#RIG Roofing

[rigroofing]

Making sure your flat roof has the correct drainage solution is imperative to extending its lifespan.

Check the top drainage solutions for your flat roof on our blog. 👉 RIGroofing.com/blog/the-best-flat-roof-drainage-solutions

🟢 Pro Tip: Maintaining drains, scuppers, and gutters will help avoid costly damage.

[godisarepublican]

[gallusrostromegalus]

Mazel the "Husky mix" (the thing the husky was mixed with was a fucking wolf) did love to get herself up to high places so she could watch everything. Never got up on the cabinets or broke a vase though.

Because she'd get up on the roof.

[excelsior9173]

omfg my family

my grandpa has always been an “i’ll do it myself” kind of guy, there’s literally nothing he doesn’t know how to do at this point

he just dropped a few INSANE photos in the family group chat…. just about died using a grinder today because the disk broke and launched the machine at him 🤦‍♀️ shredded his shirt and yet somehow he is miraculously unscathed…

i am going to die of heart failure because of my family dear god

[dollyichi]

LOPPED EAR BUNNY . . . nagi seishiro x f ! reader. m—dni. 2.1k words ⋮ unprotected / pulling out / overstim but pretty vanilla / established relationship / not proofread just hit post!

after getting on all the rides you wanted to go on, you and nagi were walking hand in hand across the game booths. it took a little convincing for this date since it wasn’t necessarily both your thing, but you wanted to try something new.

you scanned the area. lots of families and couples on their dates playing the games and trying to win the prizes.

one booth already caught your eye. nagi always has his eyes on you, so he already knew what you wanted the moment you started to take slower steps and when you’ve gotten quiet.

“which one do you want?” nagi asks, looking at the rows of stuff toys in the carnival booth as he brought you both closer. there were a variety of toys, some are figurines, squishy toys, and plushies. hanged on the wall from smaller ones to the bigger ones.

the booth you were in has a simple ball toss game. you think it was probably rigged, knowing how this carnival was just a small one in your neighborhood. you think that the cups were actually glued together and on the table to prevent anyone from getting the big prize. squirting your eyes to see if there was any visible residue of glue.

too bad they underestimated your boyfriend who’d do anything to make that smile on your face bigger. “i think the bunny’s cute.” you point. he looks at it, then back at you.

“looks like you.” he says, “in a cute dress too.” and he immediately leaves your side to get a try.

“how do i win the bunny up there?” nagi says. they look at him with a smile before he goes closer, already feeling intimidated. you don’t blame them though, his head’s almost hitting the roof of the booth. “h-hi sir! that’s one of our big prizes! if you successfully knock down all three towers, we’ll let you claim it!”

he probably thinks it was rigged too.

“m’kay.” taking out his wallet to pay and the person manning the booth gives him three balls, then stands to the side. you stand back knowing nagi’s too strong without even trying too hard.

you counted in your head while he got ready. nagi’s got a tight grip on each one.

one, two, three!

each of nagi’s throws hit the cups with a bang. the booth manager’s eye twitches from the shock, visibly in a panic as he looks at each cup that has fallen on the concrete floor. you clap eagerly hugging him from the side while he claimed the plushie. it’s even bigger up close, the tips of its soft paws reaching your knees.

“thank you thank you! i love you!” he hands it over to you, leaning down with his cheek close to your face. you beamed, kissing his cheek and hugging the bunny close. “let’s get home.” you say with a sheepish smile, intertwining your hands while your arm carries the toy.

nagi smiles watching you and the bunny while its lopped ears bounced as you skipped beside him.

reaching your shared flat you immediately plop down on the bed, cuddling with the bunny he won for you. “hmph.” he says, closing the door. pushing you both to the side to get more space on the bed. “you like that bunny more than me now?” he says wrapping an arm around your waist. his chin is on your shoulder while draping his leg on yours, mimicking the way you were hugging the plushie.

you giggle, turning to him to plant a soft peck on his nose. “nuh-uh! i’m just really happy you got this for me. looked real hot doing it too.”

“yeah?” nagi says, kissing in the blade of your shoulder. “didn’t even try that hard.” he continues to leave kisses on you. moving further up each time. you flutter your eyes close, snuggling between him and the plushie.

you stay like that for a bit, sandwiched in between and you feel like you could fall asleep. the ac was so cold and the night was about to come. nagi peppering you with kisses and you figured he’s also getting sleepy.

well, you’re wrong.

nagi loves you with his whole heart but finds it hard to communicate. to him actions matter the most to let you understand. and so his mouth lingers, teasingly poking the tips of his tongue and licking you. you giggle at your boyfriend feeling ticklish.

you always end up bringing a lot of emotions to his plate that he can’t seem to handle. his love for you is always overflowing that he can’t control, and you always reciprocated perfectly when he showed you how he felt.

the strap of your dress falls down to the side. giving nagi more access to kiss you, more space to leave his marks. you whimper when you feel his hand tracing circles in your inner thigh. inching upwards and pressing on your clothed clit.

“s-sei…” he’s leaving small bites on you causing you to instinctively arch your back.

you look at him, letting go of the bunny to face him. nagi immediately sighs, tilting his head to the side. you’re so pretty to him. the pretty blush you put on is still there, your lashes fluttering that sent butterflies to his stomach. as if his body hand a mind of his own, focused on your lips, kissing you so suddenly with so much care.

it didn’t take long before it got messy. gasping in his mouth while he’s sucking on your bottom lip. his tongue moving against yours and suddenly you’re so weak you eyes flutter. he’s already bunching up your dress, sitting up slightly and you chased his lips. trying to continue the kiss that had strings of spit when he moves his head to kiss your deeper.

moving your hips so you could feel some type of friction from his thumb resting on your panties.

nagi pulls away so he could take off his shirt, wiping the mess on your lips. you didn’t know what he was thinking, grabbing the bunny and having you hug it. “don’t want this bunny covered in spit right?”

you rest your head on the plushie’s soft chest and wait for him.

nagi felt shivers down his spine at the visual alone. he couldn’t help but grin. you with teary eyes, lips puffy with your crumpled dress to top it off. “damn pretty.” he mumbles, moving your skirt up to remove your panties.

you could feel how sticky it was from how slow he removed it. “h-hahh so wet just from that?” he brings your panties closer to his face, and he’s already towering over you. letting you see the damp part on your cotton panties. you scrunch your nose, eyebrows crossed as you grow impatient. “don’t take too long…” you say, trying to reach for him with one hand.

you think it’s cute that nagi’s riled up. it wasn’t always like this but today was particularly a good day. he wanted to spoil you extra today for how cute you were. recalling how excited you were the other to invite him on this date. chirping about how it’d be a nice thing to try every once in a while.

he takes your wrist and places your hand on the back of his neck. he’s so big he’s towering over both you and the plush.

nagi’s lips are on yours again, pushing up the skirt of your dress. feeling his fingers slide along your folds. you gasp out when he starts palming your clit. swift circular motions as his fingers teased your hole. you’re so wet his fingertips are already itching to get in.

they enter swiftly, stretching you out and you’re pulling him closer. you’re gasping against his tongue—you knew you were close. “d-don’t want.” was what you managed to say. nagi’s fingers stills inside you.

“don’t want what?” his voice is so teasing, it only make you whine. but he already knew what you wanted. unbuttoning his jeans and sliding off along his boxers. cock springing out with his pretty pink tip already leaking with pre.

you bite your lip when he lines his cock along your entrance. dragging it along your cunt. “ready baby?”

he slowly enters, even just the tip was sending you over the edge. “hah… fuck…” nagi’s breathing heavily when he feels you clenching on him. “fucking tight.” he mutters.

“wait wait something’s- something’s-“ you’re pushing him away but you didn’t have the strength. “s-sei- i-i can’t! wait!” you’re a stuttering moaning mess the moment he bottoms out.

you’re so wet you could hear your cunt gushing around his cock. and you’re no longer sure what’s going on. nagi coos at you for a moment before moving. not too fast, not too slow. so consistent with his thrusts he’s fucking you through your orgasm so well.

you’re so sensitive it hurt so bad. everything felt hot. squirming and twitching under him when you’re feeling everything too much from your high.

“you love me that much that you came from me putting it in?” he takes your thighs and places them on his waist. fastening the pace. you’re practically squeezing the plushie, burying your face onto it while he fucked you.

you’re whining out his name and he couldn’t pay too much attention on what you’re trying to say. words always broken and cut off by your own moans, so unintelligible but he already knew how much you’re enjoying it from your pussy tightening on him.

you feel him getting harder inside you, twitching against your walls. that’s all because you’re so cute holding onto his gift just for you. taking his cock like such a good girl and repaying him for his ‘hard work.’

“hug her tightly for me baby.”

the room is filled with the sounds of your thighs hitting against each other and creams from the bed. every whine of yours is followed by his grunts. he’s on his knees, wrapping your legs around his waist. fucking you so good you started to reach for him with one of your hands.

he moves down to plant a kiss on your lips. your hand is on the back of neck, putting your foreheads together.

his eyes are on his cock fucking your pussy. with blurry eyes you look to where he was, seeing how you both connect is sending you over the edge again.

“one more for me, cum on me.” your moans build up—pitch getting higher and higher while you bucked your hips.

always so eager to let him fuck you, moves moving like you’re hopping just like a bunny.

you’re still cumming, calling him each time until you finally felt that sweet release. “bit more…” he says, chasing his own high before pulling out. jerking himself off and letting the strings of his cum fall on your tummy.

you lick your lips before clicking your tongue. one of your hands collecting his seed on your tummy before licking it off your finger tips. looking directly at him when you do.

nagi gulps, squinting his eyes with short heavy breaths. trying not to get hard again but he knew he’s already twitching just from seeing that.

got him already thinking of another round but he knew you were so tired from today. ended up deciding that you both needed a nap first.

you both pant, trying to catch your breaths. nagi plops to your side, the bed creaking slightly from the impact.

he wouldn’t rest just yet, “have to clean you up…” reaching for the tissues on the bed side table to wipe you up. making sure you weren’t sticky anymore.

you finally let go of the plush, setting it to the side and snuggled up to your boyfriend. but he stands up to grab the plushie, taking a double look to make sure it was all clean for you, and then places it on your chair. “sorry but i want you to myself now.” he says while puffing his cheeks. you give him a gummy smile, not having the energy to laugh.

he lays back down to cuddle you. and you’re planting kisses all over his face.

you didn’t even realize that you fell asleep. waking up and you’re still wrapped in his arms. he’s sleeping so soundly with only his boxers on. you chuckle when you hear him snoring softly.

you saw he changed your clothes for you to be more comfy. it made your heart skip a beat, melting further into his warmth.

“i love you seishiro.” you whisper, before drifting back to sleep. not knowing he was half-awake, and heard you. giving you a small kiss and bringing you closer. he chuckles to himself when he looks at your face, nose twitching in your sleep.

“like a bunny.”

do not copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost my works

note : i love him so much i want to fuck him while he’s in a rilakkuma hoodie

[galaxy-stardust]

Simon Ghost Riley x you

"Operation: Find Her"

Partly nsfw

Ghost woke with a hand already reaching across the bed.

Empty.

He sat up slowly, eyes adjusting to the dim light bleeding in through the blinds.

Quiet.

Too quiet.

No footsteps. No kettle boiling. No soft rustle of your voice humming down the hallway. Just silence - and a sealed envelope sitting dead center on the kitchen counter.

Black wax. A single word etched into the top in deep red ink:

“Simon.”

He picked it up, thumb brushing over the seal, breaking it with a quiet crack. Inside, your handwriting - unmistakable.

You’ve spent your life hunting shadows.

Today, one leads to me.

Solve the riddles, follow the path - I’m waiting at the end.

But I won’t be easy to catch.

Your Shadow in the Light.

He didn’t smile. But he stood straighter, blood humming low in his chest. Game on.

Clue One – The Blade’s Heart

The next note was short. Tucked in with one of his knives - the one you always said was “overkill for a kitchen drawer.”

“The edge of you cuts cleaner than any steel,

But where do you hide what you won’t reveal?”

He opened the small locked box in the hallway closet - your ‘forbidden drawer’ where you swore you never snooped. Inside, beneath spare gloves and training manuals, was another envelope.

He grunted. “You do snoop.”

Clue Two – The Words You Leave

This one led him to the bookshelf. One of his older novels - dog-eared by you, unfinished, but always kept close.

“You never finish what you steal,

But your fingerprints stay real.

Page 47 holds your truth.”

He flipped the pages. Inside, a photo. One he didn’t know you’d taken - him asleep on the couch, mask off, your legs across his lap. Peaceful. Raw. Intimate. Behind it, a note:

“Don’t get soft on me now. You’re close.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, fingers tightening just slightly.

Clue Three – The Weight of Us

Down in the training room, in the vest he rarely wore anymore, he found the last riddle, pressed against the inside of the Kevlar:

“You carry this weight without a sound.

But do you remember who lightened it?”

Next to the note was the matching dog tag. Yours. He stared at it longer than the others. No words. No shift. But it slid into his pocket like something sacred.

That’s when the final coordinates hit his phone. A message, untraceable unless he knew your habits:

“Come find me. Roof. Sunset. Armed - emotionally or otherwise.”

The Final Scene – Rooftop Dusk

He found you standing at the center of the roof, the horizon dipped in gold and violet. Strings of soft lanterns danced around you in the wind, anchored by whatever chaos you’d used to rig them.

The wind tugged at the hem of the shirt on you, lifting it just enough to tease him, to taunt him. But it wasn’t the sight of your bare legs, or the way the sunset caught the curve of your smile that undid him.

You were barefoot. Wearing his shirt.

It was that damn dog tag glinting against your chest.

Your dog tag.

The one you had already been wearing. The match to the one he now carried in his pocket like something sacred.

He stopped dead.

For a long moment, he just stared at you, his breathing rough in the growing twilight. His hand slid into his pocket almost without thinking, fingers closing around the tag you left for him.

Yours. Mine.

That’s what it meant. Without a single word spoken. Without a ceremony, without a crowd, without a need for anyone else to understand.

You already belonged to him.

And now - you were giving him permission to belong to you.

It battered against all his walls at once, tearing through the careful control he wore like armor.

His throat worked, trying to swallow the surge of emotion burning there. It was too much - too raw.

The lanterns flickered. The city noise fell away.

He took a step toward you, slow, deliberate. Then another. You didn’t move - you just watched him, your fingers idly toying with the tag at your chest, like you knew exactly what you were doing to him.

When he finally reached you, he didn't say a word. Didn't need to.

You didn’t move as he approached. Just held up the final note between two fingers.

He took it, eyes never leaving yours.

“You found me, Lieutenant. Now claim your prize.”

He let the note fall.

He grabbed the tag around your neck, wrapped the chain twice around his hand, and yanked you forward - gently but undeniably his.

His forehead crashed against yours, rough and desperate, as his free hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you in so tightly there was no space left between your bodies.

“I’ll take my prize now,” he said lowly. Voice wrecked with restraint.

His voice broke against your lips, a low rasp of pure feeling:

"Mine."

He kissed you like he was drowning, and you were the only air left in the world.

And when he finally pulled back, still holding the dog tag between his fingers, he pressed it hard against your chest like he was trying to brand it there, trying to memorize it under his skin.

"Never letting you go," he murmured, the words ragged and half a vow, half a surrender.

You smiled - soft, sure, wickedly proud - and whispered back:

"You never had to."

And when he kissed you again, there was no battlefield. No mask. No war.

Just you. Him. And the silent promise that he’d never stop hunting you, over and over again - even if he already had you.

But as his fingers trailed up your spine, as his lips hovered just above yours - he leaned close and murmured, rough and deliberate:

“You really thought I didn’t know?”

You froze. A heartbeat of silence.

“I found your first clue yesterday, love.” His voice dropped, gravel-soft. “Tucked it back exactly how you left it. Let you think I was chasing.”

You blinked, lips parted, breath catching. “Then why - ”

“Because watching you scheme, thinking you were outsmarting me?” He leaned in, brushing his nose against yours, that damn smirk hidden beneath the mask of his restraint. “Was the sexiest thing I’ve seen in my life.”

Your knees nearly gave out.

He caught you by the waist - firm, claiming, possessive.

“I followed every step. Watched the cameras. Knew each spot before I got there.” His voice darkened. “But I wanted to see what version of yourself you’d leave in each clue. And fuck, you didn’t disappoint.”

You whispered, “You cheated.”

“No,” he growled, pushing you back against the rooftop railing, one hand on your throat - not squeezing, just holding. Anchoring. “I hunted. Just differently than you expected.”

The dog tag around your neck clinked as he pulled you close again, foreheads pressed.

“I always find you,” he breathed. “But next time, sweetheart? You run. Properly. Make me work for it.”

You smiled through the ache blooming low in your stomach. “And what if I want to be caught?”

His eyes burned into yours.

“Then I’ll show you what happens when I don’t hold back.”

His mouth hits yours. Not soft. Not slow.

That mask of control he always wore - shattered in a breath. His hands were already on you, greedy and demanding, dragging your body flush against his like he couldn’t stand the inches that ever existed between you.

“You really made me do all that,” he rasped, teeth scraping your bottom lip, “just to get to this.”

“You said you knew - ”

“Doesn’t mean I didn’t feel every fucking second of it.” His voice broke low and harsh, like the thought of not finding you clawed at something deep in his chest. “You don’t know what that does to me. The waiting. The wanting.”

He lifted you, just like that, hands beneath your thighs, and pinned you against the rooftop door. The dog tag swung between you like a brand.

“You planned all this…” He pressed his forehead to yours. “So I’d come unglued, didn’t you?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. Your eyes gave you away - soft and dark, wide with the kind of trust only he ever got to see. You knew exactly what kind of animal he became when you let him off the leash.

And tonight, you wanted to be caught.

His fingers slipped beneath the hem of his shirt you wore. “This is mine.”

“So take it back,” you whispered.

That was all he needed.

The rest came in broken sounds and heavy hands. Breathless curses in your ear as he undressed you like it physically pained him to be gentle. His voice rough with hunger, with want, with everything he kept locked up in the name of control.

But here?

Here he was only Simon.

The man who had memorized the shape of your hips, the rhythm of your heartbeat, the exact sound you made when he pushed just deep enough to break you open.

And he didn’t hold back.

Not this time.

Because you didn’t plan a hunt.

You started a war.

And he was damn well going to win.

His mouth was everywhere - your lips, your throat, that spot just beneath your jaw he never missed. Each kiss wasn’t soft; it was a mark. A silent mine seared into your skin like a brand, until you were breathless, back arched, your fingers fisting in his shirt like it was the only thing anchoring you to the world.

“You knew what this would do to me,” he rasped against your skin, hips pressing into yours, heat burning through both layers of fabric between you.

“Yes,” you breathed, already trembling. “I wanted you like this.”

“Then you’re gonna take it.”

His shirt - your shirt - was gone in seconds. Pulled over your head and tossed aside, exposing bare skin to the cool night air and his searing gaze. The way he looked at you wasn’t just hunger - it was reverence soaked in lust, like he was staring down his own undoing.

His fingers ghosted over the dog tag hanging between your breasts. “Never taking this off you,” he murmured. “Not even when I’m inside you.”

Your gasp was swallowed as he kissed you again, one hand sliding down between your thighs, parting you with a precision only he knew how to wield. You were already soaked - his voice alone had done that - but the way he touched you now? Desperate. Purposeful. Like he was memorizing every response.

“Fuck, you’re wet for me already,” he groaned, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Didn’t even have to try.”

“You always do this to me,” you managed, head falling back against the door.

“I’m not even close to done.”

He dropped to his knees like a man obeying instinct, not command. Pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh - then bit, sharp and possessive, before parting you with his tongue.

Your hands hit the door behind you with a thud. His name tore out of you like a prayer. He groaned at the sound, tongue moving with slow, calculated strokes that had your legs threatening to give.

And he didn’t stop.

Didn’t stop even when your thighs trembled. When your voice turned wrecked and breathless. When you begged. He pinned you there with his mouth and his hands, dragging every sound, every twitch, every wave of release from your body until your vision blurred and all you knew was him.

When he finally rose, mouth glistening, eyes dark as sin, he didn’t speak.

He just undid his belt slowly - deliberately - watching you the whole time.

Then he was inside you in one long, devastating thrust, stretching you in a way that felt like ruin and salvation wrapped into one. You cried out, arms wrapping around his shoulders, nails digging in - and he grinned through a clenched jaw.

“You feel that?” he whispered roughly. “That’s what happens when you make me chase.”

Each thrust was deep, punishing, perfect. He drove into you like he was chasing something inside himself, something only you could give him. Your name left his lips like a curse. A vow. A reminder of who you were to him when everything else stripped away.

His forehead dropped to yours, sweat beading at his temple, breath ragged.

“You’re it for me,” he growled, voice breaking. “There’s no one else. Never was.”

You kissed him like you already knew.

And when you came again - shaking, clinging, crying out his name - he followed you into it, body pressed deep into yours, a groan ripped from his chest as he spilled into you with everything he had.

When the shaking stopped and the air cooled around you both, he didn’t let go.

He just pulled you closer. Head against your shoulder. Breathing heavy.

You ran your fingers through his hair, soft and slow.

“You really watched the whole time?” you whispered, teasing.

He kissed your collarbone, still buried inside you. “Every second.”

You smirked. “You’re obsessed.”

He pulled back, that rare glint in his eyes - the one only you ever saw. “Damn right I am.”

And then he kissed you again, slow this time. Tender. As if everything that just happened wasn’t lust or rage or reward - but something holy.

[theeartuaist]

A Not-so Regular Dating Show

Imagine this: You get recruited for a dating show—think Bachelor / bachelorette type show. A casting agent approaches you at the mall and offers a letter inviting you to be the main contestant on a new high-profile dating show. The prize money is RIDICULOUS—enough to pay off debt, buy a house, retire, etc. You’re skeptical (obviously), but everything checks out: the production company is legit, the contracts seem standard, and honestly? You think, "Okay, free vacation, some screen time, and a check? Say less."

Of course, you didn’t read the fine print. Nobody ever does.

Welcome to "For Keeps," the hottest new reality dating show with one rule: love is forever. The setup seems familiar—you’ll live in a mansion for 8 weeks while dating 12 carefully selected contestants who are supposedly your "perfect matches." There will be group dates, one-on-ones, competitions, elimination, all the usual reality TV drama stuff.

You show up, and the mansion is GORGEOUS. Like, reality-TV-never-saw-budget-cuts gorgeous. The host is suspiciously smiley. The cameras are already rolling. You’re ushered into a velvet chair with a champagne flute and a “just relax, the contestants will be here shortly.”

And the they arrive.

Twelve stunning, charming, beautiful men. It seemed standard really - what you DON'T know is that the show's producers have specifically cast people with intense yandere tendencies. We're talking full-on obsessive personalities who fall in love at first sight and will do ANYTHING to "win" your heart forever.

The horror dawns on you gradually:

• Contestant #1 somehow has your childhood photos despite never mentioning where you grew up

• Contestant #2 "accidentally" drugs the competition's food before a second group date

• Contestant #3 has already planned their honeymoon AND picked out names for their future children

• Contestant #4 carved your name into their arm during a confessional

• Contestant #5 has trapped three other contestants in a closet

• Contestant #6 has cameras hidden in the your private bathroom

• Contestant #7 collects your hair from their hairbrush

By the third group date, a contestants had to be tranquilized by production because they tried to “remove the competition.” But you can’t leave because of your contract. You're under surveillance and mic’d 24/7. And every single challenge—cooking dates, scavenger hunts, truth or dare—is rigged to push your contestants just a little further into madness.

Production keeps gaslighting you: "That's just how the game is played!" "The audience LOVES the drama!" "You signed a contract, you can't leave until the finale!"

Meanwhile, the ratings are through the roof because viewers think this is all scripted drama. The social media fandom is going WILD shipping you with different contestants - fan cams. Edits. TikToks with 8 million views. Completely unaware that you're legitimately fearing for your life.

I also like to imagine they'll be a spin-off where former contestants are put in therapy and a reunion special where you testify from witness protection.

[portraitsofguilt]

── # 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗙𝗜𝗥𝗦𝗧 𝗗𝗔𝗧𝗘 jinx, caitlyn, sevika

content warnings.          18+ MDNI, sfw content, first date, just fluffy set ups ig, not proof read at all

author's note. so yes, i'm back with arcane, seems like it's on a whim but it's really just a warm up for watching the second season (I'm afraid to watching because if it finishes it's over forever) so please enjoy !!!

a first date with JINX is undoubtedly chaotic, thrilling, and unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. she leads you to an abandoned part of zaun, a place she calls her playground. it’s a mix of neon-lit hideouts and industrial ruins, filled with makeshift swings, graffiti-covered walls, and maybe even a distant view of the lanes glowing softly in the smoggy night.

dinner? too boring for jinx. instead, she’s lifted some snacks from the last drop—they seem edible enough, though you’re not entirely sure—and she’s clearly far more excited about testing her experimental gadgets. watching your reactions as one of her inventions sparks and whirs unexpectedly is half the fun for her. she grins with delight every time you flinch, teasing you mercilessly while reassuring you (with questionable sincerity) that it’s probably safe.

after her impromptu "show and tell with dinner," she challenges you to a shooting competition. she hands you a quirky-looking gun she had pieced together herself, its design equal parts fascinating and terrifying. "let’s see what you’ve got," she taunts, her voice dripping with playful rivalry. she’s relentless with her teasing, goading you every time you miss a shot—which, admittedly, is often—but the laughter and energy between you feel strangely genuine. beneath all her chaos and bravado, there’s a surprising amount of charm.

the night takes a quieter turn when she takes you to a swing set she’s rigged up in the middle of the ruins. here, jinx lets her guard down—just a little. she points out the graffiti sprawled across the walls, sharing the small stories behind each piece. it’s clear that beneath her explosive tendencies lies a deep love for creativity and art, even if her version of "art" tends to involve detonations. you catch glimpses of her vulnerability in these moments, and it feels like a rare privilege to see this side of her.

by the end of the date, the inevitable happens: the chaos has drawn the attention of the enforcers. as their searchlights sweep through the ruins, jinx grabs your hand, laughing as she pulls you into a rooftop escape. your heart pounds as you both leap from one building to the next, but for her, it’s all part of the fun. once you’re safely out of sight, she collapses onto the roof, laughing uncontrollably while you try to catch your breath and calm your nerves.

"that was fun!" she says between giggles, her eyes sparkling with genuine delight. then, in a rare moment of sincerity, she adds, "i actually enjoyed myself. that doesn’t happen often."

she hands you one of her gadgets as a parting gift. "here," she says, smirking. "a little souvenir. but don’t press the red button… unless you’re ready for round two."

as unpredictable as the night was, you walk away knowing you’ve just shared something unforgettable. and jinx? she’s already hoping you’ll take her up on the offer for a second date.

the date starts at one of her favorite underground bars in zaun. she shows up a little late—fashionably so, she claims—leaning against the doorway with her usual cool demeanor. but there’s something off tonight. her smirk is a little too forced, her banter just a little too sharp, like she’s trying too hard to play it cool.

she orders drinks for both of you, and as the evening goes on, the cracks in her facade start to show. her metal arm taps nervously against the bar, her laugh comes a beat too late, and when you call her out on it—gently, of course—she grumbles something about "not being used to this kind of thing." her cheeks flush, and she looks away, muttering, "don’t make it weird."

but as the drinks flow and the conversation deepens, sevika starts to relax. she opens up about the bar's history, sharing stories of the fights she’s won and the people she’s met. at one point, she even challenges you to a game of pool. “don’t think i’m gonna go easy on you just ‘cause it’s a date,” she warns, but her grin is less guarded now, more genuine.

you surprise her by holding your own in the game, and she can’t help but laugh when you almost beat her. “almost impressed,” she teases, though the way her eyes linger on you says otherwise.

as the night winds down, the bar grows quieter, and so does she. she leans back in her seat, nursing her drink, and for a moment, she looks vulnerable. “this was... nice,” she admits softly, barely audible over the hum of the jukebox. “i don’t usually do... this.”

before you can respond, she stands abruptly, her tough-girl persona snapping back into place. “come on,” she says, offering you her hand. “let me walk you home. it’s late, and this part of town isn’t safe.”

the walk back is surprisingly quiet, the tension between you mellow and warm now. when you reach your door, sevika hesitates, scratching the back of her neck awkwardly. “so... uh, maybe we can do this again sometime?” she asks, avoiding eye contact.

you smile, and she finally meets your gaze. there’s that nervous energy again, but this time, it’s endearing. with a rare, genuine smile, she adds, “just... don’t expect me to be less awkward.”

as she turns to leave, you call her name, and when she looks back, you kiss her—a bold move that leaves her completely stunned. for a moment, she’s frozen, but then she smirks, her confidence flickering back to life. “careful,” she says, her voice low. “i might get used to this.”

she turns away, her silhouette disappearing into the night, and you’re left standing there, heart racing, wondering if this was just the beginning of something unforgettable.

if you think with the riches CAITLYN has she would be a classic romantic, taking you out to a candlelit dinner for your first date—think again. she’s all about getting to know someone in their natural element. dying to escape the confines of her responsibilities, she’d been craving a chance to let loose and have some fun. so, she took you to the carnival she’d always missed as a child, thanks to absent parents and later, endless paperwork keeping her stuck in the office all night. (don’t worry—next time, she made good on the fancy dinner and candles.)

the day flew by faster than you expected, and you swore it didn’t feel like more than an hour together. you both indulged in fried foods and colorful beverages, laughing at how ridiculous some of the flavors were. the carousel—which caitlyn declared was childish and "not her thing"—ended up being her favorite ride, though she’d never admit it. and when it came to the target shooting games, there was no stopping her. she hit every single mark with precision, winning you so many prizes that the booth operator eventually refused to let you both continue.

the ferris wheel was the perfect end to the evening. as your shared booth reached the top, caitlyn leaned in and kissed you, the bright carnival lights reflecting in her eyes and the city sprawling beneath you.

the whole day was a whirlwind of laughter and carefree fun. by the time the sun began to set, you were both exhausted in the best way. before parting, caitlyn smiled and invited you on a second date, already making plans for what’s next.

[amazinglyashy]

Hello! Could I make a request with Sylus where the reader/MC becomes really close with the twins (platonically). They’re always up to shenanigans together but Sylus doesn’t realize how come they are until he finds them in a cuddle pile sleeping ☺️ Maybe he’s irritated at first that the boys are cuddling his woman but I think his heart would warm knowing the people closest to him get along like that

This was so sweet, I loved receiving something for the twins, especially as someone who's so big on physical affection, and especially with my friends <33 Thank you, and I hope you enjoy!!

If it makes you smile-

Read on AO3

Pairings: Sylus x Reader, Luke and Kieran & Reader

Wordcount: 1,031

Sylus was more than aware that the twins could be childish.

More than aware.

And he knew they would oftentimes drag you into their shenanigans- no matter what said shenanigans were. It could be something on a grander scale, such as when you all… pranked, a local, low-ranking crime lord, unbeknownst to Sylus himself until long after the act had been committed. Rigged explosives of confetti and dynamite were what he had heard about, through the grapevine of Elysium. Other times it could be quite innocent, like when he had heard about the time the three of you had gone through his list of trustworthy informants and ding-dong ditched every single one of them, like going through a hitlist with so much less bloodlust.

He had needed to explain himself and his henchmen in order to rebuild so many relationships, and it was no surprise just how many of your little endeavors had left him with inconvenient little annoyances.

But when it was you involved, how could he ever be mad at you?

And that was quite similar to how he was feeling right now, staring down in the living room of the main safe house that he used as a base of operations, fire crackling behind him as it warmed the room from the hearth. Pure velvet couch cushions, silken pillows, and cheap arcade plushies were strewn everywhere like a middle school sleepover pillow fight had taken place in the comforts of his own home, rich designer furniture and décor be damned. There were even some fresh blankets that looked like they had been previously put into a position to create the roofing of a fort, long since torn down in the aftermath of a plush war.

And in the center of it all?

Three people, all draped across each other. Mixed in with all of the blankets, pillows, and plushies that already were scattered around the room- just how many had the three of you collected from around the house…?- Luke and Kieran were out cold, obviously more tired from the mission Sylus had given them the night before than they would have ever admitted to his face. Kieran's head was pressed up against the side of the couch, his chin touching his chest as his arms crossed over it, looking perfectly comfortable despite the severe angle his neck was bent at. His mask was nowhere to be seen, and Sylus wondered if it had been collateral damage in the hard-won battle.

Meanwhile, Luke was across his lap, a hand behind his head as his own mask hung half-off his face, his mouth wide open as he snored. He seemed to be a lot more comfortable than his twin- maybe a bit too comfortable, his other arm was wrapped around you, holding you against him even despite the small amount of drool coming from your mouth that was pooling along his shirt.

That wasn't anything that surprised Sylus, he had known you were tired when you had left for work early in the morning when he had just been heading to bed for a nap, and that was before your already long shift headed into overtime. He'd felt a bit guilty climbing under the warmth of the covers as he heard you rustling around the room and getting dressed, but there wasn't any way he could have helped it. And then he had been too busy to have dinner with you, so he had sent Luke and Kieran home to try and cheer you up, and make sure you had help with anything you may need with how exhausted you would be. He'd been zeroed in on getting his work done in order to come home shortly after them, but even still- it had gone longer than expected, and he was at the end of his rope with the idiots he had been dealing with by the time he was finally done.

He wasn't… expecting this outcome in front of him by the time he got home, per say. But it didn't catch him off guard. He'd long since known how much you loved the twins- they were a connection you'd never had before, and filled the void inside of you that Sylus himself couldn't even fill, being your romantic partner already. They were something familial and familiar, something you had sought after for year after year, and finally found in the two of them. He was happy to see that your day filled with overwork had turned into something fun and sweet, if the plushie causalities were anything to go off of.

Still, he couldn't help the little pang of jealously sneaking into the corners of his heart.

He didn't care for it, he found it unbecoming- especially with how much he knew about your lived experiences and the hardships you had dealt with- that you were still dealing with somehow, despite looking so careless as you did now among old Christmas blankets pulled out of storage for a fort that most children dreamt of, not adults. Not adults that went through so much pain-

At least, that's what most would think. Including himself, ages ago. Back before he had met you. Back when he didn't know that sometimes, growing meant going backward, and enjoying the experiences you missed out on or simply missed. Before he realized how much healing you were working through, fighting your own little battles that he didn't even see.

And while Sylus himself was your prince charming, the twins had taken up the mantle of knights in your story.

They helped you in ways he couldn't- were there for you when Sylus couldn't be- or shouldn't be, and that was okay. It could be a hard pill to swallow, realizing that there were some things he just wasn't equipped to help you with, but it went down so much easier knowing one thing.

The one thing was just how loved you were.

And if the twins could help you with anything you were going through, Sylus could handle seeing a few more destroyed pillow forts. A few more cuddle piles of tired limbs and drool.

Anything, as long as it made you smile.

[san8ny]

thinking about GOLFGIRL! Ellie and MILF! reader lmaooo

You’re at the country club with your good-for-nothing husband, bored out of your mind, not really wanting to converse with the other wives but she just HASSSS to show him up,

He’s out here whining to watch him score, but you’re too busy conversing with the younger woman in an all too intimate manner; who in return, leans over the golf-cart, toned forearms subtly flexing when she reaches out to refill your sparkling water with a stretched out,

“Let me get that ‘forya..”

it’s even more pathetic when you think about how he just keeps losing back to back, threatening to slam the golf-club on the grass by claiming the game is rigged!

She just looks over her polo-clad shoulder with ease, clicking the roof of her tongue along with a shrug,

“Probably a skill issue.”

But he’s even more enraged when he sees her reach over for your phone at the end of the evening, typing a series of something on the screen which can only be her number because why else would she have it? You don’t seem phased either, giving her a small smile.

By the time he’s stomping over to give her a piece of his mind, she’s leaving your section, fluttering her fingers at you in a flirty wave.

Likely won’t be the last time you see Golfgirl! Ellie again..

[rigroofing]

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[emmyrosee]

Im begging for some Akaashi moments PLEASEE😭😭😨😭

THIS TOOK FAR TOO LONG IM SORRY I HOPE YOU ENJOY 🥺

——-

“Okay, keiji, pay attention.”

“Why are my keys-“

“Shush.”

Immediately, Keiji closes his mouth, looking at you curiously, blue eyes flicking between you and the three clear cups before him on the table. Under the left cup, are his car keys, trapped under the glass. The small cat keychain you got him smiles back innocently up at him, and he makes a move to open the cup and free the tiny friend from its confines. You gently bat his hand to still his movements, which he does. “Okay. Keep going,” he says patiently.

“Under these three cups, are your car keys,” you begin to explain, and instinctively, keiji’s eyes flick to the cup containing his keys; he says nothing, waiting for you to continue to explain. “I’m going to turn around, and when I do, I want you to mix up the cups a bunch of times. If I can find the cup with your keys under it, we go get a sweet treat.”

Finally, Keiji smiles in realization, chuckling and shaking his head at your antics. “Can’t I just go get you a sweet treat?” He asks.

You shrug, “I wanted to leave it up to the universe.”

He looks back down at the crystal clear cups, “the universe seems to be rigged.”

“The universe will provide for your spouse if it desires.” You press a kiss to his cheek and spin around, “okay! Mix them up.”

Keiji looks down at the cups in front of him, and there’s a though, just a thought, of taking the keys from under the cup and hiding them, but the idea of you pouting has his heart squeezing. Even if you do deserve to be messed with a little.

He grabs the left cup and slides it to the middle, moving the middle to the left. “Okay. Mixed them.”

“You mixed them enough?” You ask. “I didn’t hear a lot of shuffling.”

“You’ll just have to pick a cup and see,” he assures.

You spin back around and hum in thought, mockingly patting your chin as if to truly be thinking about which crystal clear cup his keys are under. Your hand hovers over one of the empty glasses, then the other one, before curiously grabbing the key-glass. You cheer happily and clap, and Keiji chuckles and claps with you.

“How ever did you figure it out?” He asks.

“You have a genius living under your roof,” you sigh dramatically. “You’re welcome. I’ll be sure to use my big brain for good, rather than evil.”

“Sounds good,” he hums. “Go get shoes on, you’ve earned a sweet treat, I suppose.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice as you barrel down the hallway, leaving him to scrub his face with his hands, looking to the sky in amusement.

[spaceshipkat]

“How would you feel about Buck moving back in?”

The question’s out of Eddie’s mouth before he even knows it exists. It’s just—Maddie sent a picture of Buck passed out on her couch, wrapped up in his pillowy duvet, sprained ankle elevated on the armrest, broken wrist in its cast draped over his eyes. And Eddie feels his chest squeeze just looking at it, at the tousle of Buck’s curls over the pillow and the red scrapes on his cheek from when the building dropped on him, and he can’t really breathe through the ache of it all.

He wanted Buck to stay here after he got out of the hospital, but Buck had just mumbled something about Maddie and hadn’t even asked Eddie to pick him up when he was discharged. He’s frankly not even sure how Buck got home. An Uber, probably. Never mind that Eddie is still an Uber, at least until he’s rehired by the LAFD.

But Buck isn’t here, under this roof, and it just feels … wrong. Empty, despite the fact he and Chris are still surrounded by moving boxes and furniture.

“Fine,” Chris says, and Eddie yanks himself back into the living room, to looking at Chris where he sits on a dining chair, playing with his phone.

“Fine?” Eddie repeats, just to be sure he heard right.

“I mean, yeah.” Chris shrugs one shoulder, not even bothering to look up. “It’s his house, too, isn’t it? I heard you muttering in your sleep about his name being on the lease.”

Eddie blinks. They’d slept in sleeping bags on the floor since they moved back, too tired to set up their beds after the chaos of the past few days of hospital visits. Besides, the mattresses are still wrapped in plastic. It’s hardly the best nights of sleep he’s ever gotten, but he’d chalked that up to the fact it had been spent on the floor.

He doesn’t remember dreaming about Buck.

“Still don’t get why you kicked him out,” Chris mutters, quietly enough Eddie’s not entirely sure he’s supposed to hear him.

But he does.

“I didn’t kick him out. He asked Maddie to take him home.” Probably. Eddie didn’t actually witness that, but why else would Buck have chosen to crash on her couch? It’s been days now, Buck’s furniture moved into a storage unit until he can find a new place. Eddie certainly wasn’t the one who organized those movers. He’d just answered the door one morning in his pajama shorts and tank top to a bunch of sweaty men with a moving van.

Chris’s eyes flick up. “I was right there in the hospital room, Dad.”

“I—” Eddie stops. Did he kick Buck out? The last few days have been such a blur—between rescuing Buck from the collapsed building, telling Captain Morales he wouldn’t be taking the job, organizing the movers in El Paso so he wouldn’t have to return there himself (he was done with that town, done with his parents calling the shots—and he knew they’d have tried to stop him), visiting Buck in the hospital with every spare second he had.

When would he have had time to kick Buck out?

Chris heaves a sigh. “You’d fallen asleep on Buck’s hospital bed. Like, your head was on it while he was in it. And Maddie came in and you woke up when Jee told Buck good morning, and you mumbled something about packing Buck’s bags for Maddie, and then you fell back asleep. Buck was right there. He heard the whole thing. It’s the only reason I let him win Uno, ’cause he looked so sad.”

Eddie’s heart sinks into his stomach. He doesn’t remember any of that, but if Chris says it happened, it obviously did.

It’s just—Eddie’s hands haven’t stopped shaking since he watched the building collapse on the TV screen in Buck’s living room, the newscaster’s yammering a dull drone. Since he broke every law that exists to drive there in time. Since he found his turnouts, left in the rig like someone knew he’d need them, and rushed in to help. Since he found Buck—“like a bloodhound to a perp,” Athena had said—and hauled him up out of the concrete and dust, their bodies crashing together from the force of it, the kiss that wasn’t a kiss smeared across their mouths, Eddie’s lips eventually finding themselves pressed to his birthmark. Since Eddie gasped out, “Don’t ever do that to me again,” and Buck had muttered something about tenements and building codes.

Eddie hadn’t thought Buck remembered much of that. Eddie had asked—or at least tried to ask—but Buck had just blinked his big blue eyes at him from the hospital bed, not quite pleading the fifth but also not quite not pleading it.

So Eddie had tucked that kiss that wasn’t a kiss away. It was a fluke, however much he didn’t want it to be.

“Why did I kick him out?” he says now, and Chris scoffs.

“That’s what I asked. Buck just said something about you being a ‘nester,’ or whatever.”

Eddie looks back down at his phone, tapping the screen so it doesn’t go dark. Buck is still there, still asleep, still thinking Eddie doesn’t want him here, still believing he doesn’t have a space in Eddie’s house—in their house—while Eddie’s in it.

Still under the impression that Eddie doesn’t dread setting up his bed in his room because it’ll be too damn empty without him.

Clearing his throat, Eddie tucks his phone into his pocket and says, “What kinda cookie should we get Jee?” while crossing the room for the sleeping bags where he left his keys. “From Starbucks on the way, I mean.”

“That Bullseye one,” Chris says, already reaching for his crutches. “Also, Buck isn’t sleeping on the couch. He snores.”

“Yeah.” Eddie smiles, that ache replaced with heat. “He does.”

look idk i haven't stopped thinking about the bts vid of eddie and chris back in their house but with all buck's furniture out of it. so behold! have a ficlet. 🫶

[megapteraurelia]

EPITHIMIA.

☾ SUMMARY;

— having been sent up to tokyo as an exchange student to spy on the first-years, your objective had been crystal clear: don't meddle. don't change anything. just observe. you didn't expect fushiguro megumi to foil your plans that quickly — but it's not like you could help yourself, not when he refused to be someone you could respect. so, what else to do but meddle?

☾ WARNINGS;

— fem!reader; enemies to lovers; forced proximity; attempted character study?? (badly done!!); angst; TW: mention of blood, death, hospital

☾ WORD COUNT;

— 10,102.

☾ AUTHOR'S NOTE;

— if there's technical loopholes about CT and stuff, don't come for me, please. i tried my best T_T also, this was super difficult to do, because i kept thinking i didn't have a proper grasp on megumi, because honestly, this guy's all over the place in the beginning. also, nonnie, i am sooo sorry that this turned less romantic, we'll fix it in part 2, i pwomise

please let me know what you think! -` ♡ ´-

pt. 1 | pt. 2

4th of March; 17:46. — gojo satoru.

"Oh, who is a good boy?"

A vicious growl sounded out, animalistic and threatening, drowning under the annoyed timbre of a certain black-haired student, "I suggest you back off unless you want to lose fingers. They don't take well to being petted."

Gojo Satoru thought watching his two adorable students, old and new alike, bicker might be one of his favourite past times. There was a specific sort of sadistic satisfaction that tugged on the sides of his mouth at the faint pulsing of Megumi's vein in his forehead even when the kid tried to school his features into one of impassiveness.

But the way his student's knuckles turned white, the way the precious Divine Dogs stood at attention around the new exchange student from Kyoto, made Gojo feel like he might kiss Gakuganji for his ploy, after all. Only might, because despite the piqued interest in where this might be headed, he wasn't quite into old, wrinkly men who smelled like decayed grandeur. So, maybe no kissing.

But hey — as far as he was concerned, the sentiment alone was something worth noting.

Gojo leaned back; the tiles of the old school building's roof non-existent underneath the perpetual film of Infinity coating his fingers.

It was no secret that any of the old farts in the headquarters were leeching to gather information on Tokyo Jujutsu High's first-years and their annoying amazing teacher: himself with his high standing in the Jujutsu world, Yuji's bodily curse and the impending doom imminent over all of Japan at best, Megumi's technique and the perpetual stand off against the Zen'in clan and their desire to steal his student away.

Not that any of it mattered.

They could attempt all they want to try and spin the rigged wheel. If Gojo Satoru had anything to say about it, and oh, he did — somebody like him always did — then there was going to be hell to pay.

"Ouch, hey— what the hell, Fushiguro?"

But until his new exchange student actually gave him reason to intervene, Gojo was more than happy to watch the way you had pulled away your hand at the last second, the sharp teeth of Megumi's black wolf grazing the flesh of your fingers with maliciousness that usually were only reserved for curses that seemed to personally have wronged him.

Gojo's eyes narrowed with interest, his smile turning a bit sharper. Oh, this was going to be really interesting.

"I told you to keep away. You just really suck at listening."

Megumi called his dog back with a flick of his fingers and really, he didn't even have to — a silent command would have sufficed, too.

So you watched the posturing, the exaggerated movement of his hand, the way he threw over to you the hint of a condescending look, and you couldn't help the way you thundered over to him, fiery eyes and a grimace on your face from the slight pain of the dog's snapping jaw.

"You," seething, you pointed at him. His dogs sat patiently, albeit still posed to defend, next to his heel, "Don't think I didn't notice that, you prick."

Fushiguro Megumi ignored the way you shook your finger in his face, turning away to continue his training, "Don't you need to get to Shoko-san's already? Hurry then."

Gojo couldn't help the boisterous laughter leaving his mouth. Maa, this was brilliant.

13th of March; 09:02. — fushiguro megumi.

"Yo, Megumi! You're up for a mission. Solo. Except not."

Megumi's eyes narrowed as he watched the carefree grin of his teacher, the hands shoved in his pockets, "Who's the not?"

"Just, you know, your favourite person in the world."

"With her again? She's impulsive, never listens, and half the time I'm cleaning up after her screw-ups."

Gojo's hand played with his strands of hair, and his sunglasses caught the light, "Aw, come on. She's not that bad. Keeps you on your toes. Makes you use full sentences. You know, the likes!"

Megumi thought he might strangle his teacher.

"I work better alone."

"Yeah, yeah, but then that vein in your forehead doesn't twitch, and that's hysterical."

"You enjoy this way too much."

Gojo's smile was slow and wide, "Obviously."

13th of March; 20:12. — fushiguro megumi.

Fushiguro Megumi thought that when he realised what type of mentor Gojo Satoru would be, he had met the quota of absurdness in his life already. Then, he enrolled into Tokyo Jujutsu High and found that his bar was set too low, and there were many other people capable of pushing it higher.

Much higher. 

The shenanigans of Inumaki Toge and Panda put aside, Maki and Yuta by extension were the only second years he really respected. His own classmates, though—

Though, if Megumi had to really categorise any of them, Kugisaki Nobara barely counted, for she came at him and Yuji with condescension from the very beginning. It wasn’t hard to adjust to something so straightforward, letting her complaints go through one ear and come out on the other side.

Then there was the other thorn in his side, Itadori Yuji, who was fairly agreeable, wearing his heart on his sleeve, steadfast and solid, so Megumi’s line of what he could tolerate was not crossed that often.

If anything, Gojo had the bigger nerve to flit around Megumi, fussing in a way that bordered between sweet patronising and his deep duty of care. Seeing as how he was supposed to learn from his teacher, that too, he could ignore.

For the most part.

What he did not expect was for another person to test his tolerance, and to test it so well at that. 

“You know, if you smiled once in a while, people might stop mistaking you for the world's biggest Debbie Downer.”

Barely ignoring the whispering voice right next to him, Megumi thought that he’d rather follow Nobara into the depths of hell (her weekly trips through the entire shopping avenue, from start to finish and then back again) than have to be paired up with you any longer.

Usually, Megumi had no difficulties letting stupid comments whiz past him; god knew he’d had enough practice, so assuming a stoic expression should have come easy to him: smoothing out his brows, allowing his eyes to reflect the amount of how much he didn’t care, mouth as still as possible — really, it wasn’t supposed to be difficult. But then there was you, whose grin never seemed to falter, who knew how to poke at him and have his blood pressure rise up, who seemed to cross him at each junction, who didn’t know what it meant to stay still and hatch out a plan. 

So, Megumi told himself that the twitch in his eyebrows and the annoyed press of his lips together was merely because he was bothered with this mission, but the words escaping him were more than proof that it was less about the assignment and all the more about you.

Under his breath: “And if you shut up once in a while, people might stop mistaking you for an idiot. Now be quiet.”

The infuriating thing about this all wasn’t the fact that he felt prompted to respond in likes. No — it was the fact that you didn’t seem half as annoyed as him; that you exhaled a quiet laugh, almost victorious in having riled him up enough, that somewhere along the line, there was a competition on who would win each clashing of heads, who could one up the other, who would have the last laugh. 

You sniffed; voice full with amusement and a certain bite, quieter than before, “Wow, that almost sounded like a full sentence. Careful, Fushiguro, or else someone might think you're concerned about what other people think of me.”

"You're insufferable. Quiet."

"Mhm, but you're still listening."

Leaning forward, Megumi ignored the way you lingered close, ignored the tone of your voice — low, offhanded, like you meant nothing by it or maybe that you meant something by it — and peeked around the corner of the hallway; sharp eyes used to the dark.

A weird, grotesque feeling swung in the air; pregnant with charged particles. What should have been an alluring, sultry atmosphere for the love hotel was turned into an eerie caricature of all the shame bundled up in between the sheets of the beds, all the heartbreak hidden behind each creak of floorboards, lost love, bitter what-ifs.

Two of the Grade Three curses rampaging through the isles had already destroyed half of the east side of the building, the other two lingering close by.

"Alright, this is what we're going to do—"

A gust of wind whirled around debris, and cut off Megumi's sentence. There was a flash of your weapon infused with cursed energy, followed by a crash against the wooden beams of the wall as the deformed bodies of the curses slithered around the corner right towards him, maw wide open.

For fuck's sake—

13th of March; 22:38. — fushiguro megumi.

Megumi was certain he was going to hand in a complaint.

“You’re so boring. What does it take for you to finally ditch that unimpressed look? I mean, I did take out three curses before you even finished your fancy hand signs, you know?”

Yeah.

Definitely handing that in to the principal and maybe, he would have a chance to circumvent Gojo’s incessant obsession with forcing him to team up with you for the various missions he gets sent on. He had mentioned it a bunch of times to his teacher already — disliked the way you were so messy with how you dealt with your curses, seemingly no thoughts planned, no care for the damage left behind. But to no avail.

If anything, Gojo regarded him with a smile that really said more about what an asshole he was than it being successful in placating Megumi. But alright, Gojo’s agenda usually was an enigma, so there was also no hope of getting through to him once he had set his mind on something.

And it wasn't like his teacher was known to explain his reasoning.

Megumi thought that maybe this was punishment. Maybe Gojo really did feel resentment taking care of him for all these years, and now he was left to deal with the strain of handling…you, and all your chaos.

He stopped walking, a heavy sigh brewing deeply in his chest at the cheerful way your voice nagged at his collar, his dirtied pants, his ripped uniform on the right shoulder, “They were Grade Three. A trained dog could’ve handled them.”

Your eyebrows raised up, and you were quick to slink in front of him. His narrowed eyes lowered to follow where your finger was digging into his shoulder, right where the fabric had ripped because you couldn’t wait two seconds to hear out his strategy, instead swinging into the action like you didn't care to have an advantage by analysing anything.

You blinked sweetly, finger pressing right into the cut hiding beneath the shredded material and it stung, “Your cute shikigami didn’t, so I’m not too sure about that, actually.”

"They have better instincts than to waste their time trying to impress me," Megumi pushed away your hand and walked past you; his headache announcing itself alongside the hiss escaping your mouth, "Must be nice not knowing the difference."

Oh, if only he could give in.

21st of March; 16:22. — you.

"Look at us, working so well together, eh, Fushiguro?"

"You nearly got me impaled. Twice."

"Oh, you'd miss the excitement if it wasn't for me. You're welcome for that."

Megumi's look of disgust made you cackle, "Your idea and my idea of excitement don't match up. I suggest a hobby to live out your recklessness. Preferably one that doesn't involve me and far away from here."

"But then who would save my ass? Admit it, I grew on you."

"Like mold, maybe."

2nd of April; 14:58. — you.

When you transferred, you thought blending in was going to be no problem. Your entire purpose was not to change anything in anybody's life, nor to influence any on-going schemes. If anything, that would be the worse outcome, your existence useless in its point of service for you were just an outside observer, trying to catch any slipped up information. Easy enough, right?

You'd heard a lot about the strongest modern sorcerer of this time: the grief he brought Gakuganji first and foremost, for your principal was incredibly youthful in the way it took hours for him to stop grumbling.

It wasn't like you really had any personal desire to meet him— seeing Gojo Satoru fight in action would have been thrilling, in the way you would watch something unexplainable and awe-inducing happening right in front of you, something akin to a supernova.

But essentially, you also cared little in seeking it out if not prompted. You were here because you were ordered to; because the authority carried by the Jujutsu Headquarters was founded in experience and power, because their word was law.

Or so it went. That was what Gakuganji loved spewing, and it wasn't that you necessarily disagreed, it was just that you weren't known to care for it a lot. But then again, it wasn't their concern, so long there was enough intimidation and results to be showed. It probably could have been any of the other first-years in your school, it should have been, because you weren't exactly somebody who blended in super well, you were too on the nose for it, but the excuse you'd been sent over on was that your cursed technique could only properly be trained by the teachers in Tokyo Jujutsu High.

That was a lie.

One you didn't really care to uphold more than necessary. Truth was that your cursed technique had no adequate teacher nor was it a family heirloom to be able to scour clan records for. It existed and you had to deal with it, simple as that.

But then, the teachers in Tokyo Jujutsu High would know that, too.

So rather than it being an actual excuse, it was merely a way to save face. Rather dish out a lie like that, as unbelievable as it may be, than accuse anybody — doing that would lead to showing one's suspicion and that would prompt a reaction; they would have been, for all intents and purposes, asking for retaliation.

It was too much hassle to plan a counter for it, so slap a label on something and call it a day.

Chances were that your appearance had been noted as such — a way to do some reconnaissance, but the way the first-years and their teacher behaved hinted that they either didn't, which was unlikely, or they did and just didn't care, which was stupid.

In any way, you didn't care to complain, either. It was going to interest nobody in Kyoto Jujutsu High, so you just had to deal with it in any way you saw fit.

"I think I'd be a capybara."

Like lingering amongst the first-years here in Tokyo Jujutsu High and hope that you'd find something interesting to note down for Gakuganji to analyse later. If there was something amongst this conversation of deciding on your spirit animal worth writing down.

Nobara, who had been lazily scrolling through her phone, looked up, one sleek eyebrow of hers quirked up, "A what now?"

Sprawled on the ground with his limbs extended like a star fish, Yuji's eyes tracked the clouds, envisioning different shapes onto the white fluff travelling in their lane on the wide blue.

"You know, one of those giant guinea pig things. They're just so chill," he explained, hands coming up to hesitate for a second — how did one even imitate a capybara? — before forming a big blob and hoping that his words conveyed enough of a picture to make up for the lack of gestures. Out of the peripheral of his eyes, Yuji watched the uninterested look in Megumi's eyes and wondered if his friend would be able to do a shadow puppet of a capybara.

Nobara snorted. "No. You're like a full-blown chimpanzee."

"No way, I'm so chill—" Yuji sat up swiftly, eyes wide, but the girl interrupted him, waving him away her manicured fingers, "Always climbing things, making weird noises, eating like you've never seen food before…"

Yuji was almost offended, if it weren't for the fact that she wasn't exactly wrong, either. "But chimps are scary. They, like, bite people's faces off!!"

"So does Sukuna," Nobara looked at him with an expression that told anybody in immediate proximity exactly how little brain cells she thought he had, "Don't try to play innocent with your 'I'm a chill guy!' when you literally have a face-munching demon playing house in your body."

"He's not me, though!!"

She shrugged, shoulders touching the tip of her hair with the movement, "You share rent. That counts."

Itadori Yuji grasped his uniform, the material bunching underneath his hand before his fingers let go of the jacket, one by one. It was only a moment, but your eyes, trained on the pink-haired student possessing the King of the Curses, were observant, catching the way a strange, detached expression flitted over his face. Hollow, dissociated eyes that seemed so far away.

Digging your heel into the ground, you tried imagining what it could be that he was feeling out in that moment, what Sukuna could be saying, what horrible things he could be taunting Yuji with in the personal space of his mind that nobody could access. The things Yuji kept hidden behind an exterior that beamed like the sun, locking the force of the demon behind rattling doors.

You wondered whether Yuji's body remembered the things that Sukuna did.

As quick as the expression having made its way over Yuji's face, it was just as quick that he whirled around to face Megumi with mock offence. Yuji's finger pointed towards the other first-year, who looked like he'd rather not be here, listening to the non-sense the others were arguing about.

"Megumi!! Come on, man, you gotta be on my side, right?"

Megumi, whose body had been slowly turning away, inch by inch, halted, and his eyes closed, his chest moving with a sigh escaping him, "I don't even want to be on anyone's side."

Yuji's mouth almost formed a comical downturn,"I miss when we were friends."

"I miss when it was quiet."

"Don't worry, Yuji," Nobara threw her leg over the other and leaned back, "He's only pissed because his fashion sense sucks."

Your eyebrows raised at the eye roll of Megumi's; it was offensive in its own right, the way it conveyed the exasperation sitting deep in his soul, "I don't care about fashion. Or this conversation."

Nobara nodded to Yuji. "That's exactly what someone without drip would say."

Yuji nodded back. "He'd totally be a hedgehog."

A snap of her fingers towards the pink-haired, "Oh, that's such a good read. All spiky on the outside, and so soft on the inside. Yuck."

"I'm going to leave."

"Running away again, huh?"

Maybe you were not supposed to influence any ongoing schemes, but you couldn't help yourself.

When there was somebody in front of you who seemed so incredibly closed off, like anything pelted off him like rain on an umbrella, it was so very tempting to be the one who could bring out the twitch in his eyebrows, the clicking of his tongue.

It was a race, the way you ran to see who could piss off the other faster. So that he could drop this pretentious holier-than-thou attitude, thinking he was better than everybody else because he played the part of a brooding hero so well, because he refused to partake in conversation that retained his youth.

"What?" his voice was quiet, composed, and he could have fooled you had he not stopped mid-step.

"They're just joking around, grumpy-pants. That got you all bothered?"

Megumi's shoulders were tense, a small quiver running through his muscles, like there's something repressed running beneath his skin. The curve of his jaw hardened, and through gritted teeth, he spit out, "No. But you're starting to."

There was a certain charge in the air; a reluctance to accept you in their midst, like a bystander, too easy to be forgotten. They had already settled in a comfortable exchange of energy, and here you were, disrupting it — a new current of electricity that nobody really knew where to direct it through. Yuji was the type to be accommodating, friendly and open; who didn't have a problem to pull you in. Nobara, who saw you had no interest in entertaining her whims, grouped you together with the rest of the first-years but not necessarily that rejecting.

Megumi, though. Megumi was the one who distrusted you the most.

To his defence, you were an intruder. He might not know it outright, but the protective barrier he had risen around himself and almost around the other two as well gnawed at you. There they were: those three, belonging together, one playing off the other, the two chaotic kids needing to be reined in by the rock in the midst of crashing waves.

It almost made you jealous. Almost. If Megumi didn't want to trust you, then so be it. You weren't banking on that, anyway, you just…liked riling him up.

Nobara had nudged closer to Yuji, her hand facing his, palm up: "Ten bucks says he threatens to summon his dogs or whatever in, like, five seconds."

"You're on," Yuji whispered back; his hand meeting hers in a quiet clap.

You mirrored Megumi's eye roll from earlier, made sure to put in all the mocking you could, "You always take everything so seriously. Jeez, no wonder no one invites you to anything fun."

Megumi's knuckles were the second thing to follow to express his displeasure, the annoyance bubbling in his veins, the way the tips of his shoes almost wanted to turn around, "You done?"

Scratching at his ego, you knew your words were sharp. That he also had valid reason to fight you — if anything, you might start respecting him more if he just finally snapped. If he just finally gave you a reason to believe that he believed what he was saying, that he wasn't full of shit.

"Just wondering how long you can pretend like you're not dying to prove something."

He moved his head and you caught a glimpse of his eye; the heat in them that he tried to desperately squash, the cold that he layered on top of it, the iciness with which he regarded you, and you returned the look, challenging him.

"I'm not pretending."

"Oooookay, wow. That's, uh, super healthy tension here," Yuji laughed, a nervous undertone swinging in his tenor, and he got up from the floor. There were a few blades of grass stuck on the outside of his pant legs, and a few floated to the ground when he stepped up, ready to intervene.

Your relaxed stance didn't falter.

Because you knew. Because Megumi knew. Because both of you knew he wasn't going to do anything. Because he didn't have courage enough to give in, because he'd rather swallow the annoyance than act on it, because he'd rather burn than to show his feelings and be vulnerable, than to stand by what he believed.

Because he was a coward.

He left instead, and you watched the way he walked away, the way he shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants, deep, like they were a bottomless pit that could swallow all the frustrations he felt.

"Don't trip over your own brooding!" you called after him sweetly, and his shoulders tensed even further, before he rounded the corner and disappeared from view.

You clicked your tongue, feeling unsatisfied because goddamn, did he have to make it so hard to get him to explode?

"You think you're being so cute," Nobara said, and despite her voice sounding syrupy, there was snark swinging underneath it, cutting through the silence that ensued after Megumi left.

You shrugged. "He can't handle jokes, that's not on me."

"Oh, we were joking, alright."

Yuji sent you a look, unsure, hesitating. He didn't want enemies, not when he wanted to get along with his classmates, and you had no interest in forcing him to, so you left as well.

3rd of April; 02:14. — you.

Your hands moved steadily, the black ink seeping through the thick pale slip of paper with every brush stroke. It had to be deliberate, so the creation of talismans usually were a slow business, though it also didn't help that the scripture was far from modern. Old and twisted from teachings long forgotten.

The brush dragged through ink and painted intent, and with each swing of the bristles, you exhaled out, the room cold as it seemed to use up the heat and energy to create a hidden message behind the charm.

You whispered confines into existence, orders; a veil of false reality settling on top of the ink slowly at the last of your brush strokes. Shimmering, the talisman looked like it had embers glowing inside of it, the edges of the paper slip singed dark.

Quickly, you wrapped an unassuming thread around the charm, tying it up, then — a bead of blood pressed right on the seal.

Clicking your tongue, you licked the welling of another drop of blood off. There wasn't much to inform Gakuganji of yet, but you were expected to send a status update anyway. In your eyes? a complete waste of good, thick paper. The world was getting expensive, after all.

5th of April; 16:11. — fushiguro megumi.

"Oh no, you don't."

"Megumi, you wound me. I haven't even said anything yet."

"Gojo-sensei. With no respect at all, you're coming in here with her."

"If he's wounded, I'm heartbroken, Fushiguro. How could you say that— hey, don't ignore me."

Megumi shut his book, "There's plenty other people you could send."

"Eh, I figured you two would make a good team. You know, balancing each other out, but also your people skills needs some training," Gojo shrugged, nonchalant, but the way he leaned against his door made Megumi think that really, this was just another one of Gojo's shrewd teaching methods.

"He'd definitely get it down if he stopped thinking he was better than everyone else."

"I don't think I'm better. I just don't care enough to play along with you," he bit out.

A clap of Gojo's hands and a gleeful smile, "See? Perfect chemistry already. You may call me Master Matchmaker from now on."

"Over my dead body."

"Aww, come onnnn—"

"No."

5th of April; 19:02. — you.

"Stop moping, Fushiguro."

"I'm not moping."

You grinned, leaning closer to him, "Mhm, I'm not so sure of that. You look like you need somebody to cheer you up."

He threw you a sour look, before turning his head to look out the window again. The car ride was strained. Itawa, the manager issued by Tokyo Jujutsu High, was gripping the steering wheel silently. Itawa didn't have anything to say, as per regulations, and Megumi and you didn't see eye to eye.

Gojo had announced the mission that both of you were to fulfil, gleefully putting both Megumi and you in a team together. It was clear that he was enjoying the way Megumi bristled in the face of spending more time on missions with you than he was already forced to. You weren't exactly sure why; maybe he suspected you and liked to keep you in check with his trusted, experienced student.

But maybe he also just enjoyed seeing him sweat. It was difficult to tell with Gojo and the blindfold that concealed far more than his eyes.

Megumi, though, had his dissatisfaction ooze from his every pore with a force that could have rivalled any lash out of cursed energy. You couldn't help but wink at him when you caught his eye, the smile growing wider at the darkening of his eyes and the hard set of his mouth.

To his fortune, it wasn't a difficult mission. Iwata had already relayed to you both the details:

The shopping mart in Yurakucho had suddenly sealed itself under a spontaneous veil, civilians having gone missing. The windows had reported back to the Jujutsu Sorcerers about a cursed womb presence, and sooner than later, Megumi and you had been dispatched for elimination.

When you stepped out the car, the street was empty; the civilians that had occupied the space before not needing to see curses to notice the change in the atmosphere, the danger lingering in the air. It wasn't supposed to be a high Grade curse, but with cursed wombs, it was difficult to tell.

The veil drawn on seemed to almost glitch like it was unable to keep up the facade of a normal shopping mall; the false reality cloaking the building sporting tiny rips in its fabric.

"It will be easy to find its weak point since it's not a strong curtain. It will take but a moment," Iwata assured, and true to his word, it did not take long to create a hole in the spiritual structure for you both to slip through it. But when you and Megumi entered the curtain, you hadn't expected for it to be almost harder to breathe than outside, as if the air was carrying more fluid than it should, like you could be drowning any moment. Without a word, the divine dogs appeared around Megumi's legs, at attention.

The automatic doors were broken, the glass cracked like something had escaped rather than broken in. There were tiny splinters covering the face of the floor and the jagged edges caught the fluorescent light flickering behind it, throwing indiscernible shapes on the floor.

"Creepy," you muttered as you stepped on the shards, faint music swinging in the air accompanying the strange static of the place. It tasted weird, too, when you had opened your mouth to speak.

Megumi nodded but kept quiet, barely glancing at the screens of TVs mounted on every wall, a product advertisement looping over and over again — the same smile, the same pour of coffee.

He would never buy this specific brand of coffee machine. Not now. Not ever.

Instead, Megumi moved through the first floor; eyes sharp, trained on the surfaces of the place. They were weird, some were too clean, others were smeared with dark brown substance. It was humid, too, like there was a storm brewing.

Feeling out the situation, you sent a low pulse of your cursed energy out, meant to ricochet off the walls and tell you the density of everything that existed within the confines of this place, but the sound echoed outwards and came back to you distorted, like part of it disappeared. Your eyebrows furrowed.

His voice sounded far away, even though he stood right next to you, "We should split up, cover more ground. There's three floors, after all. Who knows which one the curse calls its new home."

"I'm hurt, Fushiguro, wanna get rid of me so early?"

Megumi swallowed his sigh, "Yes, but it'll also be faster that way."

"I'll take the upper floor then, Your Majesty."

You whirled around to get started, but his scoff held you back, "You're so impatient, hold on for a moment."

"You don't need to give me a goodbye kiss, Fushiguro, I think i'll manage just fine without it."

He threw you a look that you decidedly chose to ignore and said, "Take this."

Catching something sleek and black, you took a closer look at it. It was a short ranged communication system; a wireless ear piece that had you raising your eyebrows at him. Prepared much, was he?

"I thought I felt it before but just earlier, when you activated your technique — it felt weird, like— like the building's reacting to our presence. Not just cursed."

"Yeah," you said, eyes trained on the ceiling and the flickering lights, "I think it may be feeding on the energy. I sensed far less on its way back than what I sent out."

"Yeah."

You sent him a kiss through the air when you parted from him, because you thought the way his usually impassive face contorted in a grimace was a good memory to own, and then took the emergency stairs. The escalators were dead, and you hardly believed that the curse was going to help you out by allowing you to take the faster way.

The second floor's sign post indicated the toy's section to be up ahead — or at least, that was what it was supposed to be. Instead, you were met with shelves that had been cleared away, the toys scattered all over the floor like debris from a fight that dominated the room beforehand.

There were cracks on the floor and your eyes tracked them upward to talismans on the ceiling and sticking to the pillars on the edge of the room. Hand-drawn with shaky lines. The ink hadn't dried yet, and one such drop followed gravity and splashed on the linoleum floor.

It wasn't ink, you realised when you saw the thinned out edges of the liquid on the ground, it was blood.

Cursed energy swirled around the slips of paper, tugging on your senses like an invisible leash. It called for you, asked you to come witness, to come watch, that there was nothing else for you to find and do on this floor than to come look at the centre of the floor and see the wide circle set on the floor.

Messy, but red.

It pulsed, and you couldn't blink as you watched the circle writhe, like it was almost alive.

Megumi's voice startled you when it came out of nowhere, "This looks—ke a ritual of— sort. Still— active."

You stepped back automatically, looked away from the circle, the siren call broken. Despite the static cutting through his words, you couldn't help but offhandedly notice the way his voice sounded through the ear piece, and it sent a weird shiver down your back. Had it always been that deep?

Furrowing your eyebrows, you pressed the in-ear piece deeper, "This shit's weird. Almost made me step in."

You shook your head to clear up the heavy air settling on your senses, and tried to keep your cursed energy locked in, taut around your body, not allowing it to leak from your skin, but it felt like the cursed womb tasted it anyway. A shudder in the air, sudden and subtle. Like a breath drawn in by something enormous.

"It doesn't feel like an ambush," you said, "It's like it's waiting. Like…it wants us inside the circle?"

Megumi's voice cracked through the in-ear, "I swe— don't get any du—ideas. Stay put, I'm— com—"

You weren't stupid.

No way in hell would you just oblige the desires of a curse, but you also didn't want to wait on Megumi and risk allowing this thing, wherever it was, to haze your senses. Not when you could feel the delightful shiver in the air at your attention.

It really was a better idea to find the cursed womb fast before it could manifest fully, anyway. Sorry, Fushiguro.

5th of April; 20:38. — fushiguro megumi.

Megumi's head was already hurting.

He had to hurry because there was no telling what your next move was. If anything, he could count his blessings that up until then nothing worth mentioning happened, that you both were able to decently communicate and investigate the floors.

But then he threw a talisman from his sleeve and flicked it into the circle and the paper caught fire midair, the red turning blue from the force of energy swirling in the circle before the charm was slapped into the floor. It left a decently sized dent from the force and the cursed energy rippled outwards; the air swinging heavily and even though there was no breeze, Megumi thought that he still felt movement caressing his cheek.

There were more than just the blood markings on the floor; deep in the open cracks, there were sigils buried, carved.

So no, he had absolutely no faith and did not want to take a chance on whether your resistance was sufficient enough not to step into the damn circle.

His Demon Dogs were already ahead of him, fast, barely hindered by the debris on the floor; the energy that had pooled in his palms slowly dwindling. He set out to follow, taking the stairs two at once, but when he just entered the second floor—

A scrape, a soft whimper, shushing.

Even though the overhead light buzzed as if a swarm of flies kept bumping into the light source, even though there was a faint thrumming, even though Megumi's ears were strained to catch all the tiny noises, high alert, it faded when those new sounds registered in his mind.

Megumi found them off the side, tucked behind a fallen aisle of grotesque looking toy cars. A teenage girl, eyes wide and sharp with her arm looped tightly around an older man's shoulder. There was sweat glinting above her upper lip, and her fear was palpable on his tongue, sharp and tangy.

From one second to another, uninvited, flashes of—

A hospital bed.

Rain against the window.

Limp limbs.

Gone.

I'm saying you can't.

He snapped back to reality like a rubber band, the air heavy and stale. Megumi shook his head, and the inside of his hands felt clammy. He closed them to fists once, hard, with intent. A reminder.

This wasn't the time.

The girl didn't cry when she looked up at him: odd, like he was the odd one out. He wasn't odd, he belonged here, he was meant to do this. He had to, or else—

Stop. Stop. Not the time.

He crouched in front of her, his eyes flitting over the old man, falling into the old routine of analysing. Detached, categorise the threat, deal. The old man was barely conscious, but still breathing; the rise of his chest shallow and weak. There was a thin line of blood trickling down his temple. Then he allowed his gaze to wander over to the girl again.

"You hurt?"

She shook her head, her fingers digging into the old man's — her grandfather? — shoulder, deep, gripping the material. The pressure in the air felt like it was coiling tighter, ready to rip — something about the floor was moving wrong, and he couldn't risk wasting a second longer to let them linger here.

"Okay. We're getting you out, so on my command, you run. Keep him moving. You don't stop until I say."

5th of April; 20:52. — you.

Megumi's voice hadn't sounded out anymore. You briefly wondered whether something happened, but when you turned the corner, it escaped your mind, because right there in the centre of the aisle: the cursed womb.

It wasn't hiding anymore. No, worse: it had built a body.

Twisted metal of broken shopping carts; the limbs of mannequins attached to each other, bent like the joints of spider's legs, and in the middle of it, curled up in the protection of its centre was a blob of flesh, deep green in its colour, moving like it's molding. There were something like bones sticking out of its side, like ribs, expanding, trying to breathe. Trying to imitate.

It was not human and yet it craved it so.

At its feet was half of the torso of a store employee, and there were obscene sounds. Slurping, drinking. A few metres away was another store employee, already dry, the skin ashen and wrinkled.

Eyes widening, you realised what was happening.

When you tried to speak into the communication piece, Megumi's voice finally pushed through.

"I've— two civilia— we—" it cracked horribly in your ears and with the brewing of electricity in the air, your hair stood up on its end, "—start evac— protocol."

"Forget that. We don't have time!" you pressed the in-ear so hard, it hurt your ear canal, and you heard a sharp "What?!" coming from him, but you couldn't entertain him, you needed to make him understand, "I found it, Fushiguro. It's some goddamn department store mascot made from some mannequins and—"

You paused when you heard heavy breathing, "And people."

You continued, because he wasn't talking, and you needed him to know, "It's feeding, and I'm not going to lie, it looks ready to burst."

There was a low groan coming from the curse, echoing through the walls. The shelves creaked as they started tilting on their bases, not from motion but from bending. A bad feeling unfurled in your stomach, your fingertips tingling. This was not good.

"We don't have time," you decided, because he wasn't saying shit and you had to stop the curse from fully manifesting, "We need to collapse the upper floor. Drop it with everything we've got, bury the curse, halt it — whatever it is, we need to do it now."

"—not bringin— roof down on—eople!"

You cut through his words, urgent when you heard the Demon Dogs running towards you, "Then get them out faster, because there's no way in hell that I'm waiting."

5th of April; 20:55. — fushiguro megumi.

Megumi's hands were frozen near his blade.

His eyes darted towards the girl and her grandfather — she was still crouched behind him, her breath heavy, painted dark with fear. Their eyes met for a split second and he knew she understood enough from his words.

"We're not sacrificing people," he said, almost snarled, turning away from the girl who looked at him like he was her only salvation, and his shoulders were heavy, threatening to crumble from an invisible force. Whether it was the responsibility he shouldered or the ever-growing output of pressure and energy from the cursed womb, he could not say.

"—risk let— manife—"

He hissed, "Yes," because it was true. Because he'd, "—rather that than dig two corpses out of the rub—"

The shifting of the building cut him off. Aisles buckled and turned, warping like wriggling worms, intestines that were in the middle of digestion. When the empty shelves started stretching outward, hungry, he whirled around, mind set.

His hand gripped the girl's arm hard, his fingers pressing in with frustration, urgency, anger, and he knew the girl winced underneath the harshness of his touch, but he couldn't be worried about bruising her or her old man, when the alternative was them dead. Deleted from this world, under his watch.

"Move. Move," Megumi grunted, and she stumbled over her legs, and then, a shift in the comm line. A sharp click. A decision made.

Megumi's eyes snapped up—

Impact.

A burst of cursed energy tore through the roof, fast and brutal, a calculated cave-in. The concrete groaned, jarring, as a blast erupted from above with an ear-deafening volume. Cracks formed along the ceiling above them like it was chasing the bolt of a lightning strike.

His instincts flared, hands crossing in a familiar gesture.

"Nue!"

The shikigami appeared in a gust of wind. Wings spread wide as it flew straight up towards the ceiling, its body crashing against the bulk of the collapse. It sounded like a thunderclap, the way the force split, the scattering of debris, the fracturing of ceiling away from the civilians.

The girl was crying softly behind him, and Megumi hated the sound. He hated that his chest squeezed, a reminder that he could have failed, he hated that he was in charge, he hated the fury coursing through his veins that you decided to forego his plans, that you put him in a position like that.

He hated you.

5th of April; 21:12. — you.

Megumi's divine dogs surrounded you, growling, threatening, but you weren't going to do anything, anyway.

There wasn't a point anymore. It had been the perfect time — the concrete was about to rain down onto the cursed womb, suffocating it, but then Megumi's goddamn flimsy convictions came in between. Now, the cursed womb was gone. Escaped. God knew what damage it would cause now.

The silence should have been deafening, but the ringing in your ear from the explosion was too loud, the heat on your skin too strong, your throat too dry.

His voice, unhindered from the lack of static interference now that there was no curse in sight anymore, was too loud as well, cold, "They're alive. Not that you'd care to—"

The communication piece crunched under your boots.

5th of April; 22:43. — iwata.

The car ride back was silent, even more so than before. This wasn't just Fushiguro Megumi and the exchange student from Kyoto not getting along —this was a failed mission. This was the culmination of stubborn heads and clashing ideals, and Iwata thought that he could drown in the thick tension simmering between you both.

When the curtain dropped, there was cursed energy lingering in the air, but not as remnants of an exorcism. Active, swirling, faint. That was the signature of a curse that had been here and was now gone.

The first-years looked worse for wear, but it wasn't just the rips in their uniform — it was the look in their eyes: the resentment, the anger, the guilt, the unsaid words sitting on their tongue, ready to be spit out.

Iwata's knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. He really did hope that his car would not become their battlefield, that he could drive just a teeny tiny bit faster so that he wouldn't be around for when both of you decided to hash it out.

5th of April; 23:07. — you.

You entered Tokyo Jujutsu High's protective barrier together. Well, as together as Megumi walking a few steps behind you was. It was cold, the weather reminding you that spring was barely amongst you, but you refused to rub your arms in an effort to warm yourself up. You didn't want to show weakness in front of Megumi, not when you could feel his gaze trained on you from behind; the accusation lying behind the heavy attention.

You pressed your lips together.

The curse was gone, barely traceable for you anymore. When the curtain fell, Iwata had called Gojo at once, though the white-haired teacher had been busy doing god knew what, so you had to relay to Iwata what exactly happened. It was a pathetic display of how much you messed up when both of you started talking over each other, but then Iwata had kindly requested alone time with each of you to go through the details.

Embarrassing.

It wasn't even your fault, but the tip of your ears burned anyway at the incompetence they must have seen when you couldn't stop yourself from responding to Megumi.

Right when your paths diverged, he spoke, voice cold and repressed.

"You dropped a floor on two innocent people."

You couldn't help whirling around to meet him face to face — his' was shadowed, the moon barely illuminating anything. In the silence of the world, your steps sounded hard and deliberate, "You let it escape."

The look in his eyes grew darker, "I made a call and you ignored it."

"No," you shook your head. It was far simpler than that, but of course he wouldn't see it. "You ran from the fight, like you always do, and I didn't."

"Ran? I didn't call to drive them home and tuck them in. We just needed to get them out, but you almost killed them," he scoffed, his hands balled into fists. There was a tremor in his shoulders, one that he tried to suppress with gritted teeth, "and all i'm hearing is that you don't give a damn."

It angered you — the easiness with which he accused you of not caring. Him, who willingly threw away the way Jujutsu Regulations had always been, who played it safe because of what? Because he was scared? Because he couldn't handle making a choice that was supposed to be the one you had to go for? Curses first, people second. Because in a world where people died, to ensure there wasn't more to kill them, was more important.

You had seen the look in his eyes before when somebody died. It wasn't anger, it wasn't pain. It was something quieter, sharper. Regret. Like he could have changed the outcome if there had been more to him than what he was. The way he steeled himself and searched the rubble like he was hoping to find a better version of himself buried under the wreckage.

He thought that made him better. You almost snorted, because it didn't. It just made him dangerous, because he was going to hesitate again. And again. And again.

So yeah, it angered you beyond control the way he threw your principles in front of you and stepped on them when his entire spiel was a lie. It was bullshit.

Your finger dug into his chest, an accusation and a challenge, "There won't be anybody left to give a damn about, because that curse is hatching out somewhere. Who knows how many more people are going to die, hm? Those lives less precious than the ones you saved?"

He looked at you like you grew a second head, but something flickered behind the confines of his eyes, something that he swallowed over and over, that he tried to hide. He slapped your hand away, a sharp sting where your skin met his, and his voice sounded rough when he replied, full of resentment, unbelievability because —, "Who made you god? You don't get to choose who dies, whose life doesn't matter."

"That's the thing, Fushiguro. You wanna keep pretending you know that that's what the job entails, but you don't live up to it. You've never lived up to it. Noble hero, my ass, you're just a coward with a clean conscience."

His hand had snatched the front of your clothes so quickly, you barely had time to react. Nose pressed against yours, his eyes harsh, wild. The uniform strained underneath your arms and you could feel the warmth emitting from his body, the faint smell of him after this long day, sweat and hidden desperation.

The heat of his anger and his hair brushed your forehead, "Say that again."

You narrowed your eyes at him, not moving away. If he wanted to invade your space because he couldn't handle the truth, then you'd meet him right there: "What, you think restraint makes you better? Want me to say it again so badly? You're just scared to admit that you've already made peace with casualties."

A humourless laugh escaped him, his fingers tightening on your blouse, "Funny. I can say the same thing about you—"

"No, but that's the thing: I don't have a problem agreeing with it. I'm telling you right here, right now that yes, I'd sacrifice those two to keep others safe," you interrupted him, watching his face, the flicker in his eyes, the angry twist in his mouth, the grimace that he couldn't hide behind an impassive wall anymore, "But you— you keep doing that, you know? Acting like you don't care because you talk quieter."

Fuck the stoicism that he wanted to cling to, the control he didn't want to give up — you wanted him to get angry, wanted the squeeze of his hand around your uniform to evolve, wanted him to finally tip the edge over and be honest, no performances. He was teetering there, you could see it. It was clinging onto every fibre of his being, pushing him, asking, challenging him. Then— a harsh exhale, his breath warm against your skin in the cool of the night, and he let go.

"If you think that's what it is, then you don't know shit."

You allowed your shoulders to drop, a sigh heavy in your voice, "I think you'd rather break your own bones than admit what you want, Fushiguro. You're not sparing lives, so I don't know who you're kidding. You're just dodging the part where you have to live with who you become."

He walked past you, silent, the gravel underneath his boots filling the air like it was supposed to take over for him.

There he was, running.

You aimed the words at the air in between you both, the ever-growing distance, "At least, I make the calls I can live with. You make the ones you hope no one remembers."

5th of April; 23:59. — fushiguro megumi.

Fushiguro Megumi felt sick to his stomach.

His dormitory door closed shut behind him, quietly. It was deep in the night, his window looking outward to the side of the moon, painting everything in a soft blue hue. It was silent, but it felt charged, like it was waiting for him to make a noise. He didn't want to.

His face felt weird.

He tried to fix it, to go back to the way he looked, the way he always allowed his face to look, but it wouldn't sit right. His eyebrows felt so heavy, the neutral set of his mouth too numb, his cheeks too hollow. The mask he had gotten so used to putting on didn't want to hold. It kept sliding off, and he tried again, but again, it fell into a grimace.

His breathing sounded weird in his ears, too, like it was far away, like this wasn't his body, like Megumi wasn't human and he didn't belong here. Did he ever? When he was out there, standing in front of people and curses, did he? Had he done enough to deserve existing here, safely tucked in his dorm room whilst the curse roamed free out there?

The death of more people, on his hands—

He opened his mouth and exhaled. His body listened, but if he hadn't known that it was his body right now, he might not have recognised it as himself. The intake of breath, his chest expanding, the smell of orange lingering in his room from earlier, the silence. It was so silent.

You ran.

Something — somewhere — tightened, and then everything rushed in at once, like it was scared that if it didn't come say hello now, it would never get its chance to. His hands lifted up into his line of sight, and they were trembling, slightly. He pressed them into his eyeballs like he could squeeze the guilt out this way, like he could dig them deep enough to enter his brain and stop it.

His voice was barely more than a whisper: "I didn't freeze."

He didn't. He couldn't have. He made the hard call. He did. He— you let it escape.

"I didn't."

Nothing in his room answered. What would it say, if it could? Would it agree with Megumi? Would it think that he was a coward, too?

He shook his head, hard enough that the strands of hair clung to his temples, damp. He hadn't noticed that he was sweating. Or was it tears? He didn't know. He wasn't sure. There was pressure building in his chest, up in his throat, trying to claw out, to rip free from his skin.

It barely registered in his mind when his his hands came together and cursed energy lingered between his palms, nor when the soft fur of his Divine Dogs brushed the hands, the tentative swipe of their tongue on his skin.

The moonlight caught in his eyes, and for a second he thought he saw himself reflected in the window amidst the black and white fur surrounding his head.

It didn't look like him.

6th of April; 00:19. — you.

You were exhausted to the bone.

Your chest felt like somebody had taken a hammer and chiselled your organs around until all the anger had fizzled out, until only fatigue was left, muscles aching, deeply; throat scratchy and raw from the shouting.

Megumi's face kept flickering through your head; the look in his eyes, the way they didn't harden, the way they looked like a kaleidoscope, fractured in a million pieces. The way they dropped. Just a bit, just enough.

Fuck. Had you been too rough? Too sharp?

You hadn't wanted to pick a fight — not really. You just…you couldn't take the way he stood there like the weight didn't touch him. Like he wouldn't turn around and then not care if there were civilians on the line that he didn't know and hadn't promised to save. Like he had any right to accuse you of anything.

But why couldn't you ignore it?

It wasn't like that was your first time meeting somebody whose principles were all weird. Hell, you didn't even mind that, if only he stood by it. But he didn't, and something about that bothered you.

He needed it, right?

Because if you didn't push him that hard, he would just continue hiding. Because if you didn't slap him awake, his restraint might get everybody killed. Because maybe you wanted a reason to respect him, to believe he was someone worth following. Someone who, if he really tried, could stop pretending and step up, stop being a shadow of what he could be.

No. You had to. Because if you didn't, nobody would. Because he was the heir to the Zen'in clans technique and he was wasting it. Yeah, that must be it.

Why does it matter to you? Why does it keep mattering?

You got into bed and ignored the question like it wasn't sitting there beside you in the dark like it was something alive.

6th of April; 04:52. — gojo satoru.

Gojo Satoru stepped into the broken shopping mall deep in the middle of the night.

The scent hit him first — burned plastic, the water-logged fertiliser from the gardening section strong in the air, the blood faint but still there, like it soaked into the bones of this mart. Residues of cursed energy hummed low, traces of them visible to Gojo's eyes, though it was dissipating with the hours passing. Gojo thought it almost seemed shy the way it was trying to hide from him, like it was ashamed to stay.

He huffed, an exhale whirling around the dust from the collapse, "Could've been worse."

The circle with the ritual completely cracked in half, the shards on the floor, the bodies of the employees — yeah. Definitely could have been worse.

Gojo moved through the mall like a ghost, his footsteps light, his posture relaxed and easy. His Six Eyes were everywhere, scanning the remnants of the talismans, tracking the remaining energy across the linoleum and the shattered shelves.

He didn't have to look where the curse had blown away to, he already knew.

Instead, he knelt beside the dried streaks on the floor, his fingers brushing the scorch marks from a lightning strike.

Megumi.

There was a small smile pulling at the corner of Gojo's mouth, sharp, "Sloppy, Gumi-chan."

The kid was still too soft.

Though, of course, if it had been Gojo Satoru, he wouldn't have needed to blast the roof to exorcise the curse. He would have just killed it from the get go, and whoever was stuck in the mall would've been able to get out safely, afterwards. Not that he would have stayed around for that. That was what Ichiji would have been for.

He did admire that about Megumi, his ability to deeply shoulder the guilt. He thought it made him human, and that was always a good sign. But Gojo resented it, too. The world they lived in didn't reward hesitation, or holding back. It didn't reward worry about whether your hands would be stained.

It punished it.

But that was how kids were supposed to be and to an extent it relieved Gojo, but it also twisted something in his chest. If they didn't grasp it soon—

He didn't want to scrape off their remains.

Gojo stood up, slow and fluid, a dance he had done before a thousand times. The air shifted around him and then he stood in front of the half-born, desperate curse. Tracking it was easy, teleporting to it even easier.

"You had your chance," he murmured, picking off non-existent lint off his sleeve, his voice bored and almost cruel. "You made it to the edge of something special. Congratulations."

He raised his hand, "Now disappear."

A pulse of cursed energy, no technique even needed, and it was gone like it never existed at all.

A deep sigh escaped him as he stood in the silence of the outskirts of Tokyo, surrounded by shadows of a fight that wasn't his, but became his, anyway. Like it always did. That was what he was for. He handled what his kids couldn't. Not because they were weak and couldn't deal the finishing blow, not because they failed when they should have succeeded.

But because they were learning and that was his duty. For as long as they were — he'd work himself to the bone cleaning up their mess.

Now, on to destroy that talisman you had written up to send off to Kyoto.

AUTHOR'S NOTE | thank you for reading!!

[avocado-writing]

Omg i love your poly Deadpool and Wolverine fics !! I especially love that reader is totally a sunshine ! Could you do any fic with them and that trope ? 😍

vague sequel to this

Your bad day has been utterly forgotten. 

It’s not incredibly hard for them to cheer you up, Logan and Wade have learned. You’re so rarely sad that it’s hardly an issue anyway, but all they really need to do is redirect your energy into something else. A distraction to take your mind off of whatever’s gotten under your skin.  

There’s a little carnival that’s set up near the apartment. One of those ones which is constantly on the move, overcharges for everything, and is exactly the kind of place you love. So it was a no-brainer to take you there for the evening. 

Logan bought you a necklace made of hard candies, Wade took you on all the rollercoasters which were definitely not safe but you screamed with joy while riding. You’d insisted all three of you squeezed into a boat through the tunnel of love, and they’d come out the other side with your lipstick all over their faces, you smugly sandwiched between them. 

And through the evening you’ve been fucking jubilant. Your laughter rolls like thunder, but the kind which means a storm is going to clear out the oppressive atmosphere of a muggy day. A sweet, loud kind of laughter which peals from your very soul. Wade and Logan catch each other’s eye as you absolutely decimate a stick of neon blue cotton candy: they’ve done well. 

The three of you are preparing to go home when something catches your eye, slowing you to a stop as you stare. It’s a prize booth - the kind where you have to knock over a tower of tin cans to win. Hanging from the rafters are huge plushies of your favourite animal. 

“C’mon baby, you know these games are rigged,” Logan sighs, aware he’s marching into a losing battle. You lick the sugar off of your fingers and dump the wooden stick into a garbage bin, eyes wide in the fluorescent lights of the bumper cars nearby. 

“Aww… but they’re so cute…” you sigh, looking really disappointed. 

Well, neither of them are ones to let that happen, so Logan and Wade find themselves speaking in unison when they say: “I’ll win you one.”

They exchange a look and you grin. Oh. This has become a challenge, and both are too stubborn to back down. Together they step up to the counter, each slamming five dollars down and making the poor teenager manning the booth jump. 

“Uh, okay, you have two balls and need to knock the whole tower—”

The teen doesn’t even get a chance to finish their explanation before Logan has launched one of the pathetic beanbags at the cans with such force that it crumples a couple of them in half. They’re cleared off completely in one hit. The attendant can only gawp as he smugly points to one of the huge plushies which is dutifully fetched. You let out a little woop of joy as he passes it into your arms, giving Wade a look which says beat that. 

Wade hums, throwing the beanbag up and down in his hand, testing its weight. 

“Okay, well, not all of us are barbarians who need to use brute strength to compensate for our advanced age. It’s all about the finesse, pookie.”

Wade angles his throw so it bounces off the side wall, clearing all of the cans but one. Logan lets out a smug huff. Wade frowns. 

“Hey, look, is that Spiderman doing full-frontal nudity?” he says, pointing into the distance, distracting the teen with one hand while he whips out a knife with the other and skewers the can to the back of the booth. 

“Prize please!” he says when they turn back, turning pale at the sight of what’s been done to their game. They pass him another plushie from the roof with shaking hands, and Wade presents it to you with a flourish. 

“That was cheating,” Logan states as the three of you walk away.

“Uh, I cleared the cans, old man. No cheating about it.”

“You had a second ball to throw,” you point out, and Wade pauses. 

“Do you want the toy or not, sweetcheeks?”

And that is how you find yourself more stuffed animal than human, waddling out of the carnival with a huge smile and arms full of polyester. The whole thing is sort of ridiculous but, honestly, if you’re smiling? Logan and Wade can agree it’s totally worth it. 

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