanted to have it, it felt smart, what with just him and his daughter in the house. He needed to have a way to protect her if he needed to because, when it came down to it, that was his purpose. He was supposed to protect his daughter. Protect her, raise her, teach her to be smart and sweet and strong, watch her grow to become something so much better than him. But he’d failed at that. The gun only had one use now. 

Joel had considered this part carefully, going over options in his mind while people told him how sorry they were that the only thing that mattered in the world was gone. 

Tommy would be the one to find him, he reasoned. No one else had keys, no one else would care enough to come looking. He wanted to be surrounded by Sarah but he couldn’t bring himself to do it in her room, it seemed wrong to have violence touch her space. He’d considered the entryway but that seemed cruel, a shock like that for Tommy when he first opened the door. Outside by the pool would be too loud, some nosy neighbor calling the cops and with that was a risk - maybe a small one but a risk all the same - of someone getting there fast enough to save him and he didn’t want that. His bedroom would be comforting but getting blood out of the carpet… he wanted Tommy to be able to sell the house, set himself up for some success in life. So, he’d decided on his bathroom. Easy to clean up, plenty of walls between him and the neighbors, away from the sacred space that still belonged to Sarah. 

That’s where he stood, in the shower he’d tiled years ago over a long weekend. Sarah had been about eight, she’d wanted to help. He’d smear on the adhesive and she would pass him a tile and he’d put it in its place and they would do it all again, her never seeming bored with it. She was perfectly content to be next to him, listening to classic rock on the radio, making something with her dad. 

The gun was weighty in his hand but that was a comfort. There was nothing left here for him. He was done, ready to move on to whatever there was beyond this life - if anything at all. He didn’t much care if there was. All he wanted was an end to this pain, this suffocating agony that had consumed his entire being since he’d lost his daughter. All he wanted was to go with her into the cold ground. That’s where he belonged, next to her. He’d let them put her under alone, let her go ahead of him into that dark earth. It wasn’t right. He was going to fix it. 

He took a deep breath, oddly aware of his lungs, the beat of his heart. It wasn’t racing the way he thought it might be. In his final moments, he was calm. Sure. 

He pressed the gun to his temple and closed his eyes. He pictured Sarah. He pictured her laughing and smiling, he pictured the pleading look on her face the last morning of her life. He pictured how happy she’d been when he’d told her she could go to the party, when he’d unknowingly sent her to her death. 

“I’m coming, baby girl,” he said quietly. “See you soon.” 

He took one final breath and pulled the trigger. 

There was a moment, one that had to be only a fraction of a second but seemed to last a small lifetime, that he saw everything. Every moment of his life with his daughter - her first steps, her beaming on Christmas morning, her riding her first bike, her rolling her eyes when they were in a fight - and every moment with his brother, his own father, the guys on his crew at work. All these moments that made up a life, all these things that made it seem like continuing on was somehow worth it. 

He flinched. 

November, 2024 

It wasn’t the guy. 

In the week since you and Joel had returned from California, he’d been off duty. Or, at least, at home and answering questions for police and Tommy as the authorities investigated whether or not the man who’d hurt you was your stalker. 

He wasn’t. 

When the police started investigating, they quickly discovered that he was new to Los Angeles. He’d been in another state entirely on days your stalker had clearly seen you. The man - Joseph Wilson - was just another rabid fan, one who took his adoration of you a step too far at the premier. 

He’d bailed himself out but had to stay in Los Angeles, the police keeping tabs on him so he was controlled but that didn’t make Joel feel much better. He knew how little the cops actually did in situations like this. The guy may not be able to board a plane but he could just jump in a car and get on the road - something he was clearly obsessive enough to do - and be in Texas in a matter of days. With how often the police checked in, they may not even get any advanced warning, either. 

Mostly, it made Joel uneasy. You were still under threat. Worse, he was away from you while you were under threat. He couldn’t keep you safe from his house across town, he had to sit there and rely on Seth to do the job.

But there was a part of him that was relieved, too. You still being under threat meant that there was still a use for him. He had a reason to be next to you and Ellie, to move through the world with you and make sure you were both safe. You clearly needed someone to do that job, stalker or no, and just the passing thought of you with nothing between you and the violent things that seemed to be drawn to you in some way turned his stomach. He was happy to not need to reckon with disentangling himself from you yet - even if that meant it would be harder when the time came. 

Still, he wondered if you’d told Tommy about the incident with the watch. His brother had insisted that he take the full week, even after Joel pushed to come back early when the police confirmed that Wilson wasn’t who’d been sending you the letters. 

“It’s better if it’s me,” Joel said, standing in Tommy’s office with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. “I know the job best now and…” 

“And we need you sharp,” Tommy said, barely glancing up from his computer. “Can’t have you working yourself into the ground. Take the week, rest up, come back refreshed and ready.” 

He hoped you hadn’t said anything. He’d deserve it if you had, he wasn’t proud of the way he’d behaved that day in your driveway. 

But he was already trying to get some distance, desperate for things to be somehow easier when he had to leave, his whole body already tense when thinking about anything - anything at all - happening to you and you handed him that watch. That fucking watch, the one that sat open in the red box on his nightstand, the one you’d given him as a gesture of kindness that he wasn’t due. It glared at him, the intact face shining in the lamplight as the cracked one lay next to it before he went to sleep. 

The other watch had been a gift from Sarah - Father’s Day when she was 12. She’d had an independent streak that year and did chores for the next door neighbors a few times to save up before asking her uncle to take her shopping for it. It wasn’t anything fancy - utilitarian and clean with a green fabric strap and a black face - but Joel had loved it. She’d been so proud of herself for buying it, she beamed every time he put it on. She’d even gotten it fixed for him a year before she died because he just hadn’t found the time to do it. He wore it every day. He’d worn it the day she died, the face cracking when he threw himself against the car window, desperate to break through the glass and get to her. Desperate to save her and failing, always failing. 

You gave him a watch to replace that one in much the same way you’d replaced the absence of feeling that had taken over his being when she died. 

That terrified him. He hadn’t even been aware of how numb he’d become, not really, not until he wasn’t anymore. The world was a cold and dark place, something that hurt too much to endure if he sat in it a little too long so he just didn’t. What was the point? He’d tried to fix it, tried to realize that his time was up - how could it not be, the reality of her loss being what it was - but he’d failed at that, too. Now, he was just biding his time. 

Or he was until you showed up. 

Things hurt again, scared him again. It all seemed too big to contend with. It reminded him, a little, of when he was a teenager, when he first started really waking up to life outside the nucleus of his mom and dad and little brother. The first time he fell in love with a girl, the first time he got passed over on the football team, the first time one of his friends stabbed him in the back. It had all seemed like the most important thing to have ever happened, the depth of feeling broad and new. 

Everything since you’d come into his life was like that. He was a professional, he’d dealt with aggressive people before but none of them scared him the way Wilson had. He’d tried to make a kid smile before but none the way he wanted to make Ellie smile. He’d wanted to fuck a woman before but none of them the way he wanted to fuck you.

What was he supposed to do with any of that? It all felt too volatile and dangerous, the threat lurking beneath it all far greater than it had ever been before. It made every decision he made feel strangely consequential, his body constantly tense and waiting for some unseen force to destroy you both. 

It was a feeling he couldn’t shake in his week away from you. One that was made worse by the fact that the fucking paparazzi had been told that you’d moved to Texas and were adopting Ellie. 

Joel got wind of it from Tommy only 10 minutes before the rest of the world did, just a phone call to tell him that the veil of protection you’d had here was now gone. 

“Nothin’ much we can really do about it,” Tommy said. Joel could picture him pinching the bridge of his nose through the phone. “They don’t got her address yet but they know Ellie’s school so we got a team setting up a perimeter there until this dies down, new pick up and drop off routine starting now…” 

“Jesus,” he muttered. “You’re sure you don’t want me to…” 

“Joel,” Tommy cut him off. “I know you’re bad at sitting on your hands for five minutes but you were on for weeks including an incident where your charge was injured. I can’t bring you back until you’ve actually gotten some rest, it ain’t safe. Just… I dunno, read a fucking book or something. You’ll be back to it in a few days, I’ll keep you updated otherwise.” 

Tommy sent Joel all the updates that morning, giving Joel a few hours to prep before he was set to go pick up Ellie and start his turn in the rotation of looking after you both again. 

There were changes, ones he was surprised you’d agreed to. No more grocery store runs, at least not while people were on high alert and looking for you and liable to follow you home. No more taking the same route every day to and from Ellie’s school. No more leaving the variable compound that was your home without good reason, every outing just another opportunity for someone to recognize you and tip off your stalker to your more precise location. 

Joel knew you’d hate these changes, the loss of the freedoms you’d clung to so hard here. There were notes in the file that they could be temporary adjustments, once things died down about your relocation and people weren’t watching for you anymore but he doubted that made much difference to you. The loss was still a loss. 

He went to pick up Ellie that afternoon, following the new procedure the school put into place to protect her and the other students, surrendering his ID to the rentacop guards at the gate to the school before he could pull into the drive to the front door. Ellie had to wait inside until he came to get her, something that he could tell she resented from the look on her face before he was even in the door. 

“Well would you look who it is,” she said, getting up and throwing her backpack over her shoulder. 

“You causin’ trouble?” Joel asked, brows raised. 

“No more than usual,” she said. 

“So, plenty?” Joel said. She gave him a look and he laughed a little. “Alright, kid, let’s go.” 

Joel kept a hand on her on the walk to the car and she flung her bag into the back seat of his truck as she climbed in front. 

“Should duck down,” he said, looking past the fence. There wasn’t a hoard of paparazzi, at least. “Just to be safe.” 

“So stupid,” she muttered but obeyed, doubling over in her seat until they were to the end of the street and looking back over her shoulder when she sat up again before settling in and looking Joel over. 

“What,” he asked glancing her way. 

“Nothin’,” she said. “Just haven’t seen you in a while. Think you have more wrinkles and shit.” 

Joel just scoffed. 

“And you haven’t gotten any taller,” he said. “Still a runt.” 

“Hey!” 

“What’ve you been up to, kiddo?” He asked, glancing over to her. 

“Oh, you know,” she shrugged. “School bullshit. Had to get trained on how to dodge the paparazzi by Seth and he can’t even win at COD so you left me in great hands here, Big Miller…”

“Glad to know the benchmark is a video game,” he said. “You seen any trouble from those photographer assholes?”  

“No,” she said and he could hear the roll of her eyes. “It’s all bullshit.” 

“The threat ain’t bullshit, kid,” Joel said, sterner than he meant to. “Wish it was.” 

“Yeah,” she sighed. “Me too.” 

Ellie told him some of what she’d gotten up to in the weeks it’d been since he’d seen her, the good grades she’d gotten and the asshole kid she’d put in his place. Joel just nodded along, trying not to think about the fact that there was some part of him that loved being someone she could talk to freely and openly. 

It was a pleasant distraction from what he knew would be a shit conversation once he saw you again. He’d have to say something about the watch and everything he’d said when you gave it to him. He just didn’t know what. He was dreading that, dreading it enough that the fancy pickup truck parked at your gate was a relief for a moment because it meant he had a reprieve. Then, his instincts kicked in. 

“Stay put, get down,” Joel ordered Ellie, throwing the truck into park. “Don’t get out, you hear me?” 

He didn’t wait for a response, just jumping out, his gun drawn as he ran up alongside the other - far nicer, newer - truck. 

“No, you don’t understand,” a man with a thick drawl said, standing at the intercom at your gate with his hands on his hips and a Stetson on his head. “I’m a friend of… look, she home? Just go ask her if she…” 

“I’m not about to tell a strange man whether or not my employer is at home!” Esmo said through the intercom. “I’m going to call the police if you don’t leave, you’d better go before…” 

“Hands up!” Joel barked, gun up an pointed at the man. 

He jumped, turning to face Joel, his eyes wide as he obeyed. 

“Woah!” He said, looking Joel up and down, his hands still up. “Take it easy, I swear I ain’t…” 

“Not about to take orders from you,” Joel said, stepping closer, gun still trained on the man’s chest. “Who the fuck are you and what are you doin’ here?” 

“Could ask you the same damn thing,” he replied. “Can you put the damn gun down?” 

“I’m personal protection,” Joel said. “I’m doin’ my job which, right now, means keeping you on the business end of my gun. Keep your fuckin’ hands up, gonna check you over.” 

Joel stepped in closer, tightening the grip on the gun with one hand and using the other to quickly pat the man down. He didn’t have anything on him that Joel could find easily, just wallet, phone and keys to the King Ranch F-250 that didn’t seem like had seen a day of work in its young life. 

“Alright,” Joel said, stepping back and lowering the gun slowly but keeping it drawn. “Who the fuck are you and what are you doing here.” 

Before the man had a chance to answer, Joel heard a door slam and then Ellie was doing exactly what he told her not to do. 

Joel tried to correct for it, looking quickly back over his shoulder to see where she was coming from, trying to cover her, but she ignored that, too. 

“Get back in the damn truck!” He snapped at her but she just careened around him, running for the other man. Joel raised the gun again, getting ready to shoot a stranger who may not even deserve it, but Ellie got in the way. 

“Justice!” She shrieked, launching herself at the man and he caught her out of the air with a grunt, lowering his arms for the first time since Joel had pulled his gun. “I missed you! Where the fuck have you been?” 

“Hey kiddo!” He laughed, holding her off the ground so she was level with his face. “Missed you, too. I’ve been a little busy lately, doin’ that whole tour thing. The hell have you been up to? Given all these here Texans a run for their money?” 

“Duh,” she said and he set her down before hiking up his jeans. “What are you doing here?” 

“Came to see you, you little trouble maker,” he said. “And check on your aunt while I was here, I suppose…” 

“I guess,” Ellie said in a mockingly long-suffering way. 

“Think you can get uh…” he jerked his chin toward Joel, giving him a furtive glance. “Rambo there to put the gun away and convince the gal inside that I’m not some security threat?” 

“Sure,” she laughed, looking to Joel. “You can put the gun down, this is just Justice, he’s cool.” 

Joel clenched his jaw for a moment before putting his gun away and relaxing a little. The other man seemed to take it as permission to step forward, holding his hand toward Joel with a too perfect smile. 

“Justice James,” he said. “Good to meet you.” 

Joel realized then that he recognized this guy. He was some country music superstar, the kind that Joel felt like was ruining country music and would make Johnny Cash turn in his grave. 

He just grunted, going to the intercom. 

“Esmo,” he said. “Big Miller, at the gate. Trouble is secure.” 

There was a moment of silence before she responded. 

“Are you letting that strange man up here?” She asked. 

“He’s not that strange!” Ellie yelled and Joel gave her a look over his shoulder. “What? He’s not!” 

“Yeah,” Joel said. “It’s under control.” 

Joel keyed in the gate code and looked to Justice.

“Drive up but stick by your truck when you get up there,” he said. “Trouble, you’re with me.” 

“Come on, seriously?” Ellie stomped her foot. 

“Don’t wanna hear it, kid,” he replied. “My truck, move it.” 

“Fine,” she huffed before looking to Justice. “See you in a minute, apparently.” 

Justice just laughed. 

“See you in a sec, kiddo.” 

The man drove slow up to your front door, Joel following close behind, sorely temped to try to scratch the paint off the back of this ostentatious truck with his own, beat down Ford from the 80s just on principle. 

But he didn’t. Instead, he just parked right behind the hulking, shiny rig, Ellie jumping out immediately and Esmo stepping to the drive, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her eyes narrowed. Ellie didn’t seem to notice, beelining for Justice again. 

“It’s been so crazy!” She was saying as Joel got close enough to hear her. “There were these photographers at my school and shit, like people think I’m famous now, it’s so weird but also kind of cool and…” 

“Ellie,” Esmo cut her off. “Inside.” 

“But,” she protested. 

“Now,” Esmo cut her off. “I’m certain Mr. Miller agrees with me.” 

“Inside, Ellie,” Joel said. 

She looked to Justice and he chuckled a little before nodding. 

“Head on in, kid,” he said. “See you in a few.” 

The three of them watched Ellie go inside, Esmo moving to block the door, her eyes narrowing at the newcomer. He tipped his hat to her almost comically. 

“Ma’am,” he said. “Guessin’ you’re the one who was reading me the riot act over the intercom.” 

“I’m not going to just let a stranger into the house,” Esmo said, chin out. “Not after a man…” 

“Broke her wrist,” Justice nodded. “I know. Don’t blame you for bein’ protective. Appreciate it, honestly. But promise, I’m no threat. If she’s home…” 

“She’s not,” Esmo said. “But when she gets home, I’ll…” 

The sound of an engine interrupted her and Joel’s hand automatically went to his gun, ready to deal with whatever else was going to get thrown at him in his first hour back on the fucking job but it was just you, Seth at your back. 

“There a party no one told me about?” You asked, brows raised, barely looking at Joel. 

He didn’t respond, shifting to be between you and the unknown element that was Justice when the man turned to face you, an almost cocky smile on his face. 

“Hey shug,” he said and Joel watched as your face lit up in a way that made his stomach clench. 

“Justice!” You yelled in much the same way Ellie had and ran for him that way, too, more colliding with him than hugging him, making him stumble back as he laughed, his arms going around you and holding you tight. “What the hell are you doing here! Aren’t you supposed to be playing in Dallas tomorrow?” 

“Close enough,” he said, giving you a squeeze before stepping back from you. “Couldn’t come to Texas and not see my best girl now could I?” He took your injured arm in his hands and turned it gently. “How you feeling?” 

“Fine,” you waved him off with your uninjured arm. “It’s really not a big a deal as everyone is making it out to be…” 

“Someone broke your wrist, honey,” he said, running his thumb over your wrist. 

You shrugged.

“I’ve had worse.” 

He glared at you and you took your wrist back, still smiling all broad and warm and Joel didn’t like it, not one bit. 

“Want to see the new place?” You asked. “You’d approve of the set up, lots of room for horses and shit.” 

“Horses, eh?” He asked. “You actually got any, Hollywood?” 

You scoffed. 

“Like I would dream of buying livestock without your approval.” You looked past Joel like he wasn’t even there. “Esmo, would you mind showing Justice inside and getting him something to drink? I just need to grab my things, I’ll be in in a second.” 

“Of course ma’am,” she said, leading your friend inside as you turned without even a glance toward Joel, going back to your car. He and Seth followed and you grabbed a duffle from the trunk as Seth called headquarters. 

“This is Cook,” Seth said. “Transferring custody of Siren to Big Miller.” 

“Thanks for everything, Seth,” you smiled at him, reaching out and giving his arm a squeeze. “Tell your wife I say hi. And tell her thanks for letting us have you the last week.” 

“She likes having me out of her hair now and then,” he said with a wink before clapping Joel on the shoulder. “Have fun holding down the fort, see you in a few weeks.” 

You stood next to him and watched Seth leave before turning and heading inside without a word. Joel clenched his jaw and followed, trying to brace himself for the conversation that had been hanging over him for days. 

“Siren…” 

You turned to face him, brows raised. 

“Yes.” 

He took a deep breath. 

“I… I should…” 

“I don’t really care, Joel,” you cut him off. Your eyes flitted to his wrist, where the broken watch sat. “You made it perfectly clear. We are not friends. I pay you, you protect me. We don’t need to talk about it.” 

You didn’t give him a chance to respond, just going inside to find your friend. 

***

“And how is Adam doing?” You asked Justice, sitting next to him on your bed, safely behind closed doors. 

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to,” he said and you could almost hear him glaring at you. 

“I do want the answer!” You said, turning your head so you could actually see him. “Why wouldn’t I want the answer.” 

“Because you don’t like him,” he said, turning his head so he could look at you, too. “I know you don’t like him.” 

“When have I said I don’t like your boyfriend?” You asked, brows raised. 

“You don’t need to say it, I can tell,” he replied. “You forget I know you as well as I do and you don’t like him.” 

You narrowed your eyes at him a little and he looked back, smug. 

“I just think…” 

“Told you.” 

“Shut up!” You elbowed him lightly and he laughed. “I’m just looking out for you, OK? I’m not a fan of seeing you get your heart stomped on…” 

“That’s reassuring.” 

“…and this guy seems like the heart stomping type,” you continued. “That’s all I’m saying.” 

“Because you’re such a great judge of men all of a sudden?” He asked. 

“Well that’s just rude,” you said and you both laughed before you sighed. “I missed you.” 

He smiled. 

“I missed you, too.” 

You snuggled closer to him and he held you and you let yourself relax for the first time in what felt like forever. 

It shouldn’t have surprised you, Justice turning up when he did. Beyond Anna, he was the person you were closest to. The three of you had practically lived together for a while when you and Justice were just starting on Siren. 

You and Justice had hit it off immediately, becoming fast friends before even day one on set. You were both young, just 21, both loved acting and music. He was kind in a sweeter, more genuine way than you were used to with men, lacking all the undertones you’d come to expect from the opposite sex that any kindness was just a bill to be paid with your body. 

It didn’t take long to figure out why it was different. You were only halfway through season one when your characters acted on the sexual tension that had been building between them as rival recording artists, the two of you kissing passionately, Justice’s character - Trace - backing yours into the spongey walls of a recording studio and pulling her leg over his hip, rutting against her with no tell-tale sign of a hard on in his jeans. 

He had a funny look on his face when the director yelled cut, his eyes a little wide as they searched your face. 

“Are you OK?” You’d asked, laughing a little. 

“Fine,” he said, clearing his throat. “Just… be in my trailer.” 

He left without another word as everyone else got reset to do another take. You sat in the chair with your name on the back, drinking a bottle of water and chewing spearmint gum so your breath wasn’t awful when you had to kiss your friend again. 

“Can we get set?” The director yelled after a while, sounding exasperated. “Please? Where the hell is Justice?” 

“Hold on,” you said, hopping down from your seat as you passed your water off to a production assistant. “I’ll get him, two minutes!” 

You jogged to his trailer, knocking quickly. 

“Yeah,” he called, his voice wet. 

“You alright?” You frowned. 

“Yeah, uh…” he sniffed, hard enough that you could hear it through the door. “Yeah, I’ll…” 

“I’m coming in,” you said, not giving him a chance to protest and just opening the door. 

You found him sitting on the floor, his elbows on his knees, head hung low. 

“Justice?” You asked, closing the door behind you and locking it before getting on the floor next to him. “Hey, what’s going on? Talk to me.” 

You put a hand on his back but he pulled away from you for a moment before he leaned into your touch, crying. You’d never really seen a man cry before - at least outside of work. You weren’t really sure what to do about it. 

“It’s OK,” you said after a moment. “Whatever it is… Did I do something? I know this is your first job and if I pushed too far in that scene, I’m sorry, I can…” 

“No,” he shook his head, sitting up and drying his eyes. “No it…” he laughed once, twisting a little to face you. “It ain’t that. You were good. Are good. That’s… that’s the problem.” 

You frowned. 

“I don’t…” 

“You kissed me,” he said, voice trailing off for a moment. “You kissed me and I didn’t feel anything.” 

You looked at him, waiting for the part that was supposed to be a problem. 

“OK?” You laughed eventually. “That’s fine! Great, actually, because - and no offense, you’re a good looking guy and all but - I have no interest in you like that and…” 

“No,” he shook his head, stretching his legs out on the floor in front of him and slumping back against the wall. He took a deep breath. “It’s not… I’ve never been interested in any woman. Ever. And I guess I… I thought… I thought I would, you know, eventually… I thought I was just a late bloomer or some shit and it would happen for me and if… if I could do a scene like that with you… You’re so beautiful and we’re friends but I still didn’t feel anything and… I thought I’d feel something. Anything. But I… I didn’t. I didn’t feel a goddamn thing and if I can’t feel somethin’ with you… I…” 

He got choked up again, looking at the ground. 

“Justice,” you said softly, reaching out and covering his hand with your own. 

“I think I’m gay,” he said, more to himself than to you.  

You just held him for a while. It took the two of you some time to get back to set so you texted a PA and said Justice wasn’t feeling well but you’d be back soon. You did a few more takes of the scene, sticking close to him when it ended, his fingers firmly laced with yours between every take. He came over to your house that night and the two of you talked for hours. He told you everything, how he’d always felt about boys the way he thought he was supposed to feel about girls, how he hoped that one day, he’d just meet the right girl and that it would all be OK, how he thought he’d surely feel something when kissing you on set that day. How his parents would never accept him. How he saw any hope he had for a career vanish before his eyes. 

“What the fuck am I supposed to do?” He asked once the pair of you were a few bottles of beer deep. 

“I dunno,” you said. “But I don’t think you need to figure it out right now.You can take your time. And I know we’ve only been friends a few months but whatever you need? I’m here for you, OK?” 

He looked at you, his green eyes soft and kind. 

“OK.” 

You were the only one who knew for a while. Then Anna, then a handful of others. When Justice hit it big in country music - just like he’d always dreamed - the two of you pretended to date for a while. You did again when you were worried about some parts of your personal history coming to light that you weren’t particularly proud of. And then, when Anna died, he stayed with you and Ellie for a few weeks, just helping both of you get adjusted to the way life was now. Of course he would just show up when things went sideways. It’s what you would do, if you were in his position. 

You’d given him the grand tour and he liked your house and the property you’d found in Texas, getting excited about the amount of real estate available for things like horses. Esmo warmed up to him fast after a prickly introduction and made fajitas and guacamole for everyone, the food smelling good enough that even Joel emerged from his room to eat. 

“Which guest room would you like me to make up for Mr. James before I leave?” Esmo asked during dinner. 

“Oh I don’t wanna put anybody out,” Justice said, waving her off. 

“It is no trouble,” Esmo assured him. 

“Well, ma’am, also mean to say, don’t think I’d use that room anyway,” Justice said, giving you a wink. “Would I, shug?” 

“You never have before,” you smirked a little at him and you caught a glimpse of Joel grinding his teeth as you looked back toward Esmo. “No point in pretending, he’ll just stay in my room. But thank you, Esmo, for the offer.” 

Joel stalked back to his room not long after and you, Ellie and Justice sat around the fire pit that had gone unused in your backyard, Justice teaching Ellie how to play guitar and you just finding a sense of peace and stability in their presence. 

“Think I can come stay for a while after my tour wraps up?” He asked Ellie as she tried to hide her yawns in the flickering firelight. “See if I can’t talk your aunt here into gettin’ some horses for this damn ranch?” 

“Fuck yeah!” Ellie said. “And we can play guitar and maybe next time you can bring me on tour, too, and…” 

“Alright, let’s plan your future as a superstar later,” you cut her off. “Time for bed, kiddo.” 

“Fine,” she sighed dramatically, going to hug Justice. “Good to see you.” 

“You too,” he gave her a squeeze and watched her head inside before the two of you put out the fire and went to your room where you could really, properly talk. 

He caught you up on his life - the tour, the stress of dating someone in secret, writing his next album - and asked you about yours. You sipped whisky and told him about the run in with Henry in LA and how the threat of the stalker had felt more real since the premier. He held your broken wrist in his large hand, an odd look on his face as he did. 

“Try not to go scarin’ me like that again, hear me?” He said, giving you your hand back. “I was in fuckin’ Australia, watching you get hurt on the news. Gonna put me in the ground early.” 

“Well if it bothers you then I guess I’ll avoid it in the future,” you teased, taking a sip of the liquor. He glared at you and you smiled a little. 

“Can I ask the awkward question?” He asked. 

“When has a question being awkward ever stopped you.” 

He ignored you. 

“What’s goin’ on with that bodyguard of yours,” he said. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” you said, grip on the glass tightening. 

“Yes you do,” he said. “Seemed like I could cut the tension between you two with a fuckin’ knife. What happened there?” 

You sighed, turning the whisky glass in your fingers. 

What had happened there? 

You had no idea, honestly. It was like a switch you didn’t know was there had flipped in him. Things had been going well in LA. Disturbingly so, really, after the incident with Henry. Joel had seemed to actually give a shit, at least enough that he didn’t want you to die for something beyond professional reasons - not something you’d been convinced of before that. 

Sure, you’d fucked up getting drunk with Quinn but he’d seemed fine with it. Told you not to worry about it. And the way he’d saved you from the man in the crowd… 

When he’d taken your face in his hand, it felt like he cared. For the first time in so long, you felt protected. Not because he was paid to but because there was something he saw in you that was worth protecting. He’d held you on the drive to the hospital, seemed concerned about your wellbeing and then… nothing. 

You were almost thankful for the blowup in your driveway when you got home, the indifference crueler than any active distaste. Not that you understood what had pissed him off so much, not any more than you understood what made him so utterly uncaring to begin with. But at least him snarling at you and telling you exactly what he really thought cut you instead of leaving you floating in some vacuum that you had no right to be hurt by. Yelling at him had felt good, even if you’d cried when you went to bed that night, cradling your wrist to your chest as you remembered how he’d held you like he gave a shit. 

You knew, deep down, why it hurt as much as it did. Because, against your better judgement and all logic, you liked Joel. Watching him with Ellie damn near made you fall in love with the man but even without that, he felt safe in a way that men rarely did. You trusted him, you liked being close to him. You even appreciated how he’d worked with you to get better before you were going to start shooting Savage Starlight. You wanted him to like you, too. He just didn’t. 

“I don’t know,” you sighed. “He just… it seems like he hates me. I just don’t know why, I don’t know what I did to him, you know?” 

He frowned. 

“Hate’s a real strong word, shug.” 

“I know,” you said. “And it seemed like, maybe, we were in a good place for bit. I mean, when he first started, there was… I probably wasn’t the nicest.” 

“Really?” Justice made a skeptical face. “You’re always nice to people who work for you.” 

“Yeah,” you winced a little. “But I really didn’t want a body guard. And it’s not Joel’s fault he is one but I took it out on him. But then we kind of figured each other out a little - or it seemed like we did, anyway - and I thought… anyway, it was going well, I tried to do something nice and he made it perfectly clear how he sees me so… I guess it doesn’t matter.” 

“And you’re sure he doesn’t just wish he could fuck ya?” Justice smirked a little. 

You barked a laugh. 

“Pretty damn sure,” you said and then sighed. “At least this isn’t not permanent. Just until this whole stalker thing gets figured out.” 

“Well, he at least seems good at his job,” Justice said. “You need to let him do it. If not for you then for me’n Ellie. We need ya.” 

“I guess,” you rolled your eyes dramatically and he laughed. 

“You’re gonna get through this,” he said. “I know it’s been a shit year but you will.” 

“Yeah,” you sighed again and polished off your whisky. “Do you ever wish we hadn’t become famous? That the show flopped and we just faded to obscurity?” 

“You were famous long before we did that damn show,” he smiled a little. 

“Pedantic ass.” 

“But,” he ignored you. “Yeah, sometimes. Seems like shit would be a lot easier if I were an accountant who played music at some shit hole bar on the weekends and you were… I dunno, a theater teacher or something.” 

“Apparently we should have gone to college,” you said wryly. 

He snorted. 

“Guess so. You gonna be OK when I head to Dallas in the morning? I got sound check in the afternoon I gotta get back for.” 

“I’ll be fine,” you said. “I have to train in the afternoon, anyway.” 

“Sorry I only came for a little bit,” he said. “Tour schedule’s kicking my ass.” 

You smiled a little. 

“I’m really glad you did.” 

“Yeah,” he smiled back. “Me, too.” 

The two of you got up early and you walked him to his truck, giving him a long hug goodbye and watching until you couldn’t see him anymore. You sighed and went back inside, only to find Joel standing there in his pajamas - shirt on, at least - his arms crossed over his chest. 

“Not tryin’ to take off on me are you?” He asked. 

“Perpetually,” you said. “Because all I think about is ways to make your life difficult.” 

You ducked around him and headed for your room but he stopped you. 

“Can I talk to you.” 

You sighed and turned back to face him, brows raised. 

“What,” you said. 

He looked at you for a moment, his eyes oddly soft for a moment before going cold and dark again. 

“We have to work together, you and me,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I know I… made that harder, the other day…”

“You think?” 

“And I shouldn’t have,” he continued, ignoring you. “But I think it’s better if… if we keep our distance. Keep it professional.” 

You frowned, your eyebrows knitting together, heart thudding a little harder in your chest. 

“Professional,” you said. “When has it ever been anything but professional.” 

“Just…” he quirked his jaw and you could have sworn you could make out his hands forming fists in the pockets of his pajama pants. “Thought it should be said. Close quarters and all.” 

You watched him for a moment, trying to get a bead on him but you couldn’t read him, couldn’t tell what he wanted at all. You weren’t sure what you wanted, either. 

“Fine,” you said eventually. “Professional.” 

“Good,” he said, looking you up and down and, if you didn’t know any better, you could have sworn there was something like longing in his eyes. Your stomach clenched and his face hardened again. “Get me your itinerary for the week.” 

You had to stifle a smile at that. At least it was business as usual. You’d take that. 

“Sure, Big Miller.” 

He gave you a stiff nod before padding off to the kitchen and you tried not to wonder when it had been more than professional. 

Next Chapter

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[vxlenst3in]

Drunk!Gojo x fem!reader

!des: gojo drank a little too much and woops. you two ended up in his bed.

wc: 4.3k (my longest one on tumblr yet)

a/n: wrote this like ages ago and thought why not post it as a late birthday post LOL. I honestly didn't read over it again, so if it's bad - oops.

“Geez, you really are a lightweight, huh?” You chuckled out as you listened to Gojo’s confused mumbles. He was only a couple of shots in and already lost his ability to form any sentences. It was quite a sight to watch Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer of his time, get drunk so easily, babbling nonsense, a bright blush covering most of his face. Shoko just glanced over at you two. “Mm’ shutttt…” He answered in an annoyed tone. His arms were hanging down as he was leaning back into the chair, his head was thrown back while he stared at the ceiling.

You have no idea how you even ended up here, considering that only a few days ago Gojo was practically begging you to come along, because he believed that you were a lightweight as well, so he hoped that he wouldn’t be the only one to get drunk that quickly. Even though he hated alcohol, he was really hitting it off tonight. Bottle after bottle of Sake. At first, you were hesitant, but as soon as he mentioned that Shoko and Nanami would be there too, you couldn’t say no anymore.

Nanami had left about an hour ago now, he was very strict about keeping up his sleep schedule. That’s a fact you could never forget about him, ever since you guys met at Jujutsu High about 10 years ago.

Your eyes flicked from Gojo to Shoko as she poured herself another drink. “Let me have another one too!” You say.

- “Still not drunk?” She replied.

- “A bit tipsy, but that’s about it.”

A laugh escaped her mouth while she poured you a drink. You were more of a Whiskey type, while Gojo preferred Sake, whenever he did decide to drink. Your eyes lingered back to Gojo who was now leaning forward to grab another bottle of Sake. Shoko was quick to react, placing the bottle of Sake out of his reach. Getting a pout out of Gojo.

“Awhhhh,” He whined, “Meanieeee~ Y/nnn~~ Say somethin’~” Your eyes widened as he grabbed onto your arm, slightly pulling it in order to get your attention. His hair was a complete mess, no strand of hair was where it was supposed to be. You thought it was rather adorable how he was holding onto your arm like that. You’d be lying to yourself if you said that you didn’t have a crush on him, or at least thought about how he’d look on top of you. Even though you had those thoughts, you never had the time to mention them to him or try to make a move, you were way too busy for all of that. You doubted that he’d even care, considering that he probably has all girls chasing after him, whenever he was not in Jujutsu High.

“Think you’ve had enough, ‘Toru.” You replied. Gojo moved closer to you, still holding onto that arm. He was clinging to you like a cat in heat, rubbing slightly against you. Shoko raised one eyebrow at the sight, before finishing her drink, surprising you. You hadn’t even started drinking yours. “I’ll be taking my leave as well, you’ll be fine?” Shoko said as she put her glass down.

- “Yeah. I don’t know when I’ll get to leave yet, gon’ make sure Satoru is asleep before”

- “Okay.” Her hands were reaching around her, trying to find her coat and bag. A quiet ‘Ah’ escaped her mouth when she found them.

- “Get home safe.” You responded, waving goodbye with your free hand. Shoko just gave you a sweet smile before putting on her coat and checking the pockets to make sure she has everything.

“Byeee Iei-” Hiccup, “-ri.” Gojo responded, now letting go of your arm to wave with both of his hands enthusiastically. Shoko waved back, turning around to walk into the hallway. Shortly after, the click of the front door confirmed that she was gone. Your head was now turned to Gojo who was staring into the dark hallway.

“Shall we get you to bed?” You mentioned, grabbing Gojo’s attention. “Don’t want to sleep…yet.” Another Hiccup. Soft whining left his mouth, basically pleading with the puppy eyes. You chuckled at the sight of him, as you took a few sips from your drink. Normally you hated silence, it was a weird uncomfortable feeling, but right now, you were loving it. The sight of Gojo pleading at you to let him stay up a little longer, while you sip on your Whiskey — hoping that enjoying this last drink wouldn’t cause you any problems later.

This wasn’t like Gojo at all, normally he was always super talkative, confident and flirty in the way he talked to girls. You couldn’t tell if it was because of the alcohol or because of you. The quiet sound of glass hitting wood sounded, as you put your now empty glass on the table. Feeling a little dizzy from the amount of alcohol that you just consumed in such a short amount of time, you decided that it would be best if you went home as well. The only obstacle here was getting Gojo into his bed.

“C’mon now, ‘Toru. You should really sleep, it’s late.” You somewhat repeat. A sigh left Gojo’s mouth, as he unwillingly got up, leaning all of his weight onto you. You tried your hardest to support him, even though you were much smaller than him. Gojo was humming a song while walking with you. You couldn’t guess what song it was, probably just something he had made up in his head. With your free hand, you opened the bedroom door. Gojo swaying left and right next to you, just following you blindly. His eyes were barely open, he could’ve probably fallen asleep while standing. Gojo’s eyes only opened when he felt the bed against him, he hadn’t even realised that you lied him down. “Mhmm… So comfy~” He mumbled while letting his head sink into the pillow. You could finally feel the alcohol from earlier hitting you, dizziness overcoming your head again.

“Sleep well, ‘Toru.” You said while throwing the blanket over him, as you pull it up to his chest you can feel a hand grabbing your wrist. Gojo’s hand. “Hm?” You whisper.

- “Where’s my goodnight kiss?”

- “Good night kiss??!” Your face was now covered in a deep red blush, your legs got weak just at the idea. You weren’t 100% sure if that was what he actually had said, so you decided to wait for confirmation from him. He was drunk, after all, and you didn’t want to take advantage of that. But you could also feel yourself losing more and more control of your mind and actions with each passing second, the Whiskey was starting to get to you.

- “‘M waitin’~” He purred as he pulled on your wrist to get you closer.

Hearing his sweet voice ask that from you got your body burning with heat. You knew if you decided to give in, this night would not end on a ‘Good night kiss’. You knew that if you gave in to this, you’d give in to everything else, every single one of your fantasies, desires, and needs. His gaze was on you, looking you up and down, waiting for your answer. Your eyes met his. Fuck, your eyes met his. The bright blue colour, the dilated pupils, the way he looked at you through his lashes. You knew that he’ll be the death of you someday.

Suddenly you snapped back into reality, remembering his request. Quickly you licked your lips before feeling the nervousness rising in your chest. It wasn’t the first time you had kissed a man, especially not when it comes to those quick kisses. So why? You leaned forward, your face right above his. ‘Just a quick peck on his lips, right?’ You told yourself in your head over and over again, but you couldn’t seem to calm down at all.

One last deep breath, before you leaned down, pressing your lips onto his. You were just about to pull away again and probably die from embarrassment, but only a second later you could feel two big hands cupping your face, pulling you in. His hands were gently squeezing your cheeks as he deepened the kiss. Considering that you weren’t prepared for a kiss longer than a second or two, you ran out of air pretty quick. Gojo wasn’t stupid - no matter how drunk he was, he noticed that you were out of breath and let you pull away, not entirely letting go of your cheeks though. His fingertips were still lingering on your soft skin.

Your lips were only a few inches apart from each other, as you tried to catch your breath you could hear mumbles coming from Gojo.

- “Mm..so soft…more…can’t stop…” He panted, his drunk-tired eyes glancing at your rosy lips.

Before you could realise it, his lips were pressed onto yours again. Instead of the soft kiss you shared before, he decided to be rough with you this time. Still in shock, you decided to just move along, to let him take the lead. Soft pants and groans left Gojo’s mouth. Not pulling away from his lips, you moved the rest of your body onto the bed, you were now on all fours on top of Gojo. His hands wandered from your cheeks down to your waist, tugging at your loose blouse and pulling it up slightly. The soft touch and his cold hands sent shivers down your spine.

In one swift motion, he had you on your back, now underneath him - his lips still on yours. One of his hands was moving up again, pinning your hands above your head, while the other hand remained on your exposed waist. The cool air in Gojo’s bedroom had your body covered in goosebumps. You could feel Gojo’s tongue begging for more at your lips, so without a second thought you granted him access. His tongue immediately started fighting with yours for dominance, the sweet taste of sake mixing with the rather smoky taste of whiskey. The hand that was on your waist slid under your blouse only to feel the soft fabric of your bra, you could hear a quiet chuckle escaping Gojo’s mouth, regardless of your tongues fighting for dominance.

He rested his hand on your bra for a bit, before he pulled away from your lips, a string of saliva connected your mouth with his. Satoru loosened his grip on your pinned up wrists a little, while he unbuttoned your blouse in only a few seconds. His eyes scanned your entire upper body.

- “So.. fuckin’ gorgeous~” He exhaled. You could see the excitement in his eyes. His words sent another shiver down your spine, as your face lit up.

Gojo’s hand finally let go of your wrists, pulling off the blouse before you could even realise it. You lied there like a starfish, not being quite sure where to put your hands or what to do, but Gojo didn’t seem to mind. He was enjoying every second of this, of being able to admire your perfect body, being able to run his hands up and down your body without you saying a word, only sweet whimpers leaving your mouth. Music to his ears. Before even letting you think again, he slid a hand under your back, lifting you with ease. The other hand was undoing your bra. You were surprised by how easily he had undone your bra.

- “Not your first time, huh?” You teased at his actions. A quiet chuckle was his response, you took that as a yes.

He threw your bra into a corner of his room, finding it would be a problem for later. For now, his eyes were focused on your breasts, licking his lips. He removed his hand from your back and let you sink into the bed again. The shy and intoxicated Gojo from earlier seemed to have lost all control over himself as soon as he saw your breasts. A hand immediately started to gently squeeze one of them. His thumb brushing over your nipple, gently rubbing it, in order to get any sounds out of you - which wasn’t necessarily hard, considering that the alcohol from earlier made you even more sensitive than you usually are. You could see a smirk forming on Gojo’s face, while he listened to your quiet whimpers. The spot between your legs was starting to get soaked, only from Gojo touching you so delicately. His other hand started to take care of your other breast, now simultaneously fondling both of them. Biting down on your lip, you tried to suppress any moans. Your eyes that were just roaming around the room, now met Gojo’s face. His eyes were focused on your tits, the way they perfectly fit into his hands, the way your skin felt against his hands. His ears were listening to the sweet sounds, the bulge in his pants growing bigger. His mouth was slightly opened. You’ve never seen a man be so mesmerised by the sight in front of him.

The puddle in between your legs was soaking the bed sheets at this point. As much as you loved Gojo paying so much attention to your chest, you wanted more. You needed more. You bucked your hips up slightly, trying to get the fabric of your panties to rub against your swollen clit. Not even biting your lip could suppress your moans anymore,

- “Ha?” Gojo didn’t waste any time moving his hand down to your lower stomach, pressing it down to keep you from moving. A whine of frustration escaping you. “Gettin’ impatient? Slut.”

His words sent waves of excitement through your body.

- “Please…’Toru… want you to touch me~” You begged. Giving him the sweetest look you could possibly do.

In a blink of a second, your pants were off, leaving you only with your panties on. Gojo slid back a little, kneeling in between your legs. His eyes immediately shifted from your chest to your drenched panties. One hand wandered down, rubbing two fingers against your clothed pussy. A gasp escaped your mouth as you bucked your hips against his hand. An excited look overcame his face.

- “Want me to touch you there, hm?” His fingers were not stopping, while you bucked your hips at them. A whimper was your response.

He suddenly withdrew his fingers, before ripping your panties off. Your face was burning, your senses being so heightened was driving you crazy. You watched Gojo bring your panties closer to his face, to his nose. He groaned when he practically inhaled the scent of your pussy. “Fuck… I’ll keep them as a souvenir, so I have something whenever you’re not around…” His other hand was cupping his bulge, while he continued to sniff your panties. The sight and his words almost made you finish right there and then.

Your exposed cunt was throbbing at the sight as well, the cool air blowing over it made you gasp. Gojo eventually put the panties down, and shifted all his attention back to you.x His eyes now focused on your cunt, licking his lips. Your eyes were following his every move. He moved down - looking at your cunt.

“Mm… such a pretty pussy~ Gon’ ruin it…” He purred before using his thumb to massage your clit - the sudden touch already driving you crazy, quiet gasps and whimpers leaving your lips. A low chuckle coming from Gojo, enjoying your reaction. The bulge in his pants was screaming for some action as well, but he was ignoring that for now. Before you could realise it, he inserted a finger, making you squirm. You already knew that he had pretty long fingers, but actually feeling them caught you off guard. Not long after, a second finger entered you. They weren’t necessarily thick, but definitely long enough to reach those sweet spots you could only dream of. He was aware of his skinny fingers, so in order to get you ready for him, he spread his fingers inside of you. You screamed at the feeling of getting stretched like that. His scissoring motions were rough, but the pain faded quickly, calming you a little.

His fingers were soaked at this point. Your mouth was wide open, whimpering, gasping, moaning, while Gojo thrusted his fingers in and out of you, occasionally curling them, hitting exactly the spot that made you get weak in the knees, that built up that knot in your abdomen more and more. His eyes kept flicking between your pussy and your face, enjoying both sights just equally as much. Not only did he get enjoyment out of looking at your face and cunt, he also loved the sounds you were making - the sounds your drenched cunt was making as his fingers ruined it. Every now and then, you’d catch a glimpse of his face, he looked so pleased while fingering you. It pushed you even closer to the edge.

- “...Ah~ ‘Toru gonna c-” He cut you off by starting to rub your clit again with the thumb on his other hand.

- “Cum for me, Doll.”

That was all you needed to hear to lose all control. Your orgasm hit you hard, Gojo fingered you through it, making you pant and gasp for air. A mischievous grin started to appear on his face. “Good girl.” He said before withdrawing his hands from your cunt. Not letting you catch your breath, his hands grabbed onto your thighs - spreading them even further. His face diving directly into your cunt, sucking and licking up all of your juices. Some satisfied purrs left his lips, sending vibrations through your pussy. The overstimulation was making you whine. His talented tongue was all to keep your jaw dropped, mouth wide open. Looking down at him, you could only see his soft snow-white hair, his face was entirely buried in your pussy. He was eating you out like it was his first meal after days.

Eventually, he pulled away, giving you some time to breathe. His face was a mess, your juices were covering half of it. The dim light in his room was making him look 10 times hotter than usual. Your cunt was throbbing from the orgasm you just experienced. He looked beyond proud.

Gojo’s cock was also throbbing, leaking with precum, ruining his pants and underwear. It was throbbing for you. Your cunt felt so empty, missing the feeling of his digits inside of you — not knowing that the emptiness would get replaced by something way better soon.

While you were still catching your breath, your eyes caught Gojo taking off the sweater he was wearing. All of your attention immediately shifted to him - he knew exactly what he was doing, taking off his sweater so slowly that it was starting to drive you crazy, revealing his fit upper body, flexing his muscles on purpose. You knew very well why girls liked him - why you liked him. The defined abs, the V-line, his muscular arms, the little trail of white hair right above his pants. The last time you had seen him shirtless was on a beach day back when you were still a student in Jujutsu High. His body back then was ridiculous compared to what you were seeing right now. He was watching you from the corner of his eye, smirking to himself.

- “Like the view?”

- “You like yours just as much.”

- “Not wrong.”

The dizziness from earlier never left your mind, your senses never went back to normal again. Quite the opposite actually, it feels like Gojo is just making it worse with every passing second. You were lost in your thoughts, lost at the sight. Something inside of you still hadn’t realised that your fantasies finally came true. Deep inside of you, you were praying that this wasn’t a dream. That you wouldn’t wake in your own bed in a few minutes - which wouldn’t be the first time.

The sound of a zipper brought you back to reality. You weren’t expecting a butt naked Gojo in front of you when you snapped back. Cock fully erect, slightly jumping in excitement, precum dripping out of it. His cock was slightly curved upwards. He used his hand to smear the precum all over his cock, quiet groans already escaping his mouth as he gently stroked it. You could tell he was just as sensitive as you were. Gojo had a tight grip on it, squeezing it with each stroke, his groans getting louder with each stroke. The sight only made the knot in your abdomen build up again. He’d call you pathetic if he knew just how excited that got you. Mumbles, quiet mumbles - ‘fuck’ ‘ah’ ‘ngh~’ ‘mhm..’. His eyes were focused on your body the entire time. One last stroke before he stopped.

He lined up with your cunt, as he rubbed his dick against your folds and clit, slipping the tip in every now and then. Gojo was looking for certain reactions from you, and you did not disappoint him. Quiet screams leaving your lips at the slight stretch of his tip slipping inside.

- “Tell me how badly you want it, sweetheart.” Gojo purred.

Forming a simple sentence has never been this hard in your entire life. Never ever have you struggled so hard to just make other sounds than whimpers. He was an asshole, asking you to beg and then rubbing his dick against your clit even more.

- “...I- fuck~”

- “C’mon… Use those big girl words…”

- “...’Toru please~ I want your- ah~ dick so badly…”

FUCKHe slammed into you, stretching out every inch of your tight cunt. Your back arched immediately, as you pressed the back of your head further into the pillow. You dug your fingernails into the bedsheets. To your surprise, the shock only made you gulp loudly. Gojo gasped when he felt his tip kiss your cervix, only now realising that he had buried himself balls deep inside of you. His hands wandered to your hips, not only to keep you in place, but also to make sure to pull you as far as possible onto his dick. The fingers he had inside of you just a few minutes ago were nothing compared to the girth of his dick. They were nothing compared to the way he made you feel like when he thrusted so roughly yet so lovingly into you. The way his tip gave a little smooch to your cervix with every thrust. The pain that kept on mixing with pleasure was making you go stupid, making you lose every coherent thought in your brain.

slap. slap. slap. slap. slap. slap. slap.At this point you were choking on your own saliva, panting so heavily.

slap. slap. slap. slap. slap. slap. slap.Gojo had this devilish grin on his face as he fucked you stupid, as he fucked you into the point where you wouldn’t even realize your own orgasms anymore. You had no idea how long it has been since a man has fucked you so sincerely, or if it has ever been this intense. Oh how glad you were that you agreed to joining the little drinking ‘party’ tonight. His two hands that were still holding your hips, were no longer just firmly gripping them, he was roughly squeezing them - geez, this would leave marks later.

His thrusts were starting to stutter.

- “Oh fuck…stop…squeezing me…mhm~” The way your walls were clenching around him made him lose the confidence in his thrusts.

Sloppy but still rough thrusts were the aftermath. Sweat was covering his chest and neck, his breathing was getting heavier with each passing second. You couldn’t remember how many orgasms you were in by now - but you could feel the next one building up already. Not only yours, but Gojo’s first for the night.

Gojo suddenly lifted your legs and threw each over his shoulders, hitting a completely different angle from the position switch. Making you gasp out loud. This position was making you see stars, making your eyes roll into the back of your head. A low chuckle escaped Gojo’s mouth at your reaction. He was quite aware of the spot you liked by now. So in order to make you finish with him, he hit it over and over and over again. Making you whine, tears of pleasure starting to run down your cheeks at the overstimulation. Oh, and how the tears turned him on. How this entire sight just made him grow harder with each moment, how it made his dick throb so terribly. How he could finish at any moment looking at this, and how he will pull you with him.

It was starting to get impossible to ignore the knot in your abdomen, only a little more and you’d-

splash

Without any warning you could feel Gojo filling you up, a cry of pleasure escaping your lips. It pushed you over the edge so nicely. The legs that were thrown over his shoulders were shaking by now. As you looked at Gojo, you could only see him panting and almost whimpering. Sweat was running down his forehead. A lovely sight to see regardless.

As he pulled out of you, his eyes watched his seed flow out of your pussy so slowly. “Oh shit~” He hissed.

You chuckled quietly, also catching your breath. His eyes shifted to you, grinning like the asshole he is. You really would’ve liked a warning, but it’s too late for that now anyway. He let your legs down back onto the bed and then leaned forward to press a tender kiss on your lips.

Too exhausted to fight back or even talk about what just happened, you just let it happen. But in the end, what would you even be complaining about?

Guess the alcohol did you justice tonight.

 ©vxlenst3in - do not steal, modify, translate or repost my work.

[moodymisty]

Tumblr most likely ate it. It’s always doing stuff like that 🙄 But the request was a gender neutral reader where reader was captured and Guilliman had to choose between them and the imperium and it turns out fluffy.

Author's Note: Hey! Sorry for tumblr eating your request and taking so long, I hope this is at least somewhat worth it. I feel like given circumstances him choosing to abandon the Imperium isn't an realistic option for him, but I did what i thought would make a good compromise.

Relationships: Roboute Guilliman/Gn!Reader

Warning: Nothing really

Every astartes in the room can hear the metal of the Guilliman’s Armour Of Fate tighten and groan as he squeezes his fists; Even such meticulously designed armor is unable to stay completely unyielding against the full strength of a primarch.

“And what,” Guilliman turns to his men with a fierce gaze, one that can falter all but a few of them. “You just expect me to leave them behind?”

Sicarius looks at him stoic, as always. It makes Guilliman angrier, to not even see a hint of emotion on the man’s face. As if he has no understanding or no care as to what he just implied Guilliman do.

"The Macgragge’s Honour is needed in defense as a Tyranid hive fleet moves towards Imperium space, we can stay here no longer. Not for one person.”

One person. That one person had been the only guiding light in his life for months now, your smile is the only thing that makes him believe that perhaps his endless, tiring, tortuous work means something. He has a thing to work for; His life with you.

Guilliman keeps his face and lips tight, and only parts them to hiss out:

“Your Imperium can wait for a moment longer.”

Sicarius straightens up, even more than the rigid posture he had previous.

“Are you suggesting you would ignore a call for aid from the imperium if your consort was in danger? You would abandon all that your father has made to xenos?”

Guilliman opens his mouth. The rage he wants to spew- about his insult to you, the implication that the Emperor is his father, it is all only quelled when his vox device crackles to life.

“Lord Primarch! We found them! We’re returning to the dropship now.”

Guilliman swears he nearly feels his heart explode from hearing those words. That you’ll be safe and with him soon.

He turns to Sicarius, who is still hot in the face from Guilliman’s implications of abandoning the broader Imperium. Guilliman can see the red heat underneath his tan, olive skin.

“You best remember the words you’ve said here. I will the next time you find yourself calling for aid.”

Guilliman would never consider himself petty. But he would find it difficult to not remember this conversation if Sicarius or his men were ever in need of similar treatment as you. Perhaps he would never act upon it, but he will always remember.

With haste he struggles to remember a time he used last he makes his way to where you've been brought aboard the Macragge's honour; Bruised and cut but not much worse for wear. They've already brought this planet and it's denizens to heel, but if they had more time he would consider far worse for what they've done to you. Your wrists are still clearly raw from being chained, something that makes him grind his teeth when he notices.

But Sicarius was at least partly correct; They are needed to protect against a tyranid hive fleet, and can stay no longer.

Guilliman quickly gestures for his men to leave you both alone, and they do without pause, leaving you and him alone in the hanger in which you both stand.

Once they're gone the primarch falls to his knee with ease, and his armoured hands rise to cup your face.

"You have no idea how happy I am that you are unharmed."

His hands hold your face tightly, covering your jaw with how large they are compared to you. You smile weakly. You must be tired, but your eyes are still so bright, and your smile feels like it warms his cold, old heart.

"I'm so glad to be back with you. And I imagine you'll be better company than my captors," His face stiffens up, but he's still soft.

"You shouldn't be joking about this, you could've been killed."

You raise a hand to hold against his own gauntlet- a gesture he can feel a ghost of despite having no skin on skin contact - before reaching forward to tuck a piece of limp blonde hair behind his ear. He needs a bath, his hair is messy and limp from being in his helmet so often, but now isn't the time to say.

"You do enough of the seriousness for me. I need to balance it out; For both our sake." Guilliman shakes his head and lets out a defeated laugh.

"They wanted to leave you behind. I was considering saying damn it all to this worthless Imperium just to go get you myself." You can't contain your surprise. The Imperium is all you've ever known, how could anyone just leave it all behind?

"You're the Lord Regent, you would abandon the Imperium for-"

"I would, yes." He says with no hesitation, looking right at you. "I have no interest in saving an Imperium without you in it." He ends the conversation with that, and moves to pick you up.

"Lets go. I want to make sure you are well."

You can't make a fuss; He's made up his mind and you have no choice but to go along, holding on and relaxing in his arms as he walks off.

[babylipsbaby]

♡ a modern girls guide to being a 2010s it girl: issue #04 ♡

Snow Day Activities

♡ Bubble Baths & Good Vibes ♡

When the weather outside is meh, it’s the perfect excuse to pamper yourself! Run a steamy bubble bath (or take a long, relaxing shower) with your favorite bath goodies; Lush, Bath & Body Works, or whatever makes you feel fancy. Follow it up with your skincare routine, slap on a face mask, and maybe even treat your hair to a deep-conditioning treatment. Don’t forget a mani-pedi! By the time you’re done, you’ll feel like a whole new person.

♡ Sugar, Spice, & Everything Nice ♡

Being snowed in is the perfect excuse to get your inner baker on. Whip up some cookies, brownies, or even a fancy meal you’ve been wanting to try. Not only will your house smell amazing, but the warmth from the oven? Instant cozy vibes. Oh, and don’t forget to snap a pic for the ‘gram!

♡ Snowflakes & Selfies ♡

Playing in the snow is fun, but a winter wonderland photoshoot? Elite. Pick out a cozy-but-cute outfit, grab a tripod (or balance your phone on literally anything), and snap some aesthetic shots! Bonus points if you bring in some fun props; mugs, fairy lights, or even the snow itself.

♡ Netflix and Chill ♡

Cold weather = the ultimate excuse to curl up under a blanket and watch all the good stuff. Rewatch your comfort movies (Legally Blonde, The Devil Wears Prada, or literally any rom-com), catch up on your fave shows, or finally start that Netflix series everyone’s been talking about. Bonus points if you make popcorn and hot cocoa for the full cozy experience!

♡ Read, Relax, Repeat ♡

Snowy days are made for curling up with a good book and a warm drink. Whether you’re into fantasy, thrillers, or a cheesy romance, now’s the time to escape reality for a bit. Snuggle up in your comfiest blanket, sip on some tea or cocoa, and let yourself get completely lost in another world.

♡ Work it Out, Babe ♡

Cozying up all day is great, but don’t forget to get your body moving! If you can’t hit the gym, try a fun YouTube workout: try an at-home routine, do some yoga, or even have a little dance party in your room. Exercise doesn’t have to be boring, just find something that makes you feel good!

♡ Slay The Snow Day ♡

Being snowed in means a no judgment zone. Ever wanted to try an Aria Montgomery smokey eye? Go full VS Angel? Or perfect that King Kylie makeup look? Now’s the time! Play around, take some selfies, and find what works best for you.

♡ Perfect Your Messy Bun ♡

Just like makeup, your hair deserves a little experimenting, too! Try out new curl techniques, master the perfect messy bun, or even test a new braid style. No pressure, just a chance to get creative and have fun!

♡ Manifest Your Aesthetic ♡

You finally have time to reorganize your Pinterest boards, update your Tumblr, or refresh those old playlists. Your aesthetic deserves some love, too! Whether it’s revamping your mood boards or creating the ultimate main character energy playlist, use this time to craft your perfect vibe.

♡ New Hobby, Who 'Dis? ♡

You know that hobby you swore you’d try but never got around to? Now’s your moment! Whether it’s knitting, painting, scrapbooking, or making your own jewelry, take some time to be creative. Not feeling artsy? Try baking, journaling, or even learning a new language. Who knows? You might just find your new obsession.

Use #mgg2010 to find every issue!

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Previous Issue: Winter Outfit Staples

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Next Issue: coming soon!