THIS THIS THISSSS

THIS THIS THISSSS

it was so beautiful

thinking about falling in love with your older brother’s best friend, ino takuma - who’s got a bear-themed mug and toothbrush stationed at your place for how often he’s over. 

hey, he’s practically part of the family by now - always along on day trips and, more often than not, your annual vacations. he’s just always been part of your life, a constant.

you’d be eight years old and sitting on the back porch after school, legs swinging over the edge as the icy pole he gave you leaves sticky trails down your bare arms. he’ll ask you what you learned in school today. you turn to him to answer and the summer sun blinds your eyes; he shifts to the right so his shadow falls over you instead. you’re struggling with your multiplication tables; you can’t seem to get the hang of it, and you asked your brother but he said he was busy, and you have a test on wednesday and you’re going to fail, you’re sure of it. but then he ruffles your hair, smiling, and asks what exactly you need help in, because he’s sure he can sort you out. of course he can; at two entire years older than you, takuma knows everything.

you’ve known this ever since you were young - ever since you were four or five and met takuma for the first time. it’s one of your earliest memories; you wandered downstairs to find him and your brother playing mario kart in the lounge, still in their school uniforms, crosslegged in front of the television. you’d wanted to play; your brother had refused to teach you how, with all the cruelty of a first grader. as you stood there, wailing, his friend had crouched down in front of you and wiped the tears from your eyes. 

“don’t cry; i’ll teach you.” he's so smart. then, to make you smile - “your brother doesn’t actually know how to play. that’s why he’s scared of teaching you.”

“am not!” your brother had retorted furiously.

“i’ve beaten you three times in a row!” takuma had shot back with glee. “c’mon, move, it’s your sister’s turn now. who do you want to play as?”

“daisy!”

he’d claimed the switchup from tears to sudden passion had earned you that as a nickname; ‘daisy’, often edited to an affectionate ‘crazy daisy’, or sometimes ‘daisy-head mayzie’ after your brief obsession with the book.

takuma would always say hi to you when you saw each other at school, even if your brother pointedly looked in the other direction. if he had time he’d stop and ask how your day was going, more often than not with a head pat or hair ruffle that you valiantly tried to escape - “stop it, ‘kuma, you’re ruining my look.” once, when you were ten, he’d given you a fistbump as he passed you in the hallway.

“who’s that?” your friend had gasped with wide eyes. “you’re on fist-bump terms with a high schooler?”

“he’s not in high school otherwise he wouldn’t be here,” you’d corrected.

“he’s cute.”

you’d frowned. “he’s just takuma.”

you’d never thought about him like that before. you’d mostly brushed her aside, but at twelve your friend’s comment resurfaced as you saw takuma waiting for you outside your classroom after school, skateboard tucked under his arm, hair messy.

he’s cute.

takuma, now fourteen, was in a high school ten minutes away - but those meagre ten minutes created a disproportionate distance between you. not only did you not see him around school anymore, but he didn’t come over as often. when he did, he was usually doing homework with your brother or playing video games in his room. sure, he’d always have a smile for you, but it wasn’t enough.

“what are you doing here?” you’d asked him. “where’s my brother?”

“i’m walking you home instead. he had a couple free periods and decided to ditch.”

you didn’t have much to say to each other, but the silence wasn’t awkward. at the top of your street you’d asked him if you could have a go on his skateboard. he’d clipped his helmet over your head - never mind that it slipped over your eyes - and crouched down to tie on the knee pads as tight as they’d go.

“hold on,” he told you over his shoulder, and you wrapped your arms even tighter around his waist as you sped downhill, the two of you whooping all the way. you’d gotten in massive trouble with your parents after, but the secret smile takuma had flashed at you as his mother led him away by the ear was worth it. you blamed the swooping in your stomach as an aftermath of your wild hurtling down the hill.

so-called ‘best friends’ spreading rumours about you behind your back? getting your heart broken at fourteen by a popular guy in your english class? being called a sl-t in front of half the year level by aforementioned popular guy? takuma was always there, consoling you as you cried behind the sports oval, tag-teaming with your brother to give that boy a bloody nose. they’d gotten suspended, but he assured you it was worth it, he’d wanted a day off anyway, and that sleaze had deserved much worse.

you realised you were in love with him at sixteen as you’d gone for a walk down your street in golden hour, taking a break from studying for your upcoming finals, earphones in. he’d been shooting hoops in his front yard - less than a block away from yours - like he was blowing off steam.

“you okay?” you pulled out an earphone and leaned over the fence, resting on your forearms.

he’d glanced up. “hi, dais'. yeah. i’m good.”

he lined up another shot; missed. you leaped lightly over the fence, padding over to him.

“really?”

“...not really, actually.”

“what’s up?”

he shrugged. “just stressed. exams, uni applications, all that jazz.”

“oh yeah.” you’d been trying to forget. in a few short months he’d be leaving you behind, entering an entirely new world. how long would it take him to forget about you?

he’d shot a couple more hoops, then flopped down against the garage and took a drink from his plastic bottle, waving a lazy hand towards you. you accepted his invitation and sat down next to him, legs stretching out in front of you. 

“what’re you listening to?” he said after a minute, and you gave him one of your earphones, hands brushing in the exchange. 

the wire trailed between you, a tenuous connection. his head was tilted up, resting against the wall, eyes closed. a few locks of hair were stuck to the back of his neck; a droplet of sweat trailed down his throat and disappeared under his shirt. his skin glowed in the golden light, and you realised you could stay like this forever.

but you couldn’t. because things were changing too fast. you, him; the world around you. time was catching up to you. you were scared you would fade away in its vicious tides.

“do you have to go to uni?” you’d broken the silence after ten, maybe fifteen minutes. a light breeze had picked up; the sky was darkening.

“as opposed to what?” he’d said dryly.

you shrugged. “i dunno.”

more silence.

“i’ll miss you.”

he wasn’t looking at you, but his face was slightly pink, or maybe you were imagining things in the dimming light. 

“yeah. me too,” you’d said. you pretended it meant more than what it was; you pretended it was an admission of love.

later, you’d know it was.

later. later. now.

he is twenty-one and you are nineteen and his arms are tight around you, and you’ve abandoned movie night in your dorm room for something more.

“i missed you,” he says into the curve of your neck and shoulder, and kisses his way up to your jaw. “don’t go again.”

“you’re the one who left,” you say, but he covers your mouth with his hand before you can finish talking.

“don’t be silly. i’m right here.” he gives you a teasingly warning look with his eyes, don’t talk, before slowly removing his hand. 

you roll your eyes at him, but when he kisses you, you’re kissing him back.

finished writing this n realised i was late to my first counselling appt but the ppl must be fed!! (i announce to all 5 of the takuma nation)

yuji, who would be a knight, and a great one at that, who would do anything for his princess.

IM ON LIKE S3 PART 2 STILL, I FEAR MY HEARTS GONNA BREAK COZ IM ON THE SHIGANSHINA ARC :(

if any anime guy could become real and you’d risk it all, who would it be?

i’ll go first 🫶🏽

TY FOR THE TAG, MLLLL <333!!!

This is where i regret not posting my more serious fics rather than js stupid shi, but I'm very proud of a royal au! Yuji fic Im currently in the process of writing and/or, an alternate universe Jekyll & Hyde fic I wrote (dysfunctional family style) for school.

I need to start posting my serious works more often tbh

fic writers in the tags tell me the fic you're most proud of writing. any fandom, ship, no ship, any length etc. whatever work makes you go "oh i wrote this" and elaborate why if you want

Why are you lwk onto something?...

what is it about being covered in blood that makes fictional men hotter. is it appealing to our ancestral roots where they'd come back from hunting covered in glistening sweat and wiping dripping blood out of their eyes with a whole ass deer over their shoulder i dunno

your fics are what meth is to a crackhead

this was so omg and ughhhh

again and again (and again and again) ༺ choso kamo

wc : 1.2K content : soulmate au, reincarnation trope, victorian era, vampire au. no use of y/n. fluff. angst. ↬ masterlist (jjk)

·:¨༺ he would recognise you in any universe.

“death’s kiss,” he murmurs.

it makes sense. he is sure you are an angel.

i do not…

the cool edge of the blade rests along his throat. the slightest pressure would spill him open. but there is already a fissure threaded through the centre of his soul. he has spent his entire life coated in a thin layer of ice and the passage of a hundred mindless years have drilled into him needle fractures, powdered glass. hunched over his gaping wounds, alone throughout the ceaseless turnings of the earth.

i do not bleed.

“be silent,” you hiss. there is hard fury in your eyes. unlike him, you will not shatter. “your honeyed words will not sway me from my task. i swear to you i will see it through. you may have deceived countless before me, but not i. your refusal to devour in the ways of your kind means nothing to me. i see through the weakness of your facade; i name you for what you are - i know you.” 

i do not bleed as men do.

“you mistake me. with you, i would wear no facade. and my words have no more sway over you than that of any mortal; that is entirely on your part.”

“liar.” 

but as for my love.

your sword digs deeper, inking a line of sluggish dark red along the pale expanse of his neck. the metal burns against his skin. it holds no candle to the burning in your eyes. the soft popping and crackling of the fireplace, the light acclamation of the rain on his windows, the scent of burning parchment; the world has receded.

i swear to you i would love you anywhere, would know you by the shape of the world as it reflects in your eyes. i would race the creeping shadows to your sunset. i would find you at the end of the world. i would tear down the sky to cloak your warmth in the indigo night. i would form you again from the dying light of the stars. i would rage against the entropy of the universe.

“monster,” you breathe. “you do not even bleed as men do. death is a mercy.”

“as a man. as a man. i do not bleed as men do, and i am not a man. but i love as they do, and even more than that, and yet—”

“do not speak to me of love,” you spit.

“why? what do you fear?”

“you know nothing of it.”

his eyes search yours. honey brown. heavy. grieved. “i have lived long enough to see the death of stars. waiting. and do you know what for?”

“devil’s spawn - i care not…”

but your hand trembles, betraying you, etching jagged lines deeper into his bared throat - yet he does not flinch.

“for you,” he breathes. “for you to wake up weeping from a dream you cannot remember, with the tears long-dried on your skin in such a way you thought you’d crack in two. chasing a warmth akin to sunlight, like a memory long-forgotten. hands that frame you, that cherish the shape of your soul, that hold you together, and a murmured vow, for we fall apart but we are all the pieces.”

his breath fans across your face. you cannot remember closing the space between you. perhaps there never was a distance at all. there has always been something drawing you to him. bloodlust, you had thought. vengeance. passion. your life has never felt more complete than at this moment, with your blade to his neck. but the slightest brush of your knuckle against his skin is setting you alight. and it is not the imminence of his death that is rendering you whole.

this is not how it was meant to be.

“you feel it too, do you not? the familiarity…”

“i feel nothing,” you grate out. 

sweat beads on your forehead, drips off the tip of your nose. his hand slowly rises to cup your face. his thumb brushes dry the damp skin under your eyes. someone in you is weeping. pleading.

“if i were to die at your hand i would love you just the same, i swear it, but i fear what that knowledge may do to you. so lower the blade, my love, and do not doom yourself to any further grief. you would have killed me already had you wanted to do so. my love, you have done so well - so well in coming this far - and i am so, so sorry…”

his voice breaks. there is pain in his eyes, something raw and fresh and agonising. you cannot stand the sight, but it is not disgust that twists your heart.

“this time around has been the worst of all. i have been forced to live a thousand unwanted lifetimes, and none of them with you, and all of them with the burden of hope. never did i know whence you would come - from which era, in which form… and now you are here, before me, with a face i have traced, and a voice i have memorised, and a look in your eyes i know better than my own name. and you know me, too, as i know you.”

your vision is blurring; the blade slips harmlessly out of your loose grasp as you stumble into him. he catches you in favour of regaining his own balance, grip firm and strong and sure, and your palms are flat on the carpeted floor of his library on either side of his face and he stares up at you. his lips form your name—not what you are called in this world, but something deeper, truer—and you swear you have not heard it before but there is a crystal resonance all through you, like things falling into place.

“please,” he begs softly, weeping. “come back to me.”

and you see it, then, give in to the yearning of your heart and the aching of your soul, and ages come and pass before you—despairing hands reach for a gauzy veil, slips; water; a sweeping curve, a cloak; a cupped palm, a face; time, years, our place—moments, ages, intangible warmth; seconds, lifetimes, minutes, a soft caress of sunlight, and a whispered promise—you, i, that is to say, we, are infinity.

when the dizzying realisation fades, your face is pressed against the steady beating of his heart, fisting his shirt in sharp handfuls, exhaling in shuddering rasps.

“i know you,” you rasp, lifting your head to rest against his - and you name him, finally, name him for who he is. “choso. my love, my love, my love. i am so, so sorry—and to have kept you waiting for so long—”

“it’s not your fault,” he murmurs, smiling, even as tears stain his face and blood dries on his skin. “we have found each other, now, and we will find each other again, in every universe. i would wait a thousand lifetimes for a moment by your side.”

“i know.” 

there is grief, but beyond that, there is love, too. there is always love.

you kiss him, deeply, passionately, until your head spins. his arms come around you to hold you closer, to tangle in your hair, to cup your face. whenever you break for air you breathe his name into his skin, again, and again, and again, fearing to forget.

choso. my love. my life. my soulmate. choso, choso, choso.

not death’s kiss, but life’s.

somewhere, somehow, something has aligned.

— ; i js think there's smth tragic abt the reincarnation au. but each time, one person is doomed to remember.

i was gna make the reader kill him n then realise they're soulmates n kiss him as he takes his dying breath and swear to find him in their next life but. i fear i am not built for that level of angst