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[sins-lil-blog]

Living & Surviving - Sin & Aliza - Short chat

..Im tired of this... all of this..

...All of this? What do you mean Sin?..

Im just-.. Im not living...

... But you are living? We havent died yet atleast!.. even though those monsters keep trying to kill us...

No no.. Im not talking about them.. you dont get it... what were doing is.. surviving.. Im alive yeah.. Im just not.. ALIVE, you know?

Hum.. I dont really get it...

...Um.. let me put it like this.. I am surving to stay alive but... Im not happy. Im not engoying living. Im not even gratefull to be alive. Im tired.. Im so tired of this... I just want to be happy... engoy everything else has to offer.. why'd I have to get stuck down here... becouse I sliped?..

Oh.. but if you hadnt fallen... You would have never meet me.. and I would have... died...

Right... maybe its not THAT bad... but its still really bad... It feels like it wont end.. a never ending nightmare...

... I- I know its hard now... for both of us.. but it might get better.. I know it isnt fair an-

But what if it doesnt get better?.... what if.. we stay like this forever?.. surviving... trying to stay alive.. just for a better day that never came?... talk about a poetic fate..

..Sin... look how far we've come by surviving... maybe one day.. we can both live again... and.. still... dont forget the small bits were you are happy... the small things count too you know?.. life's complicated... it always gets better im the end.. you just have to keep hoping for the best... things will brighten up..

... damn Aliza..... sorry... and thank you..... you are a great kid.. pffft...

Life is complicated, full of ups and downs, but hey, keep your chin up and think positive, no matter what, and if you cant find the good.. talk to someone, maybe they'll show it to ya ^^

[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’!”

[liyuviq]

100 followers special ❤︎

dear every single one of my followers,

now that i have some time to properly organize my thoughts, let me reiterate how grateful i am for everyone that helped me reached this point.

100 may seem like a small number for many, but for someone who has been doubting her own art skills for a long time, it’s a number that i will greatly treasure in my heart.

from likes, reblogs, comments, and even the amazing mutuals i’ve gained, they all have made me so much more confident in myself and my abilities. you guys are the best and the only regret i have is not joining this community sooner. thank you all so much <3

now, that should be enough sap, so it’s time for me to introduce my 100 followers event!

event details:

to commemorate this special milestone, i hereby announce an event running for a week, from the moment this is posted to the end of sunday (12/1/25 UTC+6:30)! keep in mind this event is only for my followers (though new ones are always welcomed!)

you can request a doodle featuring my twst OC, shin, interacting with either your own twst OC or a canon twst boy! optionally, you may include a question about them, which also helps me come up with ideas.

how you can participate: ・ comment on this post with the 🎀 emoji to participate. ・ specify the character (oc or canon) you would like to be featured! ・ optionally include a question about their dynamics or interactions.

ex: i want to see shin interacts with malleus! what if shin joins the gargoyle research society? 🎀

・ if i reply to your comment with 🎀, it is received and a doodle will be delivered soon!

here is a simple example that requested shin and a character (me!) interacting:

what you will receive: ・ a doodle like the one above based on your request! ・ the art will be posted on my blog (you will be tagged and your comment will be screenshot and included!)

things to keep in mind: ・ exclusively for followers only but new ones are always welcomed! i dont bite ;) ・ remember this will run only a week! at the end i will edit this post to indicate it’s status so please keep an eye out. ・ finally, i will try my best to get you back as soon as possible, but do understand if it takes longer than desired. thank you <3

and that should be all! once again thank you for everyone who supported me, whether old or new. i hope this little event is enough to celebrate this special achievement! have a very nice day!

credits: dividers from @/anitalenia

[ohdorothea]

Taylor Swift and her forever muse, Taylor Swift: a web weave

This web weave was originally called ‘the selves are fighting’ and was inspired by the amazing @doppelgangerism and then further inspired by so so many of my smart creative mutuals including @justanapparatus @milfygerard @tayloralisonswift @lesbiansusanpevensie !!! I love you all!!!

1. I Can See You Music Video

2. cardigan

3. I Knew You Were Trouble Music Video

4. Peter

5. Style Music Video

6. Lover Music Video

7. the lakes

8. Willow Music Video

9. cowboy like me

10. …Ready For It? Music Video

11. Look What You Made Me Do Music Video

12. Dear Reader

13. Look What You Made Me Do Music Video

14. ME! Music Video

15. I Hate It Here

16. Style Music Video

17. The Archer

18. 1989 Polaroids

19. Style Music Video

20. this is me trying

21. Look What You Made Me Do Music Video

22. Everything Has Changed Music Video

23. Peter

24. SNL Promotional Photo

25. Look What You Made Me Do Music Video

26. The Tortured Poets Department

27. Photo of The Eras Tour

28. ME! Music Video

29. Stay Stay Stay

30. Delicate Music Video

31. Bejewelled Music Video

32. champagne problems

33. Willow Music Video

34. Willow Music Video

35. Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?

36. Bad Blood Music Video

37. the last great american dynasty

38. Look What You Made Me Do Music Video

39. Wildest Dreams Music Video

40. right where you left me

41. …Ready For It? Music Video

42. Look What You Made Me Do Music Video

43. …Ready For It? Music Video

44. Style Music Video

45. The Albatross

46. …Ready For It? Music Video

47. Lavender Haze Music Video

48. I Hate It Here

49. Fortnight Music Video

50. 1989 Polaroids

51. hoax

52. Out of The Woods Music Video

53. All Too Well Short Film

54. Robin

55. Photo of The Eras Tour

56. …Ready For It? Music Video

57. I Can Do It With A Broken Heart

58. Look What You Made Me Do Music Video

59. Look What You Made Me Do Music Video

60. The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived

61. Anti-Hero Music Video

62. …Ready For It? Music Video

63. Anti-Hero

64. Wildest Dreams Music Video

65. The Prophecy

66. Look What You Made Me Do Music Video

67. Look What You Made Me Do Music Video

68. Guilty As Sin?

69. Anti-Hero Music Video

70. Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?

71. I Can See You Music Video

72. The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived

73. Look What You Made Me Do Music Video

74. Fortnight Music Video

75. Fortnight

76. Look What You Made Me Do Music Video

77. Dear Reader

78. Anti-Hero Music Video

79. Wildest Dreams Music Video

80. So Long London

81. Anti-Hero Music Video

82. Down Bad

83. 1989 Polaroids

84. ME! Music Video

85. Dear Reader

86. Delicate Music Video

87. loml

88. Willow Music Video

89. Fortnight Music Video

90. loml

91. Style Music Video

92. The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived

93. Photo of The Eras Tour

94. Photo of The Eras Tour

95. The Albatross

96. Out of the Woods Music Video

97. Midnight Rain

98. Willow Music Video

99. The Bolter

100. Photo of The Eras Tour

101. Willow Music Video

102. Robin

103. Style Music Video

104. Midnights Prologue

105. Style Music Video

106. Lavender Haze Music Video

107. Clara Bow

108. Bejewelled Music Video

109. Dear Reader

110. Out of the Music Video

111. …Ready For It Music Video

112. You’re On Your Own, Kid

113. …Ready For It Music Video

[monicaeidolith]

it's been 8 years and she's still down bad for her neighbor (who wouldn't)

and so there she is: Step 3 Athena! 🌙✨

Step 1 & Step 2 here

(Infos about Athena in every steps except 4 below if you're interested)

(watch out it's long.)

Step 1 -

At 10, Athena is a very curious girl, somewhat nosey and a bit clumsy (main reason why she often has bandages). She likes puzzles, creepy stuff and drawing (but nothing that serious about that hobby yet). While she isn't very shy, she's still uneasy around people she doesn't know and moving to a new town isn't helping. She has trouble accepting changes, and this whole situation is a way too big change.

Athena is very close to her mom during step 1. Unfortunately for her, she doesn't really look like her that much and she's kind of bothered by that, especially because the person she obviously looks like, her "dad", isn't there. Not having a dad isn't really a huge problem for her, but Athena fears a little bit people's opinion on that subject: "Is it weird that I don't have a dad...?".

She's feeling sad and scared about moving out, as she has to get used to a completely different world (in her eyes). "At least I have my mom", she thinks. But if moving in Golden Grove was scary at first, meeting Qiu and Tamarack was a huge help for Athena to feel included.

She thinks Qiu, aka "Autumn", is funny but also a huge show-off, haha. She LOVES to tease Qiu. But Athena's also genuinely worried about Qiu sometimes, because that kid is a huge people-pleaser.

When it comes to Tamarack, man... Athena totally puts this girl on a pedestal. She thinks Tamarack is amazing and pretty. And should Tamarack say anything positive about Athena, you can be certain the latter will go crazy internally. At 10, Athena doesn't realize she actually has a huge crush on Tamarack yet, though.

Step 2 -

At 14, Athena became a sort of troublemaker, she barely cares about rules. She's not mean but she grew to be more blunt and direct than she was as a 10-year-old, this and her current appearance make her seem unapproachable. However she kept her soft side, a side that she ironically doesn't even keep that much hidden but that you still have to deserve. If at 10 she would often have bandages because of her clumsiness, at 14, it's mostly because she's reckless. Some things that remained are her love for puzzles, creepy stuff and drawing, in fact, she started to get interested in visual arts.

In fact, the tough side of her personality grew when her first group friends with Qiu and Tamarack slowly fell apart. She couldn't do anything to prevent that from happening, so she felt like she had to toughen up. But to be honest, she's becoming tired of being the sole link between them, she's barely trying to now. Maybe Qiu and Tamarack won't become friends again. She has to accept it... but maybe Athena still has troubles accepting changes, no matter how old she is, after all.

Despite all that, Athena still treats both of them nicely. She still teases Qiu whenever she can (watch out Athena, the teasing could backfire on you). Her worries about them are still present too, but for different reasons than in step 1. Even 4 years later, Athena still retrieve Qiu's lost papers because they would NOT do it themselves. No matter what, Autumn remains her dear friend and the feeling is mutual.

Tamarack, aka "Tam", is her best friend! ... and the girl she has a crush on, Athena realized it now. Athena doesn't know if Tam feels the same way or not, though. Athena still thinks Tamarack is the most amazing and most talented person out there, she wishes Tam could see it too. She's highly worried about Tamarack potentially leaving Golden Grove at any moment but she tries to hide it from Tamarack. "Tam probably has enough of people walking on eggshells with her", she thinks. Athena dislikes Tamarack's parents for not only never being there for their daughter but also for making her situation so uncertain, only for their own interests (in her eyes).

Another feeling started to grow: jealousy. Athena will feel jealous of anyone who seems a bit too close to Tamarack. Does she think she's no match for Tamarack? Yes. Does that stop her from being jealous? No. She knows she has no right to be, Tamarack is a wonderful girl, it's impossible not to like her, but she can't help it.

Athena grew to be even more bothered by her lack of resemblance with her mother. Some times before turning 14, she started to dye her hair cranberry, just like her mom's hair color (let's say Opal didn't really like to see that her daughter started dyeing her hair at her young age, reaction Athena didn't appreciate, all she wanted was to look like her mom, what's the problem?). Ironically, while Athena wishes so hard to look like her mom, her relationship with her became somewhat strained. As if resembling a completely unknown guy wasn't enough. Living his best life nowhere to be found, uh? Resentment is the word here. Never towards her mom, even if their relationship is not that good at this point, but towards this guy who gave her his physical traits she never wanted and started to despise.

At least she became used to live in Golden Grove.

Step 3 -

At 18, Athena is not the rough troublemaker that she was at 14 anymore. Now she's more like a silly prankster, seemingly always up to something more stupid than before, although she remains reckless and blunt (but less on purpose and more out of habit). Of course, her interest in visual arts remained intact. Her liking for creepy stuff turned into a huge love for horror and its aesthetic.

Her relationship with her mom is getting better than it was 4 years ago. Athena grew out of the resentment she had for her "dad" during step 2 and learned to accept she may not look that much like her mom, but that it doesn't cancel the fact she's Opal's daughter no matter how she looks. Plus "some bits of [Opal] did end up in [her]" after all, right?

Athena's relationship with Autumn is what you could describe as "siblings by hearts", Athena does consider them as the sibling she never had.

Athena and Tamarack are still officially "besties for life", but little do they know that they both ended up falling in love with each other, plain and simple.

Her jealousy and resentment did tone down, but when she thinks back to her 14-year-old self, she feels bad, so bad. For being jealous of Tamarack's friends, for being resentful of a random donor and basically making many things about herself. "Man, I was such a prick. And for what?".

If when she was 14, Athena felt like she was no match for Tamarack because she put Tam on a pedestal, at 18, she now thinks she's simply not good enough as a person for Tamarack. She kind of "accepted" that if Tamarack only wants to be friends, then it's fine, she cannot force Tam to love her back. It's silly to think someone like her could be extra-special in Tam's heart anyway (girl if you knew.), it's nice enough to be her best friend.

Between step 2 and 3, Athena managed to put a label on herself: she's lesbian.

[chanelnumbermine]

hii! could you write some kimi x reader fluff? please and thank youu<3

sure i can! buckle up, teenage feels incoming!

second first | andrea kimi antonelli x gn!reader

warnings: none! bit awkwardness and butterflies flying around

summary: what happens when you’re both way too awkward and stressed about the first date?

you and kimi were introduced by mutual friends, hanging out from time to time with the group

you always seemed to laugh so much together, discussing zombie apocalypse survival, different types of zombies, and even what you would do if you had to face them together!

that thought always made both of you giggle and blush, much to the amusement of your friends

“god, just go on a date already! we’re tired of your endless yapping, jeez”

and so you did

“um, well, would you uh-“ “right! mm, yeah, i’d love to go have lunch!” “-hand me my phone, well, uhh, that too!! sorry, thank you! i’ll text you the address”

you scratched your neck in embarrassment, and he hid his face in his hands

"sorry-" "you don't have to-"

you both spoke at the same time and burst into laughter

it was easier to laugh than to speak, with all your friends around and the weight of your own undefined feelings lingering in your mind

the restaurant was nice, maybe too noce for two teenagers to have their first date and it was obvious someone was trying *really* hard

kimi was wearing a suit, a suspiciously well tied tie around his neck: a consequence of ollie's lessons and eventually doing it himself because kimi's hands were shaking too much

and here you were, looking like an absolute vision and staring right into his eyes

"andrea, what did you get yourself into?" he muttered under his breath in italian

a thousand thoughts were racing through his mind: should i kiss their hand? should i wave? hug them?

it looked like he was going to shake your hand and ended up giving you an awkward side hug, getting confused with his moves...

oh dear

the whole evening is filled with shy glances and occasional stuttering

it's just so hard to keep your eyes away from kimi's shining eyes you end up staring

"i'll get it, okay?" he said shyly and you blinked a few times to get back to reality

"uhh, sorry?" he titled his head forward, equally confused, he couldn't tell you were staring as he was too busy fighting his intrusive thoughts

"would it be too forward? too old-fashioned? but mom said-"

he ends up paying and you manage to stammer out a thanks and soon you're outside, trying to form a coherent sentence and say farewell

"it was really-" "i can't thank you-"

"please, you first"

you stifled a laugh and smiled awkwardly before speaking up again

“tonight was really nice and i really appreciate you for taking me out to such a nice place and uhh… i fell sorry that-“

“that it was so awkward?” he finished with a lopsided grin “yeah, im sorry too. but maybe, well, that doesn’t mean it’s completely over, right?” his voice heightened and he gesticulated a lot “i mean, i like you, like, a lot-“

“i like you too, kimi” you whispered, the confession causing both of you to blush like crazy

“really?? i mean, amazing! so does that, well, could i get another chance?”

“another chance at what?” you asked and titled your head

“at taking you out on a first date. second first date or whatever, i want it to be really perfect this time, i swear, you’ll love it this time-“

you cut him off by pressing a small kiss to his cheek

“of course, kimi. let’s just have a good time together, right?” you asked shyly

“yeah, right. whatever you like” he grinned stupidly

he will definitely make sure this chance isn’t a wasted one

masterlist

[0310s]

gently, by your side | jaehyun

members: myung jaehyun x gender neutral reader

genre: college au, angst, comfort, best friends! to ???, more platonic stuff in this one

tags/warnings: extensive discussions of mental health and chronic/mental illness, y/n is not okay. :(

summary: jaehyun finds you after a bad week.

wc: 2.7k

a/n: this fic’s title comes from this lovely song. as someone who’s struggled with both chronic and mental illness, it really takes someone strong and amazing to keep on going, despite everything. most of the dialogue in this comes from my own musings and experiences with mental health. i wrote this for a dear mutual of mine! i hope better days will come for you soon, whenever that may be. meanwhile, i hope this gives you comfort when things are tough! sending lots of love <3 

𓉞⋆｡˚☁︎｡⋆

5 days ago 1:28 PM 🐶 cutie puppy

(y/n) we haven’t seen each other in such a loooong time imy :(( i mean i KNOW it’s just been a couple of days since we last hung out but still!!!!!!! when are we seeing each other again !!!! tell me ur schedule QUICK !!!!

4 days ago 6:33 PM 🐶 cutie puppy

heeeeyyyyyyyyy (with the intention to hang out) heeeeeeyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy heeeeeeeeeeeeyyyyyyy reply to meeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!! tell me when ur free pls i miss u :((

3 days ago 11:58 PM 🐶 cutie puppy

hey i didn’t see u at the party today i thought u said u were going last week!!!  also i asked around and people said they haven’t seen u around recently??? and they don’t know what ur up to

2 days ago 2:05 PM 🐶 cutie puppy

heeeyyyy ?????????? did i do smth?????  or are u just really busy w school and work idk either way pls just let me know :(( i won’t bother u if ur rlllyyy busy

10:35 PM sorry if i’m being annoying btw

Yesterday  11:32 PM 🐶 cutie puppy

ok i thought about it reaaaaaallly hard and i don’t think i’ve done anything to make u mad or upset w me??? well aside from that time last last week that u got mad at me for accidentally messing w ur computer and deleting ur work files WHICH IM LIKE REALLY SORRY FOR but i fixed it!!!!! i thought we were good alrd!!! are u still mad at me 4 that ?

1:00 AM (y/n)?

1:28 AM idk  i thought i was ur best friend :(( did smth change???

2:47 AM pls pls reply :(( i know we can talk this out i don’t want us to not be ok

Today  3:00 PM 🐶 cutie puppy i’m coming over.

𓉞⋆｡˚☁︎｡⋆

Sitting up from your bed, your heart thuds in anxiety as you quickly scroll through your chat history with Jaehyun. Your eyes hurt and your brain feels especially foggy, like you’re looking at the world through a particularly cloudy lens. How long did you sleep? The last thing you recall was working on your assignments last night, then choosing to sleep instead when you got overwhelmed. Even then, you slept fitfully. You remember setting an alarm at 9 AM today to continue working, but even as you sat at your desk, you couldn’t type a single sentence on your laptop. Everything felt muddled and it was as if you couldn’t understand anything at all. Even the cups of coffee you drank in desperation was of no use keeping you alert; all it did was make you palpitate.

Then you gave up, went back to bed, and you’re here now. Checking the chat timestamps, you realize you haven’t replied to Jaehyun’s messages in almost a week, which has never happened before—you talk almost everyday, even multiple times a day. Jaehyun’s last message was at 3 PM, when he said he’d come over. One look at your screen shows you it’s already 3:20. If you’ve memorized his schedule right, it takes your best friend thirty minutes to get to your dorm from his Fundamental Maths class. That means you have ten more minutes to get your shit together and clean your mess of a room. 

But right when you’ve mustered the energy to stand up, you hear a series of knocks on your door. That can’t be— “(Y/n), open up, I know you’re in there!” Jaehyun’s voice echoes from outside the door. “I asked your dormmate and she said you haven’t left your room since yesterday, so there’s no use pretending!” Shit, shit, shit! You immediately spring up and hastily fold your blankets and organize your desk, throwing away stray food wrappers and plastic cups. You open your blinds to let some air in, and the bright sunlight makes your head throb even more. 

On your way to the door, you spot yourself in the mirror. There’s no other word for it—you look like utter shit. Your eyebags are dark and prominent, your hair disheveled from tossing and turning in your sleep. You look horrendous, but Jaehyun is persistently knocking on your door, so you have no choice but to fix yourself up as fast as you can. You splash water on your face and smoothen down your hair and open the door—then there’s Jaehyun in all his glory. Your heart clenches seeing him; he looks as handsome as always, his bangs fluffy and soft and his letterman jacket fashionably oversized. He looks nothing like you in your ratty T-shirt with coffee stains and pajama shorts. His hand is halfway raised, positioned to knock at your door (he could and would probably do it all day if he had to). Upon seeing you, he blurts out: “Did I do something?”

Instead of answering him, you open your door wider as an invitation, and Jaehyun takes the hint, stepping into your dorm. Once the door is shut, Jaehyun peers at your messy room and remarks, “Wow. When was the last time you cleaned up? You’re usually not like this.”

You know he didn’t mean it like that, but his comment stings at you all the same. “Sorry, Jaehyun,” you snap, “not everyone can be at 200% energy all the time like you.” At his hurt expression, you backtrack. “Sorry, that was really rude of me.”

“It-It’s fine,” Jaehyun replies confusedly. Then he looks straight at you, eyes pleading. He’s picking at the stray thread hanging from his jacket, a habit you’ve come to known is something he does when he’s nervous. “You know what, I thought about it. For days, really, if I did anything that would make you mad and ignore me. But I couldn’t come up with anything at all. I was really worried when you didn’t reply to me for days on end, especially when we talk everyday. So if I did something, can—can you just tell me? I just want us to be okay.”

Your throat closes up and your heart pounds even faster, making you feel dizzy. You have no idea how to answer him, when all he’s ever seen of you is the perfect student who does everything right, who’s smart and good at what they do without any flaws or exceptions. How would he react if he saw you for who you really were?

The words can’t form in your mouth, and out of frustration at yourself, you tear up. Jaehyun notices this, eyes widening in worry, “(y/n), baby, no, no,” and pulls you into his arms. Almost instantly, the tears cascade down your face and sobs wrack your body. You feel pathetic crying in your best friend’s arms, but Jaehyun just soothes a hand up and down your back as you break down. His other arm is wrapped around your shoulders, and it feels like your anchor when you’re drowning in all your troubles. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he says in a hushed tone, “let it all out.” You grip his jacket even tighter as you bury your face in his chest. 

When was the last time you’ve ever been hugged like this? The last time you’ve ever been truly vulnerable to anyone without that mask of perfection you often don? The last time you felt safe just being yourself? You have no idea. All you know that is in the circle of Jaehyun’s arms, you want to be small and imperfect and yourself just this once.

After your cries die down, Jaehyun clears his throat. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I don’t know what it is I did, but I’m so sorry for hurting you.”

“It’s not you, Jaehyun,” your voice is muffled by both your sniffles and Jaehyun’s chest. You don’t want Jaehyun to get the wrong idea that he’s hurt you in some way because of how broken he sounds thinking he’s done something to make you sad. “It’s just. Me.”

“You? What do you mean?” Jaehyun leads you into your room from the doorway. He’s holding your hand and doesn’t let go even when you both settle at the edge of your bed. His palm is warm and his grip loose enough in case you want to let go; you don’t. While you muster up the courage to speak, your best friend just sits there, waiting patiently. “It’s okay, whatever you say, I’m not going anywhere.” You don’t know that for sure, but him saying that makes you want to be truthful just this once, damn the consequences.

You take a deep breath, focusing on your intertwined fingers. You’re too scared to look at his face because you don’t want to see his reaction. “Jaehyun, what kind of person do you think people see me as?”

“Well…” He takes a moment to think about it. “Someone smart, talented, and who gets stuff done?”

In turn, you let out an resigned exhale. “Well, that’s the image I project. Of someone who’s perfect… someone who does things effortlessly. People think it comes easy to me. But it doesn’t. When people tell me that I didn’t need much effort to get to where I am now, I feel undermined. When I express I’m having a hard time, people brush it off and think I’m just overreacting. Because they think I’m perfect all the time. But honestly…? That’s the farthest thing from the truth."

Glancing up from your hands, you scan your room—your desk is a mess of papers and assignments that you have yet to get to. You can’t tell when the last time you spent time being actually productive when what you’ve been is fatigued out of your mind. When you try to sit at your desk and work, all you feel is difficulty concentrating and processing work and readings. Sleep has also proven to be elusive—no matter how long you lie in bed, you never feel well-rested. Simple actions and decisions require so much energy from you that you undeniably lack. You also constantly compare yourself to others, whom things like these come natural to them. But you’ve kept these feelings of yours secret for a long time—you’re utterly terrified that you’d be undermined for being useless and overly sensitive.   

“(Y/n)?” Jaehyun squeezes your hand, and you turn to meet his eyes. His eyes are sincere and kind. “I-I know I may not be the most empathic person, but I promise I’ll hear you out without judging you. I want to be here for you… and I hope you’ll let me. Please?” 

At this, you spill everything you’ve been feeling the past weeks—months, even—to Jaehyun. You stumble over your words and your breath gets caught in your throat, but he’s there to pat your back and to encourage you to keep going. Without you knowing, tears make their way down your face once again, and Jaehyun uses his other hand to gently brush them away. “It just gets so hard that I want to just. Give everything up. I don’t know what the use of trying so hard is when I see how other people don’t need this much effort to do even the most basic of tasks. It’s just so… unfair.”

When you’re finished with your rant, you don’t know what to expect from Jaehyun—but you’re stunned to see him crying. He’s sniffling and wiping at his eyes furiously. “Why…” You have no idea what he’s about to say, but you brace yourself for the worst. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?” he whispers brokenly. “I didn’t know you were having such a difficult time. I feel like such a shitty friend for not even noticing. I’m sorry, (y/n).” Jaehyun’s eyes fill with tears and he starts “I… I thought we were best friends.” The best friends tell each other everything goes unsaid, but you know exactly what he meant.

“I…” You feel awful now for making Jaehyun cry. “You’re just. You just naturally have all this limitless energy. You’re…” Normal. Not like me. “I don’t know how if you were going to take me seriously if I told you what I was going through… There were times I’d see you, and I’d be so disappointed in myself for not being like you. And I was so scared that if I did tell you, I’d be letting you down.”

Jaehyun’s expression grows more miserable at this. “I-I’m sorry, (y/n), I never meant to make you feel unheard. And I never meant for it to feel like you couldn’t tell me about these things.” 

“It-It’s not your fault, Jaehyun,” you protest, but he shakes his head, obviously disappointed in himself.

“No, (y/n), I’m supposed to be your best friend. How stupid can I be if I can’t notice when you’re having a hard time? I didn’t even stop to ask how you’ve been doing because you seemed to be doing fine. But I should’ve known better. I shouldn’t have taken things at face value. I’m such an idiot,” Jaehyun berates himself. “I’m so, so sorry.” 

At his sincere apology, you can’t help but admit it to yourself—you desperately needed Jaehyun’s support as your best friend, but you were too scared to ask for it. And honestly? You felt immensely lonely without his words and presence to comfort you. 

“(Y/n), I hope you know that I see how hard you work. I know your sleepless nights and how much effort you put into every single thing you do. Despite everything you’re going through, you’re always trying to be better than the person you were yesterday, and it’s something I truly admire about you. But I hope you know it’s okay to be imperfect and flawed and to not be okay. I want to be here on your good and bad days. I just wish I could’ve been more vocal about this earlier… I’ve really taken you for granted, huh?” Jaehyun sighs wetly, taking your hand in both of his. He’s still crying; you both are, actually. What a silly pair the two of you make. 

“Thank you for trusting me and sharing all of this. It literally means the world to me,” Jaehyun rambles. “I promise I’ll be a better friend to you, someone you feel safe opening up to about anything, whether that be your achievements or your struggles. And (y/n), if it’s not too much to ask… Could I ask you to be more honest with me in the future?” He stares at you imploringly. “I don’t want you to think you have to go through all of this alone. I want to be here for you the same way you’ve always been there for me… Okay?”

“....Okay. Okay, I’ll try,” you respond softly. “Thank you, Jaehyun. I… I’ve never told anyone about this before. But thank you so much for just listening, and not judging, and accepting me for me…” While you appreciate Jaehyun’s presence at this moment, a new wave of fatigue washes over you with all this emotional vulnerability and talking. “Jaehyun… I’m still feeling really tired, so I might go back to sleep. Sorry, I know you came all the way here to see me, but here I am being shit company,” you apologize regretfully.

“Oh! That’s okay. I’ll see you tomorrow?” Jaehyun stands up from your bed to leave. When your fingers slip from each other, you feel an acute loss of warmth—both in your hands and in your heart. He makes his way to the door, slipping on his shoes, and your heart sinks. There’s something you badly want to ask of Jaehyun, but you’re too much of a coward to tell him what you truly want. You don’t want to be on your own right now, but you’d probably be asking too much of him. Accepting your fate, you settle in bed, attempting to take a nap so restless you’re sure will be of no help to your exhaustion.

However, Jaehyun himself stops in the doorway. He turns back around, a distraught look on his face. “(Y/n)... I don’t want to assume, but are you sure you want to be alone right now?” he begins. “I mean, we just had this really heavy talk. Can… Can I keep you company? I promise I’m great at cuddles—that’s what all my other friends say anyway when I annoy them with my hugs.”

When you nod, that’s all it takes for Jaehyun to shuck off his shoes, strip his jacket, and climb into bed with you. With your ear against his steady heartbeat and his comforting arm around you, you’re asleep in no time. It’s the best you’ve ever slept in months.

[starless-nightz]

Hello everyone, if you haven’t already realised, I’m quitting.

It has been a good run, i've been writing here on tumblr for about 2-3 years now, but I think it’s time that i move on, at least from this blog and this identity.

I no longer feel comfortable on my own blog, it used to be my safe space but it isn’t anymore, now i barely even open the app, writing doesn't bring me comfort anymore, it’s starting to feel more like a chore to me rather then bringing me comfort.

I want to foucus on myself more, my life isn’t the best and i'm not in the right headspace right now. I really appearance all the support you all have given me over these past 2-3 years, especially to old time followers and mutuals who have stuck with me throughout all my blogs, I love and charish all of you, but it’s time to move on.

To all my dear mutuals, I love and respect you guys so much, I hope you all have amazing and wonderful lives, I will still be checking this blog for a few more days until i move to my private blog, so feel free to messenge me if you wish to talk to me or know about the blog.

This is all i have to say, I love you guys so much, but its time to move on, i might come back in the future either on here or under a different name as a writer since I still love writing (i wouldn’t be writing on my new private blog anytime soon), but I will no longer be active on here, but till then i will only be on my private blog, i will still be posting from time to time on my wattpad and ao3 account (both Runassimp) so if you wish to continue reading my works you can do it on there.

This goodbye wouldn't be forever, you will see me again one day. Till then I hope you all have a good, healthy and amaizing life.

-With love, Ray

tagging some of my mutuals: @n0tamused @hunnieknight @wyuovvia @roxvelle-girlkisser @ihavenoideawhatiamdoingjustgay @kyokiiro @dollycxre @star-girl69 @asvterias

[sirhamburrger]

welcome to… kai’s cat café! - 150 followers event

come one, come all to the newest café in town! d'you know what's better than the coffee and pastries they serve? the cats!! and even better than that - the wonderful owner kai who's more than happy to serve you today! || cat divider by @mewryn

the counter is currently closed.

➼ check here to see your order's progress!

number one: put in your drink order! (tropes)

➼ espresso: enemies/rivals to lovers ➼ affogato: meet-cute ➼ macchiato: meet-ugly ➼ english breakfast: exes to lovers ➼ earl grey: friends to lovers ➼ (jasmine) green tea: domestic fluff (with your little kiddos!!) ➼ peppermint tea: sickfic

and why not pick out a book from the café's mini library to go with that, if you’d like? (for a high school third-year/university setting, where applicable)

number two: your desired sugar level! (genre of fic)

➼ 100%: fluff ➼ 75%: crack ➼ 50%: hurt/comfort ➼ 0%: pure, raw angst (you sure? it’s not too late to turn back…)

number three: pick out your food item! (format)

➼ croissant: drabble/oneshot (400-800 words) ➼ cookies: headcanons (max five characters) ➼ muffin: smaushot (max three characters)

number four: secret menu items (more specific requests, or additional specifications)

craving any items that might not be on the menu? try me - i'm sure i can get that for you! any allergies? thanks, i'll take note! (i'm willing to write suggestive content, but no nsfw reqs please)

finally, who’s the lucky ducky you’re dining with today? let us know! you seem like a cute couple…

➼ specify if fem!reader or gn!reader ➼ pick a character from hq, bllk, jjk or mashle, and remember:     ➼ up to five characters for headcanons (from same fandom)     ➼ up to three characters for smau (from same fandom)

but before you put a name down, please see…

the wall of shame: banned customers (sorry i just don’t like some of them :(((( )

➼ eita otoya (had a messy breakup over a cheating incident. while kai took their order.) ➼ toji fushiguro (did the ol’ ‘dine and dash’) ➼ mei mei (i think we all know why…) ➼ ryoh grantz (used flash photography on the kitties) ➼ and any other side characters established by fandom to have little to no basis for characterisation

made your choice? order up at the counter, and another reminder to check here to see your order's progress! do be patient, and i hope you enjoy!

a message from the café owner:

the past five months on tumblr have been amazing, and i've really managed to challenge myself to create more. i cannot thank every single one of you enough for 150 followers! thank you to my lovely irls, my beloved mutuals, and my dear readers! you are what keeps me going <3 ~ xoxo kai

© sirhamburrger || [general m.list]

[holdmytesseract]

Wrapping up 2024...

divider by @jiyascepter <3

Hello, there?

*taps microphone*

Fellow talented writers, dear mutuals, wonderful friends, and faithful readers... 2024 is coming to an end, and I thought it's time to take a look back at this year together with all of you - if you like, of course! ☺️

2024 has been a good year, I'd say personally. It wasn't the best, but certainly not bad. I was blessed with finding a lot of new friends on here... @chennqingg @angelwings-crossbowstrings @dixons-sunshine @mayday2007 @huntedmusicgardenn and @erebus-et-eigengrau ! Thank you for letting me invade your blogs, askboxes and DM's! I'm so grateful we became friends! 🙏🏼🧡 Especially @dixons-sunshine ... Gods, I'm such a fangirl of Krys. You have no idea. It's a wonder I didn't scare her off with my endless ramblings, lol. 😆

I also bumped into a lot of amazing, talented people on here this year - new faces and old acquaintances... @thevegandarkelf @loz-3 @buttercupcookies-blog @gigglingtiggerv2 @jiyascepter and so many more! You all have managed to blow my mind not just once, guys. Thank you for that! 🧡

I have also been blessed to spend another year with the gang on here! @smolvenger @eleniblue @lokisgoodgirl @mochie85 @vbecker10 @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @mypainischronicbutmyassisiconic @anukulee @multifandom-worlds @jiyascepter - you guys are the best, and you damn well know how much y'all mean to me. Tumblr wouldn't be the same without you. That much is certain. Please never forget how freaking badass and magnificent you are! *BIG HUGS* 🧡

Yeah... I love the bond we all share on here. No matter writer, reader or 'lurker' - we all share the same passion one way or the other, and that's just beautiful, isn't it?

I'd like to give out a special thanks to @muddyorbsblr . It feels like we have known each other for ages but only got closer throughout this year (and perhaps the end of last year - I unfortunately can't remember entirely. Please forgive me, bestie.) Almost not a day goes by without us texting - and that's awesome. I could always rely on you for advice and help - or just for thirst. 🤭 No matter what, you always have a sympathetic ear for me - and I appreciate this and you so much! Thanks for being here and sharing all those cool things with me! I love you, bestie! 🧡

Another very close friend of mine I met on here is @fictive-sl0th - my compatriot, hehe. She's just wonderful. You know what I'm talking about if you ever had the chance to talk to her. That girl's got a heart of gold, I swear. She ALWAYS helps me when I get stuck on a story. I don't know what I'd do without her. I enjoy talking to her a lot. Friend, I absolutely treasure you. I love you! 🧡

What else happened this year on here? Well... I did a lot of writing - for which I'm very grateful. I'm still having so much fun doing this. I truly hope y'all have just as much fun with reading. I couldn't imagine a life without writing anymore. It's impossible.

My personal writing highlights this year:

• A Covenant for Eternity - a project I absolutely LOVED to write. It's been so cool to do this in cooperation with so many people. Love, love, love!

• Love In The Rearview Mirror - my newest series. I know I just started to post it, but I've been working on this already for quite some time. I love this series with all my heart, and I truly hope it won't disappoint you.

• Echoes of Hope - another great AU that I started. I absolutely fell in love with my OC's Teddy and Marlo. I just can't help but to continue this.

• Hunter & Prey - one of the steamiest things I ever wrote. I love this addition of the Baby Fever AU!

• ...what the future holds... - a spontaneous idea that turned into one of my favourite stories.

Do you guys have any favourite stories? I'm curious! Let me know - if you want! 🤗

What else happened? 🤔

Oh yeah, and I reached 2k followers this year! TWO THOUSAND... This is insane... I'm still stunned by this, I swear. I would've NEVER ever thought this was going to happen someday. Not even in my wildest dreams. Thank you again for this! 🙏🏼

And oh boy, we celebrated big...

Campire Sleepover

Well... It's been a wild ride - and I can't wait what the next year has to offer... I'm excited!

Thank you ALL for reading, commenting, reblogging, and interacting! Thank you ALL for spending this year with me - and fangirling together. No matter if it was about an mischievous God, or an archer with an angel-winged vest. Thank you ALL for helping me shape this blog. It wouldn't be the same without you.

Thank you - from the bottom of my heart!

I truly hope I didn't forget somebody... If I did, I'm SO sorry. I didn't mean to forget you! Please feel hugged. 🙏🏼

I love you all! 🧡

Now there's only one more thing left to say - I mean, I already stole enough of your time...

I wish all of you a merry merry Christmas and happy holidays! I hope you are able to enjoy it! 🎄

And now... *turns up Christmas music*

P.S. If you made it until here, I'm gonna tell you a secret... 🤫 There's a Christmas-ish Loki oneshot coming your way in the next two days... 🤫

[viperbunnies]

It's officially New years for me here! I am not the best at words, but I'm thankful for the support that I've received for the short amount of time that I've started posting art more often.

What started off as me wanting to just Archive some art I'm proud of snowballed to so many memories that I'll look back fondly to, so many silly ideas that breached containment that I remember seeing people do (Like the draw your oc reacting to their fave card that me and addie just talked about as a joke, and the Shroompocalypse that was just meant to be an Jade stealing people's yume joke)

I'm glad that I met so many amazing people and discovered new artists on this site! With that said I want to drop a few words of thanks to some of the amazing people that I've met here <3

Firstly, thank you to @oya-oya-okay being my first ever follower and mutual! If it weren't for you sharing my art I wouldn't be able to meet so many of my moots, your words of encouragement means a lot to me (and to other people that you also support!) I wish you well in life!

Thank you to @natsukishinomiyaswife ! If it weren't for you reaching out to me back then I probably would've continued lurking. You're a dear friend to me and I enjoy our random talks! May it be about life, or our own interests 💕 I hope the new year treats you kindly.

Thank you to @justm3di0cr3 ! For giving me so many ideas (some I've yet to finish...) and for listening to me whatever the topic maybe. I'm thankful that I met you! You're such a considerate person, always checking in on me whenever I feel down. If something's bugging you, I'm always all ears!

Thank you to @scint1llat3 , your overwhelming support has helped me so much. It's always fun seeing your currynoodles, and just your art in general. But it's just as fun just reading your thoughts! Your comments/tags are always so fun to read 😭 I hope you never get tired doing what you love! Labyu lodicakes (/p) kain ka ng madaming pansit sa new years for long life

Thank you to @jovieinramshackle ! I remember feeling so scared due to some inevitable changes, but seeing your general words of encouragement during that time helped me so much. Wishing you the best on your journey as well!

Thank you to @fell-e ! Your keysmashes and memes are so fun to see 😭 Genuinely need to know how you make them so quickly. Thank you as well for being my earliest supporters, I probably would've been burnt out so quickly if you didn't show genuine interest in my arts.

Thank you to @part-sadist ! For the laughs that you give me from your silly sketches, and for acknowledging some of my ideas. You've contributed so much ideas to my to do list as well, to the point that I don't think I'm gonna run out of any drawing prompts any time soon (They just need to give me the time already...)

Thank you to @taruruchi ! for being one of my earliest supporters, it's just so nice to see someone with similar interests as me! I still have so many Oz and Taru interactions that I want to make, so I hope you look forward to them hehe.

Thank you to @jadelover69 (i miss your old name /j) Thank you as well for your overwhelming support! I love seeing the things you rb on my tl, may it be twst or different fandoms you're interested in. They help lighten up my mood whenever I need it!

Thank you to @the-travelling-witch ! We haven't been mutuals for long, but you've always been so supportive of me! Thank you for showing genuine interests in my ocs! And for sharing me rambles about yours as well! If you ever get any new ideas, I'd love to hear them :> (Probably not asap due to Timezones and schedules, but of course I'll get to you soon!)

Thank you to my friend (alias Melone) If you see this I hope you know that I'm thankful that you pushed me to draw more. You'll always be my no. 1 hypeman, and I wish we can spend more time together soon. 2024 really is cursed-- our annual meetup didn't happen 😔 I hope we can meet soon! I still need to give you my gifts from your birthday.

If I could add everyone I've met here I genuinely would 😭 I love all of my moots/supporters /p.

Honestly I feel like I'm more cynical qnd negative irl... due to many reasons, but perhaps it's due to the people that I've met here that I'e had such a positive influence, which I'm honestly so thankful for. It's helped a lot with my personal struggles.

If you've made it this far, I hope you know that life gets better. A struggle today, doesn't determine the wind's path tomorrow. Wishing you all Happy new years! I hope that this coming year will be kind to us as all ^^

[iilmunchkiin]

Dear Undertale Yellow,

Saw a mutual write a letter for you and it inspired me to write my own. Thank you for being such a wonderful game, I haven't felt this passionate over something in a long time, everything about this game just stole my heart and swept me off my feet. From the art alone, I could tell that there was so much love and genuine passion poured in for this game wrapped in a neat little bow for the world to see. The music is incredible, it's so impactful, so catchy, I would play it all on repeat, especially when I discovered MOTI and their lyricized versions of your songs, god, I'm not ashamed to admit I cried listening to them, there's just so much emotion in them how could I not? I would even curl up into a ball sometimes, and at other times you'll just see me busting a move in my room just jumping around like a kid eating too much sugar.

Don't even get me started with the characters, they're all so charming! From an awkward lonesome vampire to the DDR chicken with one of the best boss fights btw (I will die on this hill), from the adorable side characters like the little guy that comes with you in the elevator in the mines, Stresso (my fav side character AUGHH), and the little details scattered throughout the game that you didn't even have to put but you did, like giving rocks lore, ROCKS. Even when characters follow you like Martlet and Ceroba, if you talk to them at different locations you'll get special dialogue, even coming back to that area after progressing gives even more dialogue which is just so much effort and niche and not everyone is ganna see it but it's there anyway and, just, AND THE ANIMATIONS. I adore the animation! Everything about this game is AUAUAUAASSH—

The community is so kind, I've meet so many amazing artists that I'm lucky to be mutuals with, everyone is so creative! So many people who are so talented in different medias of art, drawing, writing, composing music... I love it all, I love it all so much. I received so much support for my art, when I made my first comic, I wasn't expecting much since I haven't posted art here in 2 years, but I come back and see that it's literally at 1.5K likes and, I'm just genuinely so grateful. Thank you, thank you, thank you all.

I may not have posted art on the day of your anniversary but mark my words, this game... god this game... playing this game is one of the best things I've ever done, once again thank you so much for having such a positive impact on my life, looking forward for more happy years to come! <3

PS: I have a confession to make, I only played the True Pacifist route and spoiled myself for everything else HAHAHAHAH

Sincerely yours,

LM

[hwallazia]

MAKE-UP SEX – 정우영

synopsis . in which the lack of attention from wooyoung was suffocating you. he’d have to compensate you somehow. and fortunately, he knows exactly what you need.

pairing . jung wooyoung & fem! reader

genre . smut (mdni!), fluff, comfort, established relationship, non idol!au

word count . 2,7k

DISCLAIMER! switch!woo, switch!reader (both are switches bc i can’t imagine it any other way), foreplay, fingering, unprotected sex (don’t do this irl!), dry humping, dirty talk, praise oh so much praise, nicknames (love, baby, princess, & more), deepthroat, just the two of them being two fools in love <3

NIC’S NOTES i initially wrote this in spanish for arisu from alice in borderland, and i randomly reread it today and wooyoung was the only thing that came straight to my mind. him being all whiny and dominant at the same time??? where do i pay?

Wooyoung was right next to you. As always, he was enjoying his video games during the weekend, he had his headphones on and the microphone just a few inches away from his lips.

He insulted and shouted, causing you discomfort, which is why you looked for your headphones to listen to music, looking for a way to overshadow your boyfriend’s voice.

You couldn't blame him. You knew how much his video games meant to him, and how little time he had for them now that he started working.

You met him during high school, and fell deeply in love with him in your senior year. You had to confess your feelings to him immediately, before you parted ways and it was too late.

One lovely, chilly night you did it, you pulled up the courage and said those two words, which would change your lives forever.

“I like you. I like you a lot, Wooyoung.” you avoided eye contact at all costs. You couldn't allow yourself to see your loved one's gaze trying to reject you, in case the feelings weren't mutual. All those insecurities vanished with the wind that there was at that time of the night.

“I… I like you too, y/n.”

You finally looked at him. There was something special in his gaze, hundreds of galaxies collapsing into his orbs and illuminating them, more than the buildings and traffic lights that were scattered throughout Seoul that night.

“A-are you serious?” you questioned. Everything felt unreal, you needed him to say it one more time, maybe then your heart would hit the, now, sweet ground of reality.

“Yes, beautiful. I like you, a lot as well.”

You swore you could die right there. You would finally have him to yourself, something toxic of you, but it was what you wanted most: for Jung Wooyoung to have eyes for no one but you.

What could you say? You liked the attention, and even more so if it was his attention.

After months of dating, on one of the few dates you had in that period of time, he asked you to live together.

“Oh? Isn't that a bit hasty? How will we maintain the house? And the food?” so many things were running through your mind that they made you forget who you were talking to. Wooyoung.

“Hasty? Sweetheart, I’ve worked hard since we started dating to finally live with you, and only you. I even got a job!”

“A job? Are you serious?” you expressed, a smile starting to be drawn on your pink, plump lips.

“Damn right I am. You're looking at the new 8TEEZ’ choreographer, dear.” he announced with a certain tone of arrogance that could only scream “Jung Wooyoung”.

“Choreographer? Love, that's amazing.” you rushed at him, knocking him down the green grass of that park where you were holding your date.

“You’re definitely the love of my life.” he murmured, his fingers stroking your long dark hair.

And this memory is what brings us to the present. Your loved one was resting his body in the comfortable gaming chair you gave him for his 25th birthday, it embraced his anatomy as if it didn't want to let him go —he didn't really want to get up from his comfortable seat either. “Shit!” you heard him shout, despite having your headphones on with music at a moderate volume. You sighed and then saw it, the big screen painted with blood stains and ‘Game Over’ written in a somewhat crooked letter.

“Ugh, I almost had it.” he exhaled to turn to see you. “Love, did you see how—”

His words were cut off when he saw how your gaze did not show the same adorable, big eyes that characterized you, but had now transformed into an annoying, and somehow penetrating look.

“I screamed a lot, didn't I?” he shrugged his shoulders like a little kid, afraid that you would scold him.

“What do you think?” your tone was notoriously angry, yet you had to inhale and exhale a generous amount of air since you didn’t want to yell at him to fuck off. “Wooyoung, try to stay somewhat quiet, not even the headphones can overshadow your voice.”

“’M sorry, babe.”

He took off his headphone set and placed it on the small dark oak nightstand located a few meters away from him. He pushed himself up with his feet to approach the edge of your shared bed, and settle himself behind you. He adjusted himself so that you were between his legs, enveloping you with his strong arms.

“What are you doing?”

“Reading, maybe this way I can unwind” you took off your glasses to clean its glass in three quick seconds and put them back on the back of your nose. You looked at your partner's dark and beautiful orbs and noticed how they moved from side to side slowly, apparently reading the book’s pages. You immediately turned off the screen of your tablet and looked at him in the eyes. “Do you remember what I asked you a few hours ago?”

“Hum, would there be a problem if I said no?” he gave you an innocent smile with his barely curved eyebrows.

“Yes, there is. I asked you if you wanted to cook with me,” a sigh leaving your lips “During these last few weeks, I’ve been trying to do things with you, but your routine is always work, video games, eat and sleep. It's fucking annoying.” you finally confessed everything you had stuck down your throat for the last three weeks. Not being able to see his face made it, somehow, more comfortable for you to tell him your feelings. “I know I have to be comprehensive and all that shit but lately, this has been unbearable”.

“Oh, sweetness. I'm so sorry” he hid his face in the hole formed in your collarbone, resting his cheek on the side of your neck “I promise to compensate you for everything, beautiful.”

“You promise?” now you rested your right cheek against his messy raven hair.

“Mmhm,” he claimed, “And you know what, I'm starting right now.”

And with that, he began to leave a nice trail of wet kisses along your neck. A small gasp slid down your tongue, this just being the fuel for your lover’s plan. He stayed like that for a few seconds, his nose smelling your intoxicating scent until he went up to your ear and lick its lobe.

“Have I already told you how beautiful you are?” he kissed the back of your neck, licking where his lips had passed.

“Woo— Ah, w-what do you intend to do? Mhpm—”

“Make up for lost time, pretty.”

Even though you couldn't see his face, you could feel his arrogant smile. He loved knowing the power he had over you, how much he could turn you on with just a couple of his kisses.

And sure enough, you were melting under his touch, his heavenly touch.

“Babe— A-ah.” nonsenses were escaping your lips. Though talking was practically impossible you still tried to. But fuck didn’t he had you fucked out with just a few touches.

Before you could realize it, he slid his hand under the silk sheets which only covered your legs, dragging his middle finger and ring finger towards your clit, which was beginning to get wet under his touch.

“Wooyoung, oh fuck” you hissed “You know how sensitive I am there- Ahh!”

You finally discovered what he was trying to do, and maybe a fetish of his: interrupt you so you would moan more. In broad terms, fewer words and more pleasure. Maybe you could take advantage of that and get what you wanted.

Your lover moved his phalanges with agility and mastery over your soft, pinky button. At this point, it was funny to you that moment where you asked him "Are you a virgin?" and he quickly denied —he had only fucked once. He now looks like a fucking playboy, satisfying you so well.

“You're soaked, gorgeous.” he whispered “Is this the effect I have on you? Do you like me that much?”

He mumbled before directing his left hand to your nipple to pinch it and rub it against his fingers. Your back arching accordingly.

“God, yes Wooyoung yes. You make me feel s-so good, love.”

You knew how much it drove your boyfriend crazy when you complimented him or verbally told him how good he made you feel. He responded with a growl, attacking your neck.

A couple of minutes were enough for you to feel your orgasm coil in your stomach, making your thighs fall into desperation. Finally, you let your anatomy rest on his chest, completely surrendering to him.

“Are you close, pretty?” you moaned in response “It seems so, you’re trembling so much.”

“W…Wooyoung, shut your mouth— ngh!”

His left hand, which was previously occupied satisfying your nipple, abandoned it, to grab your jaw and finally bring you together in a wet kiss. He inserted his tongue in a few seconds later, drawing a gasp from you. Wooyoung was the one who dominated in that dance between tongues.

“Cum for me, beautiful.” he whispered millimeters from your swollen lips.

Once he gave the order, you came. Your body trembling against him, his cock rubbing against your lower back thanks to your little convulsions from overstimulation. Wooyoung made sure to help you ride your orgasm, his lips leaving a trail of soft kisses down your neck as he whispered the sweetest things to you.

“Look at all the mess you made on my fingers. Since you are a bit tired, I’ll do your job and clean them up for you.”

He guided the fingers he put into activity to make you cum towards his lips, so he could suck and lick them, his tongue savoring your exquisite essence. You could hear him slurping on his fingers which only made you even more aroused. Your back arching a little, separating it from the lump that was crashing against it.

“Wooyoung-ah, I want to suck you off.” your words impressing your boyfriend “I want to make you feel good too.”

“Oh yeah? Go ahead, darling. I’m all yours.”

He settled against the headboard of the bed while you turned and crawled in reverse to reach the height of prominent tent. Wooyoung felt his heart skip a beat when he saw you on doggy style with your glasses on.

Someone is developing a lot of fetishes in a very short time.

You pulled down his blue shorts along with his underwear, freeing his erection which had been uncomfortably covered for a while now.

You didn't hesitate to massage it a little and put it all at once into your oral cavity. You were going to give him the best deepthroat he ever had in his life. A growl crept into his throat.

“Holy fuck, you’re so good baby. You have no idea how perfect you look right now.”

You were so excited by that compliment that you began to suck it and lick it as if it were a lollipop. You massaged his balls to increase his pleasure, and also for him to praise you more.

“Does that feel good, handsome?” a smirk drawn on your lips.

“It feels so- ngh! So good... Your mouth was made for my cock, baby.”

His right hand was positioned in your hair to gently grab it. His chest rose and fell rapidly, clearly telling you that he was close to cum. You took it out of your mouth to run your tongue over the tip of his member, making him tremble. The man felt as if he had been electrified, this was accompanied by a loud moan.

“If… If you keep doing that— a-agh, I'm not gonna last long.” he said softly, his hand caressing your scalp.

You raised your gaze to meet his eyes full of lust and lasciviousness, the shine that characterized your boyfriend's orbs was replaced by a small flame, which could only represent how horny he was and how much he needed to make you his. His face had a strong blush, minimal drops of sweat sliding down his temple due to the cold of the season.

The state of him alone made you think how cute he was.

“Do what? This?” you directed your lips to welcome him into the heat of your cavity and then slid your tongue again and repeatedly, making his breathing heavier and drawing more moans out of him.

“I'm gonna cum, a-ah fuck. Take it all like a good girl.

You watched as he squeezed his other hand, which rested at your side, his knuckles were painted a pretty white, just like your face at that moment.

A strip of cum hit the roof of your mouth, scaring you due to your lack of concentration. You quickly pulled it out to swallow your boyfriend's white essence, you thought that was it since you had swallowed too much, like a shot of juice, but no. You were impressed when Wooyoung's long strips of cum also reached your cheek, lips, and the glasses’ glass making you gasp in astonishment. Your boyfriend was able to speak when he finally came down his high.

“Love... You look so beautiful with... With my cum on your glasses.”

Something ignited inside you. Your cunt was already dripping non-stop, and you needed even more contact with Wooyoung. So you straightened up, remaining on your knees in front of him, two steps were enough for you to bring your intimacy closer to his flaccid cock.

Wooyoung watched you expectantly, thinking you would rub against him, but was surprised when you grabbed his cock and lined it up against your dripping cunt.

“W-wait, I'm still a little sensitive- ng-ahh!”

You finally sat on him, joining you into one. Several moans and pleas slipped past Wooyoung’s lips, and you decided to seal his prayers with your sweet lips.

“D-darling, you're... so tight. It's too much, hah.” his breathing getting heavier and heavier.

“Do you want me to stop, sweetheart?”

“Don’t you even think about it.”

You laughed at his quick response as if you had pressed a button and an automatic voice responded. His fingers were nailed to your hip, trying to restrain himself and not lose his sanity.

You rode his cock as your life depended on it, you felt him scrape against your walls. Eventually his tip touching your cervix, drawing a loud moan from you as you increased the speed of your jumps.

“Is that the spot, baby?”

“Oh yeah, shit. You're so deep, Woo. Ngh.”

His mischievous hand left your left hip to grab the back of your neck and unite you tightly in a kiss, his tongue and yours dancing again.

Meanwhile, his right hand also released your hip to go to your clit and rub it, your cunt squeezing deliciously his member consequently. Both moaning in the middle of the kiss.

“Don't touch there, ngh Woo— ahhh!” you screamed, finally cumming. Seconds later, he did the same, this time gripping harshly onto your hip.

After a few minutes of rest, he held you as if you were a plastic bag and settled the both of you into the bed. Now you were lying face to face against him, his strong arms wrapping your anatomy once again.

He reached for the sheet that covered you before to throw it over the two of you, and you were warmly tucked in.

You sighed before settling down and laying your head on his chest, while he stroked your hair. You were about to close your eyes when your partner moved in place.

“Love. You're still inside.” you punctuated, Wooyoung didn't seem surprised, in fact, it seemed as if you had caught him.

“Aw, can't I stay inside? You feel so warm and so... good.” he murmured, his ears and cheeks blushing slightly. A sigh left your lips.

“Hah, okay. But tomorrow we’ll take a bath. Now we shouldn't feel it because of the cold, but we're probably disgusting.

“As my princess desires.”

A giggle slipped through your red, swollen lips, finally resting your head against his chest, close your eyes, and fall into an abysmal sleep.

“One day I’ll put a ring on that precious finger of yours.” you managed to hear before falling asleep.

Due to tiredness, you only managed to mumbled a dull “hmm”, kiss his chest and let out a small, cute giggle.

“Looking forward to it, love.” you continued, “I love you.”

| masterlist

[aredeemantagonist]

[OPENING FILE………]

Hiya!! I'm… well I go by a lot of names!!

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I fall under a bunch of alterhuman identies, here are some listed below!!

Fictionkin types: [ID + Permashift] Laughing Jack from Creepypasta [ID + Permashift] Michael Afton (Teen, Pre-Scoop, Post-Scoop etc etc) from Five Nights at Freddy's franchise [ID + Permashift] Serial Designation N from Murder Drones [ID + Permashift] Nikolai Gogol from Bungo Stray Dogs [ID + Permashift] Atsushi Nakajima from Bungo Stray Dogs [ID + Permashift] Chuuya Nakahara from Bungo Stray Dogs [ID + Permashift] Lacey from Laceygames [ID] Foxy from Five Nights at Freddy's franchise [ID] Gregory from FNAF: Security Breach [ID] Foxy from Five Nights at Freddy's franchise [ID] Gregory from FNAF: Security Breach [ID] The Crying Child/Chris Afton from Five Nights at Freddy's franchise [ID] Kaito from Vocaloid [ID] Johnny from Life Eater [ID] Mike Schmidt from the FNAF Movie

Chara from Undertale Sherlock Holmes from the BBC Series Sherlock Bram Stoker from BSD Fyodor Dostoevsky from BSD (An AU where he joined the Agency) Bloody Painter from Creepypasta Eyeless Jack from Creepypasta King Dice from Cuphead Mugman from Cuphead [ID] The Crying Child/Chris Afton from Five Nights at Freddy's franchise [ID + Permashift] Michael Afton (Teen, Pre-Scoop, Post-Scoop etc etc) from Five Nights at Freddy's franchise Kajii Motojirō from BSD Jax from The Amazing Digital Circus Lucy Carlyle from Lockwood and Co. Fukase from Vocaloid Serial Designation V from Murder Drones Vaggie from Hazbin Hotel Nico Di Angelo from PJO Sayori from Doki Doki Literature Club Pomni from The Amazing Digital Circus Officer Vanessa from FNAF Security Breach Henry Stein from BATDR/BATIM Alice Angel from BATIM Boris the Wolf from BATIM The Joker from DC Comics Harley Quinn from DC Comics The Mad Hatter from DC Comics Pennywise from IT Chapter 1 and 2 Sigma from Bungo Stray Dogs Wooly the Sheep from Amanda the Adventurer Flowerfell Frisk from Flowerfell Baymax from Big Hero Six Girlfriend from Friday Night Funkin All Nightguards from FNAF

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[fayes-fics]

And One For Luck

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Benedict introduces his wife to birthday spankings

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, dom/sub tones, mild exhibitionism, spanking, dirty talk, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex.

Word Count: 2.8k

Authors Note: Unbetaed. This is a very belated birthday gift for my wonderful mutual (and talented fic writer) @queen-of-the-misfit-toys, who requested Benedict + birthday spanking. I'm sorry I'm so slow with writing lately, my dear, but I hope you enjoy this enough to compensate. <3

“Happy birthday!!” all your friends raise a toast around your dinner table, and you drink the dregs of your wine down with gusto. Three glasses in, the word seems warm and fuzzy around the edges.

“Hello, handsome,” you slur slightly as your husband slides into the seat next to you.

“Hello, darling, that might be enough wine,” Benedict suggests gently, taking your glass and putting it back on the table as you pout. “I need you complis mentis for your last gift in a short while,” he whispers, leaning in.

“Do I not get but one hint?” your pout growing larger. 

You have certainly enjoyed all the other wonderful little gifts he has given you today, from the physical (lovely jewellery, the dress you wear) to the social (this surprise dinner party).

“Alright. It’s a tradition I heard about from our fine American cousins; I think you’ll enjoy it. And that’s all you get for now, wife,” he winks and slips away again to play party host. 

—

You sway a little as you bid the last of your friends goodbye in the hallway. As your valet closes the front door and scurries away with a quick bow, you turn to your husband.

“Thank you for my party, Benedict,” you smile, still a little tipsy; the wine has you feeling louche and a little aroused at the sight of him in his handsome navy velvet jacket and gold cravat. He looks like a present himself, wrapped up in delicious layers you want to peel away to get to the lovely gifts underneath.

“You are welcome,” he smiles, kissing your temple. Then there is a change in his voice; it’s darker, smoother. “Now, are you ready for your final gift of the day?”

“Yes, please,” you murmur back, suddenly a little breathless at the bedroom tone he has employed.

“How daring are you feeling, my love?” he checks as warm fingers trace patterns on the skin of your back, right above where your dress line is.

“Very,” you answer honestly, already feeling a heated ache for him between your legs. It still amazes you that only a few words from him can do this to you.

“Pull up your dress.” It’s an order.

Everything inside you screams yes and please.

“Here?!” you hiss, faking displeasure, playing up as a surge of want gallops through your body.

“Did that sound like a suggestion?” he raises an achingly seductive eyebrow. You scramble to obey, gathering your dress up over your arms. Rather conveniently, you find there are loops hidden under the hemline. “Another gift,” he smirks as you feed your hand through, recalling this is the dress he had specially made for you tonight. No wonder he also asked you to forgo your chemise. He has planned it all. You just love it when he does this. 

“Hold on here,” he instructs, taking your hands and guiding them onto the thick balustrade at the base of your staircase. You grip the smooth polished wood and shoot a desirous look at him over your shoulder. He smiles predatory, and a hand lands on your bottom, warm through the thin luxurious but thin layer of your silk underwear.

“Tell me, darling wife, have you heard of birthday spankings?” his voice smokey and dark.

You clench reflexively at the word, butterflies fluttering, your breath catching.

“No husband,” you demure, flexing instinctively against his hand, “please tell me more.”

“Those in the Americas believe it brings luck to the birthday person. You get a light spank on the buttocks for each year you have been alive,” he intones, his breath hot on your cheek as his long fingers swirl patterns into the silk, and he adds, “And an extra one for luck.”

“Are you really going to spank me twenty-seven times?” you gasp, unable to stop rubbing your thighs together with glee.

“No, wife,” he corrects, his lips sliding down to your neck to suck on the cord of your neck. “I'm going to spank you twenty-eight times. Unless you do not want any luck?”

“I want it,” you rush out, and he chuckles warmly at the speed of your response.

Then his hand raises from your bottom, and you miss its warmth, but only briefly, as he slaps it back down, a light tap on the silk. You moan quietly, the sensation not enough but spiking your arousal.

“Count for me, darling,” he requests, right in your ear.

“One,” you stutter.

“Well done,” he rumbles approvingly, and the praise causes all of your body to bloom. You will do anything when he speaks as such.

He does the same to your other buttock, just a very light, gentle tap of his fingers.

“Two,” you count dutifully, twisting to look at him again, but he stops you.

“No, face forward,” he commands with a warm chuckle, pressing your head gently so it hangs between your shoulders where you cling to the wood.

He manhandles your hips so you are shuffled backwards, more bent over, before there is another spank. This one is more intense, back to the original cheek, and you exhale slightly at the feeling, knowing he is just warming you up.

“Three.”

He makes an approving noise at the back of his throat as he pulls back the same hand and spanks right on top of where he just had, taking you by surprise; you had expected him to go to your other cheek.

“Four.” 

“I have to keep you on your toes, do I not?” his voice laced with amusement as he intuits your thoughts.

You sigh your approval as he traces his fingertips gently over the sting. You rub your thighs together, seeking friction for the throb growing between your legs.

Rapidly, he glances a blow on your other cheek, a bit more insistent now.

“Five,” you exhale obediently, hanging your head and wanting him to strip off your last layer of silk underwear to touch your bare skin. “More” escapes your lips unbidden.

He huffs a laugh bemused and leans over your back. “More of what, darling wife?” he teases, his breath hot on your cheek.

“I want your hands on my skin,” you rush out, blushing.

He chuckles again and spanks the other cheek, his fingers lingering.

“Six.”

“If you are very well-behaved for me, perhaps I will,” he dangles the promise softly, and you groan almost in frustration.

He reigns four quick successive blows onto either cheek, the cool silk almost soothing against your button as it becomes more heated.

“Seven, eight, nine, ten,” you reply, biting your lip and looking over your shoulder at him. He flicks his head fractionally with a pointed eyebrow, telling you without telling you to look away again. “I want to look at you, husband,” you grouse a little, pushing back into his grip spanning your cheek.

“I’ll stop if you keep looking at me,” he warns in a playful tone.

“Fine,” you grouse and look away,

He laughs at your faux indignation and, as he does so, spanks both checks at the same time.

“Eleven, twelve.”

“Good girl,” he purrs, knowing the effect it has on you, your skin pebbling in goosebumps and a frisson running down your spine at the low, honeyed tone he uses.

Another two blows have you blowing out a puff of air, getting closer to the strength that leaves his mark over your skin for a short while.

“Thirteen, fourteen.”

But you can’t help but smile as his left hand spiders to your hip, to the little row of tiny buttons there holding on your silk underwear. He deftly plucks them open as you breathe shallow, excited, pushing back towards his body. With a push from the hand still resting on your cheek, the material flutters to the ground, and you step out of them as his large hands slide to encircle both cheeks, fingers splayed wide.

“Your skin is blooming under my attention, darling,” sounding proud of his handiwork thus far. “But I won't be satisfied until I can see handprints, so hold on because it's time for the real spanking to behind now, my love.:

You can scarcely believe this is happening; your dress hitched over your back, bottom half now utterly bare, hanging onto the staircase in your hallway, sconces blazing, and the glass window to the street unobscured by its velvet drape. Should anyone walk by at a certain angle, they would surely see you if they happened to glance in; it feels by design. 

“Anyone could see us, Benedict,” you point out, nodding to the window off to the side.

“Do not pretend as if that does not make you want this even more, darling wife,” he rumbles, leaning over your back so his lips brush your ear.

He’s right. Your husband has an exhibitionist streak that makes you crave him. He wants the world to know you are his, and if they want to watch as he takes control of you, he will let them. And god, you will let him do it too. 

“Let them look at this, your beautiful bottom and…” you gasp as two of his finger trail down between your legs and glance your folds “.. this luscious wet cunt, weeping just for me.” 

You whimper as the words fall from his lips, so scandalous but said with such a lyrical cadence; they are elegant like poetry. Your cries get louder as he pushes one long elegant finger into your body, as the other hand spanks hard upon your naked flesh.

“I…I have forgotten my number,” you hurriedly confession over a moan as Benedict slowly rocks that finger into and out of your body, your clit throbbing, desperate for his touch.

“What a pity; we were halfway there….” he sighs, giving you a hint, his fingers going still.

“Fifteen!” you announce triumphantly at your quick calculation, and he makes an approving noise of your depiction and thrusts deeper into your cunt adding a second finger.

“Well done,” he chimes as you moan his name and start to rock back into his movements; the squelching sound of your body as he finger fucks you seems so loud in the echoey hallway.

“I love that sound,” he comments as if he knows where your thoughts have run before reigning another spank onto your cheek, hanging onto the fleshy spot he had hit, his fingers flexing as you cry out. “And that one, too,” he adds smugly; you know, without looking, he is wearing that handsome smirk of his.

“Sixteen,” you count.

“So, so good for me,” he praises, removing his fingers from inside you and painting a wet trail of your arousal across your heated bum cheek. He spanks with that damp hand, the moisture somehow adding a sharp edge to the ache. You squeal faintly as he huffs a laugh, swirling a pattern of juices over your flesh.

You whine at the loss of his fingers inside you, praying he will slide the other hand between your legs to soothe the entirely different sort of ache there. But he does not. He just spanks again with each hand slightly cupped, the noise so loud and the impact so great your whole body jerks.

“Urghhh… seventeen, eighteen,” you sigh, then clear your throat. “Please, may I have your fingers again?” your ask, meek, keeping your head down.

There is another loud spank that makes you exhale heavily.

“Nineteen.”

“What was that darling?” he teases, playing the fool. You know he heard you; there is nary another sound in the house; he just wants you to say it loud, to beg for him.

“I would like your fingers inside me again, please, husband,” you pronounce crisply, pulling your head up and staring at the wall ahead of you, not turning around as he asked.

“Oh, good girl,” the hand that was not inside you reaching to stroke your face affectionately. “You did not so much as turn your head; you deserve a birthday treat indeed,” he hums as you push your cheek into his palm, rubbing like a cat. Until he withdraws the hand, and you inhale sharply as you hear the unbuttoning of his trousers. 

Yes, yes, oh god, yes, even better, your mind screams as your cunt clenches, so very keen for him.

You can practically hear the smile as he notices the quiver of excitement in your legs and runs a thumb slowly up the back of your thigh before grabbing his cock and lining up. You are babbling soft pleas under your breath as he teases you, running his tip over your sensitive, swollen nub and chuckling at your frustrated snuffle.

Fingernails gouging into the wooden post you grip, your throat releasing a feral sound as he pushes into you abruptly, plumbing deep, your soaked channel providing no resistance to his deep thrust, pulling him into your hilt with a ripple of excitement. He groans and utters how wondrous you feel, tight around his cock. Just as you want to ask him to move, a hand spanks hard on your left buttock, and you cry out, almost having forgotten.

“Twenty!” you cry out, fingers flexing, legs stiffening, pushed so close to orgasm merely by him fucking into you with one stroke.

“Push back onto me, darling,” he tutors glibly, a hand wrapping around the crest of your hipbone to encourage your movement.

You do as told, bending your arms to pull away and straightening them to push back so he sinks to the hilt. The invasion makes your eyes roll, makes you begin a greedy rhythm, chasing what you want as he clucks affirmative noises. The hand releases your hip, and you know what is coming; he spanks just as you push back onto his cock, your own motion making the blow that much more impactful.

“Twenty-one.”

It's a frenzy of movement as you start to fuck yourself onto him in earnest, and he rewards you every few strokes with a spank on your bottom, your skin glowing hot as your clit throbs for attention. You wish you weren't still in your dress, your stays pinching your ribs and breasts as your lungs inflate with ragged pulls; the material around your bicep pinching skin as you pump your arms for leverage, fucking back onto him.

“May I touch myself?” you pant after you have obediently counted the twenty-fifth blow.

When he gives permission, your hand slides between your folds instantly, snagging that swollen pearl and groaning loudly at the firework it fires inside you. You speed up, he growls, the grip on your bottom harsh after the next spank; he's going so hard now your body jolts with every hit.

“Twenty-six!” your call is urgent, breathless, needy, knowing it just spurs him on, wanting to push you to the edge and pull you over with him.

“Come on, birthday girl,” he implores, “just two more,” you can tell from the tone he won't last much longer either, both of you overwrought from the explosive passion. 

You know the last two will be harsh; you are holding your breath as his right hand blows so hard you scream, the elixir of the harsh strike on your glowing skin melding with the pleasure of his cock pushing you open as your fingers scrabble over your clit. 

“Twenty-seven!!” 

He leans over your back, still mostly dressed himself, and you know you are both sweaty now with the exertion, feeling his sticky forehead rest on the nape of your neck, below where your hair is pinned up but rapidly loosening with the jerking motions you make together. He is gusting breaths and starts to meet your thrusts, the press of his pelvis heavy against yours.

“Here comes your good luck, darling,” he grunts, pulling his head up to teeth the skin at the hairline of your neck.

The last blow is both hands at once on the outer edges of your cheeks where they meet your thighs—the sting on this new, delicate spot almost blinds you.

“Twenty-eight!!” you howl; your body is breaking, the sensation all too much. Your bottom smarting, raw, your cunt convulsing vice-like on his cock as something inside you snaps and your whole body shudders and shakes, blood rushing in your eardrums, mouth slack and screaming. He has to grasp your hips as your body goes limp, and with a final shout, you feel his fingers curl around and dig into your belly as he stills and empties his seed deep inside you, winded, the veins in his neck pulsing as he comes so hard you almost lose your footing.

For a few moments, it's just laboured breathing, him pulling you upright as his cock softens and slips from your body, curling you into a tight embrace from behind you. Dress hem still looped around your wrists, you turn around and twine your arms around his neck, pulling him down for an artless but satisfying kiss.

“Thank you for the best birthday present ever,” you murmur. Benedict smiles almost bashfully now that playtime is over. Delicately he picks you up into his arms and carries you up the staircase to bed.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @Mlovesbridgerton @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @jeanfreau

[absolutebl]

Favorite first kiss?

Favorite First Kisses!

Doozie of a question. Here we go...

1 Until We Meet Again

I mean COME on. How could this not be the #1 best first kiss? It's so gentle and so good and so hot and just... EVERYTHING a first kiss should be in life. A++ romantic

2 Old Fashion Cupcake

THE LONG SHOT. The desperation. The finger bite. The oozing THIRST. A++ quality desire incarnate

3 Why R U? Korea

Korea, scooping in a top spot? It's just the body language, the striding in, dropping the backpack, the surprised MUTUAL response (no flinching), and all the yearning. A++ want

(Foreshadow: This may... or may not... be my top kiss of 2023.)

4 Bad Buddy

Seriously boys, BOYS! You had to make it so beautiful and so painfully heartbreaking at the same time? Thanks for that. A++ pain

(They may have a light kiss before this one, I can't remember. I keep meaning to do a BB rewatch but I have to gear up for it.)

5 Semantic Error

I mean, well, OBVIOUSLY. Just A++ they perfect, no notes

6 Second Chance

I am pretty sure this one got best kiss of 2021. All you KinnPorche stans are sleeping on this little gem = Tong delivering what amounts to BLs best drunk kiss ever. FIGHT ME. A++ confused needy babies

7 About Youth

Speaking of sweet af first kisses from first timers. This one drips in sweet innocence including a rainbow and some smiles. A++ first sweethearts

8 HIStory 2 Crossing the Line

Okay the actors kiss for a dream sequence before this but this is the characters' first kiss, so that kinda counts, right? It's just such a pretty kiss. A++ stay on target, stay on theme, utterly unique

9 My Dear Gangster Oppa

Ya know this show is just so much fun and so solid and this pair deserves more accolades then their previous series afforded them. A++ finally, well done you

10 I Feel You Linger in the Air

Okay it's just all the dialogue and execution around this kiss is great and then the kiss ALSO doesn't disappoint. Plus permission and snark and so much more. A+++ class & storytelling

Also, whaan (sweet) is a really good word to have seared into one's brain in Thailand. Useful when ordering drinks.

Okay they kinda kissed before but this is the one that counts:

I didn't know how else to put this category but I had to include it so I could include this kiss:

We Best Love

The crying bridge-top kiss. I mean COME ON. One of my favorite kisses of all time. I love it when the weep+smooch.

La Pluie

Honestly? All their kisses are good so I can't remember if this was their first but, it great. Frankly, off all their kisses it's not my absolute favorite, but they deserve a mention because... wow boys. Just... wow.

The Eclipse

Because of their dynamic I am pretty sure there was something before this one, but this one lives in my head.

Be Loved In House I Do

I'm not sure this counts as their first because I can't remember the sequence in BLIHID (he through line is a bit wonky in my brain) but it is a killer kiss.

There should be more Taiwan but...

The thing is, once a Taiwanese BL starts delivering great kisses they just keep it up. So unless the narrative puts particularly strong plot intent on the "firstness" of that first kiss, they just get all sexy domestic muddled in my head.

Honor the Crumbs - Sides & Shorts, Best First Kisses

Some More

"You can kiss me, heong."

2 Moons 2 - MingKit

It's just such a sweetly perfect first kiss of the very first time variety. Before About Youth, we had these two.

Cutie Pie - NueaSin

Kissing the kiss that won them their own series. No other audition needed. In the land of amazing kisses, and up against Zee, this ONE stood way out. Very good boys. Very good indeed.

kiss x kiss x kiss - perfect scandal (AKA the office ep)

Look, this is the kiss we should have gotten in Cherry Magic. It's great, both the hesitant "permission given" first part and everything that comes next. Track this down if you can, it's a lovely little short from Japan.

My Secret Love - TimMai

Very minor side dishes but they were all I cared about in this show. They gave me the kiss I wanted even if they didn't get the screen time the deserved.

You're My Sky - SanAi

We all know they stole this show, not that there was much to steal.

Kiss Me Again - PeteKao

Maybe not the best as a kiss, but it was 2016 and this was SO SIGNIFICANT to the fandom, to the plot of the show, to coming out, to EVERYTHING. This is THE TayNew kiss. I will never forget it. Never.

I don't have a good screen cap but MarkOuwen's kiss in the taxi in Love is Science? was also fantastic.

(source)

Kisses as of Dec 2023. Not responsible for great first kisses that come after this date.

Opinion and preferences based on these ideas of good kiss chemistry.

I want you thoughts, RT and add your favorites or leave a comment. I'm sure I'm forgetting some.

MORE?