#own and yuki too as always

[patchxwork]

parody/redraw ❄️🖼️

[oh-no-its-bird]

Since Ichigo dies at about 15, and Hatake get their marks at like 14? what do her clan markings look like? 👀

OHHH OK THIS IS ACTUALLY A WHOLE THING, SO,

Ichigo got moon stripes !! It's also known as the story teller stripes, and is the traditional tattoos of the Hatake clan's religious leader and story keeper. Which Ichigo does end up in training to become!

There's actually a bit of drama with the fact that Yuki, the current clan shaman, is so old (she's in her 70's, which is basically like being in her 120's for a shinobi), and she's only now picking an apprentice in Ichigo.

Yuki did actually have an apprentice before, who was fully trained and set up to take up the position whenever Yuki died— but they were one of the 5 Hatake to die to illness the winter before the Hatake were summoned to iron court (which is the event that got the ball rolling on the Hatake joining Konoha a year or two later)

Yuki settled on Ichigo being her next apprentice relatively quickly after that, but wouldn't actually tell anyone about it for some more years— stubbornly staying quiet on the topic even when pressed with increasingly stressed and worried questions about it. Ichigo was only about 8 at the time, but Yuki set to training her just a little bit under the table

It was easy enough, when Ichigo was always happy to listen to her stories and gossip about past and present events. Ichigo kind of ended up soaking in a lot of things she'd be expected to learn in the role (religious rights / mythos of spirits and gods / traditions and why they do them / stories passed down through the family / etc.) naturally throughout the years.

Finally, Ichigo turned 14 and lead her first hunt— the marker of a Hatake coming of age. Afterwards, it was Yuki's job to give her the stripes Yuki deemed to 'fit her best,' which is ofc when she gave her the moon stripes and officially announced her plans with a "teehee congrats <3"

It wasn't actually too much of a surprise to those who'd been paying attention to what had been going on, but still caught some off guard. Ichigo had been "training" for like, 6 whole years at that point, without even realizing it. So she was honestly pretty well into her education on the roll, and would probably only need a few more years afterwards to be deemed officially ready to take it on

But then ofc, she dies a year later. And Yuki dies in very quick succession. (Losing her third apprentice, and so old already, had done terrible things to her heart and spirit) And with both of them went a very large portion of the clans history.

Others in the clan, of course, still knew plenty. Yuki's teachings had not been for Ichigo alone, and many had sat by her side and listened to her stories as well. But no single person knew as much as they had or had been in the same position of authority to do things like honoring the spirits of their ancestors or assigning Hatake stripes to their young.

In their deaths, Haruka had to take up many of their duties, mostly by default via being the highest other figure of respect in that regard. But they lost a lot.

There's some sort of interesting point to be made that the Hatake's religious leader wears tattoos that symbolize a red moon. And that Kaguya-hime is among the gods they pay respects to.

I don't really have any real thoughts on it other than going "hmm." and writing that down to reference later, but like !! That's something

anyways Yuki herself is also pretty cute, I find myself enjoying her immensely, so take this art I drew for her the other day that I've been looking for an excuse to post:

[seokwoosmole]

*Sign of affection minor spoilers*

Yuki’s family not communicating with her in (or even seeming to know much) sign language rubs me so wrongly. I don’t know a whole lot about the Deaf community, but I’m taking an ASL class right now and I’ve seen Deaf characters portrayed in media, but I don’t know any Deaf people that use ASL that are close to me, so maybe this isn’t an educated opinion. But I would think that if you were a parent and had a Deaf child since BIRTH and they were 19 years old, sometime in those 19 years, you would have learned sign language - even a little???? Like if Yuki was born hearing and became deaf later in life, I could maybe see how her parents/brother haven’t yet mastered sign language, but that’s not the case!! Yuki was born Deaf and her whole family is perfectly fine with her relying on lip reading and they don’t even seem like they’re actively practicing or learning for that matter😭That scene in the manga when Yuki helps clean for her older brother and she says he only knows ONE sign. And when Itsuomi meets her parents they are genuinely shocked that the two of them are holding sign language conversations despite him only learning recently and the two of them not dating very long. I love Itsuomi and I do think he is genuinely a really great guy, but I also think other characters make it really easy for him to look like such a green flag in comparison😭 Like. This man didn’t know a single sign before meeting Yuki and he’s known her for a few MONTHS and he’s made such an effort to learn for her. And don’t get me wrong, this isn’t an Itsuomi praise post (again I love him, but imo, if you have a significant other who’s fluent in and predominantly uses a language that’s not one you know, it’s the bare minimum to make an effort to learn it) more so this post is just me being baffled at the people in Yuki’s life😭 Like. THESE PEOPLE LOVE HER! Yuki does not in the slightest have an unloving or unkind family. So the fact that they canonically don’t use sign language with her and rely on her to lip read and write/text is just wild to me.

[yuudamari]

ill be like idc about jjk and its true but then i see satoru and suguru and its over

[festivalofthe12]

mmmmmmmmmmmmmm when it comes to Kyou I sometimes worry if I'm being too hard on him through like a certain kind of projection, right

but. I can't be... the only one to think there's at least..a little bit of a...victim complex in him, right...?

WHICH: to clarify straight up, he was treated awfully and never deserved any of that, and is all-around 100% a victim who's right to think of himself as such. All of that is correct!!!!!!

but. The whole STORY. is that the cat is the one animal who gets exiled. The one 'bad' one. The one who's ostracised.

And with that comes a certain... I mean, it's a bit easier to think of yourself as the victim, when that's the way everyone frames it, right? That you're the one who's been hard done by? That everyone else has it out for you? That to make things right, everything should be inverted, so everyone apologises and bows down to him for once???

Especially with Yuki. And, again to be fair, Yuki is not at ALL immune to minimising the shit that Kyou's been dealt with because it's often the inverse of what happened to Yuki and that envy is toxic and because Yuki was raised to think that way and also just because Kyou is annoying to him personally hahah.

But. Yuki knows about Kyou's True Form. Kyou... doesn't actually know what happened between Yuki and Akito. And psychologically, there's a hell of lot to benefit him if he reaaaaaally doesn't think about it.

So. Am I being biased to think that, all things considered, Kyou is more dismissive of Yuki's struggles? And that even up through the end of the manga, he still sorta... doesn't really entirely get it?? (At least from what I remember... which is little........)

But here's where I feel like I'm projecting because. My experiences are WAY more like Yuki: pushing things down, trying to do the right thing, feeling like you're just supposed to be grateful for what you have because you've been so privileged. And people who match the sorta description I have of Kyou above have kinda. screwed me up mentally in a lot of ways hahahahahahhhh.

so. I know it's such a cliche thing to have people learn about what Yuki's been through and be so Shocked and Comforting and ooo weepy uke Yuki or what ever (ever notice how nobody ever gets mad at the smug asshole seme stereotype?? HMM.) and I know I might just be biased against Kyou, because of all that IRL stuff and also because early in fandom people kind of did IIRC act like Kyou was right about everything and Yuki not that far off from how Kyou saw him. but.

IDK there's always a part of me that just. keeps thinking up scenarios where Kyou like. still doesn't entirely gets it. and gets called out a bit, or proven wrong.

and maybe that's really dumb or childish of me hahahah;;;;;

[jungwnies]

F1 GRID (2/2) | being lifted onto a counter

୨ৎ : featuring : lando norris, oscar piastri, kimi antonelli, ollie bearman, and yuki tsunoda (click here for part one) ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by anon 🫐) : your f1 boyfriend picking you up on the counter... or maybe even vice verse for shits and giggles ;)

୨ৎ : genre : comedic romance & slightly suggestive (for some drivers) ୨ৎ : tws : suggestive if you SQUINT ୨ৎ : word count : 1774

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : who do you guys think is going to get podium this weekend >.<

ʚ・lando norris

lando was up to something.

you could tell from the way he was grinning like an idiot, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he stood in front of you in the kitchen.

“i bet i could lift you,” he announced suddenly, arms crossed like he was about to prove some great athletic achievement.

you raised an eyebrow. “uh… yeah? you literally train every day?”

lando smirked. “okay, okay. stand still.”

you complied, waiting for him to make his move. he bent his knees, placed his hands on your waist, and then—absolutely nothing happened.

he grunted. groaned. dramatically wiped his forehead. even pretended to struggle as if you were a literal boulder.

you blinked. “are you serious?”

lando huffed, shaking his head. “damn, babe. you’re, like… heavy.”

silence.

you narrowed your eyes, crossing your arms.

lando’s grin immediately faltered.

“wait—no, that’s not what i meant!” he panicked, waving his hands around like a madman. “i was JOKING—”

“oh?” you glared, stepping back. “i’m heavy?”

lando’s brain short-circuited. “no! i mean—well, yes, but not like that! i mean, like—you’re the perfect weight! no—wait, i don’t mean perfect weight, i mean—”

you stared, watching him dig his own grave.

“lando.”

he froze.

you tilted your head. “if i’m so heavy, maybe you shouldn’t try again.”

that was all it took.

suddenly, his hands were on your waist again, and before you could even react, you were lifted into the air with complete and total ease.

you gasped, hands gripping his shoulders. “HEY—”

he smirked up at you, holding you like you weighed nothing.

“huh,” lando said smugly. “guess you weren’t that heavy after all.”

you smacked his arm. “i hate you.”

he grinned, leaning in slightly. “no, you don’t.”

you narrowed your eyes. “you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

lando’s smugness disappeared instantly. “no, no, wait—babe, please—”

and that’s how lando norris learned there are some jokes you just don’t make.

ʚ・oscar piastri

it was the kind of quiet, cozy evening that made everything feel just right, no race weekends, no flights to catch, just you and oscar, home together.

you were standing by the counter, absentmindedly stirring your tea, wrapped in one of oscar’s hoodies that hung far too big on you. he was leaning against the opposite counter, arms crossed, watching you with that small, lazy smile that only appeared when he was truly relaxed.

“what?” you asked, narrowing your eyes playfully.

oscar shrugged, pushing off the counter and walking toward you. “nothing. just thinking about how nice this is.”

you smiled, setting your spoon down. “you mean me making tea while you do absolutely nothing?”

he smirked. “exactly.”

before you could roll your eyes, his hands found your waist, and in one smooth motion, he lifted you onto the counter.

a surprised laugh left your lips. “oscar!”

“what?” he stepped between your legs, his hands still resting on your thighs, thumbs tracing slow circles. “you looked like you needed a change of perspective.”

you huffed, but couldn’t fight the warmth spreading through your chest. “and you just had to lift me?”

he hummed, leaning in slightly. “well, yeah. it’s my boyfriend duty.”

you scoffed, wrapping your arms around his neck. “oh? and what else does your ‘boyfriend duty’ include?”

oscar pretended to think, his fingers still absentmindedly tracing patterns on your skin. “making sure you’re always warm. stealing your snacks, just to test them for poison.”

you laughed, shaking your head. “how noble of you.”

he grinned, his nose brushing against yours. “and, of course, making sure you never forget how much i love you.”

your heart stuttered. even after all this time, he still had that effect on you.

you softened, threading your fingers through his hair. “you’re doing a great job, then.”

oscar smiled, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips before pulling back just enough to murmur, “good. because i’m never quitting.”

and in that small, quiet moment, with the rain outside and his warmth surrounding you, you knew, you never wanted him to.

ʚ・kimi antonelli

kimi wasn’t big on public affection. not because he didn’t love you, he just wasn’t the type to put on a show.

so when you tugged at his hand in the middle of a crowded paddock, laughing as you challenged him, “bet you can’t lift me,” you thought nothing of it.

kimi, however, didn’t hesitate.

he simply stepped closer, hands settling at your waist, and you barely had time to react before you felt your feet start to leave the ground.

that was when he realized.

the moment it hit him that you weren’t alone.

that, in fact, several people were watching.

kimi immediately froze, muscles going tense. his grip slackened slightly, and you could practically see the internal debate happening in real time.

“…df, pdf… vdc…” he mumbled under his breath, his brain quite literally short-circuiting.

you blinked at him. “excuse me?”

kimi exhaled sharply, dropping his hands as if you had suddenly become radioactive. he took half a step back, eying the people around you with suspicion.

“i’m not doing this here,” he muttered, shaking his head.

you burst out laughing. “what, you’re embarrassed?”

he gave you a flat look. “no. i just—” he gestured vaguely at the people around you. “why are there so many witnesses?”

you grinned. “ohhh, i see. you can win races, but lifting your own girlfriend in public is too much pressure?”

kimi scowled. “that’s not—”

before he could finish, you took a step closer, lowering your voice. “so… if we were alone, you’d do it?”

he hesitated for one second too long.

“ha!” you pointed accusingly. “you would!”

kimi rolled his eyes, grabbing your wrist and pulling you away. “fine. come with me.”

you blinked. “where are we—”

the moment you turned a corner, out of view of prying eyes, he lifted you effortlessly, hands gripping your waist, placing you onto the nearest flat surface—a low counter, a bench, whatever he could find.

“there.” he smirked slightly, stepping between your legs. “happy now?”

you laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck. “you’re ridiculous.”

he hummed, leaning in just a little closer. “mmm. and you’re lucky i like you.”

and just like that, the kimi antonelli no-public-affection rule was officially broken.

ʚ・ollie bearman

ollie bearman liked to pretend he was smooth.

emphasis on pretend.

he was confident on track, composed when it mattered, but when it came to you? all bets were off.

which is how he ended up in this situation—standing in the kitchen, staring at you like he had just made the most genius decision of his life.

“i could totally lift you,” he announced, randomly, like he had just thought of it and immediately decided it needed to be said out loud.

you raised an eyebrow, setting down your glass. “and why exactly do you feel the need to prove that?”

ollie grinned. “because i just know i can.”

you narrowed your eyes at him. “have you been thinking about this?”

“…no,” he said, way too quickly.

you sighed, shaking your head. “you’re ridiculous.”

but before you could argue any further, ollie had already stepped closer, his hands firmly gripping your waist.

“wait—”

too late.

in one effortless motion, you were off the ground, lifted cleanly into the air like you weighed absolutely nothing.

your hands immediately gripped his shoulders, your laugh bubbling out before you could stop it. “ollie!”

he grinned up at you, looking way too pleased with himself. “told you.”

you rolled your eyes. “okay, fine, strong guy, put me down—”

his smirk widened. oh no.

“hmm,” he pretended to think. “maybe i won’t.”

you gasped. “ollie bearman, do not—”

before you could even threaten him, he spun you in a circle, his laugh mixing with yours as he effortlessly twirled you in the air before finally placing you onto the counter.

you stared at him, breathless, eyes wide. “you’re unbelievable.”

ollie brushed imaginary dust off his hands, still grinning. “you can admit you’re impressed.”

you tilted your head, crossing your arms. “okay. now you let me lift you.”

his cocky expression immediately dropped. “uh—”

“you were so confident a second ago.”

ollie laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “i—look, that’s different—”

you raised an eyebrow, challenging him. “oh? because i think i can totally lift you.”

“…can i at least finish my snack first?”

“nope.”

and just like that, his ego was officially on the line.

ʚ・yuki tsunoda

yuki tsunoda wasn’t the biggest fan of public displays of affection.

it wasn’t that he didn’t like affection—he actually enjoyed it quite a bit when it was just the two of you. but growing up in japan, where pda wasn’t exactly the norm, meant he was always hyper-aware of who was watching.

which is why, when he effortlessly lifted you off the ground in the middle of a very crowded paddock, he immediately regretted it.

at first, he was smug about it.

you had teased him about his height one too many times, so he had proved a point—his hands firm on your waist, your feet leaving the ground before you could even react.

“see?” he said, grinning up at you. “stronger than i look.”

you laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck. “okay, okay, you made your point—”

that’s when yuki realized.

you weren’t alone.

the second he turned his head slightly, he was met with several amused, wide-eyed faces.

a few team members. some journalists. and worst of all—pierre and lando.

pierre’s jaw dropped.

lando’s smirk was pure evil. “ohhhh, this is adorable.”

yuki’s entire body locked up.

he froze, mid-lift, realization hitting him like a freight train.

he had just done this in front of everyone.

you could see the exact moment his brain malfunctioned.

“…oh,” yuki muttered, voice flat.

pierre grinned. “don’t stop now! give them a kiss too!”

yuki immediately set you down, face burning red. “shut up, pierre.”

lando was laughing so hard he could barely stand. “mate, what happened to ‘not in public’?”

yuki scowled, grabbing your wrist and practically dragging you away. “i forgot, okay?!”

you, barely containing your laughter, let him pull you along. “so, lifting me was fine until you realized you had an audience?”

yuki groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “i swear to god, i’m never doing that again.”

“you love me, though.”

he sighed dramatically. “yeah, yeah. i do. but next time, we’re doing this in private.”

pierre called after him, voice dripping with amusement. “are you sure, yuki? maybe next time you can dip them too!”

yuki’s entire body tensed.

“keep walking,” he muttered under his breath. “i’m gonna kill him.”

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[kunasthiast]

family jewels

the thing about you and sukuna was that you were the most annoying kind of married couple.

hot. loaded. and completely, delusionally obsessed with each other (to the point that it gets most people who see you outside annoyed at your PDAs). 

which is why it was absolutely no surprise that when you decided to throw a party to celebrate closing another billion-dollar deal… you were also the LAST ones to show up to your own party at the fucking club.

you two were forty minutes late.

forty. fucking. minutes.

it was enough time for your friends to empty two champagne bottles, start several arguments, and contemplate abandoning you entirely.

“they're late,” geto said, deadpan, flicking his lighter open and closed in a steady rhythm, irritation simmering beneath the surface.

“they’re always late,” choso sighed, swirling his whiskey like a man who had seen too much. 

“they’re probably fucking in the car right now,” shoko said, already halfway through her third drink. 

meimei, perfectly composed as always, took a long sip of her champagne. “or in the alley. they’re not picky.”

“if they don’t show up in ten minutes, i’m eating their cake,” yuki announced, already reaching across the table. 

the VIP lounge you reserved wasn’t tucked away upstairs or anything fancy. no — you specifically picked the main floor, where everyone could watch you be the beautiful, arrogant bastards you were.

plush velvet couches.

towering flower arrangements.

the bartender assigned exclusively to your table wore a $500 shirt and a grim expression.

because when rich, hot stupid motherfuckers drank — they drank like they were personally challenging god. gojo’s words, not yours, ‘kay?

“you think they got distracted by shiny objects,” gojo said, pushing up his sunglasses. “they're like fucking toddlers. with a joint checking account.”

toji just grunted and leaned back in the booth, looking like he regretted agreeing to socialize with these idiots. the whole group practically vibrated with boredom and thinly veiled resentment. 

and just as yuki was lifting her fork — the club doors slammed open. 

and in you walked — a vision in skin-tight black and gold, all legs and smugness, absolutely glowing under the strobing lights. there you were. walking in like you OWNED THE BUILDING.

sukuna was behind you, one hand lazily on your lower back, looking criminally hot in an open-collar shirt and a black jacket he wore like he didn’t give a single fuck.

you were laughing at something he said, adjusting your necklace, looking unfairly hot, and just… honestly, you both had the radiance of people who had just had incredible sex. and knew it.

shoko groaned into her glass. “disgusting,” she muttered.

"i can smell the sex from here," toji said bluntly, nose wrinkling. 

“they’re fucking glowing,” yuki said, shielding her eyes dramatically.

“puh-lease for the love of god, make it stop,” gojo said, voice scandalized. “that’s post-nut clarity.” 

you practically skipped into the booth, tossing your purse onto the table and sliding into the seat beside meimei like you hadn't just made them all wait almost an hour. 

“hi besties!!” you chirped, grinning like a maniac.   

“we said ten,” geto said, voice clipped.

“ten-ish,” you said brightly, throwing up finger guns at him.

“what the fuck is ten-ish,” choso muttered, half-tempted to throw his drink at you. 

“fashionably late,” sukuna chimed in smugly, sliding into the booth beside you and throwing his arm over the back of your seat like he was posing for a magazine cover. “you're welcome for gracing you with our presence.” 

“40 minutes late for a goddamn billion-dollar celebration to a club you’re only 8 fucking minutes away from and you’re both too smug about it," gojo said, visibly offended. “someone punch them.”

“surprised you even showed up” sukuna replied to gojo, who miraculously took off his damn sunglasses inside the club. 

gojo laughed, flipping his sunglasses down lower on his nose. “i don't abandon my friends,” he said, flashing a grin. “even if they're late, horny, and morally bankrupt.”

“thanks, darling,” you said sweetly, blowing him a kiss.

gojo caught it midair and dramatically pretended to shove it down his pants. “gonna save that for later.” he said with a wink. 

“can i throw up now,” toji muttered, nursing his whiskey.

“only if you aim it at gojo,” meimei said dryly, clinking her glass against yours.

you and sukuna settled in as if you hadn't just made everyone’s blood boil — kicking your legs up onto the plush seats, stealing yuki’s drink without asking, and laughing like this is your last day on earth. 

“so why are we actually here,” toji asked, clearly so done with the night, tipping his head back against the booth.

you sat up straighter, practically glowing with excitement.

“because,” you said, dramatically flipping your hair. “we closed a billion-dollar deal, signed the paperwork, and immediately celebrated by fucking on the kitchen counter.”

choso made a noise like he was dying, “jesus christ.”

“also drank a whole bottle of dom p,” sukuna added proudly, lifting his glass in salute.

“then fucked again,” you said cheerfully as if this was the most normal convo you have with your friends.

“then passed out naked on the living room floor,” sukuna said, like he was giving a TED Talk on life excellence.

meimei only nodded, approving and unbothered — she understood the grind. shoko started chanting "divorce, divorce, divorce" under her breath like a curse.

“ew,” geto muttered, but there was no real heat behind it. gojo howled, sloshing the champagne bottle he was drinking from everywhere.

“and because we’re very generous people,” you continued sweetly, resting your chin on your hand, “we decided to share our joy and wealth by hosting a little party for our beloved friends.”

“you could’ve just venmoed me,” yuki deadpanned.

“gojo still owes me five grand,” geto said, side-eyeing him.

“gojo owes me a liver,” shoko added.

“you people are fucked,” sukuna said fondly, taking a lazy sip of his whiskey, as though he didn’t just contribute to the stupidity and fuckery of society.

“we learned from the best,” toji said, sipping his drink like he was the moral compass of the group. (no one is.)  

you and sukuna accepted the compliment gracefully, grinning like heathens.

—

after several rounds of drinks, a round of flaming shots, a group selfie where everyone looked hot and insane, and gojo almost arm-wrestling toji for the last fucking slider, the inevitable happened. the girls wanted to dance. 

“let’s go, let’s go, let’s go,” shoko whooped, already yanking you out of your seat.

“leave the fossils here,” meimei said, flicking sukuna’s ear as she passed.

“hey!” sukuna barked, swatting at her.

“catch me first, grandpa,” she sang over her shoulder.

“i’m killing her later,” sukuna muttered under his breath, nursing his drink.

you giggled, leaning down to kiss his lips. “be good, baby,” you whispered in his ear, sliding into his lap with a level of sweetness only you could pull off.

he caught your chin gently, tilting your face up until you were staring into that lazy, molten gaze.

"i’ll be watching, sweetheart," he promised, voice low and dangerous.

you almost melted but shoko was having none of it. she yanked you away like the world was on fire and your ass was the hydrant.

—

the dance floor was a nightmare in the best way (or not). a sea of heat and bodies, music thundering so loud you could feel it in your teeth. you and the girls lost yourselves in it — hair whipping, hands thrown up, laughing so hard you thought you might dislocate something.

meanwhile, from the booth, the boys watched you girls like an ancient greek chorus of judgmental old men who had seen far too much in their lifetimes.

“gojo’s recording again,” geto noted, eyes narrowing at the screen like it was some kind of horrible documentary..

“obvs, for blackmail purposes,” gojo chimed in with his stupid grin, filming you for some future hostage situation.

“you know sukuna’s gonna murder someone if someone looks at her wrong, right?” toji added, the corner of his mouth curling.

“good,” sukuna drawled, lighting a cigarette lazily. “saves me the trouble.”

but then. oh boy. holy shit. the universe really decided to put on a show. so now here they are as they all watched this current situation you’re in unfold like a goddamn movie.

you were twirling mid-spin, lost in the music when a presence loomed too fucking close. you stumbled, catching yourself — and then there he was. some frat boy in a very tight compression shirt and leather jacket, grinning (or was he smirking??) like he was the stupidest human alive.

“hey there, sweetheart,” he slurred, leaning way too close. “mind if I buy you a drink?”

you blinked at him, momentarily stunned.

“uh,” you said eloquently.

before anyone could even get a word out, shoko immediately stepped in, body tense. yuki shot the frat boy a look, already calculating his odds of survival, while meimei simply raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

from the booth, gojo couldn’t hold it in anymore. “holy shit,” he cackled, loud enough to make everyone of the guys in the booth question why they’re even friends with this idiot. “is that kid hitting on your wife?!” he nearly choked on his drink, and you could hear the evil grin on his face even through the loud music.

“kid’s got a death wish,” geto added, deadpan, as he took a sip of his drink.

sukuna just... stared. amused, maybe. a little deadly.

and because you were inexplicably tipsy and feeling spiteful as hell, you decided to indulge the idiot. 

“i’m married,” you said brightly, like this wasn’t the most obvious thing to say. you even held your left hand out, showing off the wedding ring.

the kid didn’t even blink. didn’t even pause.

“yeah? that just makes you hotter.” he grinned. 

you gawked at him like he was a bug under a magnifying glass and said, “i’m thirty-three.”

he didn’t skip a beat. “even better. i like older women,” he said with an obnoxious smirk, clearly thinking this was the best pickup line in human history. “i’m twenty-one.”

you choked on your laugh, the absurdity hitting you like a slap to the face. meimei couldn’t hold it in either. she bursted out laughing, clutching her sides. shoko dropped her whole tense body and started snorting like an animal.

“oh my god,” you gasped, clutching your chest dramatically.

“nah, for real,” he said, all smug with his unearned confidence and flashing you a crooked grin. "age is just a number, right? you’re hot as fuck. i bet you could teach me a few things.you even look like a milf, sweetheart.”

“kid, you’re still learning how to legally drink,” you muttered, giving him your best deadpan. “don't you have bedtime?”

he just grinned, all cocky. “already graduated, actually. and i'm single.”

before you could figure out how to escape this kid – or an even better line to shut this idiot down – two hands slid firmly around your waist. chin on your right shoulder. yep, there he was, the 6 foot 5 man who was practically crawling up on your back to make this infuriating little frat boy disappear. 

familiar. possessive. and you can definitely hear gojo’s fucking laugh even through the loud ass music.

“congratu-fucking-lations, kid,” sukuna’s voice cut through the noise like a blade, smooth  and lethal. he leaned in, voice low to whisper against your ear, “s’there a problem here, baby?”

you practically melted against him, relief and smugness washing over you in equal measure. now, this is the golden ticket to freedom.

the frat boy had the audacity to stare sukuna down. “who the fuck are you? take your hands off her.” 

sukuna just raised a single, judgmental brow at this stupid college boy who had ego as high as an ant hill. 

and of course, your friends were too busy losing their shit, watching this trainwreck unfold like spectators at a live reality show. even toji, who was usually too cool for this nonsense, was straight-up laughing. and gojo was still recording all of this shit while laughing too loud. swear, his asthma might attack him anytime because his laugh is now borderline violent.

“look, just piss off, baby boy,” you grinned like a devil as you crossed your arms with sukuna still hugging you from behind.

and he did NOT appreciate that.  

“tch, you’re not even that hot, old bitch.”

oh. oh. this kid’s so dead. nobody’s fucking safe when someone tries to pick a fight with you.

sukuna released his grip just enough for you to stretch out like you were preparing for a fight, cracking your knuckles like you’d been waiting your entire life for this moment.

“you don’t even go that route, kid,” you said casually, stepping forward. and then you fucking slapped him across the face and kneed him so hard in the balls that everyone could’ve heard it. 

the frat boy crumpled in on himself down to the floor, gasping for air as his hands went straight to his groin. his face contorted in pain, and for a split second, every person in your vicinity was watching this ridiculous scene.

“hope your jewels can still be passed down to the next generation, sweetie,” you added with a sweet smile, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

and then everything – more like everyone – erupted into chaos.

gojo, still holding his phone, burst into uncontrollable laughter. "holy shit, i’m definitely saving that one for later," he snickered, barely holding it together. "this is gold.”  

shoko clutched her stomach, laughing so hard she could barely breathe, while yuki simply shook her head, her eyes sparkling with unfiltered amusement. meimei was fucking clapping like she just watched an opera.  

toji smirked, raising his glass as if in salute. "that's what you get for trying to hit on a woman who's been married to a literal demon.”

choso, ever the quiet one, sipped his drink, watching the scene unfold like it was a perfectly ordinary Tuesday. while geto was quietly smoking his joint (you don’t even know where he got that from).

and sukuna? he just stood there, a flicker of amusement flashing across his face, though he didn’t say anything at first. the corners of his lips quirked up, just enough for anyone who knew him to catch it — he was fucking entertained. his eyes lingered on the frat boy, crumpled in a heap, hands clutching his junk like he just met the wrong person. 

“you’re a goddamn menace,” sukuna drawled to the boy on the floor, voice low and silky, though there was something dangerous dancing beneath it. 

his gaze shifted back to you, and the way his lips curled could’ve been mistaken for a grin if you weren’t paying attention to the warning in his eyes. “baby, you could’ve just let the kid walk away, but nah. had to go full savage on him.” 

you smirked, crossing your arms as you leaned against him. "what, you don't like me owning the night?” 

his grin deepened, though there was a possessiveness behind it that made your heart skip. "you think i'm bothered by it? sweetheart, i love it when you make a show of your chaos. just means i get to clean it up." his hand slid lower around your waist, tugging you closer.

the frat boy whimpered at his feet, and you tilted your head with mock sympathy. “you really thought you had a chance, huh? i’m married to a fucking demon, sweetie.” 

sukuna’s eyes flashed darkly, his voice cold and lethal. “you should’ve known better than to fuck with her. now you’re lucky if you can walk outta here without me breaking your legs.”

gojo’s laugh could be heard across the floor, loud and obnoxious. “yo, i gotta save this for future blackmail,” he cackled, still recording with that goddamn grin plastered on his face.

the rest of your crew was losing it too. shoko snorted, clutching her stomach, yuki barely able to breathe between fits of laughter. meimei shot you a wink, clearly loving the spectacle.

"you really are a milf," yuki teased, eyes twinkling like she was seeing the real power you wielded.

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the grin creeping up. “yeah, i’m a milf,” you said, leaning back into sukuna’s embrace. “deal with it.”

sukuna, still holding you close, watched the wreckage unfold and let out a soft, dark chuckle. "the things i let you get away with," he muttered, as the frat boy finally dragged himself away, still groaning.

you were high on the chaos, on the way your demon didn’t even need to lift a finger. "you love it," you said with a knowing grin.

he looked at you and whispered against your ear, “you bet your ass i do, baby.”

—

a/n: lol this was actually just supposed to be a short drabble 😭😂 but took me almost 3k words aaarrgh aodjidjsk and this was based on a tiktok i saw 😭😭😭

[tsunodaradio]

miss possessive ⛐ 𝙜𝙧𝙞𝙙

dating a driver is not for the faint of heart. when they've got millions of eyes on them—well, you can't be blamed if you're a little possessive, can you? (𝘧𝘦𝘮!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳)

ꔮ starring: yuki tsunoda, oscar piastri, lando norris, isack hadjar, carlos sainz, alex albon, george russell, charles leclerc. ꔮ word count: 4.4k. ꔮ includes: romance, fluff, humor/crack. cussing; mentions of food, alcohol; suggestive content. established relationships, jealousy. ꔮ commentary box: was amused with the amount of requests i got in my inbox for tate mcrae's miss possessive, so i opted for this format. technically part of my this is: f1 event. format inspired by wttcsms match my freak; all/most of these were conceptualized with the love of my life, @norrisradio. shoutout to @binisainz for coming up with the carlos one. 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

❤︎ YUKI TSUNODA. 

Everyone is talking about the new video with that celebrity chef who made it pretty far in Culinary Class Wars. It’s part of Red Bull’s marketing plan. Humanizing the drivers, presenting them a little differently. Except the marketing that the video got was all about Yuki’s ‘chemistry’ with said chef. How his eyes light up when he talks about the linguine, how he asks all the right questions about the pasta-making process. You know better. Your boyfriend is always just enthusiastic when it comes to food. People see it differently, though. They see a ship that’s about to sail. 

The next day, there’s a new addition to Yuki’s Instagram bio. ‘🇯🇵 F1 Driver #YT22’ has always been there, but now there’s also an @’d account. It leads to an account that says Followed by yukitsunoda0511 and yourusername. @yukiyoueatstheworld has posts from months worth of culinary adventures; it seems to have only gone public recently, though. Everybody now gets to enjoy snaps of street food and Michelin star dishes, as enjoyed—and rated—by you and Yuki. The most recent post features an adorable selfie of you two sharing pasta, Lady and the Tramp style. The caption: “food is always better when it’s with the one you love 😜” 

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

You’re still chewing—grudgingly—when Yuki sets down another plate in front of you.

“It’s not that deep,” he says, nudging the fork closer to your hand. “You know I only look at food like that.”

You hum around your mouthful, refusing to make it easier for him. “I’m just saying, if anyone saw the way you looked at that risotto…”

Yuki cuts you off with a grin. “You’re going to leave a bad review on a Michelin restaurant because I complimented the chef?”

You shoot him a withering glare. “I might.”

“That’s petty.”

“It’s well-deserved.”

He laughs and reaches across the table to smear a bit of mascarpone on your nose. You let out an indignant sound, but it dies in your throat when you see the look of sheer affection on your boyfriend’s face. “You’re so cute when you’re jealous,” he hums as he cuts into his antipasti. 

You scrunch your face before swiping a piece of focaccia from his plate. He usually protests; today, he lets you. “I’m not jealous,” you insist. “I’m… skeptical. Of her plating technique.”

“Oh, absolutely. Very suspicious.” Yuki nods solemnly, then breaks into another grin when you roll your eyes.

He doesn’t say anything else, just leans back and watches you eat like you didn’t just threaten a scathing review out of spite. It’s not like Yuki can do anything if you want to give the celebrity chef’s plating two out of five stars. He’ll defend your opinion like it’s his own. 

You keep chewing. Still petulant. Still pretending you didn’t just melt a little under his loving glances.

The pasta is annoyingly good.

❤︎ OSCAR PIASTRI. 

They say Oscar has been ‘caught in 4K’ with the way the moment is taken from multiple angles. When the interviewer asks him about clinching pole in qualifying, she’s just a little too coy about it. Pitching her voice low so that Oscar is forced to lean in. Dragging out the conversation with intentional ‘uhm’s and ‘sorry, wait’s. The cherry on top is when she reaches over the barrier to pat Oscar’s arm, congratulating him for a job well done. It’s nothing overt, but the intention is there. More eagle-eyed fans can sense his slight discomfort underneath the veneer of politeness. This journalist thought she could flirt with your boyfriend and get away with it. 

Kym Illman snaps the photo of Oscar coming into the paddock for race day. This time, though, Oscar is not in the McLaren team kit or his usual plain shirt. No, today, it’s something that means to send a message: a white tee with something you can only see when you zoom in. If you can read this, you’re too close. That, in itself, is already a dig to what had unfolded the day prior. But the cherry on top is the friendship bracelet resting snug around Oscar’s wrist, the one that he only takes off for the race but immediately puts right back on the moment he finishes P1. The orange-and-white bracelet features beads of ‘OP81’, a heart, and your initials. In that order. He makes sure it’s visible in every interview he does. 

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

You find him leaning against one of the garage walls, arms crossed, still flushed from all the post-race adrenaline. 

“You actually wore it,” you say, crossing your arms to match his stance. The shirt you left out for him this morning had fit just right, annoyingly so, the text across his chest cheeky and perfectly timed.

Oscar shrugs, but there’s a tiny smirk playing on his lips. “Thought it was funny. Also very effective.”

You raise an eyebrow, toeing the line between amused and exasperated. “That shirt was a joke,” you point out, even though it wasn’t really. 

“Worked, though.” He steps closer, just enough that you can smell the familiar scent of his cologne. Something citrusy and clean. “She didn’t even try this time.”

You roll your eyes, though the corner of your mouth betrays you with the start of a smile. Your fingers flick at the bracelet peeking from beneath his fireproofs. It’s not Oscar’s style, and it’s not something he’d ever donned before, either. 

“And this?” you ask, amused. “When did you find the time?”

Oscar looks down at it like he’s seeing it for the first time. His voice is a little more hesitant when he says, “Made it last night. After you fell asleep.”

“You spent your pre-race night making a friendship bracelet?”

He shrugs again, trying to play it off, but there’s a tell—he’s always been bad at hiding how soft he gets with you. “It’s not just any bracelet. It’s got my name. And yours. And a heart, if you haven’t noticed.”

You had. Of course you had.

You reach out and tug gently at his wrist, letting your thumb brush the beads. “You’re such a sap.”

Oscar tries—and fails—to fight back his grin. “Only for you,” he says, taking the opportunity to pull you into his side. 

“Am I not ‘too close’?” you jab. 

He buries his face in your hair, muffling his chuckle. “No,” he breathes. “Never close enough.” 

❤︎ LANDO NORRIS. 

It breaks the internet, the music video. It’s the Tate McRae Sports Car of everyone’s dream. Think Sabrina Carpenter; think Charli xcx. The scantily clad starlet croons filth and flirtation as she drapes herself over Lando’s sports car. Your boyfriend is the music video’s leading man, bringing the heat to this 1080p, high definition sequence of the hottest song on the charts. It trends for days and gets edited a dozen different ways. The popstar gushes about Lando being such a good actor, and when she’s asked about off-screen romance? She winks at the camera and fucking grins. 

Lando’s Instagram story is up for only 30 minutes. That’s all it takes. People speculate that his PR team advised him to take him down, but the truth of the matter is that Lando just liked messing with people. Make something seem forbidden and it’s suddenly a whole lot more interesting. The story is straightforward: a mirror selfie from the corner of his hotel bed. His phone, partially obscuring his face. And you, sitting in his lap, your face buried into the side of his neck as he wraps his free arm around your waist. You’re both fully clothed, but the lights are low enough to suggest that may change soon enough. Lando makes sure to slap the pop star’s song on to the story, just for extra measure. Talk about breaking the internet. 

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

“Hold still,” Lando mutters, his thumb hovering over the shutter button. His other hand is curled around your waist, half-supporting you as you rest against him.

You’re mid-protest, shifting like you want to hide your face completely. “Norris, I swear to God—”

But the click comes anyway. Too late. He’s already captured it: the mess of his curls, the afterglow softening both your features, the sheets curling around you like a premonition.

He doesn’t even bother asking for approval. The man has the audacity to upload it right there, the faint sound of the Instagram story whoosh confirming your doom. “Bit shy now, are we?” he teases, pulling back so he can flash you that infuriating grin of his. “Had so much to say about the music video earlier, though.”

Your eyes narrow. The story had been his idea, hastily snapped to appease you after you ranted for 27 minutes straight. “You’re unbelievable,” you grit out. 

Lando just shrugs, absolutely unapologetic. “You were so fired up. Kept saying how she was really committed to whoring out on the car bonnet.”

“That was not what I said.”

“Oh, I remember the exact words. Something about how ‘no one should be allowed to sing about leather like that.’”

That’s it. That’s the last straw.

You pounce, wrestling him back down onto the mattress with a growl. He could fight back, but Lando’s joy in life was riling you up. He goes willingly, laughing breathlessly as your legs tangle, as your fingers curl in the front of his shirt.

“Fucking menace,” you say, voice low against his skin.

His breath hitches when your teeth graze his pulse point, but his hands are already slipping underneath your shirt. “And you love it,” he sing-songs.

You’d deny him, but then he snaps the clasp of your bra and you figure there are other ways to teach him a lesson. 

❤︎ ISACK HADJAR.

Isack has been spending a lot of time with his socials team. He’s the bread and butter of VCARB’s social media strategy, with his easy disposition, humorous takes, and uncanny ability to lipsync trending audios. You’ve never been one to get particularly jealous of your boyfriend’s co-workers, but you swear the social media intern is pushing it just the teensiest bit. How she keeps Isack around a little longer, how she’ll use the team account to comment flirty replies under his posts. The team account! The Internet is calling it a Wattpad story in the making. 

And so Isack gives them a story. A TikTok, specifically, where he hard launches the girlfriend nobody knew he had. You and him do the (500) Days of Summer trend in the paddock. ‘I love The Smiths,’ you mouth. ‘Sorry?’ he syncs, feigning hard of hearing. ‘I said ‘I love The Smiths’,’ you say smilingly, and then he goes in for the kill. Isack grabs your face with both his hands and kisses you so hard, he sends the two of you out of the frame. It becomes VCARB’s most shared video of the month. And the social media intern? Well, she had to write the caption for it. 

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

You’re both sprawled out on the couch in the hospitality suite, your phone held high above your heads. The numbers keep climbing—thousands of views per second. Someone’s already edited the video into a compilation of top ten F1 driver couple moments. Someone else posted a slow-mo of the kiss with a Lana Del Rey track layered over it.

You groan, partly from secondhand embarrassment, partly from pride. “This is your fault.”

“My fault?” Isack smirks, elbow propped behind his head, looking far too satisfied for someone who almost knocked you over in a public display of affection. “You’re the one who picked a fight over a TikTok comment.”

You glare at him. “She put a heart and a fire emoji! From the team account!”

“Which I have no control over,” he reminds you, gently prying your phone from your hand so he can scroll through the comments. “Wow. People really love us. We should do this more often.”

“Don't get any ideas.”

He shifts so his head rests on your stomach, the promise ring you got him glinting in the light. “Hear me out: couples who trend together, stay together. We could do the Spider-Man kiss one next. Or that thing where I pretend to ignore you and you throw a shoe at me.”

“Why would I pretend?”

Isack laughs, bright and boyish, and you can’t help it—you laugh too. The tension from earlier melts like it was never there. You run your fingers through his curls, still slightly messy from the day, and he closes his eyes in quiet satisfaction.

“Thanks for the hard launch,” you say, quieter now.

He cracks one eye open. “Anytime. Especially if it means I get to kiss you like that again.”

You throw a pillow at his face. It’s not a no.

❤︎ CARLOS SAINZ.

The DJ plays Smooth Operator, because when race winner Carlos Sainz is on the dance floor, you just have to. You watch from a couple of paces away, a small smile on your face. You don’t want to take away your boyfriend’s spotlight; not now, not tonight. And so you watch him scream-sing with his team, watch him drunkenly sway from one side to another. But then somebody approaches him. One of those influencers who had lingered on the fringes this whole time. She shimmies, falls into step, gets into his space. A little too close for comfort. Your eyes narrow. 

When the night winds to a close, the paparazzi snaps a couple damning photos of Carlos, who looks thoroughly debauched. His hair, a mess; his gaze, slightly unfocused. The real headline is in the collar of his unbuttoned polo shirt. Against the crisp, white material are lipstick marks that weren’t there when the party started. He’s holding your hand as the two of you clamber into the back of a cab, which is a good enough indication of who got him in this state. To sweeten the deal, though, you pucker your mouth and shoot the press a flying kiss—showing off just how smudged your lipstick is. 

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

Carlos catches your wrist as you pass him by, his fingers warm and grounding against your pulse. You look at him. He’s watching you with that gaze he reserves for moments when the crowd is too loud and you’re the only thing that still makes sense.

“Alright?” he murmurs, but he knows the answer.

You jerk your head toward the girl who’s still hanging around, watching him like she’s waiting for another opening. “She’s annoying,” you mutter.

Carlos quirks an eyebrow. “You’re jealous.”

A muscle in your jaw ticks. “You’re mine, aren’t you?” you prompt, and he endeavors to prove it. 

He doesn’t drag you—he never would—but he doesn’t let go either, threading your fingers together as he leads you through the crowd and into the dim, flickering hallway that leads to the bar’s back bathrooms. The music is muffled here, bass leaking through the walls like a distant heartbeat.

He pushes open the door and pulls you into a cubicle, locking it behind you with a quiet click. Your back hits the wall, and you’re on him in an instant. Carlos doesn’t flinch. He accepts your bruising kiss, accepts the way you bite a little at his bottom lip, the way your hands tug at his shirt like you can’t stand the idea of him wearing it any longer.

“You wanna leave your mark?” he whispers between kisses. “Go ahead.”

You pause, breathless. There was a reason why hickeys were off-limits between the two of you. “I don’t want to get you in trouble,” you mumble against his lips. “The cameras—”

“My shirt is white,” Carlos says plainly. “Yours for the taking, mi vida.” 

You don’t need more convincing. Your lips find his collar, your hands pulling the fabric closer to you. The first kiss is almost tender, but when his fingers slide beneath your hem and stroke your waist with that infuriating calm, you do it again. And again. And again, and again. 

He exhales sharply, clutching at you like you’re the only thing anchoring him to the moment. “That’s it,” he praises lowly, eyes fluttering shut. “Just like that.”

It’s not about possessiveness. Not really. It’s about claiming a moment in a night that had started to spiral. And when you finally pull back to admire your handiwork—deep red smudges stamped along his collar like a constellation—Carlos grins dazedly. A little wrecked, entirely yours.

“Now,” he says, brushing a thumb along your jaw. “Let’s go show them who I’m going home with.”

❤︎ ALEX ALBON.

There’s an F1A driver who calls herself Alex’s biggest fan. It’d been cute, at first, to have someone so openly supportive of your boyfriend. He had been benevolent and properly flattered, too, exchanging a couple of comments here and there with the sweet girl. But then the Internet had to go and claim you and Alex were over, that you’d been replaced by this someone who had more similar interests with him. A single formulafakers tweet out of context is all it takes for the two of them to go trending. The F1A driver doesn’t correct anyone. She just giggles, like she knows something no one else does, and that’s what gets you. 

Alex doesn’t say anything about the rumors. Well, not directly. But at the next race, he announces a special helmet—his most gorgeous one so far, in your honest opinion. The first photos have him showing it off, have closeups of the details, but you’re modeling it in the last picture of the slideshow. People quickly make the connections. The little doodles? The heritage references? They all go back to you. A sure win this weekend, he says in the caption, because I’ve got this one with me. The F1A driver leaves a comment about it being sooo cute. Alex doesn’t respond. 

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

Alex finds you in the motorhome, still in your oversized hoodie and bike shorts, scrolling through the avalanche of reactions from his announcement. He’s got his phone in one hand and that ridiculous, gorgeous helmet in the other—the one everyone’s talking about.

“Alright,” he says, grinning. “Get up. I need more photos.”

You blink up at him. “Didn’t you already post the best one?”

“Yeah, but that was for the fans. I want a few just for me.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re already getting up, walking over to where the natural light hits just right. He hands you the helmet, watching with quiet satisfaction as you settle it over your head, adjusting it with practiced ease.

“Always planned to do this, by the way,” he adds casually, snapping a quick photo. “A special helmet for you. It was part of the whole reveal thing. But if it gets me out of the doghouse early…”

Your laugh is muffled by the helmet, but he hears it anyway. “You think a few photos are going to make me forget Miss F1A and her winky emojis?”

He lowers his phone for a second. “No,” he says simply. “But you wearing this? Making it obvious? It helps. And hey—she left a comment. I ignored it. That’s growth.” 

You give him a look through the visor, a silent oh, really? He steps closer, phone camera raised again. “Come on. Tilt your head a bit. Perfect. Now smile—well, smirk. Yeah, like that.”

Click. Click.

“And maybe one more when we get back to the hotel.”

“More?”

“In nothing but my helmet. I need a new lockscreen, baby.”

You tug the helmet off, hair a mess, cheeks warm. “You’re ridiculous.”

Alex just grins and lifts the helmet again. “No. I’m yours. Big difference.”

❤︎ GEORGE RUSSELL.

You love George for being a gentleman. It’s one of his most endearing qualities, and you’d never fault him for it. But there are some days, some instances, when you wish you could tell him to shove his chivalry up his—anyway. Today, it’s because of the stupid Adidas Climacool jacket that’s supposed to be exclusively for George and Kimi. The press catches wind of Mercedes’ PR girl wearing it, and George easily confesses to handing it off because of how infertile the Saudi Arabia heat is. You would’ve let it go, but then you found yourself staring at the girl’s tweets posing with the jacket like it was some badge of honor. Like borrowing something of George’s was a right. 

You waltz into the paddock dressed head to toe in clothes that are just a little bit ill-fitting. The shirt has been repurposed into a crop top. The jeans have to be held up with a chunky belt; its hems, folded a couple of times. George has his hands on your shoulders, and he maneuvers you to face every camera that you pass. He’s absolutely beaming, and his shit-eating grin is explained when one paparazzi asks who you’re wearing. ‘Me!’ George hollers happily. ‘She’s wearing me, mate. Hope that helps!’ 

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

George is already propped against the headboard when you emerge from the bathroom in nothing but a towel and a mission. Your eyes flick to the suitcase in the corner of the room, and before he can say anything, you’re rifling through it with the efficiency of a woman scorned by PR.

George has to stifle his giggle. “You know I would’ve given it to you first if I knew you’d turn this into a full-blown war,” he drawls. 

You ignore him, lifting a shirt and eyeing it with mild disgust. “This one’s got sponsor logos all over it,” you sniffle. “I want to wear you, not advertise you.”

He chuckles, setting his book down. “So, just my scent, not my salary? Got it.”

You toss a sock at his face.

Eventually, George slides out of bed, joining you at the open suitcase. He pulls out a dark polo, slightly too large, and lifts an eyebrow. “What about this? Tuck it in, roll the sleeves. Turn it into a crop top. You could make it work. You make everything work.”

You accept the shirt reluctantly, narrowing your eyes. “You just want me in something tight so you can gawk.”

“Absolutely,” he agrees without shame. “In fact, now that you mention it, maybe you should try it on. Right now. Just so I know it’s… media-ready.”

You snort, but the defiance in your spine begins to soften. He leans against the dresser, arms crossed, eyes following your every movement.

“C’mon, pretty girl,” he coaxes. “Give me a little fashion show. Maybe spin once or twice. Strut. It’s important for team morale.” 

You mutter something about how bloody perverted he is, but the grin you try to suppress betrays you. You slip on the polo. And yes, you roll the sleeves. George lets out a low whistle, eyeing how you’re wearing nothing but his shirt.

“You look obscene,” he declares proudly. “I’m going to have to fight off the photographers.”

You cross your arms. “Don’t you mean PR girls?”

His eyes gleam. “Not if you keep wearing me like this.”

You shake your head, but let him tug you closer, his hands slipping under the hem of the shirt to trace lazy circles on your hips. Just like that, the argument begins to dissolve into something else entirely.

❤︎ CHARLES LECLERC. 

Everyone on Twitter assumes Charlie is dating this Hungarian model. A pretty face, new to Monaco. All the signs point to her being Charlie’s lover—the biggest clue being her place of residence. It doesn’t take too long for the Internet to realize the two live in the same apartment building. Sure, they’ve never been pictured coming or going together, but isn’t the chase part of the thrill? There’s one too many TikToks and Instagram reels trying to figure out a timeline, trying to place when and where they meet if not in their allegedly shared apartment. When somebody spreads a rumor that they’re adopting a dog together, you finally snap. 

Charlie’s most recent stream goes viral for all the right reasons. He’s fiddling with the simulator for an audience of thousands when he suddenly jolts upright. ‘My girlfriend is knocking,’ he explains to his stream, ‘I think she might have forgotten her keys.’ Viewership doubles in minutes. The chat flies by like the Ferrari on a good day. Charlie steps out of frame, presumably opening the door. The two of you are just barely out of frame, but it’s pretty clear that this is not the model he’s been linked to. Especially when he swoops you into a hug, angling you backward just so—keeping you private for now, but making it clear that you’re not who they want you to be. You’re so much more, and so much better. 

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

Charles’ eyes flick to where you're curled up just off camera. He mumbles a quick apology to his chat and rises from his seat with the kind of easy grace that makes your heart clench. “Be right back,” he tells them with a grin, already leaning in to steal another kiss from you. It’s the third time he’s paused his stream just to come over and kiss you, and this time, he lingers.

“Happy now?” he murmurs against your mouth, his accent curling around each word like it's a secret meant only for you.

You wrinkle your nose. “You keep asking that like I wasn’t fine before,” you huff. 

He chuckles, his hands slipping down to your waist as he presses one more kiss just beneath your ear. “Mmh, but I like it when you're not just fine,” he hums. “I want you happy, mon amour.”��

You open your mouth to retort, but then his touch changes—fingers trailing low, teasing where he knows you’re most sensitive. A sound escapes you before you can catch it: half sigh, half moan.

He pulls back, eyes glinting. 

“By the way,” Charles chirps, brushing his knuckles across your cheek, “I didn’t mute the stream.”

Your eyes widen. “Charles—”

He’s already cackling, darting back toward his setup like you haven’t just made a very compromising noise in front of thousands. “She’s murdering me!” he shrieks, laughter bubbling as you launch yourself onto him, sending his computer chair reeling backward. “She’s going to kill me, chat! This is it! It was nice knowing you all!”

You shove him, mortified, and he only laughs harder, catching your wrists and pulling you into his lap. The stream explodes with emotes. They can’t see everything, can’t hear all of it, but the squeals of laughter tells them all they need to know. 

Charles ends his stream not long after, claiming he’s going to be rather busy for the rest of the night. ⛐

[snail-day]

Family Matters

I fear my brain worms have moved onto:

Yan! Choso x Reader x Yan! Yuki

Tw: Yandere Behaviors, Somno, Captivity, Power Imbalance, Mentions of drugging, Stockholm Syndrome, Overstimulation, Creampies, Full nelson, Dubcon/Noncon. MDNI

a/n: This was supposed to be short and sweet. I believe the brain worms munched a little too hard :)

You’d like to think Choso never meant for this all to happen. That the whole situation was due to his own desire to start a family. That if it were up to him, you’d be somewhere far from here, curled up with a book and not wrapped between his arms while he whispers sweet apologies into your skin.

However, Yuki did all the dirty work and brought you here. Who decided you were perfect for them. Choso wanted a family, and she didn't want to give up her freedom. You'd give her that. Though kidnapping doesn't seem like the best solution to that problem, but maybe you were just a bit more sane. Who knows.

Yuki’s always been a hunter. A visionary. She wouldn’t go for someone stronger; no, she chose you precisely because you weren’t. Soft and pliant, someone who reminded her of a rabbit caught between wolves. And now you’re here. While it took a while to get Choso on board, he eventually had to give in.

He never imagined himself sharing. Always thought he'd be monogamous. But when his lover comes home cradling you like a prize, whispering about how sweet you’d be (once tamed), how you'd look tucked into their bed? How could he say no?

Especially when you’re so cute when you cry. When you're sleepy from all the drugs she put into your system, not clawing or screaming every time he tries to hold you. Dragging you out from under the bed by your ankles so he can cradle you and stroke your hair nestled in the various blankets. Because when you're quiet, well, he can pretend. Pretend you want this, too.

It’s Choso who cherishes the naps. Who likes the way your weight sinks against him, your breathing slow and warm on his chest. Yuki’s always moving, training, exploring, and hunting down her next thrill. But Choso? He’s a sleepy homebody. He’s selfish when it comes to cuddling. You’ll try to wriggle away, always so defiant, but eventually you give in. Huffing and puffing as he releases a sigh, breathes in the scent of you as you melt into his arms, quiet for once. Humming against your temple, gentle fingers stroking through your hair, tender lips pressing gentle kisses to your forehead. You sometimes wonder if he wishes Yuki were a bit softer. Less adventurous. Maybe then he wouldn't be so devoted to clinging onto you.

But you realize you don't know much about him as he doesn't understand much about you. Perhaps it's the curse in him, but he doesn't exactly understand why you cry so much. You're being loved. Taken care of. What more could you possibly want? How much of the world does he have to give you?

It’s only when you’re tired that you stop trying to claw your way free. When you’re drowsy, limp, vulnerable that Choso can’t help but admire you. That peaceful little face… it makes something ache inside of him. Ache and throb. Precum stains his pants, his cock pressed hard against your thigh, and before he knows it, his hand is slipping under the silk nightgown Yuki dressed you in before she left this morning. No panties. House rule reserved only for you.

Two chubby, thick fingers trace lazy circles over your clit. You're still half-asleep, but your hips betray you, grinding gently into his touch with a breathy whimper. One that he hushes with soft coos into your hair, as he reaches for the bottle of lube on the nightstand. He's too needy for proper prep, but not a monster. He won't split you open dry, no matter how desperate he is.

Gently coating his cock in the slick gel, groaning at the sensation, then smears the rest over your folds, working two fat fingers into you with care. Stretching you open, watching the furrow of your brows. The way your hips grind into his palm. That's when he knows you're ready to be his sweet girl.

Moving to shift you into a full nelson, your legs spread wide, needy cunt on fully display to the cruel, cool air, his toned arms wrapped tightly beneath your knees to hold you open. His body shakes as he lines himself up, the flushed purple head of his cock nestled against your soaked entrance. And when he finally pushes in - inch by slow, shuddering inch - his breath stutters in your ear.

" I'm sorry,” he whispers, voice cracked and barely holding together. “I just - I need you. I need you so bad. Love you too much. You understand, don’t you?”

You don't. But who are you to think when you're being split apart with each and every inch.

His trembling, soft lips brush your temple, then anywhere they can reach, almost frantic like he’s trying to kiss you into forgiveness. His cock twitches inside you, buried deep, stretching you around every vein, every pulsing inch of him as his hips start to roll in slow, desperate grinds upward.

It’s overwhelming when every movement seems to be thick and needy, every stroke a whimper he can’t quite bite back. You can feel the tears welling in his thick dark lashes as he mumbles, “Feels so good - feels too good - I’m sorry, I’m sorry - ”

And that’s when Yuki walks in.

“Aw, baby,” she sighs, lips pursed into a faux pout as she drops her bag and saunters over. “You said you were too tired to play.” She teases, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder. Kneels between your trembling thighs, fingers curling around Choso’s thigh to still his movements.

“Let me taste.”

She leans in, licking a long, slow stripe from the base of his cock to the swollen bundle of nerves at the top of your slit. Thin pink tongue all hot and wet, sinful even, and your entire body trembles. You mewl into Choso’s shoulder, but Yuki only hums in approval.

“None of that. Let mommy make you feel good, okay?”

God, she does. Takes her time savoring you, swirling her tongue, teasing both of you until Choso’s thighs are shaking and your slick drips down onto the sheets in glistening trails. Every drag of her tongue across his base has Choso twitching inside you, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes.

Eventually, perhaps mercifully, she relents. “Go ahead,” she breathes, voice honeyed and cruel. “Stuff her full.” Moving her soft hand to stroke lovingly through his dark hair as he fucks you slow and deep, whispering praise between gasps. Yuki draws lazy circles against your clit with two fingers, tracing their names into your overstimulated nerves until you’re gushing into her palm.

“Such a good girl,” she murmurs, leaning up to kiss you gently. “See? We take such good care of you. You’re going to let Choso fill you up now, right?”

You nod, dazed, teary-eyed, far too dumb with pleasure to form a single coherent thought. All that spills from your lips are soft, slurred thank yous, babbled between gasps every time she pushes you into another climax. Each twitch of your body, every flutter of your walls around Choso’s cock, sends him closer, until he's almost sobbing, the warm tears finding home at the dip of your shoulder.

It only takes a few of those pretty little squeezes, and then he’s bursting with a low, choked groan. His cock throbs inside you as he cums, hot, thick ropes filling your cunt, the warmth blooming deep, pressing tight against your insides like he’s trying to make a home in you. He stays buried there, panting into your hair, as Yuki leans in again, slender fingers catching the spill of cum that threatens to escape with obscene care.

“I think we’d make a really happy family,” she purrs, pressing a soft kiss to your swollen, puffy cunt. “Don’t worry. Mommy will pay all the bills. Choso wants at least ten kids. You can do that, can’t you, sugar?”

You don’t answer. How could you, with exhaustion taking over? Your lashes flutter closed, brain turned to syrup from the overwhelming heat. Rebelling tomorrow seems like a better idea. Your head lolls to the side in a barely-there nod, and that seems to please her, or maybe it’s the taste, your juices tangled with Choso’s musk as she slurps her fingers clean, tongue dragging with a playful hum.

A part of you would’ve shivered. Maybe even cried. But then there’s pathetic little Choso, pressing his face into the curve of your neck, breath shaky, voice barely more than a whisper.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured in a soft, cracked whimper. As if the words have any meaning because he still doesn't pull out. You wonder if he even understands the word for someone who says it so much.

[neeeooon]

hi !!

could you do headcanons for blue lock characters in a relationship with someone whos really really pretty and she models, like she could just be walking past and people wouldn’t be able to take their eyes off her.

characters could you include karasu, bachira, barou and whoever else idm!!

you can ignore if you’re not interested! thank you!!!

thank you for the request!! i hope you like it <3

when you’re a model ;

bf bllk x fem!model!reader

karasu tabito

-> oh my god karasu is so in love with you. like he’s the boyfriend that worships the ground you walk on and isn’t embarrassed to show it

-> gets doors for you, pulls your chair out so you can sit, blocks you from cameras and prying eyes when you get overwhelmed, always tells you when you have lipstick on your teeth. yep, he’s a keeper

-> he willingly takes a step back and lets you make your own decisions. since your careers are both so fast paced, you’re often traveling. that just means when karasu sees you again, he’s all yours

-> “what’s the plan for today?” “i don’t know. can we just stay in bed and watch cringe tv?” “of course, pretty.”

bachira meguru

-> bachira doesn’t care that you’re a model, the same way you don’t care that he’s a soccer player. you’re proud of and support each other, but those occupations aren’t the reason you’re together

-> one thing he does love about your job, though, is the unlimited (and free) supply of sponsorship handouts

-> the deals that come with soccer are boring. energy drinks? shoes? no. bachira much prefers your calming face masks and cleansers

-> “you’re only dating me for the free facials, aren’t you.” “hey! you get to keep the energy drinks. it’s a fair trade!” “sure. i love you.” “i love you too~”

barou shouei

-> barou knows you’re beautiful. you’re a model, for goodness sakes. it’s never a surprise when people’s eyes follow you when you’re in public, but he can’t not keep a hand on your back or around your waist

-> that said, he isn’t the type to crowd or control you. if you want to go out late with your model friends, he comes with but only to keep an eye on you. doesn’t ruin your fun and even gives in when you drag him onto the dance floor with you

-> one thing he won’t stand for, though, are any of his teammates making comments about you. innocent or not, your name is banned from the locker room

-> “if i hear her name leave your lips one more time, i’m gonna stick my fist so far up your—“ “okay! i’m sorry!”

yukimiya kenyu

-> yukimiya is also a model, not to the level that you are, but he understands a bit of what it’s like for you

-> one thing he does do is push the healthiest diet and exercise plans in your direction. healthiest as in ones that still require you to eat three full meals a day and not work yourself to exhaustion

-> your modeling career is still new, so you don’t know what you’d do without your supportive boyfriend. his only intentions have been to love and support you since day 1, not use you

-> “y/n, love, do you need anything while i’m out?” “hmm, do we have enough protein powder—“ “dark chocolate and blueberries, got it.” “yuki :’)”

[kamitv]

Yuki has many joys in this world but one of her favorite things to do with you is make out with you while she’s knuckle deep in your cunt. 

Breaking away from your lips only ever to tease you with a slightly hoarse mutter, “Hear how loud my girl is?” She’d giggle while thumbing your clit like it’s second nature and curling two of her lengthy fingers right into that spot she knows you so desperately crave for her to reach. 

You’d let out a moan in response if it weren’t for her lips latching onto yours again and drowning out the sound completely. Her tongue twirls and dances over yours the same way it typically slithers into your cunt. You try your best to keep up with her, whining as your hips jerk against her mean digits that were busy assaulting your sloppy cavern.

You really start losing it when she pulls away from your mouth just to watch your expression twist up into pure bliss. Her fingers are fucking perfect inside you, dragging out something so sweet and delicious from the depths of your drooling pussy and eyeing down the way whines of her name leave your pretty spit-slicked lips.

“Y-Yuki, please,” You gasp and attempt to lift your hips for a moment to breathe only to be tugged right back down by the grip she’s got on you with her free hands.

Yuki pouts just to mock you, “Aw, you close, pretty?” She utters to you with this faux sweetness that makes your stomach twist and churn, thighs trembling over hers. “Gonna cum for me? Make a nasty lil’ mess on my fingers like you always do?” She continues, fingertips rubbing right against that angled spot inside you that has you seeing stars for a moment.

Then you’re left nodding wildly, attempting to duck down and hide your face in her neck only to be stopped by her lifting the hand from your hip and moving it to your throat meticulously. Her thumb forces your chin up a bit so that you can keep looking at her and she smiles.

“Tryin’ to hide your face from me? Seriously?” She gasps in exaggerated surprise, “Y’know this is my favorite part,” Her fingers pick up in pace all of a sudden and you can feel the tips just ramming into you, as if to punish you for your recent attempt. “Jus’ look atcha’, all teary eyed ‘n pouty like you didn’t ask for this…”

Your eyes are quick to dart elsewhere but you feel your orgasm approaching you quickly. “S-Shut up,” You huff, “It’s embarrassing w-when you do that…”

The knowing smile on her face widens and she tips her head to the side, the thumbing at your clit coming to a soft ‘n steady slow. “Do what?” Yuki puffs out in that soft tone again, brown eyes just dilating at the disorientated sight of you, “Watch you when you’re about to cum?” Answering her own question, she leans forward a bit and your hovering over her lap becomes unsteady. “Would you rather I watch her instead?”

You wanted to say no because you know exactly how embarrassing that is but, she’s swiftly removing her hands from you only to lay you back on the mattress. With a heavy huff exiting your throat, you watch with wide glossy eyes as she sits up in front of you. Her hands meet your thighs and you dread what’s about to happen already.

“S’been a while since I’ve seen my girl up close too,” Yuki recalls happily as she parts your legs for herself. “Think she missed me just as much as I missed her?”

You’re too busy covering your face out of some sort of shyness, refusing to answer or look at your eager girlfriend. To which Yuki playfully rolls her eyes and repositions herself down in between your legs.

Her eyes stay up on you and your heavily breathing chest for a moment before she pushes forward and presses a chaste kiss against the soaked slit of your pussy. “Baby,” She hums, using that fake desperate tone of hers just to try and convince you to watch her. “Look at me, will you?”

Even though you know damn well she only wants to tease you, you end up listening anyway as you remove your hands from your face and just barely drag your eyes down to her. God, she’s so sexy in between your legs. Blonde hair strung back in a messy ponytail, brown eyes set dead on you, and pretty pink lips quirked up into that smile you know and love so much.

“There she is,” Yuki coos, tilting her head again just to pout at you, “Was that so hard?”

Your brows twist up and as you go to answer her, she slots her two fingers right back into you slowly with a loud squelch emitting into the room. “No,” You whisper, “But, d-do you have to stare…?”

She scoffs at you. “Oh, that's right, you don’t like it when I look at you.”

“N-No, I just—“

“It’s okay,” Yuki tells you, quickly placing her eyes down onto your cunt. “I’ll jus’ give my second favorite girl some more of my attention.” As soon as she says that, her fingers are dragging out of you and she bites back a satisfied hum at the sight of your slick dripping off of her skin. “Yeahh, you’ve missed all of my attention, haven’t you, pretty?” 

Then, she moves her thumbs just to spread your cunt nice ‘n open for herself to get a beautiful display of your essence dribbling down. This really was another one of her favorite sights, watching that twitch and quiver of your pussy as you grow needy for her to touch you again. 

Yuki’s brows twist up in awe and she tries not to straight up moan at the sight of you. “Such a wet girl,” She whispers one last time before sending a wad of spit to your clit and then watching the way her saliva trickles downward and mixes with all your soaked glory.  

After which she dives right in, locking her lips onto your cunt and darting that lengthy tongue of hers out—sloppily lathering the muscle with your taste and groaning into you the moment she feels your body react and a moan of her name leaves your lips. Yuki could eat you out for hours and never get tired. Which only makes sense of course, you are her favorite meal.

She loves the way you shoot your hands down to her hair and grab ahold of her, pathetically attempting to move or shift her where you want her to go but ultimately failing. Yuki goes wherever she wants to, the area of desire being your clit at the current moment with the way she goes from those lengthy licks to kissing and soft sucking on your slobbering pussy until she reaches it.

Yuki pulls up just barely an inch above your clit and exhales softly, her breath hitting your wet skin and making you twitch as she smiles. “Almost forgot how sweet this pussy is,” She comments gently, slithering her tongue out just to flick around your aching clit in a torturous little circle. “She’s so sensitive too.” Yuki’s tongue flattens and then her lips cup the twitching bud before she sucks, hard.

Your back arches instinctively and you’re left gasping for the air that left your throat. “Fuck, Yuki… mmgh,” You moan into the air, the sound hitting her eardrums and making her smile into you.

Her tongue was nasty against your clit—flicking and twisting all around you in a sloppy manner while she fucked her two fingers back into your needy hole. The squelches and softened gurgles that left your pussy were like music to her ears, enough to make her cunt throb in excitement.

“Hmm?” She hums against you lazily, beginning to curl her fingers back into that spot again. Your legs instinctively move to close around her but the hand she’s got on your thigh keeps you pinned open for her. “Oh don’t tell me you're about to cum already, I just got down here…” She whines, as if she weren’t fingerfucking you for God knows how long before this.

Your hips lift, eager to feel her lips on you again. “Please Yuki?” You beg, staring right down at her with a pout plaster all over your face, “I’ll be so good for it, w-won’t look away from you again, or—mmh… or hide my face, just.. please let me cum.”

She quickly looks up at you. There was no way she was gonna miss that expression of yours. And fuck, she’s so weak for it too. How could she ever say no to you? 

Chuckling cunningly, Yuki sighs and begins to casually pick up that assault on your g-spot with her fingers again. Then she slides her thumb up to simultaneously rub over your clit—the combination enough to drive you to tears. “Fine, fine, anything for you. Go ‘head ‘n give me somethin’ sweet to suck off my fingers, baby. Don’t hold back,” She purrs, her voice enough to coax you right over the edge.

And you do exactly that within seconds, a pitched whine leaving your throat as your orgasm comes washing over you. Your thighs quake a bit and Yuki relishes in every look of bliss that crashes right over your facial features.

As she fucks you through your high, she begins to trail kisses up along your skin until she gets to your neck and then sucks. “Atta’ girl,” She hushes out into you hotly as you gush around her fingers. Then, she slides up a bit and slowly tugs her fingers out of you. After popping her digits into her mouth and moaning at the taste of you on her tongue again, she swallows and moves her lips down to your ear. “Now can you do one more thing f’me?” He requests.

You don’t even need to know what it is to start nodding as your panting comes to a stop. “Y-Yes, of course. What is it?” You ask carefully.

She giggles and kisses the crown of your ear, “Make the same mess around my strap…”

[etherealrin]

HI THIS IS MY FIRST ANON REQUEST FOR U U LOVE YOUR WRITING . I cant get out of my head this image of one of the blue lock additional time moments that shows that Rin is using a big ass tablet instead of a phone so i got delusional and started thinking abt Rin having an idol gf that he absolutely adores and during his breaks he watches her fancams and stuff and his roommates are like totally surprised that he is so whipped lmao😭

♬⋆.˚ she's my idol!

proplayer!rin spends so long on his ipad that his teammates start wondering what he's doing, or, rather, who he's watching...

warnings: none! // wc: 920

note: idol!reader, referred to as a girl. tysm to anon who reqed this, why are all of my anons straight genuises oml.

itoshi rin is a man who values and needs privacy. unfortunately for him, his roommates seemed to have no such sense of those ideologies. the tall white haired boy, nagi, left him alone mostly out of laziness, but man was he nosy. however, the other boy sharing the sleeping quarters of blue lock's top 6, yukimiya kenyu, was more of a problem. his friendly facade (rin was sure he had ulterior motives) drove rin insane.

"rin-kun, what'cha watching?" yukimiya would pop up behind him at the most exasperating and random times, and what bothered rin most was the fact that he couldn't sense his presence. as if a lanky six-foot-tall high schooler could be stealthy. it scared the living daylights out of rin. of course, he had his reasons for wishing to be left alone—especially while he was on his ipad—because there was personal information in it! he doesn't need his lukewarm roommates trying to friend him on his brawl stars account, he doesn't need them discovering his photo albums, and above all else, itoshi rin does not want them digging into his youtube account.

and so he spends his rare moments of rest curled upon his bed like a cat, earbuds shoved in to eliminate the ruckus produced by the other two. really, how could they conversate for so long about what kind of animal isagi looked like?

when he hits the search query for your youtube account and clicks into the most recent of hundreds of fancams, the rest of the world becomes oblivion; rin only has eyes for you in those moments. he thinks you look absolutely jaw-dropping in the most recent upload, as if you belonged on the cover of vogue (admittedly, he owns a few magazines with your face on the front.) you're performing on the weekly music show, as you always did whenever you released a new song. the comments are drowning in fans filled with adoration, gushing about your talent, your visuals, your vocals: truthfully it makes rin a little jealous. why were so many people trying to steal his beautiful girl? he's unaware of the soft smile tugging at his lips the entire time, a light pink dusting his cheeks, earning him curious glances from nagi and yukimiya (they're whispering amongst themselves, what could possibly be making itoshi rin smile?)

ir0809: you were amazing, love.

you grin when you see the notification from your laptop. it had been a tiring day of practice and fulfilling your schedule, but your boyfriend's little comments will always brighten your mood. you wished you could call him, but you understood how he had no way to. with your stardom rising each day and rin's soccer career so close to the international stage, it was best to keep your relationship under wraps as to avoid any scandals. it doesn't change the fact that you miss seeing his face every day though, blue lock had taken away those stolen moments between the two of you as well.

rin's spending a little too long watching your interview from yesterday with laser-sharp focus (you were sharing a "what's in my bag?" and he sees the keychain he won you hanging from it) when nagi and yukimiya just materialize from the back, peering at the tablet screen.

"wait, you're a fan of her too?" nagi asks lazily, a curious gleam set in his melange eyes.

"rin-kun, i didn't take you as the type to like idols," yukimiya starts. rin has to bite back a high pitched scream.

"what the hell are you two doing, spying on me like i'm some specimen?" he growls, pissed that they had found out. "and for your information, nagi, she's my girlfriend!" of course, he just had to let nagi know that you were taken, he couldn't stand the idea of the boy looking at you with those heart eyes as well!

"HUH?" a collective gasp rings out from the two boys.

"seriously?" nagi asks. "i need proof, then."

so rin begrudgingly digs out a small white box, and nagi's eyes only grow wider when he sees stacks upon stacks of polaroids, letters, photo strips—all evidence of the dates you've been on before. rin even keeps the tickets of movies you've seen together. he's so distracted that he doesn't notice yukimiya, who'd retreated to a corner and begun to type rather urgently at his phone.

yukimiya: guys come quickly, rin's dating that one viral idol.

otoya: actually?? ur jk.

yukimiya: i am NOT playing rn.

it's then when the door swings open and karasu, otoya, and shidou fall through the space, almost breaking the hinges.

"it's true? rin-rin's whipped for some idol?" shidou teases, winking at rin. otoya eyes the box as well.

"there's no way you scored a baddie like her," the boy with green bangs groans in disbelief. "and i like her content too!" karasu only hollers in agreement, lightly hitting rin on the back.

rin's cheeks are heated and he hates to think about how badly he must be blushing right now. "all of you, i hope you don't value your family's lives too much," he says. "because they'll all be dead. very, very soon."

"AWWW, RIN-RIN'S BLUSHING!" shidou exclaims, which earns him a hard tackle to the floor.

but when the blue lock exhibition match goes public, rin still makes sure you're there in the front row. despite his teammate's relentless comments the entire match, he knows you're in those stands, cheering him on—and that's all he really needs.

a/n: hopefully this is what you were reffering to/what you wanted, i'm thinking about that one additional time where it's yukki and nagi turning the boys into animals and rin's sitting on his ipad until they mention isagi LMFAO

masterlist!

[getouyuri]

‘every single song is about you!’

pairing — gojo x reader x geto, poly satosugu x reader

summary — SPECIAL GRADE, a band consisting of four powerhouses, takes the world by storm. after geto quits, you, gojo and geto’s childhood friend, take his place— and their hearts.

word count — 3k

content & warnings — sfw, suggestive at the end, m4a, gender neutral reader, gn!reader, angst, pining, normal modern au, band au (aka the SPECIAL GRADE au), frontman!gojo, rhythmist!reader, producer!geto, alcohol, cigarettes, eventual poly / eventual polyamorous relationship

author's note — thought about mari’s ask while I pondered this (this is your fault 🫵🏽🫵🏽 I heart you) but producer!geto x rhythmist!reader x frontman!gojo is on the mind. quick drabble to get this out of my headddd but i lowkey wanna write a long fic about this. this was proof read only Once so I hope there’s no mistakes 😭🙏🏽

writing © getouyuri. fanart © satosugu572. dividers © bernardsbendystraws.

‘gojo and geto,’ two halves of the whole of SPECIAL GRADE.

there’s their killer bassist of course, yuki gold and glistening like the sun in the rearview mirror, adored by all but especially by the girls who love girls. she’s praised endlessly for her occasional bass solos that are as rare as they come and her background vocals that make gojo’s shine that much brighter. their drummer, sukuna, is in his own tier, heavy and loud, weighty boots announcing his presence if that cackle of his doesn’t broadcast it first. fawned over by the girls and guys who like ‘em mean, he beats his drums black and blue, all rough and tough and untouchable.

but it was always ‘gojo and geto’ in interviews following their big break. the two who started it all in geto’s garage with a rat trap in the corner, a worn-down karaoke machine that gojo wielded the plastic microphone of, garageband at geto’s fingertips and guitars in both of the boys’ hands. they could laugh it off as much as they wanted to, seamlessly interject that they’re four, not just two, yuki and sukuna deserving recognition as much as they do, but even the other band members credit everything to them and wait their turn for questions.

‘gojo and geto,’ the indomitable duo. calm and chaos that go hand in hand.

but before gojo and geto, it was always geto and gojo and you.

you, with your bright smile and encouraging words that pushed them to greater heights. you, who tried and failed to make sure gojo’s ego didn’t get too big for his britches (and giggled whenever gojo peacocked around, singing that he’d wave at you from the TV screen some day) and reasoned that geto’s reserved and calm nature could be harnessed for not just peacemaking, but glueing together a group of musicians and standing as a vision of dark, untouchable beauty that his future groupies would chomp at the bits for for years to come.

you, who laughed with geto and gojo, busted them out of trouble and shopped with them and tagged along to study at their sides over candy and soda, who carved your name into a tree in your neighborhood alongside theirs.

you, who buried yourself in high school and college textbooks as the boys threw themselves into making music with yuki and sukuna, becoming smaller and more distant but promising you’d always be there when it mattered. when they needed home and not a crowded venue.

geto thinks of you a month into his departure from SPECIAL GRADE. the internet was still in tears over the quote unquote breakup. everyone zoomed in on the grainy photos of geto’s smoothened brow and gojo’s twisted, hurt frown outside of the KFC they fought in front of, trying to read lips and find an explanation that wasn’t geto’s plain tweet of ‘i’m tired of it. i’m tired of it all.’

as if cutting out his piece of the pie from the whole of it would have a grander, more explosive reason than just… exhaustion. a healthy dose of paranoia and a bone-deep want to find himself outside of the glaring spotlight.

the industry and their record label fought to mold SPECIAL GRADE into something generic. a product to drain dry, pluck off the shelf and sell, exploit until there was nothing left. geto couldn’t take it— he wanted to make music from the heart, not because of some corporate bottom line. even worse, the attention from the media and fans made him feel like a mouse in the spotlight of a thousand cats’ eyes. the pressure closed in on him, fangs to his throat, until he squealed.

geto tried to drown it out, convince himself that everything else was just noise, but he knew he had to make a hard decision. to leave for his own sanity— so he did. breathing comes easier now that he’s sitting in his own corner out of the way without the shackles that used to tie him down.

geto texts you while drunk, eyes growing hot over your simple ‘u okay?’ instead of a ‘are u guys okay?’, your follow up of ‘ur still the greatest. don’t listen to anybody else but urself and everyone that cares for u. i’ve got ur back.’

gojo thinks of you, too, not even an hour after geto does— as if their brains are linked.

gojo still doesn’t get why geto walked off. like, he does, because even he gets fed up with all of it. but he pushes through it and ignores what people expect from him and the other members of SPECIAL GRADE.

music is a form of self-expression, an outlet to let oneself go and bare one’s soul through lyrics to the beat of the accompanying piece. a way to connect with others on a level deeper and more complex than the anatomy of a singular cell. the energy of the crowd that screams their songs back to them, the high of playing with the three people he considers his family, it’s all gojo’s ever wanted. everything is at his fingertips when he grabs his mic and presses his palm to the throat of the world in warning, reminding it that this? this is all his. he could never give it up.

music has always been their thing. geto’s and gojo’s, gojo’s and geto’s. watching his partner leave him felt akin to someone clawing gojo’s kidney out with their bare hands.

yuki’s been pushy in that caring way of hers and sukuna just grinds his jaw and stares him down, saying more with his eyes than that fiery mouth of his. their record label and manager demands he fix what gojo swears he didn’t break, his fans tweet at him constantly and chase him down in public for answers, the media is up his ass… but you’re not.

you’re patient and kind when he knocks on your door, feeling small on your doorstep without another shoulder brushing his and deep purple eyes flickering over at him as the boys share twin smiles. you let gojo in. you make him tea and set his head straight. you call them both idiots and gojo finally smiles.

“i’d die without you. really,” gojo tells you earnestly, fully convinced that it’s true.

you laugh it off. “you wouldn’t. now shut up and let me help you compose a text to geto,” you say, making grabby hands at him.

you’ve always been the one that glues the three together. you’re indispensable. a priceless treasure without a tag.

you were never one for stardom. you were content to follow your own path that lingered in the shadows. but a year after geto shakes off his woes and discards his cigarettes and bottles and becomes a producer, you visit his home studio with half-finished tracks downloaded onto your phone.

“can you help me out?” you ask from your spot on geto’s doorstep, scratching the back of your neck. “i know you’re super picky with your clientele and you’re probably gonna think this is ass— oh my god, wait, I didn’t even schedule an appointment with you—“

geto raises a hand and you quiet down. “come in,” he invites with a smile.

he helps you beat your songs into shape and properly walks you through music theory for months. you mess with his old rhythm guitar, the one he played in his parents’ garage until the neighbors would shout at him and gojo for the racket, and he finds you’re not half bad at thumbing the strings and learning rhythm guitar licks. so he opens up the glass case on the wall of his studio and hands you uzumaki— a beautiful, dark blue guitar with lazy swirls drawn into it— and lets you make magic.

you blow geto’s mind. and your debut single, produced by no one other than himself, blows up the internet.

it’s a little unusual for a newly fledged popstar like yourself to eventually go from manning the stage on your own to joining a goliath of a pop rock band, but it’s you. you’ve always been unpredictable, even if you hid it behind years of being a steady presence in geto and gojo’s lives. you hop in the deep end with SPECIAL GRADE, taking geto’s former spot that multiple contenders dipped in and out of because gojo, yuki, and sukuna could never find someone as good as geto.

you mesh with the band in a crazy way. you play rhythm guitar with the energy of a musical savant, graceful fingers darting up and down the fretboard like the devil itself is sitting in on your performance and you have something to prove. you press your back to gojo’s as he sings with the voice of an angel and brings entire stadiums to their knees, provide chord progressions and harmonic supports and rhythm that intertwines with yuki’s bassline, perfectly follow the beat and tempo that sukuna paves for you with his drumsticks.

it’s like you were meant to be part of SPECIAL GRADE.

the band seems so much brighter with you now in it. especially gojo himself— he turns into the summer sun incarnate when you smile at him and teasingly flutter your lashes mid-interview or during shows that are broadcasted to millions. people talk about their chemistry on and off stage as much as they did geto’s and gojo’s when geto was still in the limelight.

geto doesn’t necessarily feel left behind, per say, but he feels something akin to it watching you and gojo playfully squabble in the live room of geto’s home studio while geto sits at his soundboard in the control room. you bounce off of each other perfectly, complimenting one another like red and blue and shading in the spaces that the other doesn’t fill with different ideas for this song and that song, x and y. yuki beams, feeding off of yours and gojo’s energy as she tunes her bass, and sukuna hides a half smirk, half genuine grin when he barks at you to hush up and get to playing.

is this how you felt when you pursued your degree and watched geto and gojo’s backs get smaller and smaller as they ran off into the sunset, searching for their place in the world with gojo’s guitar on his hip and geto’s slung over his shoulder as their story unfurled? geto isn’t sure, so he sits back at SPECIAL GRADE’s third album release party with a red solo cup in hand, purple eyes trained on you and gojo as he tries to unravel what must’ve been on your mind all those years ago.

it plagues him. eats at him like maggots to a corpse.

one night, geto dreams of performing again.

he misses playing with the band, with gojo and off of gojo’s boundless energy, matching that mad genius stride for stride, even though geto’s never regretted taking a step back. they stand shoulder to shoulder before a sea of nothingness that drops off the stage, the frontman with his rhythmist and backup singer. the indomitable duo. uzumaki is warm and familiar beneath his fingertips as geto breathes life into the strings until they’re vibrating with kinetic energy. behind them, yuki wields her bass like a weapon. sukuna’s arms flex as he slams away at his drums.

inexplicably, you’re there too even though you joined long after geto exited stage left.

your rhythm guitar is no uzumaki. it’s beautiful and sleek but chaotic— frantic paint streaks racing along and around it, twisting and coiling. the color of it shines brightly. you take geto’s other side, sandwiching him between you and gojo, who happily hoots before throwing himself back into singing the lyrics that boom through the empty stadium.

it’s perfect.

geto’s left breathing heavily in the wake of the dream after waking up with a start, smiling stupidly in the dark and holding his heaving chest. his heart thrums beneath his palm.

that feeling that he felt before in the control room morphs into something else, a caterpillar formerly cocooned emerging as a butterfly, when he cracks on the last night of SPECIAL GRADE’s tour. the band spent the whole summer overseas, bouncing from city to city and performing with everything they’ve got— geto heard all the funny anecdotes and shit while on call with gojo, you chiming in from time to time in the background.

but he hadn’t actually seen concert clips until tonight— a quiet, lonely night that he spent on his couch answering emails on his laptop until he got bored and opened twitter. an app he never really checks unless he needs to retweet promotions that the many artists he produces music for post.

he hits the trending tab, fingers stalling when he sees rows upon rows of similar results that are up in flames. you and gojo. you. gojo. SPECIAL GRADE. #1 on the trending page is a quote: ‘i’m sorry, every single song is about you.’ when geto checks out the tag, briefly avoiding videos in favor of staring in befuddlement at all the fans tweeting out the quote like rabid dogs, he sees it. a name.

geto. geto suguru. suguru.

suguru.

suguru.

suguru.

he’s so distracted by his name that he doesn’t register the all-caps tweets saying ‘OH MY GOD THEY’RE DOING IT AGAINNNBTKAHRKSJQ’

(little does he know, you and gojo do this every show.)

heart in his throat, geto finally checks out the first video in the tag. it’s perfect quality, shot up close and personal from the VIP section. he can practically smell the sweat lathered on gojo’s face and neck and collarbones that makes him glisten beneath the wild lights, feel the raggedy gasps that puff out from your lips that are quirked up in a brilliant grin as if you’re breathing into geto’s neck. yuki’s waving at fans and blowing kisses to them. sukuna’s in the background spinning his drumsticks, keyed up and waiting for the next song. they all look perfect.

for some reason, though, yuki’s disassembling the formation, backing up until she’s near sukuna and leaving you and gojo center stage. that makes geto sit up a little straighter.

gojo turns as if searching for someone. his magnetic blue eyes land on the phone camera in the hands of the fan, and he’s laughing as he strides forward with a crooked finger before swiping up the phone with a promise to give it back. he holds it up high above his head as if readying himself for a selfie and ushers you into the frame. gojo squishes your sweaty cheek against his and holds the microphone between them.

yours and gojo’s voices paired together are devastatingly clear and rife with longing. “i’m sorry, every single song is about you.”

the responding roar of the fans nearly blows out his eardrums. they kick off their next song with that earth shattering bang as gojo relocates the fan and hands them their phone.

geto immediately knows what they’re talking about. who they’re talking about. and he spirals.

what songs are about geto?

all the ones that SPECIAL GRADE released after you joined them?

the ones released following geto leaving SPECIAL GRADE when it was just gojo, yuki, sukuna, and some unnamed rhythmist?

the first song that he and gojo ever constructed in geto’s garage, when gojo penned the lyrics with a hopelessly sweet smile on his face? “i guess you could call it a love song,” gojo mused at the time while tapping the eraser of his pencil against a stray piece of paper, blue eyes alight with something profound.

does geto have to go through their entire discography again and read further into the lyrics, seeking out which ones could be a call to him? yeah, yeah he will. geto’s already opening spotify, hitting the first SPECIAL GRADE song that pops up and reading the lyrics as gojo’s voice fills his living room.

fuck, did geto unknowingly produce any songs that you or gojo wrote about him?

geto doesn’t know.

he calls you. it goes to voicemail. he hangs up before he can hear the obnoxious beep that signals his time to speak. he hovers over gojo’s contact but doesn’t press it.

geto ends up leaving a few voicemails for you and for gojo respectively after a few drinks because he needs to get borderline shitfaced before he can speak his truth, desperate and shaky but gentle. reverent.

wine is good, he thinks as he drinks more of it. wine will make geto forget.

not that you let him. geto jolts awake at dawn to banging on his door, picks himself up from where he was curled up like a cat in his cool, lonely silk sheets, and stumbles to go answer it.

you and gojo are bright and alive on the other side of it. “took you long enough,” gojo sighs as if he’s been waiting for this, sweeping in with the self-importance of a storm that you can’t avoid, kicking his shoes off and carelessly tossing his jacket aside. an arm slings around geto’s shoulder, warm and welcoming, a sweet kiss pressed to his cheek.

you’re immediately at geto’s front, binding the three together with a hand on geto’s waist and your other arm atop gojo’s. “hush,” you click your tongue at gojo, but your eyes are full of adoration as you gaze at the grinning frontman. that adoration doesn’t leave as your gaze tilts up to meet geto’s star struck one. “it’s okay, though. we would’ve waited forever for you.”

“yeah. we would’ve,” gojo agrees. fully sincere.

eventually someone, and geto doesn’t remember who (maybe it was him. maybe it was you or gojo), murmurs, “we need to make up for all that lost time, though, don’t you think?”

“how many songs are actually about me? surely not all of them,” geto finds it in himself to say a few hours after he was pinned against his mattress, his hidden-away insecurities plucked apart by yours and gojo’s fingers. they replanted love deep into his marrow.

gojo, in all his naked, cat-like glory, is heavy atop geto’s prone form, snuggling into him. you’re glued to geto’s side, using his forearm as a pillow, one hand ghosting along gojo’s bare back and making his fine white hairs raise and the other tracing hearts into the centers of the hickeys dotted on geto’s skin like notes on sheet music.

you and gojo share a look. “all of them.”

author’s note: who up feeling insane (meeee)

tags: @libr4sonsa @spirit-kat @kaitospo @m1nrrva @enchantinghonymoon @exc3llentshot @dairyfaerie

i love u stsg poly i love u band aus. ARGH

how i felt writing this nonsense in less than 2 hours:

[bindeds]

 ⁺ PORK  KATSU  .ᐟ ˬ˚    ───    s.geto x  gn.reader   .  .  .           ╲   in  which  you  cook  for  him  after  hearing  how  awful  spirits  taste.  takes  place  right after his talk with yuki. 

wc. 538. tags.       fluff,  hurt comfort,  geto’s tired,  you’re his relief —    tagging  @pixelcafe-network. art by srkork on twt!

“You’re home!”

He placed his shoes underneath the small metal rack. Sunlight streaked through his windows in wide and thin strips, your silhouette casting its shape into its lines like a painting.

Suguru doesn’t say anything. It’s hard to, with the day he’s had. He never thought that blonde hair and black turtlenecks could come to be such a haunting image. 

Her words lulled Suguru into a dull sense of self; it was practically fate when he didn't even have words of his own, his own argument to defend the rigid morals he spent his life upholding with sticks and straws.

When he emerged from the hallway like he’d stepped out of his own head, he’s almost immediately met with a wooden spoon near his lips. 

His brows raise. He’s too busy brushing his gaze along your features to notice the pork on the spoon. Your cheeks rose with the corners of your lips, the orange blur of the sunset light tracing the curves of your face. He’d never seen you this happy before. 

“What’s this?”

“I cooked you pork katsu.” Your smile softened into a small curve on your lips as you continued to hold out the spoon for him, the other hand hovering below to catch any liquid that would drip.

Suguru slowly leaned forward as his jaw hung, accepting your invitation the way the windows allow light in at certain angles, certain parts of this small house that seemed to hold your joy and his pain.

He chewed slowly, as if carefully considering the food in his mouth. The soft strips of chicken unfolding and splitting inside, and he wondered aloud,

“Why?”

“ … Why what?”

“You don’t usually like to cook … why now?”

You stare off at the window for a moment, letting the light fill your eyes and rest like beanbags at the bottom of your irises. Your hands retract from him slowly, and as liquid does, some drips onto your other hand. 

“You’ve always told me how horrible spirits taste. I feel bad that you have to put them in your mouth all the time … I wanted to help, even if I’m not an excellent cook … I can learn.”

Suguru’s eyes were slow to widen, and perhaps he let light in too when he searched your mellowed expression and found nothing but earnesty.

He took the spoon and placed it down on the counter. His arms scooped you up into a loose embrace, slowly tightening with the intentions of your actions now swelling in the warmth between.

“Geto …”

Your arms fall like paper around him, but he doesn’t mind. 

“I can’t believe I was going to …”

He cannot finish that sentence, under any circumstances. 

“Going to … what?”

But of course, you wonder anyway. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he dismisses it quickly, the thoughts made to maim you. He would no longer allow it. “Not anymore.”

If he was going to kill his parents, you were no exception.

But it’s clear to see that having you here, breathing with your ribs pressed against his was worth every inch of slop and grime that ever grazed his tongue.

[folkwhoreberry]

Amongst Demigods³

Fighting For Attention

f1 x reader

or... the one where there’s too many boys, not enough sense

word count : 979

warning : reader is oblivious, english is not my first language!!!

check masterlist for more parts of the series!!

🏛️🏎️

it started off slowly. small things, like lando offering to carry your training gear, charles finding excuses to sit next to you at meals, or oscar insisting on walking you back to the hermes cabin. at first, it was subtle enough that you didn’t notice. you just thought they were being extra nice, and who were you to complain?

but things started to get weird when they were all around each other.

“hey, y/n, I saved you a seat!” lando grinned, patting the bench next to him during lunch.

before you could sit, charles, who’d just arrived with his tray, slid into the spot. “oh, sorry, lando, I didn’t see you. mind if Isit here?” his smirk was unmistakable, though he kept his eyes on you.

lando glared at him, but before either could say anything, oscar appeared, casually placing his hand on your shoulder. “actually, y/n promised to go over some battle strategies with me after lunch, so…”

“I said what now?” you asked, confused, but oscar just gave you a look.

“yeah, she did,” oscar said with a confident nod. “let’s go sit somewhere quiet, yeah?”

lando leaned back, crossing his arms. “I’m sure y/n would rather sit with friends and, you know, not discuss boring battle plans.”

charles raised an eyebrow. “boring? says the guy who spends all his time by the lake splashing around like a child.”

you blinked, watching the three of them start to bicker as if you weren’t even there. you didn’t know what was going on, but you did know that it was weird.

“uh, I’m just gonna… go sit with yuki and alex,” you mumbled, grabbing your tray.

all three boys froze, turning to glare at yuki and alex, who were sitting a few tables away, minding their own business.

“don’t even think about it,” lando growled under his breath. oscar’s hand tightened on your shoulder, and charles’ smirk faded.

but it was too late. you walked over to yuki and alex, completely oblivious to the tension brewing behind you.

“please save me from whatever that was,” you sighed as you sat down.

yuki looked up from his food, confused. “what was what?”

“I… honestly don’t know,” you admitted, glancing over at the boys, who were now whispering furiously at each other. “but something weird is going on.”

alex chuckled. “oh, I think I know what’s going on.”

you looked at him, eyebrows raised. “what?”

before alex could answer, lando, charles, and oscar had caught up to you, followed by daniel, who appeared out of nowhere, and franco, who was trailing behind, looking suspiciously smug.

“hey, y/n, fancy going for a walk later?” daniel asked, his grin wide as always. “I figured we could - ”

“actually, I had plans with her,” franco interrupted, sliding into the seat beside you and throwing his arm casually over the back of your chair. “didn’t I, y/n?”

“uhh, I don’t think so?” you said, feeling more confused by the second.

“well, you do now,” franco said with a wink, completely ignoring the death stares from daniel and the others.

it was at this moment that george walked by, raising an eyebrow at the scene. “this is… going well,” he muttered under his breath before turning to charles, who gave him a pleading look.

“george, help me out here,” charles whispered, though you could hear every word.

“mate, you’re on your own,” george replied with a shake of his head.

lando, meanwhile, had enlisted carlos in his cause. carlos sidled up to him, whispering something in his ear while glaring at the others. oscar caught the exchange and quickly turned to lance, who was nearby, trying to stay out of the mess but failing miserably.

“lance, come on, you owe me,” oscar said in a low voice, trying not to draw attention.

lance sighed, but nodded, clearly not wanting to get involved. “fine, but if this backfires…”

max, of course, had teamed up with daniel. “you know what to do, max,” daniel whispered as they stood behind you, plotting.

you, meanwhile, were completely unaware of all the silent scheming going on behind your back. you were more focused on the fact that yuki and alex looked like they were trying not to laugh.

“what’s so funny?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

alex cleared his throat. “nothing, just… you’ve got quite the fan club.”

“fan club?” you repeated, confused.

“yeah,” yuki added, “and none of them are subtle about it.”

you blinked, turning to look at the boys, who were now all gathered around you in some sort of silent standoff. “wait, what? no, that’s not - ”

“oh, trust me, it is,” alex said, barely containing his laughter.

“they all want you,” yuki said bluntly, his expression serious. “and they’re not happy about the competition.”

you blinked again, trying to process what he was saying. “but… we’re just friends?”

alex snorted. “sure, keep telling yourself that.”

before you could respond, kimi walked over, completely oblivious to the brewing tension. “hey, y/n, want to go over those chariot racing strategies later?” he asked, plopping down next to you.

immediately, every single boy tensed, glaring at kimi.

“what? she’s like a sister to me,” kimi said, frowning at the looks he was getting.

the boys seemed to relax, but only slightly. you, on the other hand, were still trying to wrap your head around the fact that apparently, everyone had feelings for you. except kimi, of course, who was the only one acting completely normal.

“I think I need a nap,” you muttered, standing up and leaving the table, completely oblivious to the way all five boys scrambled to follow you, each one determined to outdo the others.

you had no idea what was going on, but one thing was for sure - things at camp half-blood were about to get a whole lot more complicated.

————————————————————————————

© all rights reserved to folkwhoreberry. no stealing or copying will be tolerated.

a/n : write this while listening to my weird playlist aka the music went from the pussycat dolls to one direction

[kamiversee]

𓆩 Crown of Sin 𓆪

Segment I Chapter: Three

❀ ~ Synopsis > In which you’re a princess who's given a total of six months to converge & inaugurate a solid plan secure enough to rid you of your fated marriage arrangements to Naoya Zenin. 

❀ ~ Content > language, heavy tension all over the place, lingering touches, stolen glances, taunting, teasing, flirting, etc.

❀ ~ Word Count > 5k

❀ ~ Pairings > jjk men & women x f!reader.

{ chapters m!list }

——Harems are hard work, you know that much from the extensive research you’ve conducted over the years. They were always intriguing to you, the way a man or woman would go around collecting multiple lovers for themself, reasons on why varying from person to person. In your case, you’d like to escape the engagement you’ve found yourself in.

So the first thing you do the next day you wake up, on day two of being an engaged woman, is parade around your home in preparation to leave. Your parents tried to subtly convince you to stay and instead send out letters during breakfast but you brushed off each advance they made on the matter.

You had your heart fully set on this plan. It’s going to work, it has to. Whether or not you stay this encouraged will depend entirely on your first target. He doesn’t know it yet but Gojo will set the mood for the rest of your travels. Should things with him go poorly, you may just turn around and head right back home to accept your fate.

But deep down inside, you know things will go well. Call this cliche but honestly, what’s the worst thing that can happen?

With that mindset, and shortly after breakfast with your parents concluded, you had two people you needed to speak with privately before you left. Carriages were already being prepared for you so you didn’t have much time. 

The first person you set out to talk to privately was your knight. She was made aware of the details of your plan first thing yesterday alongside Utahime since both of them are typically the first people you greet each morning.

Currently, you and Yuki pace down a lengthy corridor with no set destination in mind.

“We should hurry, y’know,” Yuki warns as she walks alongside you, “People will be lookin’ for you to leave soon.”

You wave her warnings off dismissively, “I’ve got an hour at the least. That, and there are a few goodbyes I should like to make before I depart.”

Your knight hums. “To who? You’ve given most of your goodbyes already.”

“Okay well, I have one more goodbye I need to make,” You tell her before turning down another hall. “Right after this, I suppose…”

Yuki raises a brow, still following you closely, “That doesn’t answer my question.”

You ignore her and point to a door not too far off, “There’s a study down this way, yes?”

Her eyes squint to you, “What business would you have with a study at this time? And why do you keep avoiding my—”

Before she can get the rest of her questions out, you’re grabbing a sudden hold of your wrist and dragging her off into that room you’d pointed to. Inside, you shut the door quickly and find yourself alone with Yuki in a vacant, almost abandoned, study.

She looks as confused as ever while she takes in her surroundings, unsure of why you pulled her in here entirely. “You’re acting strange, princess,” Yuki tells you as she folds her arms.

You’d released her wrist and allowed her a moment of space as you stayed by the door for a second, listening closely to something. “Shhh,” You hush.

Yuki throws her hands up defensively for a second.

A couple of seconds pass before you pull away from the door with a smile and turn to her. She’s got this expectant look plastered all over her face, clearly itching for you to tell her what you’re up to. You step nice and close to her and then take her hands into your own.

Yuki’s gaze falls down to the sudden connection and although she’s got a smile on her face, her eyebrows furrow in a quick meet of confusion. “Is everything alright?” She asks you cautiously. 

You nod, “Of course. I just needed a moment alone with you.”

“Were we not alone in the hall moments ago?” She huffs fondly.

“We were but,” You glance off to the side with a shrug, “Anyone could’ve passed by at any given moment.”

She nods at that, her eyes yet to leave your hands holding onto hers so dearly. “Right… So, what did you need this privacy for?”

You lean closer and whisper, “I’ve got something for you.”

“For me? Now?? Why?”

“Why does everyone always have a million and one questions for me,” You sigh, moving to the left pocket of her pants for a moment. You’d asked her to hold something for you earlier in the day and instructed her not to look at it without your permission so, now you pull the item out and hand it to her.

Her eyes follow your every move and then she takes the slip of paper you hand her. “What’s this?”

A smile graces your face, “Open it and find out, silly.”

“You could just tell me, it would save so much time…” She utters to herself as her fingers work the folded-up piece of paper open. Her eyes rake over the paper in one fell swoop before she looks at you, “Why did you hand this to me?”

You’re still beaming, so much so that it nearly makes her nervous. Nearly. “Why do you think?” You ask her almost sarcastically.

“It’s…” Her lashes flutter in clear disbelief whilst she looks over the paper once more, “An invitation to your harem, my lady.”

Even as she says it out loud, Yuki can’t quite believe what she’s holding. Nor can she really wrap her head around why you’ve chosen her first—or at all, for that matter. For a minute or two, she’s unable to do anything more than look back and forth from the paper in her hands to you, constantly finding her gaze drifting downward on each.

“Sooo….” You eventually crack the silence and lean forward without step.

Yuki clears her throat and her brows tense, “You are inviting me.”

You hum, “Mhm!”

Finally, she lets her sights lift fully and settle firmly onto you. “Why?” Yuki asks.

You’re unsure of what it is exactly about her sudden unwavering gaze but it makes your feet shift against the floor slightly, a motion of which doesn’t go unnoticed by your hyper-aware knight. Every faint movement of yours never seems to miss her eye but now it feels… different? It’s almost as though a new light had been cast on you instead of the natural lighting that currently dawns on the study you occupy.

Yuki’s eyes widen with how long it takes you to reply to her and her left foot unconsciously moves as a step closer to you is taken. It was weird but, the mere request of her to join your harem… first, has the knight seeing you differently in a way that is more familiar than ever. Per her own thoughts, it is like gazing upon you for the first time.

The windows to this study are rather large and the light bounces off of the beautiful furniture surrounding the two of you so, maybe it’s a shift of the outside sun that causes you to glow just a bit brighter in her eyes than before. It truly was like seeing you for the first time all over again. Hell, her lips twitch in thought and suddenly she’s recalling the way her breath escaped her and never returned on the day she’d first seen you.

Now, as you stand before her all these years later, proclaiming to desire her, that feeling returns. 

Looking away entirely, “...Does it matter why?” Your voice soon hits her ears again and she barely recovers her recently escaped breath.

Yuki’s right foot takes that last step and she answers you faster than she can even process your words, “Yes.”

“Because I want you,” You practically breathe out once you become overly aware of how close she’d gotten, slowly turning your head to look her in the eye, and swallowing thickly. “I-In my harem, I mean.”

Her features soften and she smiles, the sight enough to make you beyond anxious. “Hah,” Your knight breathes.

Taking another gulp to compose yourself, “Sooo, what do you say?”

Yuki shrugs, “I’m your knight. Joining this would mean that you and I are-, or, would be intimate.”

You stare instead of replying.

To which a breathy laugh of disbelief leaves her lips. Then, as her next question is asked, you notice her tone has changed, “You wish to be intimate with me?”

“I wish for you to join my harem,” You divert with a nervous smile.

Yuki tilts her head and it’s right then that you realize she knows you’re feeling some sort of anxiousness right now, “That doesn’t answer my question.”

You sigh heavily and nearly stumble over your words again, “I-Intimacy comes with joining the harem so—”

“If I may be so bold,” She interrupts, taking a step forward that only causes your back to meet a wall. “Princess, please do not avoid my questions and give me a straight answer.”

“I believe my answer would be anything but ‘straight’.” You tease. Perhaps dragging her into this room alone like this wasn’t the best idea. Maybe you should’ve just told her to shuffle through her pocket on her own time…

“You jest,” Yuki whispers, now leaning forward, “But I need to know if you are serious.”

There’s a slight shake of your head, “Why wouldn’t I be…?”

She ignores your constant avoidance, “I won’t join unless you answer.”

“I…” You trail off entirely and your mind decides then that it’s a good time to blank on you. Thus, you are left at a loss for words and have no answer to her question whatsoever. It is quite hard to find anything to say to a woman of Yuki’s beauty who stands so closely to you and stares at you as if you were bliss personified. “What uh, what was the question again?” You eventually squeak out.

Gently, Yuki allows every word of hers to leave her lips in a way that has you looking down to watch their departure from her tongue, “Do you wish to be intimate with me?”

You’ve had your fair secret glances at her mouth before but now that you find yourself so close, it is difficult to organize your thoughts properly, “Well—”

“Yes,” She cuts off, tipping her head to the opposing side to gain your eyes on hers again, “Or no, princess.”

You first clear your throat and then nod, “Yes.”

At that, Yuki lets herself look downwards on your face and she sighs, “Then I will join.”

“O-Okay..” You stutter, noticing where her eyes have fallen.

She doesn’t say anything and neither do you. Instead, the two of you just stand still for a while and take in one another’s faces. In that time, you both creep closer to one another and you only snap out of your daze of appreciation when Yuki’s hand meets your waist and your entire body decides to react.

A gasp leaves your throat, your torso moves into her touch, and your eyes flutter in surprise at the small touch.

And to top it all off, Yuki finds herself inches away from your lips whispering, “You are nervous, why?”

You force a smile and try your best to remain composed, “We are quite close, Lady Tsukumo.”

“We could…” She tips nearer, “Be so much closer.”

If your breath hadn’t been lost before then it damn sure is now because good lord is the proximity alone enough to make you long for that fated connection of her lips to your own. She’s hardly laid a finger on you and yet you find yourself a wreck within your mind. Words fail you entirely and all you’re capable of doing in that moment is stare at her.

“Princess,” Yuki breathes out, her soft tone hitting the skin of your lips given how close she is. Then, her other hand lifts to your chin and she urges your head further up, nearly causing your skin to brush over hers. “Can I…”

You’re not clueless, you know what she wants to ask for. And yet, she just lets her words fade off, never deciding to finish that request of hers, which only leaves you hanging off of her every inhale and exhale. 

Luckily for you, you’re both interrupted right then by a knock on the study’s door. Both of you flinch and she blinks out of whatever stupor just came over her, soon turning her head to look at the door and then clearing her throat. “Yeah-, yes?” She coughs out.

“Is Her Highness in there with you?” The voice of a palace guard questions from the other side of the door. He must’ve seen you two duck off into this room earlier.

Yuki scoffs and looks to you once more, “Yeah,” She replies as she slips her thumb upward and past your chin, letting her fingertip rub along the outline of your bottom lip. “She’s riiight here.” 

Your brows furrow and you whisper as you realize what your knight just pulled, “...You teased me.”

She smirks and weighs the pad of her thumb against your bottom lip, tugging it down slightly, and then leaning in to match your tone one last time, “You’ve been teasing me for as long as I can remember.”

“I–”

“Most of the carriages are ready to go, my lady.” That same voice from before interrupts again, “I believe they are packing your last one up but, you should make haste in getting to them soon.”

You puff out a long sigh and pry yourself away from Yuki’s grasp, “I will be out there in a bit. Tell them I have someone I need to speak to before I leave.”

You can’t see it but the guard bows from beyond the door, “Yes ma’am.”

The sound of departing footsteps can be heard and once the sound discontinues, Yuki starts laughing to herself, prompting you to glance over to her. She hasn’t moved an inch from where she almost kissed you but you notice she’s got a hand over her mouth.

You frown, “What’s so funny?”

“Shoulda’ seen the look on your face,” The woman snorts, “Hah. I didn’t know you could make such an expression.”

“What are you talking about??” You question further.

She motions to her face, “You were so flustered.”

With a roll of your eyes, you let off a scoff, “I was not.”

“Oh please, it’s no use to lie.” Yuki argues as she turns to meet your gaze, “Admit it, cutie, you were nervous.”

Your lashes begin to bat in pure and utter disbelief, “I don’t get ‘nervous’.”

At first, she merely hums in response. But when she starts walking toward you again, you end up looking away from her. Yuki now stands directly behind you and leans over your shoulder to tease, “Right, okay. So,” Her hands find your waist and her voice hits the crown of your ear, “This, is fine, yes?”

You try laughing it off as if her touch is no big deal, “Perfectly.”

Then her hands slide up and tread dangerously close to your chest. All while she’s grinning from ear to ear, “And this?”

You’re pretty sure you were unable to hide the hitch in your breathing but hopefully, it goes unnoticed (it doesn’t). “Yuki.” You say rather firmly.

Her lips, as soft as ever, grave the tip of your ear, “Yes… princess?” And suddenly your title no longer sounds like a name of respect and hierarchy, but a nickname instead.

Finally standing your ground again, you just barely manage to lift your head up to its normal hold, regain your posture, and come to your senses. “I invite you into my harem and suddenly you find yourself unable to keep your hands off me?”

Her hands freeze against your sides and then her head dips down. You’d turn to get a nice look at her and the face she’s making right now but the sensation of her mouth grazing your neck drives you right back into that mild frenzy again. Carefully, Yuki inches forward with her head and you release a shaky breath the moment her lips make raw contact with your neck.

Then, she whispers right against you, “I’ve been holding back for a few years now…”

Your jaw falls open and you choke, finding yourself clueless beyond belief, “What?”

Yuki snaps out of whatever came over her there and tugs herself back a bit. Her eyes proceed to squeeze shut and instead of answering you right away, she just inhales deeply—unintentionally getting a strong whiff of your perfume. Behind her shut lids, and hidden from you, her eyes so graciously roll back. Then her grip on your waist tightens, her lips part again, a faint noise nearly escapes her throat, and—

She snatches her head away from your neck entirely and her hands follow suit with your sides. Yuki stumbles back a few inches from you and clears her throat, “W-What?” She stammers.

You start turning to look at her but your motion comes to an abrupt end when she walks past you, “Yuki, what did you say—”

“I’m gonna go ahead and sign this now before I do anything uh…” She tugs that invitation of yours out of her pocket again and waves it in the air, “Yeah.” Her statement ends there, leaving you wondering what exactly just transpired.

You blink. “Are you okay?”

She’s made her way over to a desk and is busy scrambling for a pen to finally sign her name. For a while, she pays no mind to your concern and eventually locates a pen, quickly printing her name where it’s required. Once done, she acquits a tremulous sigh and spins to hold out the signed invitation—confirming her entry into your harem as the first member.

Barely any more words are exchanged between you and her after that. You end up taking the signed invitation with a smile and quiet thank you, to which she soon bows to you. Then, not even a second later, Yuki hurries toward the door to leave this secluded area.

· · ──────── ·𖥸· ──────── · ·

Neither of you addressed what went down in that study after you both left. The walk toward the last person you wish to say bye to is conducted in silence. It’s not exactly awkward or anything, just tense. You can’t define what kind of tension lies between you and your knight but hey, at least she joined your harem…

It feels nice to walk next to her knowing that she’s a part of something you’ll come to hold very dear to your heart. When you really think about it, you could touch her in any way at any given moment and no one would bat an eye. Your eyes can linger on her as you please and not a soul would find it scandalous. After all, your eyes travel over to her as you think, simply gazing at her for a while brings you deep satisfaction.

You’re quite proud to have someone as gorgeous as her as your knight. It’s like a silent compliment to you. People do say that the company you keep is a direct reflection of your character.

With that, a smile spreads across your face and your pace down the hall picks up a bit. If things with Yuki went well, surely things with everyone else will too.

Before you know it, you and your knight find yourself approaching your final destination for the time being. The last stop before you head outside to leave your kingdom entirely, to the final person you wish to say goodbye to, and—

“The infirmary, my lady?” Yuki asks cautiously as she comes to a stop just beside you and stares at the door in front of you both.

You wave a hand out, “Stay here while I head in, this’ll only take a second.”

“But—”

And as usual, before Yuki can spit out any sort of protest, you’re disappearing behind those doors and leaving her alone in the hall. She remains still for a moment before shrugging the entire thing off and turning to properly guard the doors as she typically does.

Meanwhile, as soon as you enter the room, the person you’d been looking to say bye to comes immediately into view. Long brown hair falling down past her shoulders, soft brown eyes flickering up to meet you as soon as you walk in—with those tired bags decorating the area just beneath them, there sits Shoko Ieiri in all her glory.

She blinks more than a few times to take in the fact that it’s really you standing there. Then her hands are moving and she shuffling papers across her desk for a moment as a pen falls from between her fingers, “Oh shit-,” She breathes out, quickly slapping a hand over her mouth seconds later, “I-I wasn’t expecting you to be here today, your highness. God, I–”

“It’s okay,” You murmur gently with a smile that makes her hands slow to an easy halt from their scrambling to straighten up. “Been a while, huh?”

Shoko’s all wide-eyed for a minute, watching as you look elsewhere and take in her workspace. You walk over to some cabinets and scan your eyes over just about everything as curious as ever. Eventually, she nods, “Yeah, yeah it has… Still as nosy as ever, I see.” She teases lightheartedly.

You turn to her and notice she’s stood up. “What can I say, it’s been so long since I’ve been in here.”

“Mhm,” She hums, carefully rounding her desk to approach you. “So what uh, brings you in here now? If you don’t mind me asking, of course.”

“Well, I’m not sure if you’ve heard but…” Your voice fades as you ponder on how you should go about explaining things to her.

“You leave today, right? For some harem thing..?”

Well, that saves you an explanation, “Yeah.”

“Well, everyone knows about that. I’m still confused as to why you stopped here though. You should be leaving, I saw the carriages and everything—”

“Do you wanna come with me?” You blurt out.

She blinks, “Pardon?”

“I’ll be gone for a month or so and… Well, I’m traveling to other nations that I haven’t been to in years and I-, well, y’know anything could happen during the journey so I was just wondering if you wanted to accompany me because you’re the only person I trust to tend to my wounds properly, in the event that I got any—”

Shoko cuts you off with a gentle whisper of your name. Not your title as princess, not any sort of honorific, just… your name. By the time you look at her again, she’s leaned against the wall nearest to you with her arms crossed and her head angled to the right. 

It’s then that you recall why exactly you came to see her. Not only to try convincing her to travel with you but, also to see a childhood friend again. Rarely anyone has the pleasure of addressing you by your name but Shoko? Your name sounds more than perfect falling from her tongue. 

“While I enjoy your nervous rambles,” She starts off, lips curving into that typical tired grin of hers, “You could’ve just said you wanted to travel with me, sweets. And while I’d love to do exactly that… It’s a bit last minute of you to come and ask me, doncha’ think?”

You chuckle. “The trip itself was rather last minute so, apologies if I’m putting you in a difficult position here.”

“Mh. Well,” She pushes herself off of the wall and shrugs, “I’m not sure if I’d be able to pack in time.”

Your brows meet in confusion, “Whatever you’d have to pack that’s not in this room, I assure you I can purchase it for you on this trip, Shoko. I just want you to come with me.”

Shoko lets out a huff and glances elsewhere, “Don’t you already have a doctor accompanying you?”

You tilt your head at the woman, picking up on her clear silent refusal to join you. Resulting in a knowing grin sparking across your face, “If you don’t want to come, you can just tell me, y’know.”

“That’s the thing. I’m not sure how I feel following you along while you collect men for your personal pleasure,” Shoko says as she clasps her hands together behind her back and paces toward you slightly.

“Oh.” You chirp.

“Yeah, ‘oh’.” She scoffs and her feet come to a stop just a mere step away from you, her eyes dragging across the room before landing on you again, “I know it’s ‘been a while’ but surely you haven’t forgotten the feelings I possess for you?” Your friend asks you, her tone softened.

You swallow at the recollection, “I haven’t. But, this isn’t just for pleasure Shoko, I’m trying to—”

“I’ve heard.” She interrupts, “You wanna escape your marriage. But with all due respect, princess, I think I’ll stay here while you do that.”

A deep feeling of disappointment rushes through you and you quickly find your gaze becoming rather downcast. You had high hopes of her telling you she’d join you and now…

“I know you’re not used to people declining your offers or telling you no but, y’know me.” Shoko hums—doing that thing you know her to do where she’ll try to lighten your mood with a gentle reiteration of the truth. “I will stay here and patiently await your return, as I always do. Should you come back with any wounds, even one of the heart, I’ll be right here to patch ya’ up…”

A pout tugs at your lips before you know it and in come those pleading irises of yours, “Sho’.”

“Awh, don’t ‘Sho’ meee, you’ll make me feel bad.” She mocks, taking a hand and placing it on your cheek as she wipes a soft thumb under your left eye.

You lean into her touch and place your hand over hers, “I really do want you to come with me.”

Shoko smiles, “I know. But someone’s gotta teach you a thing or two about not always getting what you want, right?”

“I guess…”

For a moment, she just comforts you with that easing caress under your eye but once she sees that it’s doing little to nothing for you, she rolls her eyes and strips her hand away. 

“C’mere,” Shoko mutters before moving to pull you into a warm hug. Her arms hold onto you tightly and you rest your head on her shoulder, “You’ll be fine without me. It’s just a month, yeah? You’ve gone for longer.”

You sigh, “...Not like this.”

“Hey,” Her hands move again and meet your cheeks, cupping your face in her gloved palms. You practically melt into her but her firm tone keeps you grounded for the most part, “Tell Gojo I said hey when you see him?”

You scoff, smiling a little, “You could come and say hey to him yourself.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Shoko please?” If not for the plead leaving your lips, it was definitely escaping the look on your face, “You know I’m not one to beg.”

“We’ve past encounters that say otherwise, pretty girl.” Shoko teases, “I’m serious about this though, I’m not sure how long I could stomach a trip like that. So,” Her hands drop to yours before she raises your fingers to her lips and plants a kiss across your knuckles, “Just promise me you’ll return in one piece?”

You sigh, “I promise.”

To which she smiles, fully. “Atta’ girl. Now go on before your knight comes in yellin’ at me like old times.”

It’s then that you decide to accept defeat. As much as you longed for her to accompany you, it seems there’s no convincing her. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll see you first thing when I come back.” You tell her while the two of you part ways.

Shoko sends you a wink, “You better, doctor’s orders.”

“Yes ma’am.” You end up waving her off, disappearing behind the same doors you came in from, and leaving her to herself.

The second you’re gone, Shoko tosses her head back and stares up at her ceiling. Raking her hands through her hair, she groans at the way she handled that situation for reasons unknown to you. Then she wipes over her face, stopping at her eyes in an attempt to rub the weariness away. 

When that proves to be unsuccessful, she turns back to her desk and kicks over a small trashcan nearby. Muttering only for her ears to hear, “Fuck…”

· · ──────── ·𖥸· ──────── · ·

After all that, you finally finally make your way outside. You and Yuki ended up jogging a bit to get there since people all throughout the palace had started to call for you. By the time you got outside, you were met with your parents, General Yaga, and some of your maids who sought to see you off.

The goodbyes were rather quick, a few hugs, and ‘be safe’ ‘s given to you before you approached your carriage. There, you found your feet coming to a stop and your eyes drinking in the eye candy you were about to have for the entirety of this trip. Your carriage driver merely tips his hat to you and smirks ever so slightly, “Shiu Kong, at your service, princess.”

Your lashes flutter but before you have enough time to gawk at him, there’s a slight nudge forward given to you from behind.

“We need to get going, now,” Higuruma grumbles to you.

You scoff and nudge him back before taking Shiu’s offered hand and stepping into your carriage. 

There were quite a few carriages but for this trip, it seemed as though you would be sharing one with your royal advisor. Outside would be that fine gentleman of a driver, Shiu, and beside him rode your knight. In another was your things, along with Utahime who wouldn’t dare stay home as you traveled elsewhere—who would help you into your dresses?

And with that, a few more exaggerated goodbye waves, and a tear or two from your dramatic mother (the Queen, mind you), you were headed off to your first destination: The Northern Nation. Home to your first (technically second) target; Prince Gojo Satoru.

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