#so i. technically rolled a 0

[willfullwanderer]

session 4 doodles pt. 1

[narwhalandchill]

pov you have to skip acheron 😔

[ggukivrse]

JUST THIS… TWICE? | JJK

summary. when you complain to jungkook about your lack of action in the past year, you're not really asking for a solution. but when he casually offers to help, you just can't seem to bring yourself to say no.

after all, what's the worst that could happen in hooking up just this once?

pairing: jeon jungkook x f!reader

genre: friends to lovers, smut, fluff

word count: 8.3k

warnings: more porn but with a tiny bit more plot :0, swearing, explicit sexual content, car sex, kissing, making out, oral (f. receiving), again he’s very cocky but can we blame him, breast play, multiple orgasms, banter and teasing as dirty talk, petnames (baby), jk's actually a menace but lowkey down bad, the ending deserves a warning (i’m sorryy), let me know if i missed anything!

notes: thank you SAURR much to my bae j @tranquilreign for beta reading!! (i’m still giggling at all ur comments pls :3) likes, comments, reblogs, asks and feedback are so so appreciated. enjoy reading my angelss <3

ps. READ PART ONE HERE!!

⌗ masterlist. ⌗ taglist. ⌗ feedback

You wake up to the dull throb of sunlight pressing through your curtains and the sharper ache between your legs.

It's not unpleasant — just a lingering reminder. A hum under your skin, like a bruise you don’t mind touching again and again.

You blink slowly, your eyes gritty from sleep, mouth dry, brain hazy in that half-dream state where everything feels like it could be made up. The heavy comforter is kicked down to your hips, your legs tangled in each other, and for a second — just one — you think maybe it was a dream.

But then you shift, and your thighs protest, and it all comes back.

The couch. His fingers. His mouth. The way he looked at you like he’d already had you a thousand times in his head. The things he said — low, teasing, mean. The things you said back. Your stomach tightens, breath hitching as your body tries to replay it too fast, too much.

You squeeze your eyes shut and will your brain to shut up.

You don’t usually let people sleep over. Not like this. Not in your bed, under your sheets, in your space.

But Jungkook’s always been the exception to things. It’s not new, waking up with him in your apartment. He’s been here for movie nights that turned into sleepovers, for hangovers that turned into late mornings, for heartbreaks that turned into shared pints of ice cream and shit talk.

You’ve seen him in your space more times than you can count. But never like this.

You breathe in slow and exhale even slower, eyes fluttering open. The room is still, the air thick with the kind of silence that begs to be broken but doesn’t quite want to be. You shift again, turning onto your side, and your eyes land on the shape beside you.

He’s lying on his stomach, one arm thrown across your pillow, the other tucked under his chest. The blanket’s halfway down his back, exposing the mess of tattoos curling across his shoulder and the dip of his spine. His hair’s a wreck — pushed off his forehead, flattened in the back — and his lips are parted, soft. He looks young like this. Calm. A little too good for your peace of mind.

You stare at him a moment too long.

And then you very, very carefully roll onto your back again.

You feel like you’re in a minefield. Like one wrong move will detonate something you're not ready to name.

You slept with your best friend.

Not just slept. Fucked.

Fucked him like you meant it. Like you’ve wanted to for longer than you’re willing to admit, even to yourself.

You exhale again. A sharp, quiet puff of air through your nose. Maybe if you stay still long enough, he’ll just keep sleeping. And you can sneak to the bathroom. Or back in time. Whichever’s easier.

You’re not panicking. Not technically. You’re just… thinking. Overthinking. Remembering how you sounded begging him not to stop. Remembering how he looked at you like you were the only thing he’d ever wanted. Remembering how, when it was over, he held you like it meant something.

You feel his warmth next to you, steady and real. His leg brushes yours, his knee nudging slightly against your calf, and your whole body goes still again.

You wonder what he's going to say when he wakes up; if he'll still smile at you like he did last night — like nothing about this is complicated. Like your world didn’t tilt just a little off its axis the second he kissed you back, like he wasn't allowed to and never planned on stopping.

You should feel weird. You should feel guilty. Or ashamed. Or something more than this weird, electric calm.

But mostly, you just feel like you don’t want to move.

His breathing shifts — subtle, but enough that you know he’s starting to wake up.

Your heart trips a little.

He shifts, and the arm he’d slung over your pillow curls slightly in, fingers brushing the back of your hand. He lets out a groggy hum, the noise half in his throat.

You freeze, eyes still closed.

“Mm,” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep. “What time is it?”

You swallow. Your voice doesn’t come right away, caught somewhere behind your tongue. When it does, it’s soft, a rasp. “No idea.”

He exhales. Shuffles a little closer. You can feel the heat of him now, bleeding through the sliver of space that still separates you. A moment passes. Then another. You brace for it — for the tension, the shift, the stammered joke to smooth over the jagged memory of last night.

But all he says is, “Damn. My back hurts.”

You blink, startled by the normalcy of it. “You’re not supposed to sleep like that. You looked like a crime scene victim.”

“Sexy,” he mutters, eyes still closed. “That’s what I was going for.”

You huff a quiet laugh. And weirdly, the knot in your stomach loosens just a little.

Another silence stretches. But it’s not bad. Not heavy. He makes a small sound as he shifts again, propping himself up just slightly on one elbow. You don’t look at him, not yet, but you can feel his eyes on you.

“How do you feel?”

You hesitate.

He waits.

You turn your head slowly toward him, and finally meet his gaze. His hair’s a mess, his eyes still sleep-warm, but there’s something sharper under the surface. Not regret. Not even nerves. Just… attention. He’s watching you the way he did last night — carefully. Like you matter.

You chew your lip for a second. "Sore," you eventually say, voice quiet.

He smiles. “Good sore or bad sore?”

You raise an eyebrow. “You want a Yelp review?”

He shrugs, still smiling. “I mean, if you’re offering. I’d love a star rating.”

You stare at him for another second. Then you snort, burying your face in the pillow. “You’re such a dick.”

“You didn’t mind last night.”

You groan, muffled. “Please don't. It's too early for this.”

He laughs — really laughs — and you feel it wash over you like a warm breeze. He’s not weird about it. Not cagey or distant. And maybe it’s a little disarming how himself he still is. Like nothing’s changed.

Like everything has, but it’s fine.

He shifts again, flops onto his back beside you with a loud sigh and an arm flung dramatically over his eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this hungover and this smug at the same time. It’s honestly kind of impressive.”

You glance at him, lips twitching. “Your ego’s going to explode.”

He peeks at you from under his arm. “Can you blame me? I mean, damn.”

You roll your eyes and toss a corner of the blanket over his face.

But your heart’s still racing.

You don’t know what you were expecting — some awkward shuffle out of bed, a strained goodbye, maybe even him pretending it hadn’t happened. But he’s still here. In your bed. In your space. Making you laugh.

Just like always.

Your fingers brush against his under the covers. Neither of you pull away.

You stare at the ceiling for a moment, letting yourself breathe. Letting the silence settle between you again. It feels different now, not loud with questions or demanding anything from you.

It feels like… him.

And maybe you’re not ready to ask what it means yet.

But for now?

This doesn’t feel like a mistake. Not even a little.

You’re standing outside your office building, arms crossed and scowling.

The sidewalk’s sticky with the leftover heat of the day, and there’s a cluster of your co-workers behind you laughing about something you’re not a part of. Their voices blur into the honks and hum of Friday traffic, and all you can focus on is the time.

Jungkook is two minutes late.

You know how stupid it is — two minutes. But today, even two seconds of anything feels like too much.

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, the back of your neck damp with sweat, the strap of your bag digging into your shoulder in just the wrong way. Your phone sits heavy in your palm. No new messages. No “almost there.” No “sorry, traffic’s ass.”

Nothing.

The week has wrung you out like a wet towel. Every day, some new tiny disaster: deadlines moving without warning, your boss micromanaging you like you’re an intern again, and a meeting yesterday where a client talked over you so many times you wanted to crawl under the table and scream.

You’ve barely slept. Your eyes are scratchy. You snapped at someone in the break room this morning because they made a passive-aggressive joke about your “resting bitch face.” And now, Jungkook is late. On your day. Friday. The one consistent thing in your life.

Every Friday, he picks you up from work.

It started almost a year ago, after a breakup left you crying into your salad at your desk. When Jungkook had texted you to come down that day, you'd expected takeout and tissues. But instead, he’d cranked up the music in his car and driven you to a late-night ramen spot where you ended up laughing so hard you nearly choked on your noodles.

It became tradition. No matter what kind of week you’d had, no matter what mood either of you were in — Friday nights belonged to you two. You didn’t even have to plan anything. Sometimes it was tacos in the car and talking shit about your co-workers. Sometimes it was video games at his place or walking around the city until your legs ached and your cheeks hurt from laughing.

He always showed up. Early, even.

But today, the sun is setting in your eyes, and he’s late.

You tap your foot. Then stop, because that’s annoying. Then sigh loud enough to get a look from a passing stranger.

You grip your phone tighter, squinting down the street. Still no sign of his car. Your thumb hovers over the call button.

Three minutes late now.

Your stomach twists — not from worry, but frustration. Because this — this quiet, unnecessary delay — is the cherry on top of the shit sundae that has been your entire week. And you hate that it’s him. That even Jungkook gets to be a part of the unravelling now.

You lean against the metal pole of the bus sign, letting it bite into your spine. A bead of sweat slips down your back. The sun is way too bright for this hour.

Your phone buzzes.

Finally.

You snatch it up like you’ve been waiting for a lifeline, and there it is:

Kook 🍜: here in a min

You glare at the screen. Then type:

You: You’re late.

Kook 🍜: exactly 3 min. that’s barely anything

You: You’re lucky I’m too exhausted to castrate you.

Kook 🍜: bet you'll still get in the car

You don’t respond.

You just shove your phone back in your bag and take a breath that doesn’t do anything to help.

Jungkook’s car pulls up slow, music low, window already halfway down. He’s in that stupid black bucket hat he always wears, curls pushed out from under the brim. You catch the grin he’s wearing before he even says anything — wide, lazy, like he’s proud just to have found parking.

He leans over and calls out through the window, “Damn. Which poor intern did you kill today?”

You glare at him.

His smile falters a little, but he keeps going, still trying to crack you open like usual. “I mean, you’re kinda glowing with hate. It’s kinda hot. Very—”

“Jungkook,” you cut in, sharp.

His eyes snap up to yours.

You immediately hate how sharp your voice came out. You look away, fingers curling around the strap of your bag.

“Sorry,” you mutter after a beat. “I just… I’ve had a fucking awful week, and I’m really not in the mood for jokes right now.”

There’s a pause. Just the hum of the engine and a soft beat coming from the speakers — some song with a lazy bassline and breathy vocals.

Then he shifts. You hear the click of the lock before he leans over to push the door open for you. “Get in.”

You do. Without arguing.

The cool air hits your face the second the door closes, and you let your head lean back against the seat. He doesn’t say anything right away. Just starts driving, hands loose on the wheel, his bottom lip tugged between his teeth like he’s thinking.

“You wanna talk about it?” he asks eventually, softer this time.

You shake your head. “Not really. Just one of those weeks where everything goes to shit in slow motion. Work, people, the world. My brain. I think I hate everyone.”

He hums. “Cool. We can start a club.”

You huff a laugh, just barely. But it’s something.

He glances at you sideways, like he’s measuring how far he can push. “So when do I get to punch your boss?”

“I’m serious, Kook.”

“I'm serious too! I’ve been doing push-ups.”

You snort, against your will. “You do three push-ups and call it training.”

“First of all, way more than three. Second, the form was perfect. Don’t disrespect me in my own car.”

You smile — tiny, fleeting — but it’s the first time today you’ve felt even remotely human.

“Thanks for picking me up,” you murmur after a second. “Even if you were late.”

“Exactly three minutes,” he says, defensive. “And I was texting you while driving, which is dedication. Illegal, but dedication.”

You glance over at him. He’s wearing his usual all-black like he’s trying to look tough, but the corners of his mouth are soft. His grip on the wheel is loose. Familiar. Like this is just another Friday, like nothing’s changed since last week.

But something has. You feel it.

You clear your throat. “Can we just go back to mine? I kind of want to curl into a blanket and pretend I don’t exist.”

“Nope,” he says instantly.

You blink. “What?”

“I have a plan.”

“A plan?”

“Yep.”

“What kind of plan?”

He just grins, eyes still on the road. “You’ll see.”

You narrow your eyes. “I swear to god, if this ends with me getting roped into karaoke—”

“No karaoke,” he says with a laugh, holding up one hand solemnly. “I promise. You’ve suffered enough.”

You sigh and let your head fall against the window. The glass is cool against your temple, and you let your eyes slip closed for a second. “I’m serious though, Kook. I really don’t think I have the energy to be around people right now.”

“No people,” he assures you. “Just us. Little detour. Nothing dramatic.”

You peek one eye open at him. “You’re being weird.”

“I’m being nice.”

“That’s what’s weird.”

He smirks. “Okay, that’s fair.”

You fall quiet again. The road noise fills the silence, the gentle whir of tires and the low pulse of the bass. It’s soothing in a way, the way riding with him always is.

Your fingers drift to your lap, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. He doesn’t ask again about your week. He just drives, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually near the gearshift, fingers tapping to the beat of the music.

You glance at him again.

He looks good when he’s focused but relaxed. The way he hums along to the music without realising. The way the light paints the side of his face gold as it streams through the windshield. You feel it crawl up your chest: that annoying, warm pressure. That thing you haven’t named yet.

That thing you’re starting to feel more often when he’s near you.

And it’s so stupid. So inconvenient.

You stare out the window, try to shake it off.

He turns down a street you don’t recognise.

“Seriously,” you say, finally. “Where are we going?”

He just grins again, eyes still forward.

“You’ll see.”

You’re parked at the top of a hill you didn’t know existed.

Below you, the city stretches out — tiny glints of light catching on glass and metal, and cars threading through the streets like slow-moving ants. It’s not some tourist lookout spot. There’s no crowds, no fences or coin-operated telescopes. Just a dusty turnout on the side of a winding road and a view that makes you feel like the world finally shut up for a minute.

It’s quiet up here. Real quiet. Even the music in the car has been turned down to a soft background hum — just instrumental now.

You’ve got a milkshake in your hands, condensation slipping down the side and catching on your fingers. It’s thick and rich, the kind that takes actual effort to sip through a straw. The sweetness coats your tongue, dulls the bitter edge that’s been living in your chest all week. In your lap is the discarded wrapping of a burger so good you had to ask where the hell it came from.

“I’ve literally never heard of this place,” you say around a mouthful of fries. “Is this one of those ‘secret menu, don’t tell anyone or they’ll kill you’ joints?”

Jungkook grins around his own bite, sauce already on the corner of his mouth. “Maybe. The guy who owns it doesn’t even do social media. Total off-the-grid.”

You nod like that explains the magic burger. “They probably sold their soul to the devil for the recipes or something.”

He laughs, mouth full, and leans over to wipe the sauce off with the back of his hand. “You okay now?”

You pause.

The question isn’t heavy. He doesn’t even look at you when he says it — just stares out at the view like he’s asking casually. But you hear the real version underneath. You always hear it with him.

You take a slow sip of your milkshake before answering.

“Yeah,” you say. “I think I am.”

And for once, it’s not a lie. Your body still feels wrung out, your muscles sore from being tense for too many days in a row, but something about this — about being here, with him, with real food and fake silence and a breeze that smells like clean air and french fries settles something in you.

You glance over. He’s sitting back against the driver’s side door, one knee propped up. His hat’s on the floor somewhere — he'd thrown it off after complaining about the heat — and the curve of his neck is exposed just enough to distract you when you look too long.

Which you are. Looking too long, again.

“So,” you say, casually. “How many women have you brought up here to seduce with mystery burgers and pretty views?”

He snorts. “You’re the first. Most of my dates prefer the classic ‘come over and watch a movie, but don’t actually watch the movie’ route.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Wow. Such effort.”

“Right? I’m kind of romantic like that.”

You toss a fry at him. It bounces off his chest and lands in his tray.

He doesn’t flinch. Just picks it up and eats it. “Thanks.”

You roll your eyes, but you can't help the smile that tugs on your lips.

The air settles into a rhythm again. You chew slowly, the kind of silence between you that doesn’t need filling. It's never been hard, being around him. Even now — after everything — you find yourself slipping back into the easy groove of just existing next to him.

Your phone buzzes in your bag, but you don’t reach for it. You don’t even want to know.

You glance over at him again.

He’s still working on his burger, brows furrowed like he’s trying to solve it. Like he’s mad at how good it tastes.

It should be funny.

It is funny. But your heart stutters instead.

You don’t laugh. You just watch.

The way his lips press together before each bite. The little crease between his eyebrows. His jaw, flexing with each chew. The thick column of his throat when he swallows.

You’ve seen him eat a thousand things in a thousand places. Messy tacos. Gas station snacks. Instant noodles straight from the pot. But somehow, this moment feels different.

Or maybe you do.

Something in you has been tilting all week.

You’ve been tired, angry, brittle with exhaustion. But under it — every time he texts you, looks at you, shows up — there’s something else rising. Warm and low.

You’re not sure when being around him stopped feeling simple.

Maybe it was that night. Maybe it’s been creeping in longer. But it’s louder now. Clearer. It fills your throat and sits behind your ribs and presses up against the edges of your self-control.

He licks ketchup from his thumb.

And you can’t stop staring at his mouth.

He glances up and catches you looking, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

You blink. Swallow. Try to think of something else, anything else, but your body’s already too aware. Too wired.

“Would you hate me if I did something?” you ask, voice low.

His head tilts. “What kind of something?”

“Would you?” you repeat, ignoring his question.

He puts his empty milkshake cup and spare tissues into the paper bag you got the food in, then puts it on to the dashboard of the car before meeting your gaze again.

“You know I could never hate you,” he says, voice casual.

Your pulse stutters.

And before you can talk yourself out of it, your fingers fist in the front of his shirt and you’re moving across your seat, crashing your mouth into his.

It’s not sweet or delicate.

You kiss him like you’ve been holding it back for weeks. Like you’ve hit your limit and there’s nowhere else for the feeling to go. Your teeth scrape his lip. Your noses bump.

He makes a startled sound, hands finding your waist instinctively. You pull back a bit, heart hammering in your chest, and for a beat, neither of you move. He just stares at you — wide-eyed, lips parted — like he’s trying to memorise this exact second.

His mouth opens and closes for a second before his lips are on yours again, chasing your mouth like he needs you to breathe.

Fuck. You weren't actually expecting him to reciprocate.

Then again, you hadn't been thinking at all.

"This is a horrible idea," you mumble.

Jungkook smiles into the kiss. "Mhm. Terrible."

But neither of you stop. You're not sure you could even if you tried. Jungkook's an addicting man, especially when he's kissing you like this.

You grunt into his mouth when your knee hits the centre console, frustrated — not at him, not at this, but at the fucking layout of his stupid car.

You pull back just far enough to say, breathless, “This car is the worst possible place for this.”

He’s panting a little, lips flushed. “You’re the one who launched yourself at me.”

You roll your eyes, shifting your position to try and get comfortable, but your impatience only grows with every second that your lips aren't on his.

“Fuck,” you mutter, pushing your hair out of your face. “This is so—”

“Hot,” Jungkook cuts in, his hand sliding under your shirt to palm your waist. His touch is warm. Steady. “It’s hot.”

You pause. Look at him.

His gaze is on your mouth again and his hand flexes against your skin like he’s trying to stay in control. But you see it — how much effort it’s taking.

And that…

Yeah, that does something to you.

With the help of his hands, your weight sinks down into his lap, both knees straddling his thighs.

The position isn’t comfortable — your head almost knocks the ceiling — but it’s better than before. Your mouths press together again, desperate.

Your tongue slides against his, your teeth catch on his bottom lip, and he pulls you tighter like you might disappear if he lets go.

One of his hands snakes up your back, under your shirt, fingers splaying across your spine like he wants to map it. You grind down against him, slow and deliberate, and his breath stutters.

“Fuck,” he mutters into your mouth. “Do that again.”

You do.

He tilts his head and deepens the kiss, like he’s trying to taste everything you’ve never said out loud. You lose your balance for a second, your body leaning into him, your chest flush with his. His hand slips up to your jaw, thumb brushing along your cheekbone.

You roll your hips again, slower this time, and he breaks the kiss with a gasp, resting his forehead against yours.

“Shit,” he says, voice wrecked. “We can’t do this here.”

“Why not?” you murmur, mouth still grazing his.

He laughs — short, breathless. “Because I’m gonna break the gearshift with my dick if we keep going.”

You laugh too, the sound getting lost between the kisses you press to his jaw, his neck, the line of his throat.

His fingers dig into your waist. “You’re evil.”

You bite his earlobe gently. “You like it.”

He groans, the sound full and needy, and his hands are on your ass, dragging you harder into him, his hips rolling up to meet yours.

You both freeze at the contact.

Your breath catches. His does too.

You pull back to look at him. His eyes are blown wide. His lips are red. His chest rises and falls like he’s run a mile.

His mouth breaks from yours, breath ragged, lips swollen.

“Backseat,” he says, voice a little raspy.

You blink, still breathless. “What?”

He grabs your waist again, eyes dark with lust pooling in his pupils. “Backseat. Now.”

You don’t question him this time.

You clamber into the back with far less grace than you’d like — knees catching on leather, thigh knocking the steering wheel hard enough to make the horn let out a pathetic chirp. Jungkook laughs behind you, but it’s breathless and reverent, the kind of sound that makes you feel seen. Wanted.

You fall into the back seat, legs tangled, heart hammering, your skin hot beneath your clothes. Before you can even fix your hair or adjust your position, he’s climbing in after you.

His body slots over yours, knee between your thighs, hands bracing on either side of your head as he dives back in.

You fist his shirt, tugging him impossibly closer as his mouth breaks from yours and moves lower — along your jaw, down your neck. His lips are soft but relentless, nipping at the skin just below your ear before sucking hard enough to make your hips buck into him.

“Fuck,” you whisper, head falling back. “You’re—god—”

“Still not tired of me?” he murmurs against your throat.

You grip his shoulders, legs falling open to make room for him between them. “Shut up.”

He huffs a laugh against your skin, but he listens. Fingers move to your buttons, surprisingly nimble despite how wrecked he looks. He doesn’t tear anything. Doesn’t rush it. He undoes each one slowly, as if he’s unwrapping a gift he’s been waiting way too long to open.

As each button pops free, his mouth follows — kissing down the newly exposed skin between your breasts, over the curve of your ribs. His hands slide beneath the fabric, pushing it open until your chest is bared, and hooks a finger beneath the centre of your bra, tugging it down and out of the way until you're fully exposed beneath him.

He pulls back to look.

And when he does, he breathes your name.

Low. Like a prayer.

You watch his eyes drag over you, dark and worshipful. One hand cups your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple in slow, lazy circles while the other grips your waist, holding you steady as your back arches into him.

He leans down again, tongue flicking over your nipple before his mouth closes around it — sucking just hard enough to make your toes curl. Your fingers fly to his hair, anchoring yourself in him as his teeth graze sensitive skin and his free hand teases the other side, drawing a sharp gasp from your throat.

“Kook—” you breathe, hips shifting beneath him, desperate for friction.

His mouth drags away with a wet sound. “Yeah, baby?”

The pet name sounds dangerous in his voice. Too natural. Like it belongs.

You don’t even call it out. You just say, “Need more.”

That’s all he needs to hear.

He drops one hand between your thighs, pressing it there over your pants with firm, maddening pressure. Just enough to make your breath stutter. His mouth is back on your chest, and his fingers start moving — slow at first, then harder, more purposeful, dragging against the seam of the fabric like he knows exactly how to push you to the edge.

He does.

And you’re already spiralling, body burning under his touch, chest heaving, lips swollen, the back seat of his car too cramped, too humid, too perfectly wrong for what’s happening.

But you’ve never wanted anything more.

Your head drops back against the seat, a soft moan catching in your throat as Jungkook keeps working you over through your pants, his fingers circling you like he has all the time in the world and none of the patience to waste it.

“I swear to god,” you pant, “if you don’t get these off me right now, I’m gonna lose my fucking mind.”

He laughs, still panting himself. His mouth presses hot and open to your neck, teeth grazing skin that’s already buzzing. “Bossy tonight, huh?”

“You started this.”

“And I’m gonna finish it,” he mutters, breath warm against your collarbone.

He shifts down your body and you feel him fumble with the button of your pants, tongue poking at the corner of his mouth in concentration.

“I can do it,” you say, breathless. “You’re slow.”

He blinks up at you, eyebrows raised. “Oh? I’m slow?”

You undo the button in one motion, zipper halfway down, and shoot him a sarcastic smile. “There. Congrats.”

He smiles, wide and wicked, and in the next second, he’s got your pants halfway down your thighs, your panties bunched right after. “Cool. I’ll just use my mouth then.”

That wipes the smugness off your face in an instant.

You freeze.

“Kook— wait, no—”

He pauses, glancing up at you from where he’s knelt between your legs, hair falling into his eyes, hands gripping your thighs with intent. “Did you just try and say no to that?”

“I mean…” You squirm, thighs twitching under his touch. “Last time was already— like, I came. A lot. You don’t have to do the whole… y’know…”

“The whole what?” he asks, voice dangerously innocent. “The part where I make you forget your own name with my tongue?”

You glare at him. “Don’t say it like that.”

He smirks, leaning in until his nose brushes your inner thigh. “Say what? That I’m gonna eat you out until you’re dripping into the seat?”

Your whole body jerks. “Jesus— Kook.”

“That’s not a no.”

He presses a kiss to your inner thigh, slow and warm. Then another. And another. Higher. Closer.

“Didn't get to do it last time,” he murmurs. “And I’ve been thinking about it. All fucking week.”

“You think about this?” you ask, trying for teasing, but your voice wavers as his mouth brushes closer to your core.

“Every night.”

Your breath catches.

“Every time I jerked off, it was to the sound you made when I had my fingers in you. You remember that?” he asks, dragging his mouth up until he’s just hovering over you, warm breath ghosting across your heat.

You nod, because you can’t speak. Your fingers are curled tight into the edge of the seat. Your thighs twitch.

“You remember what you said? ‘Please, don’t stop,’” he mimics, voice low and mocking. “But now you wanna tell me to stop this?”

You open your mouth to fire back some bratty reply — but then he presses a single, firm kiss against your cunt.

Your brain blanks.

Your hips buck.

“Fuck— okay,” you gasp, voice breaking.

He grins like he’s won a bet. “Knew you’d cave.”

Then his mouth is on you.

Hot and slow at first — just one long lick from bottom to top that has your eyes rolling back. His hands pin your thighs apart, anchoring you in place as he buries his face between your legs.

His tongue is obscene. Soft and firm in perfect rhythm, flicking over your clit before sealing his mouth around it and sucking hard enough to make your vision blur.

You cry out, hips stuttering up into his face, but he just groans against you.

“Fuck, you’re so messy already,” he mumbles against you. “Is that for me?”

You’re beyond words.

Your fingers snake into his hair, anchoring yourself as he eats you out like a man with something to prove. He moves with precision and hunger, memorising your every twitch, every gasp, every breathless curse.

“God, Kook—” you pant, eyes squeezed shut. “You’re such a fucking overachiever.”

He pulls back just enough to look up at you, chin slick, pupils blown. “You gonna dock my grade if I make you come too fast?”

You glare down at him, chest heaving. “You’re insufferable.”

He presses a kiss to your clit, slow and sharp. “As if it doesn't turn you on."

You can’t argue. Not when he dives back in, tongue sliding over you with maddening confidence, his nose bumping against your clit as he hums.

The pressure builds fast.

Too fast.

And you know it’s coming — the kind of orgasm that starts at your toes and climbs like a fuse to the rest of you — but you don’t care.

You come hard, shaking through it, barely aware of the sounds leaving your mouth. Everything goes white-hot for a second — your grip in his hair, the tremble in your thighs, the pleasure that pulses through you.

You’re still gasping, thighs trembling, when he finally pulls back. His lips are slick, his chin wet with you, and he looks fucking wrecked.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“You good?” he asks, cocky and a little breathless.

You shoot him a look. “Do I look good?”

He smirks. “You look like I just rocked your shit.”

You scoff, weak but grinning. “You’re so full of yourself.”

He kisses your inner thigh, then leans up, mouth dragging over your ribs as he moves back over you. “Just calling it like I see it.”

Your hands slide under his shirt as he settles above you again, dragging it up over his toned stomach until he gets the hint and peels it off. You press your palms to his chest, warm and solid and slick with sweat.

Then your hand starts moving lower.

Jungkook freezes above you, eyes flicking down to where your fingers are tugging at his waistband. You smirk up at him.

“My turn?”

“Your turn to what?” he asks, voice already hoarse.

You shift, nudging his hips up so you can start pulling his jeans open. “You think I’m gonna let you have all the fun?”

He groans — actual, full-bodied groan — as you work the zipper down and slide your hand beneath the waistband of his boxers.

But the second your fingers wrap around him, he grabs your wrist.

You look up, surprised. “What?”

He’s panting now, jaw tight, brow furrowed like he’s holding on by a thread.

“I can’t.”

You blink. “Can’t what?”

“I— fuck, if you put your mouth on me, I’m not gonna last.” He grips your wrist tighter, not pulling away but not letting you move either. “And I need to be in you first.”

You raise a brow, amused. “What happened to all that stamina you brag about during Mario Kart?”

He glares, cheeks flushed. “That’s different. You don’t suck me off during Mario Kart.”

“Maybe I should.”

“Don’t joke right now,” he grits out, pushing your hand out of his boxers with an almost painful kind of restraint. “I’m serious. I’m already dying.”

You pout, dragging your nails lightly down his stomach just to be a brat. “So needy.”

His eyes narrow, before moving back onto you.

You squeal as he pins your hands above your head, his body crashing into yours, mouth crashing against your neck.

“I’ll show you needy,” he growls, voice thick and dark.

Your heart kicks hard in your chest, and you’re smiling — giddy, wrecked, turned on beyond belief.

“You promise?” you whisper, voice almost mocking.

His hips roll down into yours.

“Oh, baby. I promise.”

The second his hips grind down again, dragging against your soaked heat, you feel your breath punch out of your lungs.

He lets go of your wrists and shoves his jeans and boxers down just far enough to free himself, cock flushed and heavy, already leaking at the tip. You reach for it instinctively, wanting to feel him, stroke him slow just to tease — but he swats your hand away like it’s nothing.

“No,” he growls, leaning in to press a kiss to your collarbone, rough and reverent all at once. “You had your chance.”

You open your mouth to argue, to push his buttons just a little more — but the head of his cock nudges your entrance, and whatever snark you had queued up melts into a gasp.

Jungkook groans under his breath, burying his face in the crook of your neck like the restraint is killing him. “Fuck, you’re so wet.”

“Yeah,” you rasp, gripping his shoulders, nails digging in. “Wonder why.”

He shifts his hips, just a little, dragging the thick head through your folds. Not pushing in yet, but slicking himself up with you. You moan despite yourself, arching into him, your body desperate to be filled.

“You ready?” he mutters, voice ragged.

You look at him — really look at him. His hair’s a mess, stuck to his forehead. His lips are kiss-bruised and red. His abs flex as he holds himself up over you, barely restraining the shake in his arms.

And you’ve never wanted anything so badly in your life.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Please.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

He pushes in slow, thick and stretching, and your breath catches at the burn. Your back arches. One hand flies to the window for leverage, the other fists in the back of his neck.

“Jesus,” Jungkook groans, barely halfway in. “You feel— fuck— you feel insane.”

You laugh, short and winded. “That’s what you said last time.”

“Yeah, and I meant it.”

He bottoms out with a curse, hips flush to yours. For a moment, you both just breathe — heavy and ragged, bodies locked together, the air thick with sweat and want.

His movements are slow at first — just a shallow roll of his hips that drags his cock along every nerve ending inside you. You moan, legs tightening around his waist, heels digging into the backs of his thighs.

“Faster,” you breathe, already twitching around him.

He leans back just enough to watch your face, eyes locked on yours like he’s chasing every reaction. Then he picks up the pace — slamming into you with long, deep strokes that have the car rocking.

You cry out, snapping your hand up to press against your mouth. “Kook— fuck, don’t stop.”

He laughs — laughs, breathless and wrecked. “You think I could?”

Every thrust punches a gasp from your lungs. You can’t think. You can’t do anything but hold on.

He shifts, bracing one knee on the seat and angling his hips just right — and when he hits that spot inside you, your whole body jerks.

“Oh my god,” you moan.

“Right there?” he grits out, sweat dripping down his jaw. “Fuck, I feel it— your pussy’s so fucking tight, you’re gonna— shit— you’re gonna make me come.”

“Thought you said I’d be the one begging.”

He groans, pulls out almost all the way, then slams back in so hard you scream.

“Still wanna be a brat?” he growls, panting.

You nod, grinning through the moans. “Always.”

“Fine.” He grabs both your wrists again and pins them above your head, his body pressing into you harder now, relentless, sweat slicking your skin. “Then you can take it.”

And fuck, you do.

Your second orgasm creeps up on you fast — your whole body tensing as his thrusts get rougher, deeper, desperate. You cry out his name, high and wrecked, and the sound makes him snap.

His rhythm falters. His mouth crashes against yours, sloppy and hot, all teeth and tongue as he chases his own edge.

“I’m gonna—” he gasps, pulling back to look at you, eyes wild. “Fuck— can I—?”

You nod fast, moaning. “Inside. Just do it.”

That’s all it takes.

He buries himself one last time and shatters — groaning low in your ear as he spills into you, body shaking, arms trembling with effort as he holds himself up.

For a moment, it’s just the sound of breathing. Wind through cracked windows. The slow drip of sweat down your temples. The burn in your thighs. The mess between your legs.

Jungkook lets out a choked laugh and slumps down, burying his face in your neck. “Okay,” he mumbles. “That might’ve been the best sex I’ve had in a fucking car.”

You laugh, dazed. “You say that like it’s a long list.”

“Give me some credit,” he says, voice muffled against your skin. “I’m not that trashy.”

You stroke your fingers through his hair, still catching your breath. “We just fogged up every window in your car.”

“Worth it.”

He doesn’t move.

You’re still tangled together, his weight heavy on you, his softening cock still inside.

After a moment, he shifts slightly and lets out a low, satisfied sigh. You can feel the smile against your neck before he presses another kiss there. Then another. And another.

You squirm, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “You’re clingy as fuck after sex.”

“Mm-hmm,” Jungkook hums, completely unashamed. “Deal with it.”

You roll your eyes, still grinning. “You’re like a weighted blanket.”

He lifts his head just enough to look at you, sweaty curls falling into his eyes. “You love it.”

“Debatable.”

He snorts, then finally pulls out, slow and careful. You both groan at the feeling, and you feel it immediately: his cum, warm and slick, already starting to slide out of you.

You shift to reach for your underwear, cringing at the sticky feeling.

“I’ll clean you up,” he says, voice quiet but certain. “When we get home.”

You blink at him. “You don’t have to. Just drop me off—”

“No.” His tone is firmer now, jaw set. “I’m not just dropping you off.”

You stare at him for a beat, surprised by the sharp edge in his voice. Then you glance down pull up your bra and button up your shirt, suddenly very aware of your heartbeat again.

He watches you the whole time, his eyes dragging over your skin like he’s memorising every inch of it before covering it back up. And when you finish with the last button and reach for your jeans, he leans forward and kisses your jaw — soft, almost reverent.

“I mean it,” he murmurs. “Let me take care of you.”

And for some reason, you don’t fight it.

You’re lying in his bed, hair still damp from the shower, the curve of his hoodie soft against your bare thighs. The sheets smell like fabric softener and his cologne, and the room is dim — just the small lamp by the closet casting a low amber glow. There’s a bowl of ramen on the nightstand, still steaming. You’re not hungry, but he made it for you, so you took a few bites anyway.

Outside, the city hums. A car passes on the street below. Somewhere down the hall, the radiator clicks.

It should feel normal. Comfortable. It did feel normal — until maybe twenty minutes ago.

Things were fine when you got here. He’d pulled you toward the bathroom and handed you a towel, that stupid grin still half on his face. He even said something about making noodles if you promised not to pass out in his bed again. You’d laughed. Called him a housewife. Everything felt fine.

But when you came out of the shower, something was different.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, scrolling his phone like he didn’t hear you walk in. And when he looked up, the smile was there, yeah — but it didn’t fully reach his eyes. You shrugged it off. Maybe you imagined it. Maybe he was just zoning out.

But then it kept going.

Quiet, too quiet. He’d made the ramen without talking. Brought it to you, set it down, and just... sat on the floor for a while, scrolling again, saying nothing. When you asked what he was doing, he just said, “Checking something,” and didn’t elaborate. Eventually he stood, turned on a random playlist, and flopped into the chair in the corner with a bottle of water.

Now he’s across the room, scrolling again, leg bouncing slightly like he’s keyed up and trying to burn it off. He hasn’t looked at you in a few minutes. You watch the light from his phone flicker across his face, the way his brow furrows every now and then, and something in your chest tugs.

It’s not dramatic. He’s not being rude or distant. He’s not treating you like a stranger. But he’s not treating you like you, either — not the way he usually does.

You know him too well not to notice. The way he’s moving isn’t right. Like he’s stuck in his own head. Like there’s something he wants to say but doesn’t know how to bring up.

Or maybe he’s trying not to say something. Either way, it sits in the air between you, subtle but heavy.

You pull your knees up under the hoodie and wrap your arms around them, resting your chin there. Watching him. Waiting, maybe, for him to snap out of it. Say something dumb. Make fun of your hair. Crawl into bed next to you like it’s nothing.

But he doesn’t.

You shift slightly, tugging the hoodie down over your thighs even though it’s already covering you. The ramen’s gone lukewarm on the nightstand.

“Kook?”

His head lifts just a little. “Hmm?”

You hesitate. “What’s going on?”

He blinks, finally looking at you. His eyes are soft. Tired, maybe. Or just dimmer than usual. “What do you mean?”

“You just feel…” You trail off, unsure how to word it without sounding dramatic. “I don’t know. A little off.”

He smiles, and it’s almost convincing. “I’m good. Just tired.”

You don’t push. Not really. You know him. If he doesn’t want to talk, he won’t. And whatever this is — it doesn’t feel sharp enough to cut yet. It just feels strange.

“Okay,” you say quietly.

He glances down, then back at you. “Eat your noodles before they go gross.”

You glance at the bowl, then back at him. “You eat yet?”

He nods. “Earlier.”

You don’t believe him, but you let it slide.

He shifts in the chair, stretching his legs out and resting his head back for a second before sitting up again, like he was about to let himself relax and then thought better of it.

“I’m gonna get some work done before bed,” he says, standing up slowly. “Couple things I need to catch up on.”

You watch him move toward the door, half expecting him to stop, change his mind, come back and say something dumb like he always does. But he just opens it, hand braced against the frame.

His voice is gentle when he adds, “Don’t stay up too late, alright?”

You nod. “Yeah. I won’t.”

He gives you a small smile — soft, careful — and then he’s gone.

The door clicks shut behind him.

You stare at it for a long moment. The hoodie sleeves are pulled over your hands now. The ramen sits untouched. The playlist keeps playing, quiet and aimless in the background.

You let out a soft sigh before reaching over to flick off the lamp.

The room goes dark, soft shadows stretching over the walls. The sheets rustle as you shift down into them, tugging the comforter over your legs, the warmth doing nothing to quiet the noise in your head.

Maybe this is why people don’t sleep with their best friends.

Maybe this is exactly why those lines exist — because crossing them means risking everything else. And maybe you knew that. Maybe you ignored it anyway.

Because it was him.

Because part of you has been circling this for longer than you want to admit.

You close your eyes, breathing slow and steady. The scent of him still clings to the sheets. Still wraps around you like he should be here. But he’s not.

Regret settles low in your chest, dull and heavy. You hate the way it sits there, thick in your ribs, twisting slow in your stomach. You’ve always hated how it creeps in after the fact, when it’s already too late to take anything back.

You shift onto your side and pull the blanket up to your chin. Try to sleep. Try to stop thinking.

He said everything was fine.

You just wish you believed him.

→ read part three here

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[obeymeluv]

In Your Defense [PT 3 - Ignihyde]

You decide to work at Sam's for Valentine's Day and your crush just happens to hear a customer hitting on you. If they get arrested, can you be their alibi?

AKA: This person has a death wish and you find out your crush might be jealous?

Note: Each one is random and some will be longer than others. If I made everyone the same length this thing would be MASSIVE and I would probably die.

Not proofread because of the length.

Whatever part Ortho is in will be platonic, obvs.

Happy V-day!

**Need to go to bed for work tomorrow so Diasomnia will be on my next day off. Can't stay up long enough to squeeze it in**

If there was one thing Idia hated, it was going out in public. He hated how the sun burned his eyes, all the bugs flying around, the way people looked at his hair, and almost had a heart attack at the idea that he'd have to talk to people.

Major bummer. 0/10, don't recommend.

But he'd suck it up and soldier on because the call of sweets was too tempting to resist. The trek to Sam's isn't the longest from Ignihyde but it's enough to make him pace himself.

Yeah, he's not really an outside person. Or a physical activity person outside of dancing to Premo or working on his projects.

He briefly wonders if Ortho put Sam up to this as he finds his second wind and ascends the hill. Who has a bomb sweets sale and DOESN'T ALLOW ONLINE PURCHASES?! WHY WERE THE DISCOUNTS IN-PERSON ONLY?

Idia breaths a sigh of relief and fixes his hoodie before mustering up his courage and opening the door. He's throwing himself into the proverbial lion's den, into an introvert's worst nightmare!

The noise and people are almost too much but he distracts himself with all the pink and red. Mercifully, the candy is spread out around the store so he doesn't have to stay in the sea of people. Idia doesn't discriminate when it comes to sweets; he gets soft cake rolls, pixie sticks, little donuts, a few chocolate bars, and a couple of limited edition dessert drinks. He's secretly glad Sam's regular stock didn't take a hit because of the holiday; his snack stash needs replenishing. Packs of ramen and little things of convenience bury his sweets stash but he's careful not to crush anything.

He can almost hear Ortho nagging him to get something green or slightly healthy. If he doesn't, Ortho will be mad at him for a week. It becomes a battle of wits between the Shroud brothers and Ortho is the king of juvenile inconveniences. Idia has learned the hard way; Ortho resets his alarms, throttles his wi-fi, messes with his lights, takes apart his tablet or takes it off charge in the middle of the night, and just about anything else he can think of.

Idia begrudgingly puts some green smoothies in his basket. Along with some pudding cups.

Satisfied with his raid, he waits in line. He's chanting to himself the whole time: just walk, don't make eye contact! Just walk, don't make eye contact! The line stalls enough for someone to bump into him and he panics, stumbling forward into the person in front of him. His hair flickers and flares a little in his panic.

People give him space and he babbles a quick apology. He pulls his hoodie up over his hair but it doesn't hide everything. It makes him feel safe, though. He relaxes a little.

Then, he hears it.

HOW MUCH DO YOU COST?!

Oof. MAXIMUM cringe. NO ONE on campus has a charisma stat high enough to make THAT work! Except Kingscholar and Schoenheit, maybe.

It gets worse when he realizes someone said that TO YOU.

OH NO! HE HAS COMPETITION!

The tactic looks like it failed, though, so he's comforted. You wouldn't go for something so cheap and cheesy! This guy looks like a D-level tank AT BEST. You're an SSR easy. D-levels and SSR's don't go together!

He's an SSR when it comes to stealth and technical skill so maybe one day you guys can link up or whatever. Your choice. The tips of his hair turn pink and he blows on the closest strand to mute the color.

The guy is doubling down. "You're rolling a one, pleb. A hard one." Idia whispers to himself.

"You say somethin', Shroud?" the guy turns to him.

FUCK, HE KNOWS HIS NAME?!

Idia's hair roars to life with surprise. He yanks the hoodie down before the fabric singes and crisps. His strands are wild, untamed, and yellow. His instinct is to stutter and deny it, to backtrack, but your eyes are just shy of pleading and it makes him swallow the word soup.

"I-I said you're rolling a hard one. Y-You're failing!" Idia doesn't know if he's going to faint first or if his legs will give out. His heart might go first.

The guy clearly doesn't get the reference. The brain is buffering and the lag is too great. He shakes his head with a sharp, toothy smile, unable to help himself. Dumb normie, Idia gives a breathy chuckle. Idia has that unfortunate condition where his face talks for him and it must've said some shit because the tank is now laser-focused on him.

You're over the counter before he can process anything, grabbing the guy by the back of his shirt and telling him to leave. The guy just jerks his shoulders and stays the course. Idia sees you get ripped over the counter and tumble to the floor. You recover decently and grab the closest thing to you but something about the sound of your body hitting the floor sends him into a rage he'd only felt in online arguments.

It feels like his veins are burning. He can tell by the size of his shadow and the light dancing across the floor that his hair is long and ferociously orange. Raging orange. Lethal orange.

"Caution," Idia manages somehow through his rage. "C-Contents are hot." he knows he has to stay put. If he approaches the guy he will LITERALLY catch on fire. It's not a bad idea, and he can see the gears spinning in the guy's head. He's wondering if Idia's going to do it or if he has enough time to hit the door.

The guy chooses the door.

It takes several minutes for Idia to calm down. His hair seems to shrink as he deflates into his usual quiet mannerisms. It's shorter than normal! "Used up all my fuel," Idia complains as he drags himself to the counter. "Need calories." he melts pitifully into the counter.

"You need to buy what you burned, too." Sam points to the singed chips and snacks. He already has a few packs that are beyond saving in his arms. Idia realizes the shop is basically empty now and finds the energy to blush. Pink cheeks look really cute against his blue hair!

"Does this mean I'm done for the day?"

"Yes." Sam looks at you. He's not mad or disappointed, but he means you're done. "I think you're a bit of a fire hazard." he teases.

You both blush.

None of this was in his decision tree! WHAT DOES HE DO?

"You, uh, you want to come by Ignihyde and, um, watch some stuff? You don't have to if you don't want to, of course. I just, you know, since it was my fault and all--"

"Is that a nat twenty in the wild? I think I have to now!" you joke.

"You get that?" Idia's mouth hangs open in surprise.

"It might have different names but I think it's the same thing in my world." you shrug. He's so down to discuss games from another dimension!

A nat twenty indeed!

----

Ortho was doing his best to fill the gaps with whatever Sam's shop had to offer. Idia's grocery order was a little delayed due to the Valentine's holiday so he needed something decent to tide him over. Determined to keep his brother from an early, sodium-induced death, Ortho took it upon himself to shop. He wasn't totally heartless, though, so he'd throw in a few bags of chips to make Idia feel better.

A lot of this chocolate was out of the question! The sugar was through the roof! Then again, Idia was hopelessly addicted to sweets. He's pretty sure his brother broke some kind of record for sugar tolerance.

Equipped with Vil's suggestions and the things he researched, Ortho started hunting for healthy foods. He filled the basket with smoothies, yogurts, dark chocolate, fruit, and protein bars. There should be enough texture and flavor variation there to make Idia happy. Well...relatively.

Ortho floated patiently in line, subtly recording the conversations around him for later playback. Organic human interaction was interesting and would help him improve his algorithms and processes.

It's not like it hurt anything! All of the conversations were innocent and--

WAS SOMEONE TRYING TO MAKE A MOVE ON HIS FRIEND? HIS BESTEST, MOST PRECIOUS FRIEND?! ONLY HIS BIG BROTHER CAN DO THAT!

You may not totally get that he's a techno-organic construct (and not a boy who just really loves pretending to be a robot) but HE GETS that YOU'RE NOT COMFORTABLE AND THAT'S NOT OKAY!

"Excuse me, pardon me," Ortho weaves carefully through the people, playing a little 'wee-woo' alarm through his speaker system.

He floats beside the guy, staring at him with those big gold eyes. Pinching his thumb and pointer finger together turns up the alarm.

The guy is ignoring the alarms! How ridiculous! Is this what Idia means by natural selection and survival of the fittest?

A red light pops out of his shoulder, spinning in place.

HE'S IGNORING THAT, TOO?!

"You're being interrupted!" Ortho glares at him now, tuft of blue hair dancing angrily. "This conversation is clearly inappropriate for the setting and is henceforth terminated!"

"Terminated? Big words for a little boy! Go away, big people are talking!" the guy tries to shoo him away.

"Don't be rude to him!" you snap, "And he's right! The conversation is terminated!"

"Terminated!" Ortho echoes, pumping his fist. "Terminated!" he repeats, laughing when some of the people in line begin to join in and chant 'terminated, terminated!'

The guy leaves without buying anything and Ortho is happy to take his place. He pays for the the snacks. "And here's a sticker for you for being so sweet!" you put a sticker on the back of his hand. It's a heart wearing sunglasses.

Ortho laughs despite himself. One day he'll get Idia to explain it to you in a way you understand. He's surprised nothing like him exists in your world but he's glad to be here with you in Twisted Wonderland.

[neeeooon]

WHATS UP CHAT 🔥🔥🔥🔥

I have spawned in w/ a bllk request, you can ignore it if u don’t have time or energy— Can we get bllkers w/ an s/o who plays handball as a goalie, but decides to play goalie for them to help practice their shooting skills in soccer? If that makes sense 🧍‍♀️ (bonus points if reader is injury prone)

yessss WASSUP 🔥🔥🔥 (sorry this took so long) TY FOR THE REQUEST 🤍

when you play goalie for them

bf bllk x gn!goalie reader. yn is injury prone

isagi yoichi

-> isagi was actually really scared to ask you to practice with him. he knew you used to play with your siblings and that you weren’t necessarily a fan, but he really wanted to practice his shooting

-> “are you free to help me shoot some? you don’t have to! i just need a goalie..” you aren’t very excited by his request, but you know how much this means to him. so, you smile and say, “screw it! let’s play.”

-> though you’re clumsy and injury-prone, you’re used to powering through. isagi is not. the first block has you on the ground, and when you stand, he sees your scraped up knees and panics. “y/n! shit, i forgot knee pads!”

-> “don’t need ‘em,” you shrug him off. “now, we gonna play or not? cause right now it’s 1-0 in my favor.”

kunigami rensuke

-> “okay, i’m gonna shoot now!” “you don’t have to tell me every time you take a shot, kunigami!”

-> he still did it anyway, knowing you’re injury-prone. he’d feel so awful if you got hurt doing something he asked

-> however, while you did get hurt, it was entirely your fault. he kicked a ball that was technically out, but you weren’t paying attention and jumped for it… slamming headfirst into the top of the metal goal

-> you dropped like a bag of flour, heads cradling your scalp as your boyfriend ran over. “y/n! i’m not laughing at you, i promise.” “you are >:(“ “how is that even possible, babe?”

niko ikki

-> “um, y/n?” you rolled over to face your boyfriend, who was sitting awkwardly in your desk chair. “yeah, niko?” “would you be willing to play goalie for me..? so i can practice my shots?”

-> you lit up. “you want me to help you?” “if you don’t mind..—“ “say less!!”

-> he should have know better. you should have know better. but the first shot niko took toward the goal, you dove forward and blocked it with your face :)

-> “ow.” “y/n!!! oh no, you’re bleeding!” you ended practice early that day

bachira meguru

-> you used to play goalie for your little brothers, who loved soccer growing up. they weren’t as dedicated as bachira, but you had enough experience with their shots to not be completely useless in the goal

-> you were actually doing pretty good the first dozen shots or so. he made most, but you were able to block quite a bit!

-> and then he tried a new dribbling technique to trick you, and boy did you fall for it

-> your feet followed his, and when he spun to take the shot, you got tangled up and went down hard, twisting your ankle in the process. “ow!” you cried, freaking bachira out. “y/n! wait, how?” “don’t laugh, you little ankle demon!”

nagi seishiro

-> “reo’s out of town with his family for business, and he left me strict instructions to keep you practicing!” nagi is not impressed. of course his best friend would recruit his partner to bother him even while he’s in another country

-> you have to drag your boyfriend out of his dorm, but once you tell him that you’ll be playing with him, he comes a bit easier

-> it was easy blocking for nagi at first because he wasn’t putting any effort behind his shots. they rolled to you, some stopping completely before reaching the goal

-> you propped your hands on your hips and raised a brow at him. “that’s the best you can do? come on, you big baby—!” a shot flew by your head, and you instinctively threw a hand up to smack it away. you felt your wrist twist under impact and clutched it to your chest. “okay.. you win.”

[jaegeraether]

The Runaway - Chapter 2 (Alexia Putellas x original character slow-burn)

Jae's Masterlist

CHAPTER 2

DELANEY

Most players avoided social media, especially Tik Tok and especially after a match. Delaney, though, was always curious and entertained by it.

There was an overwhelming amount of content following their match. People talking about players, about Delaney’s first time against the Spanish team, about the brutality of it.

Players were shipped with players, rumours started to swirl and most of it was over just the slightest expression one player had given another during the game.

“Guys, Dellie rolling on top of Alexia is my moment of the match for sure.”

“Did you see how she moved her? Argh.”

“They seem to really respect each other!”

“I knew people would sexualise them. She was just getting her out of the way! What I can’t get over is how they fought each other in the midfield. That’s what it’s like to watch Ballon d’Or players against each other. Dellie to get her first this year, I hope!”

“Everybody is talking about Dellie and la Reina but Kyra’s penalty? Maccas three in a row clearances? Steph’s assist from the centre line? Oof. These are the Tillies we love!”

“Turns out the only strategy to work against Baker is to put Alexia onto her. A bit more time and la Reina would have had her.”

Delaney smiled, entertained by the comments. Regardless of if they were good or bad, she knew that none of them understood what it was like to be in the middle of a match, fighting against the Spanish girls.

She did enjoy herself, though. Especially her tussles in the midfield with Alexia. She was every bit as good as she imagined and much more than deserving of the mountain of trophies she’d had. There was a moment after the match when Delaney wondered if she had imagined the strange, natural connection between her and the Spanish Captain, but that was quickly overcome when Alexia had followed her on Instagram immediately after the match.

As with most friendlies, they had another one coming up in just a few days. Unfortunately, Delaney was not allowed to play. Her shoulder had been dislocated in the last few minutes of the previous match, and it was purely by luck that she’d managed to push it back in as she rolled her body over it on the ground.

Instead, she was stuck in a sling and subsequently told off by the medics, who only did so because they had to.

The next game against Spain, she thought they did better. They still lost, but only by a small margin. The game ended in 0-1 to Spain, with the main deficit for the Matildas, their scoring. The midfield fought hard with their renewed passion, and she was working hard on the sideline analysing, pointing out their deficiencies, and making effective changes.

It felt surreal to watch the Spanish team play live though. They were all so talented. The mindset and passion for football that they’d developed at such a young age was evident in how they played. So many of their players were incredible. Mapi, Ona, Aitana, Claudia.

But there were none as good as Alexia. She was a leader. She coached the team while they were on the field, and players listened to everything she had to say. Even the Australians would stop to listen, not knowing a word of Spanish.

While most players focussed on the ball, she was assessing just at Delaney did. Making sure everyone was where they should be. Finding weaknesses and taking advantage of them. Her sight when it came to passing was unrivalled. Her technical ability had her taking on multiple midfielders at once and winning. She made quick, clever decisions that couldn’t be taught to other players defending her. They just needed that same ability.

There’s no way that someone as tall and stocky as Alexia should have been better than someone small and nimble like Aitana. But she was. And it wasn’t about the stats. It was about so much more than that.

Delaney caught Alexia’s gaze a few times during the match. Her face was mainly neutral, but from the frequency in which she looked, she knew there was some curiosity there.

There was one specific moment when Delaney knew Alexia was watching her again. She could feel it, like a spark igniting just beneath her skin. Their eyes locked across the field and Delaney felt the air shift. It was as though time slowed, and her heart skipped a beat - an inexplicable pulling. Alexia’s gaze was steady, confident. But Delaney could see something else there - something unreadable, yet so clear at the same time. And before she could break the moment, Alexia looked away, leaving Delaney to wonder if she had imagined it all.

The game ended, and she entered the field to shake hands. She made sure to let her teammates know how well they did, and how much progress they’d made. She shook hands with the Spanish players too, many who seemed curious about her.

“Sorry for… this…” Cata said in broken English, gesturing to her sling.

“Oh, it’s okay! Just part of the game.”

“I yam glad you are fix.” Cata continued with a grin. She was flirtier than she’d anticipated.

“I’m glad I could sit this one out!”

They chuckled and Cata looked down at her jacket, as if she were about to ask for her jersey.

A strong, familiar voice came from behind her then.

“You apologise?” Alexia said in English to Cata.

“Sí capitana.” Yes, Captain.

Alexia nodded and Cata took the hint to leave, but not before she winked at Delaney, “I see you again.”

“Hasta luego, Cata.” See you later, Cata.

Cata’s excited expression was worth the Google search of some basic Spanish phrases.

It was only as she looked to Alexia that she realised that the Spaniard was slightly taller than her. And then there was her gaze up close. Those golden hazel eyes of hers. When she looked at her, it was something deeper than just that. It felt like… recognition. Like she saw her clearly.

“You speak-” Alexia began.

“No.. no.” Delaney cut off with an apologetic smile. “Un poco… poco.”

Alexia chuckled at that, and it was an adorable sound. Much better than her gasp of pain at the cleat hitting her thigh the previous match. That was not so nice. Though the sound of it right in her ear- fuck. Control yourself.

“How is your thigh?”

She tilted her head. Delaney gestured to her thigh.

“Ah – is.. sore but… a little bit okay.” When Alexia struggled for the word, Delaney didn’t interrupt. She liked the way her brow furrowed, how seriously she took each phrase—as if every word mattered between them. “And.. you?” She looked at her sling, studying it.

“Is okay.” She mimicked cheekily.

Alexia hummed, her eyes scanning over her eyebrow. “Your…” She gestured to her back.

“It’s also okay. Few bruises. But that’s the game.”

Alexia picked up a word, with an empathetic look. “Bruise…?”

“Sí.. ah… muchos?” Yes, many. “But it’s okay.”

Alexia looked as if she didn’t believe she was okay. One eyebrow raised in defiance, and it made her heart skip a beat.

“You are a very good player, la Reina.”

She looked slightly embarrassed and proud. “Muchas gracias.” Thank you very much. Her tongue sneaking between her lips at the word 'gracias' was something she most definitely didn't notice. At all. “Alexia.”

“You don’t like la Reina?”

She paused for a moment, her eyes studying Delaney’s.

“Alexia.” She corrected, softer than before.

“Alexia.” She repeated.

She’d have to be simple to have missed Alexia’s eyes on her lips as she said her name. Her pupils dilating at the word.

She sucked in a breath and extended her good hand. “I’m Delaney.”

“Hola, Danny.” Hello, Danny. Delaney chuckled at the mistake. “Sorry… Delaney.” She said like she couldn't believe her own mistake.

“Well now I prefer Danny.”

They chuckled together. It was immediately evident that there was something here. A spark. A connection. Separated by language but still more than able to understand each other. It was exhilarating but scary at the same time. Delaney didn’t do well with emotional connections. She always had a habit of running or putting boundaries up.

“You are… very good... good player also.”

She bit her lip at the sound of Alexia’s adorable Spanish accent. “Thank you, Alexia.”

“Where you go?”

She tilted her head in confusion.

“Where you… play?” The Spaniard clarified.

“Oh! Uh.. I don’t know..”

Another moment of comfortable silence between them. God, she could sit in those for hours.

“Barcelona?”

Delaney gave her a look. “I’d love to... but the coach doesn’t want me.”

Alexia seemed to remember then what he’d said about not wanting or needing her and opened her mouth to apologise. Delaney touched her arm and felt Alexia lean into it.

“It’s okay. I have an offer from Arsenal that’s enticing. I’m meeting with them soon.”

“You go to them?”

It couldn’t have been easy for Alexia to have such a fragmented conversation in English, but she admired her perseverance. It felt like she wanted the conversation just as much as she did. She wanted to know anything and everything she could about this woman.

“If it feels right when I get there.” Alexia looked like she didn't understand so she put out a simpler word. “Maybe…”

“Ah…”

Yelling from the touchline got their attention as they realised they were the last players on the field. They both began to walk equally as slow toward their teams.

“I yam sorry for… for Pere. He speaks wrong.. about you.” She seemed frustrated with herself as she tried to explain. “He…”

“It’s okay, Alexia.” She reassured. “I don’t think it would be the best idea anyways.”

Alexia stopped walking and frowned again. Was it a bad thing that Delaney wanted to find out what each of her little face expressions meant? “You no want to-”

“Oh, no! I’d love to play for Barcelona. I would learn so much. I just… I’m not needed there. And besides-” She cut herself off, not wanting to say mention the elephant in the room. Alexia had understood the sentence without saying it, though.

Her frown deepened and it was like Delaney could hear her thoughts.

You don’t want to come because of… me?

The Australian stepped forwards and put her hand on Alexia’s perfectly golden arm again. Her fingers brushed against Alexia’s skin and lingered there, enough to notice the warmth of her. She told herself it was for comfort. But part of her didn’t want to let go. Especially when she realised that she was leaning into her ever-so-slightly.

“I’d love to be able to play alongside you one day, Alexia.” She said, her voice quieter than before and more confession than statement. For a second, Alexia didn’t respond, she only looked at her, and Delaney wondered if that silence held all the words neither of them dared spoke.

“ALE!”

“DELLIE!”

The shouts from the groups pulled them from their stupor. But not before Alexia smiled at her one last time.

[noctunis]

✧˖° - DESIDERIUM.

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ - featuring ; satoru gojo x fem!reader, slight hints of suguru geto x fem!reader

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ - synopsis ; “ for what is love if not brought back grief but just a little bit smaller? ” satoru wonders as he thinks about the time you got away from him, little does he know it’s eating you up inside everyday.

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ word count ; 13.7k words, 74.2k characters

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ cw ; sfw, fem!reader, fluff to angst with little comfort, canon au, not proofread, interchanging povs but for reader it’s always second person, technically need a pt2 but lmk if u guys want it, not proofread, mainly satoru x reader but hints of sashisu x reader for a while, spoilers / allusions / mentions of jjk 0 and later manga chapters ( after suguru’s left obv ), mentions and cameo from kenny later, canon character death, mentions of smoking, mentions of blood and typical canon violence, mature language, intended lowercase

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ notes ; ( request linked here !!) wow so this has been sitting in my inbox for a few months now, this was actually requested but i forgot to link it to the post so this idea was brought to us by the wonderful @skypperlegacy — sobbing in my bed writing this i hope you all enjoy. ( edit: i wrote this note on 8/24 and i’m assuming i’m posting this AFTER my birthday, so take this as a little treat for not posting for my birthday ^.^ )

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ notes (2) ; it is currently 10/26. i have not finished this yet either. what the hell is wrong with me

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ notes (final) ; i did it. i finished it. 11/13 oh my days i finally completed this thing. i didn’t even flesh out the full idea so lmk if you guys want more of sad pathetic gojo and reader

i. sunlit hallways in 2005

your footsteps bounce off of the walls of the hallway, sun rays ricocheting off the floor and projecting onto your body as you make your way to your classroom. your eyes zip around in every direction as you tried to scan the room numbers to try and find the one yaga had referred you to. you grimace at his booming voice replaying in your memory talking about these two boys who were supposed to help you — idiots he referred to them as. ‘strong idiots’.

you assume you’d be heading into the classroom with the most noise in it, as the sound of muffled chattering pricks your ears from beyond the sliding door of the homeroom to your left. a long exhale leaves your lips, your shoulders rolling backwards in an attempt to try and alleviate the weird pressure that settled upon them before your fingers find the little slot that allowed it to open the door, cursing yourself as a loud squeak emits from your action.

you scrunch your eyes shut in a wincing manner, taking in the silence before peeking an eye open to see two boys — which you presume were the ones that yaga had mentioned to you. both of your eyes shoot open at the sound of a small laugh, seeing a boy with spectacles and snow white hair snickering to himself while his friend shook his head at him and instead greets you with a small smile.

you clear your throat. “are you suguru geto and satoru gojo?”

they nod, the dark-haired boy scooting out of his seat to get up and properly greet you while the other lazily grins at you, the cerulean lenses of his gracing his face and framing his teasing gaze behind a deep blue. “geto,” the former gestures to himself, “and this is gojo,” his hand waves over to the seemingly brash boy who stands beside him, giving a small wave as his hands come to intertwine behind his back.

you lean forward, ducking your head as you bow out of respect for your new classmates. hair falling in front of your face, you introduce yourself quietly as you hear small shuffles emerging towards you until sheen black shoes come into your peripheral.

lifting your head up a little further, you’re met with the bright face of ‘satoru gojo’, the name striking a familiar cord within your brain. gojo, you think, as in the gojo clan? however, you don’t get to ponder on that for too long before he chuckles at your expression — clearly somewhat impressed with his appearance. either that, or you’re completely freaked out. although, gojo’s pride would only let him choose the former.

“so,” the boy, gojo, begins, “are you the little shrimp yaga-sensei told us we’d be looking after?”

you press your lips together in a soft frown, before your eyebrows furrow with the small huff that left you as geto smacks the back of his palm against his friend’s chest. “‘m not a shrimp, you know — not even that much shorter than you.”

as if to further prove his point, you get an eyeful of white hair as he leans down to meet your eyes, just barely but enough to provide the message. “yeah?” he breathed. his grin makes you nauseous, pearly whites on display and dimmed with the backlit centered illumination giving him a frontal shadow. you tilt your nose up at him before holding his own gaze, his bright ceruleans on display as you replied with a passive-aggressive, “yeah.”

geto laughs, pressing his arm against his friend’s chest to get him to back away from you, the intense scent of cypress and a deep sea breeze no longer engulfing your senses. soft snickers instead fill your ears as gojo stuffs his hands into the pant pockets of his uniform before slipping past you with a hum. geto follows in suit.

you turn your head back to the open doorway, seeing the boys make their way out before gojo turns to you once more. “you coming or what, shrimp?”

you groan under your breath and he smiles at your reaction, now no longer in your sight as he turns the corner; struggling to hold back a grin at the quick footsteps that trail behind him with a hesitant, “hold— hold on a sec! i’m not a shrimp!”

“you are too.”

“are not,” you huff.

his eyes trail up towards the ceiling for a second, tapping his chin as he feigns a long, hard thought before cracking out into another smile. “are too.”

this game continues for a while, and you almost feel bad for geto — except the little game of chicken that you and his counterpart had going on was taking up more of your attention at the moment. with his obnoxiously long legs, gojo purposefully takes wide strides to try and tease you at least a little bit, having you make more of an effort to keep up — just because you’re new doesn’t mean that you should be let off the hook so easily, he thinks.

“are too—“

“these are the dorms,” suguru interjects, his tone clearly exasperated at this point. a few minutes of walking and the poor man felt like it was hours of meaningless boredom.

your eyes follow the direction of geto’s finger over the trail of doors that lay before you. he leans his head forward, the golden sunlight capturing his face as a few strands of raven hair from his bun slip out from their ties. “my dorm’s on the very end right there,” he gestures his head to the door at the corner, “satoru’s is two down to the left.”

speaking of him, gojo slings an arm around your shoulders; keeping a firm grip even with only his bicep as you try to squirm away. “don’t worry, i’m sure yaga’ll help you in no time. by the end of the day, you’ll be lazing around in a nice bed with your feet kicked up, thinking about how you met the most beautiful man ever today,” he says to you.

“don’t you think it’s a little weird to call your friend the most beautiful man ever?”

to gojo’s horror, geto snickers from behind him.

“you’re a sassy one, aren’t you. .” he mutters under his breath, a sigh escaping him as the warmth of his arm leaves your shoulders and is instead met with the cool air conditioning of the halls, only the sun’s peeking through the windows warming you up. he takes a step near his friend, hands stuffed in his pockets once again. “well, you can always stop by whenever you do get your dorm, i’ll always be here,” he singsongs. you fake gag at his playful wink.

geto steps towards you, leaning into you as he mumbles a little too loudly ( whether that was on purpose or not remained unknown ), “don’t worry, the girls’ wing is on the other side — luckily you won’t have to see that idiot all the time.” you laugh at your eyes trail to gojo’s small pout from behind the boy, his shoulders deflating instantly once he realized he was left out.

“hey, so like, can we not bully me for today? just once?” he chimes in, tilting his head to the side a bit in question. you and geto share one last glance and laugh together before he walks ahead of you again, gojo lagging behind so you’d walk next to him as well.

he couldn’t help but glance at you, noticing how you keep your eyes trained in front of you. only occasionally flitting to the window to admire the outside scenery. it wasn’t everyday that they got a new student, and if they did, they never lasted long. despite still only being a first year, geto and gojo adapted to the harsh environments of jujutsu society — fully aware of the consequences and what it would take to save non-sorcerers. which only made gojo all the more curious as to why you were here.

“pervert, quit staring at me.”

“hey, people would pay for these eyes on them — you’re a lucky girl, today,” he explains, bumping his shoulder with yours. you glare at him. his smile doesn’t falter.

“so do all new recruits get this treatment or what?” you chide, putting a hand on your hip comfortably as you walk. he hums for a moment. “nah,���. he decides, “you’re special,” his grin only widens the more you banter, bright blue eyes mimicking yours in a sharp narrowing. you hold his gaze for a bit, before ultimately deciding it wasn’t worth it — turning your head with a low, ‘tch’ as you keep your feet moving. gojo does the same.

they walk you around the campus, showing you the track field and the direction in which the girls’ wing is, telling you to report back to them once yaga had assigned you a room, gojo urging you to invite him over one day to which geto nudges the back of his leg with his shoe. and at the end of the day you’re left with a small wave goodbye to your new classmates, smiles on their faces as they walk off back into the dorms; leaving you to roam around with the new-known information.

you look back at the stone arch of the school’s entrance, the stone pathway beneath your feet as you squint from the brightness of the sun just beyond the horizon. a perfect point of which the ground and the sky meet.

you can feel the blocks of sunlight on your chest as you take one last look at it, face softening at the sight.

gojo takes one last look behind him to check on you, seeing your frame simply stand and soak up the golden skies. his lips only quirk the slightest bit upwards, geto quirking a brow beside him only to let an amused breath out at his best friend’s infatuation. “don’t start going all mushy on me now, satoru.”

said friend turns his head back ( geto notices how he takes one last quick glance back before fully rotating his head ) and scoffs, “no way.” geto merely hums and closes his eyes, a knowing feeling growing in his stomach. “she is kinda cute, you know,” gojo mumbles — closing his eyes when geto opens his own to look at the boy dubiously.

he, too, looks back at you only to find you walking off to another section of the high school; presumably to go and talk to yaga to find out where the hell your dorm would be. he chuckles. “don’t ruin another friendship for us by going a little too far with the flirting, this time.”

the snow-haired boy stays quiet at that, creating a small lull in the conversation only filled by the clacking of shoes against pavement. the sun on the nape of his neck slowly eases up with how it lowers beyond the skyline, small beads of sweat slowly seeping back into his skin before he huffs. “can you believe the way she talked to me?” geto looks over to him once more. “‘yeah’, who does she think she is talking to us like that?” gojo makes a dumb face as he mimics you, hands on his hips momentarily as he mocks the way you stood — it was surprising how he was the one saying this.

geto snickers. “you mean the way she talked to you.”

“whatever,” his classmate responds with a yawn, being able to crack a small smile at geto’s laughs of amusement at his frustration ( or how gojo would call it, his ‘suffering’ ). “you’ll learn to like her eventually,” he chides. his friend stays quiet at that once more.

gojo tilts his head up at the darkening sky. he swears he can feel the sun on his chest, too.

ii. the way the clouds shape us

“special grade? guess satoru was wrong about you being a shrimp,” the sound of geto’s laughter fills the air, thin fingers handing you back your student id as you pocketed the small, white card back in the pocket of your uniform.

“he doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” you shake your head, placid smile painted on your lips. geto leans against the tree, careful not to ruin his sleek hair against the chipped bark. he watched as you lifted your hands up to the sky. you extend your fingers and stretch them out — watching as the light blue of the sky above you illuminates your open-faced palm and casts a shadow for the rest of your arm.

gojo wasn’t wrong, you were definitely beautiful. even geto knew it, taking in the way your hair splayed out delicately against the vibrant grass, as he could hear the distant chatter of his other two best friends making their way towards you two. you had to thank gojo for this, considering he was the found who found this little safe haven in the first place.

over the past few months ( even if you joined a little later than halfway through the actual school year ), it became quite comfortable for you to chat with these newfound friends of yours. you quickly got along with ieiri, much to gojo’s dismay as he has discovered you two make the best team against him with your sharp words towards him. he’d savor the way you’d lean in and tell him you were never really serious afterwards ( even though he was well aware of that fact, he’d like knowing you still didn’t want to really hurt his feelings ). it really felt like home when you were with them, a sanctuary only for the four of you.

with your eyes flitting closed, geto finally tears his eyes from you to gaze at the duo approaching the two of you, gojo whining about something like usual as shoko barely humored him with the little tolerance she had left; a pale cigarette hanging from between her lips.

you relish in the sun on your skin, lessened from the months before that first day you came to tokyo’s jujutsu high as you’ve adapted. you must adapt in order to survive. you realize that now, which is why you indulge in the small moments you can get — even if it’s just silence with geto or the fact that suddenly, even behind closed eyelids, the sun was gone.

allowing your lashes to flutter open, you see a familiar brunette stand above you. a combination of the sweet, earthy tones emitting from the dewy grass below you and her perfume suddenly hit your nose, surprising but definitely not unpleasant. you hummed, eyebrows furrowed.

she laughs, “eh? you two are just out here without us?”

“sigh,” you roll your eyes at gojo who audibly says the word ‘sigh’, “so inconsiderate, you two.”

geto laughs, resting his hands upon his stomach as he closes his eyes — nose twitching with the leftover pollen floating along with the soft, spring breeze down from its habitat within the trees and the plants enclosing you all.

he doesn’t exactly fall asleep, especially in such an uncomfortable position. but he makes peace with this discomfort and instead seeks refuge in his own place of serenity, only him and his thoughts ( and the quiet chatter of you and shoko ganging up on your white-haired friend ).

you exhale smoothly through your nose, a breath of fresh air leaving your lungs as you stare up at your friend, a smirk threatening to unleash itself on her face even from behind the cancer stick. “those things kill, you know,” you playfully chastise her, watching as she chuckles before crouching down.

she slips the cigarette from past her mouth, the end stained glossy and pink from that one lip product you always forget the brand of, before offering the smoke to you between her two fingers. she hums as you take the tube, the material dry against your lips. “might as well while we’re still alive and young,” she says — and the morbidity of the question no longer bothers you like it would have a few months earlier. instead, you actually chuckle at her dry delivery. you struggle not to choke with your laid back position as you hold it before letting it escape you, a hot puff of smoke emitting in the air.

“so, what’re we doing today?” a pair of lanky, slack-clad legs come into your peripheral along with a familiar mop of snowy hair before it disappears, his voice trailing off as he sits next to geto. you prop yourself up on your elbows, squinting at the sudden bright light as shoko sits beside you inside.

you crack a small smile at the feeling of her fingertips messing with the ends of your hair, shaking out the small bits of grass that got stuck in the delicate strands. gojo, however, thinks you’re smiling at him so he grins in return before your smile is soon replaced with an unsure expression — almost like you’re gonna throw up just from looking at him. he still doesn’t falter.

“what do you think we should do?” you ask after a bit, thanking ieiri under your breath as she’s done helping you primp.

“what if we go to the convenience store for a bit and get some snacks? i was thinking—“

“boringg..” shoko’s thoughts are interrupted by gojo’s loud interruption, her face immediately dropping as she looks at him. “hey, you don’t have to show off in front of your girlfriend every day, y’know,” she shoots back.

he pouts at the brunette, his shoulders deflating as his hands come up to his face to mimic a fake tear rolling down his cheek. a nervous huff escapes you as you look between her, geto, and gojo before you start, “he’s not m—“

“how about we go to the arcade in shinjuku city? they close in like,” he checks the imaginary watch on his wrist ( whether he didn’t know he had interrupted you or he didn’t want you to finish your thought was something you didn’t understand ), “two hours, i guess.”

you roll your neck around on your shoulders, sighing at the low cracks that escape your aching bones. eager for some activity, you shrug. “hate to admit it, but that might be the greatest idea gojo’s ever had.”

to that, he beams. you hear a duet of groans come from your other two friends. “aw, c’mon. don’t give into him so easily,” geto chides playfully.

“not to brag—“

“—all you do is brag, gojo—“

“—but i, personally, think i have a ton of great ideas.”

geto tips head back and laughs. you see the way his eyelids twitch and scrunch with his soft smile, outer corners crinkling as the airy sound frees itself from him. he crosses his arms. “that’s why you personally think that, im afraid ‘s not a very common opinion,” he answered calmly. gojo sulks as he looks to shoko for help. she shrugs and puffs out another cloud of smoke between the small opening she’s created on the side of her mouth.

“we can always bully him some other time, i’m bored and i’m practically losing years off of my life just listening to him,” you mutter to her — perhaps a little too loud as you see gojo’s jaw drop open from your peripheral.

geto gets up, dusting the damp pieces of grass sticking to his pants and the back of his legs before taking a big stretch. you wrap your arm around the other, extending your elbow and mimicking his motions as you let out a sigh at the feeling of weary muscles ( which you can already tell that geto and gojo will use against you when you spar ).

“why don’t we go already then?” he inquires, causing gojo to shoot up as you already start to slowly walk back to the campus entrance. shoko snorted as she shook her head, trailing behind to walk and talk with the raven-haired man. your eyes scan over the perimeter of the horizon, spotting all the grass and the vast architecture of the highschool, squinting as you look for the way you came from.

feeling the air change from behind you and the soft sounds of quick footsteps on grass, you begin. “hey shoko, do you ever—“

then you see his stupid smile.

“oh,” you say. he scoffs, almost like he’s offended that you had such a tame reaction. gojo huffs a bit, still attempting to keep up with your pace. “just ‘oh’? you aren’t excited to talk to me at all?” he groans.

you shrug. “just thought you were shoko ‘s all.”

oh, you really shouldn’t have said that. you think — because once you see the way his face splits into a grin once more, you instantly grimace. “so you are excited to talk to me.”

“never said that.”

“you didn’t have to. i’m psychic.”

“that so? what am i thinking right now, then?” you ask, finally tearing your eyes away from the ground and tilting your head at gojo; who taps his chin and pretends to think ( although, you know that there’s a seventy percent chance that whatever comes out of his mouth will be bullshit considering the way he’s struggling to hold back a smile ).

your question evokes a long hum from him as he looks up to the sky, to the right, and then back to you before he answers, “how handsome i am?” your eyes narrow a bit, one of the rare moments where satoru gojo could render you speechless.

once your mouth drops open, void of sound, gojo’s almost ready to backtrack and apologize before you finally laugh. a nice, hearty laugh that makes your chest rumble in between every breath. and if that isn’t the biggest ego booster for the boy then you’re not sure what is. he couldn’t care of you were laughing at him or with him, all he knows is that he can’t help but chuckle along with you. his chest swells with pride as you lean on the stone archway as the cacophony of giggles slows down.

you wipe the corner of your eyes, looking back at geto and ieiri as they eye you in confusion — but nonetheless give you a pity snicker in response.

“you’re hilarious, gojo — keep it up,” you finally say.

he beams boyishly at you, a warm wave of something washes over him albeit he can’t figure out what. “nice to know i still got it,” he asserted, making you give one last eye roll before you looked back at the stone steps leading to the front entrance.

you skipped forward and turned your body a bit to look at your classmates. the usual scowl on your face no longer evident anymore for it was replaced by a soft smile, one so foreign even to shoko who’s company you more or less enjoyed the most. she pursed her lips around the tobacco stick in an uncharacteristic curiosity, wondering what that fool could’ve done now to make you genuinely laugh.

“i’m gonna grab something from my dorm real quick, ‘kay?” although you were probably saying it to the group as a whole, gojo nodded eagerly as he flashed you a thumbs-up with a small, ‘okay’ as well.

he turned to shoko and geto as you rushed up the stairs and into the building, running along to the girls’ wing as they glared at him. “what?” his voice was too innocent to be gojo, just the sound of his “oblivion” made them want to facepalm. geto held a thumbs up as he mocked his friend’s earlier face while shoko have a light huff, the sound somewhere in between sounding both exasperated and entertained.

“th’hell was that?” she asked, finally stubbing the cigarette out with her shoe ( still keeping a pack on here though, you never know when you might need one. especially when you’re friends with the biggest idiot in tokyo ).

“what?” he repeated.

“nothin’,” geto shrugged, the tiny front piece he kept loose from his bun swaying as he shook his head. he shares a look with shoko that definitely throws gojo off though. he narrows his eyes at them, spectacles somewhat hiding the oceans that are his irises.

gojo crosses his arms. “you guys are just jealous that i can make a pretty lady laugh.”

“you— you don’t think . .” shoko trails off, her forehead crinkling as she looks like she’s trying to decipher something. gojo quirks a brow even though she was thinking aloud or possibly talking to geto instead — he still waits for her to finish her sentence. “what?” he repeats only to be met with a dismissive shake of the head from her.

he opens his mouth to ask what they’re talking about before he hears hasty shoes against stone and looks behind him to see you, walking back down with a small pin clasped in your hand that shimmers in the sun when you hold your hand up.

gojo’s eyes take their own route as they fly away from your palm, down your arm until it reaches your face — a fond smile written on your face like you had been claimed victorious. it made his own smile quirk back up again.

you only spare him a glance before you lope to shoko. he watches as you hand the item over to her before she takes it, a faint half-smile twitching on her lips bemusedly.

“so you can keep your bangs to the side,” you answer — even when no one has asked why you gave that pin to her. “i got it from osaka on that mission last month — thought it’d look cute on you.” geto cocks his head as he tunes out your conversation before shrugging and walking back over to gojo, hands shoved in his pockets.

he chuckles, “no need to pout, satoru.”

“i’m not pouting,” he placed a hand on his hip. unbeknownst to him, he totally was; whether it was unintentional or not. “she’s just playing favorites over here when i’m the one who so graciously invited her to start hanging out with us,” he frowns.

a laugh and a rough pat on the back from geto interrupted him from entering his soon incoming villain arc as he walked back over to you and ieiri, pulling his dramatic friend along with him. gojo’s ears perked up at your voice in the conversation once more.

“oh, you know i don’t like all those weird hair clips ‘n’ stuff—“

“don’t worry,” you lean over, brushing some of her bangs out of her face as you clip them to the side. gojo watches afar as your thin fingers work to cover the small pin with another piece of shoko’s hair, successfully getting it out of her face and concealing the pin in the process. you grin, mission accomplished.

pulling back, you watch as shoko touches her hair — smirking when she realizes how useful it’d be. she pats your head and looks at you before her eyebrows furrow; only then do you realize what she was focused on behind you.

“uh, where’s my souvenir?” your face instantly drops as you feel gojo’s chin on your shoulder, words purred dangerously low next to your ear.

“up your ass.”

“mind fetching it for me?”

“you’re disgusting—!” you push him off as he chortles, his eyes crinkling softly as bouts of laughter overtake him at your exaggerated reaction.

“we’re not gonna make it to shinjuku if you guys keep bickering like children,” you both hear geto chide. you look over to the entrance, a small smile on his face as he teases the both of you.

you scoff, stuffing your own hands in your pockets as you walk over to the dark haired man. “he started it,” you mutter.

he gasps. “nu-uh!”

“yu-huh,” you retort. he sticks his tongue out at you in retaliation whilst shoko follows you and geto in return. gojo smirks as you huff and turn around, watching as his friend bumped hips with you on the way there, making mindless conversation.

the air wasn’t so bad, the light breeze felt more refreshing than over. he looked back over at shoko’s hair in thought.

perhaps he’d have to work harder at officially getting on your good side some other time, he thinks.

iii. the taste of blue raspberry

vibrant lights and loud video game chirps wasn’t exactly gojo’s scene despite how he always presented himself; extroverted and inherently obnoxious ( although, he’d prefer to use the word ‘comfortable’ rather than obnoxious whenever you’d refer to the latter ). all he could do was trail after you and shoko, geto following him as he observed the random teens and little kids accompanied with their parents that kept the arcade flowing.

cerulean eyes follow your movements in hopes that he’ll keep track of you. that he wont lose you in this crowd. he’ll occasionally look over at shoko and geto to make sure they’re still here, too.

“so, you chose a shitty arcade spot to hangout in? such poor taste,” he leans down over you, hoping that mild jabs and soft teasing will help keep his mind off of the fact that there’s snot nosed kids running around the already narrow spaces between the machines; their flat footsteps melding together with all the loud sounds as they become synchronized with the beat of the music.

your lips twist into a sneer at the sound of him, slowly turning your head to look behind you at the boy who grinned so slyly. gojo knew exactly what he was doing.

“would you rather have yaga put us to work and sweep the dorms?” you bat your eyelashes as he only smiles further, reveling in how you play along with his little game.

“i dunnooo.. wherever you go i go, i suppose.”

“such a flirt.”

“just being honest,” he puts his hands up defensively as he walks past you to a random machine that stands stationary in front of you, untouched with whirring, vibrant lights that glow brighter when he thumbs a few tokens in the slot at the bottom. as you hear the clinking of the coin hit against the curvature inside of the machine, the snow-haired boy turns to look at you with a boyish smile as he crouches down and points a finger to the blinking button saying, ‘play now!’

you have the urge to warn him about how the game is most likely rigged. you don’t. instead your parted lips close with a huff. gojo is said to be able to do anything, you remember, he’ll learn the hard way.

“you mind getting me a slush at the machines?” he says, lanky body extending to its full height as stands upright again.

“that’s so far — and scary,” you feign a pout. realistically, you were just too lazy to walk all the way over there and back for one item.

“take suguru with you,” he tips his head up to gesture in the direction of the dark haired friend, to whom you see looking out the glass doors at all the kids who run through the place.

so there you are, walking along with geto as you huff about how gojo could have gotten the drink himself. he hums occasionally, looking around and observing the environment to try and make sure you don’t run into anything during your chatter.

“he does care about you, though. you know that right?” his fingers sift through the yen in his palm, the coins clinking around as he grabs some and puts it into the thin slot of the slushee machine.

your lips press together as you hum almost dismissively, head cocked. the cup makes a soft thud against the metal as he puts the cup inside and closes the small glass opening. the machine whirs as he clicks the blue raspberry flavor almost like it’s muscle memory — the blue button lighting up with the white kana in front of it.

“you want something?” geto asks quietly, leaning down to interrupt your analysis.

the thought makes you crack a small smile as you think for a moment before turning to face him. “do you want something?” you inquire. “i’ll pay.”

he waves you off with a soft smile. “it’s alright, i’m not much into sweets.”

you grab gojo’s cup out of the dispenser, putting a clear lid and straw in it as you grab another disposable cup. if you were going to get a slushee, you weren’t going to let geto pay for it by himself. the whirring of machine’s drink being poured almost drowns out the loud, coinciding beeps and animated sounds of the nearby screens you both hear.

“then let me buy you something when we get out of here,” you smile at him.

you fail to notice the way his face softens at you when you’re too busy grabbing the cup, licking off the excess that spills over onto your thumb as you laugh. his smile falters a bit, before he walks with you back to go get shoko and gojo.

you scoff at the sight of the white haired man smirking at the pixelated screen, pointing it out to you and geto. the two of you lean over as you heard gojo sip on the drink while you roll your eyes at the big blue kanji in bold spelling out, ‘top score: satoru gojo’.

“thought you weren’t a fan of blue raspberry,” you hear from behind you.

already, you see the man in question leaning on geto as he looks at you with a quirked brow. you look down at your cup. ah, you think, guess you did. your expression must give something away because you hear shoko amusedly huff next to you.

you shrug. “guess i just wanted to try something new.”

clearly a mistake because his smile only widens as he slings an arm around your shoulder too. “nah, you know what i’m thinking?”

“you never think.” that earns you a flick to the forehead.

he leans down. “i think i’m rubbing off on you,” he laughs.

you try to push him off of you yet he manages to let his weight relax as you struggle to keep him up, “gojo, you ass,” you mutter.

he turns to look at you, his smile looks different. feels different. “call me satoru,” he beams.

iv. ‘the star plasma vessel?’

riko amanai is a pretty girl, you think. you have no idea why she wanted to be the star plasma vessel in the first place. you weren’t there when satoru and suguru went to go meet her, instead hearing her version of the story where they practically tortured her — and knowing the boys, you’re not quite sure that she wasn’t exaggerating.

she likes you, definitely favoring you a little more than tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum, you think as you pointedly look at the pair of friends, walking ahead of you.

you look down at riko’s arm interlocked with yours and smile. “so,” you whistle, “what do you think of those two?”

her green eyes dart up to yours before looking at suguru and satoru and squinting. “they’re interesting, that’s for sure,” she mumbles. her lips twist into a sneer-like pout just at the sight of them, evoking a lighthearted chuckle from you. you fail to notice the way satoru’s head turns to look at you ever so slightly at the sound.

it makes riko grin as you playfully bump your hip with hers. satoru had never seen you so lax. maybe because the young girl was easier to handle than himself. he didn’t mind seeing you like this, but he couldn’t deny that it was pretty fun to work you up, too.

he smiles at the thought of your puffed cheeks with furrowed brows, narrowed eyes burning holes into him as he would flick your forehead for the third time in a row.

“what’s gotten you all cheesy?” he hears suguru inquire from beside him, tearing his eyes away from the stone road beneath him to look at his snow-haired friend. “eh? just thinking about stuff,” satoru replies.

suguru hums, his hand still shoved in his uniform’s pocket. “you sure it has nothing to do with—“

“a-tat-tat-tat—!” satoru waves a hand in front his friends face, holding another finger up as a gesture for him to silence. “what’d we say about sharing private stuff in public, suguru?”

“i can’t help it, some ‘gossip’ is too hot,” he shrugs.

“that does not help me—“

“what gossip are you guys talking about?” riko chimes, crossing her arms as the two of them look at her. you quirk a brow yourself.

if he’d had known better, satoru would’ve flinched at the rough hand you had smacked down on his shoulder. his eyes flickered towards you, already spotting the sly smile on your face. fuck you for being so beautiful, he thinks.

“yeah, what gossip are you guys talking back?” you press. he scoffs, waving you off as he continues walking. your lips press into a pout as you cross your arms as well, mimicking riko’s motions as you two whisper about whatever. suguru laughs at the two of you — only a few days and you guys were already twins.

sometimes the thought made your smile falter ever so slightly, knowing that you had to escort her only in a day or two was saddening. but for now, you’ll enjoy the smiles and pats on the back — knowing you’d have to part soon was only so minuscule in a world drowned in familiarity.

you intertwine your fingers with hers instead and swing your arms back and forth before you turn your head to your aforementioned friend.

“hey suguru, what do you say we show riko-chan here that little coffee shop downtown?” you ask, watching as he turns his attention away from his small flip phone’s messaging system ( as he’s most likely texting shoko and making fun of satoru in the process ) before his eyebrows raise with a soft smile.

you hear satoru huff again as his head whips around to look at you. stifling a laugh, you take in his furrowed brows and jutted lip as he sulks.

“hey, why don’t i know about any secret coffee shop downtown?”

“we had just found it walking around one day,” suguru deflects.

“and you didn’t tell me about this super-cool-top-secret-no-satoru café?”

you beam before resting your hand on his shoulder. satoru swears electricity shoots through his nerves as he turns to look at you. he wouldn’t spoil it now, but he’s seventy percent sure that this is the first time you’ve touched him without pushing him ( or as he’d like to call it, abusing him ) away.

“don’t be so jealous, satoru,” he ignores the way you call of his name makes a pit settle in his stomach. you turn to riko, “we’ll share the spot, yeah?”

“if you say so,” suguru puts his hands up in playful submission. satoru only chuckles.

your laugh synchronizes with the sounds around you, like music to satoru’s ears whilst you skip ahead with riko and scan your perimeter. everything sounds clearer now; the birds outside zipping around trees, chairs and drinks clinking, a heavy pair of distant footsteps that you can only assume is the trailing of a few people on their way to the same place.

but none of that really matters, although you’re sure everything does. all these sounds are apart of you and you’re willing to make the most of it. you walk hand in hand with riko as the boys follow in suit.

you scoff at the way satoru pulls the chair out for you before sitting himself in his own and kicking his feet up. his brow quirks cockily at the sound. “ah, so you’re only nice to me when amanai is around?”

“someone’s still gotta keep you in your place, satoru.”

“yes, ma’am,” he laughs, tipping his head back lazily as his hands fold over his chest. suguru huffs and grabs his friend’s feet before shoving them back down onto the cement. “decency, satoru?”

“ehh,” he groans, only peeking an eye at suguru before closing them again and letting his body go lax. you shake your head and laugh, watching as riko eyes him in annoyance. they’ll warm up to each other eventually, you think — and you can tell suguru feels the same.

“this is so cool—!” you chuckle at the way the young girl gleams at the intricate details of the outdoor table and the faint music playing from inside the café. her green eyes shimmer in the light, you notice; perhaps maybe just curiosity glinting in them. she’s only fourteen.

your eyes flicker around your environment yourself, hearing the mindless chatter that riko and suguru partake in about, presumably about what they’re going to do next. you squint at the distance, seeing an unusually tall man towering over a few people as he looks in your direction. your lips purse as you narrow your eyes at him further before he tilts his head up and turns away.

you watch as he walks away, his toned back all you see before you hear a mumble of your name and a tap of your foot.

you look over to see satoru, who stares at you with an indecipherable expression — something between an uncharacteristic curiosity and a standoff-ish glow. your head tilts before you look back over at the front of the café. that man is gone.

you turn back to see satoru leaning over the table with a sly smile. “penny for your thoughts?”

you shake your head and dismiss him with a weary smile and a lazy shake of your hand. “just looking around,” you say — even if you know that you can’t fool satoru gojo, his eyebrows only pinch a bit before slightly rotating his head to look behind him a bit.

“you want a sweet?” you ask, tapping his side of the table to get his attention.

had his eyes always looked so piercing, you think to yourself, as you feel something move around in your chest. rearranging itself along with the soft onomatopoeic thumps of the organ that lays inside.

he hesitates. “nah, i’ll get something on the way back later.”

“who are you and what have you done with satoru?” you chuckle. he ignores the way the usage of his given name makes him feel, the way you say it — syllables still fresh on your tongue. instead, he laughs along with you while looking over to his friend. he doesn’t know what he expected, suguru was always observant; so why was he so surprised to see him looking at the two of you with a raised brow?

you look back at riko before gasping out a small laugh at her chubby cheeks, full of food as she eats it like it’s the last meal she’ll ever have. it only makes your grin grow wider when her eyes meet yours, like a deer in headlights whilst she stops chewing. you both take a pause, even when the boys turn to look at you as well — before you burst out into bouts of laughter. riko’s giggles are muffled by the parfait that’s swelled in her cheeks but she covers her mouth with a polite hand as she tries not to choke.

your cheeks feel warm with the way they stretch to curl into a smile. suguru and satoru exchange a look before satoru smiles right along with you. it wasn’t so bad, he thinks. if amanai made you act like this then maybe he didn’t mind her as much as he thought. his foot taps against the concrete underneath the table. he can feel something wriggling around in his chest.

v. deficit

riko amanai’s beauty, no longer will it be seen as the white sheet frames her features instead, you think.

the deafening sound of applause almost takes your mind off of satoru’s expression; only coldness lies within his features, now.

your hand clutches your side, even with the greatness of the stitches that shoko had blessed your wounds with — you could almost still feel his knife in your abdomen. the stinging never seemed to go away. the clapping doesn’t help, all of your senses are occupied on trying to focus on satoru.

with the close proximity of suguru next to you, you can feel the way his hand twitches against his side while he looks at riko, or more so, the sheet that covers her. you can feel his horror, too. just a couple of days ago, she was fourteen, trotting along tokyo with you

you’re almost upset you weren’t there for her death, you weren’t there to comfort her in her last moments or save her at all. you were only there for the aftermath, the same man who you saw at the coffee shop just days prior. you look at suguru to your right — who knows what he’s gone through, you think.

and yet throughout all the booms of cheers and applause, you can hear satoru’s voice and your head whirls back to him. you almost don’t recognize it when he utters, “i screwed up, it’s not your fault.”

your hand comes up to gently rest upon your mouth in a soft gasp as your eyes try not to trail down to where riko’s shoe clad feet swing with satoru’s steps, the only part of her that’s left unsheathed from the horror of what’s underneath the cover.

his next words come out muffled yet you know you couldn’t escape them even if you tried, so close yet so far to avoidance — but you know you heard him clearly.

he calls your name, then suguru’s. “should we kill these guys?” your stomach churns, the pain in your side gets worse — your head hurts and it feels like you don’t know where you are at one point. you start to question whether anything is real at this point. he adds, “i doubt i’d feel anything about it.”

his eyes don’t dart to yours like they had the few mornings prior, before you had gone to escort the young girl. he had smiled and slapped a comforting hand on your shoulder once you explained how you had a bad feeling. you still do. you wonder if there’s any other feelings you could have, anymore.

you hear suguru’s soft mutter next to you, the applause only simmering down as you try to hyper-focus on his voice. perhaps to ground you, or perhaps you couldn’t escape it; a reminder of what this world is really like. “no,” he says. “there wouldn’t be a point.”

your vision glosses over into a blur and you go to look at the light above you, florescent and blinding. your heart hurts and you do your best not to clutch it through the fabric of your uniform, you can’t be seen like this, you think. you can’t let them see what’s happening to you.

fingers digging into your palm, you tune the rest of suguru’s voice out; even though you can feel his eyes on you regardless. instead, the pair of your own follow satoru, seeing riko’s hand, partially crusted with the leftover pool of blood that had flowed beside her head, swing lifelessly as he walks past the two of you.

your brows knit closer together as you stare at him. everything clips in and out. the noise, the cheers, suguru’s voice slowly melding into satoru’s. “no point, huh?” he huffs. “does there need to be a point?”

“of course there does,” suguru snaps back. mauve irises are nothing but void now, his eyes only fixated on the ground a few feet in front of him. “especially for jujutsu sorcerers.”

your eyes burn with the way they’ve been mindlessly gazing at the snow-haired boy, the back of his head the only thing you can catch a glimpse of behind suguru’s dark hair. it doesn’t feel like they can close, only the sheen layer of oncoming tears coating them so they don’t entirely dry out. “satoru,” you breathe — and with the way things are going, you’re surprised to see cerulean eyes turn to meet yours.

suguru doesn’t bother to look at you since he can already anticipate the crumbling feeling of guilt when he sees your expression. it doesn’t matter anyway. it almost feels like nothing does.

glossed lips don’t part like how they’d usually do, they don’t even grace you with the smallest sight of a smirk like how satoru always would. you’re not quite sure why you whisper his name, what you’ll even say. maybe a mantra that only connects the two of you, something that’ll keep you sane.

he keeps his eyes locked on you for a second more before turning his head and walking away. your hand comes to grasp at your side. the stinging comes back.

vi. pinky promises (of two)

sentimentality was a privilege in a world of jujutsu — you learned, after riko. sensitivity wasn’t trained into sorcerers, in fact, you’d say it was actually trained out of them. it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing to be sensitive. although, surrounded by the strong, tears burned hot on your skin and your hand burned even harder when they’d come up to wipe them away.

the birds outside the encapsulated feeling of the trees chirp, showcasing what once looked golden now is tainted with a dull grey that seems to gloss over everything now. your eyes feel droopy, no longer laced with sleep but with the dread that’ll come with the rest of the day.

you wonder how satoru’s doing, how shoko’s doing. how suguru’s doing. his face looks thinner, you noticed as you think back from the recollection of your faded memories from two mornings ago. he won’t go out with you as often, you wonder how badly it fucked him up. you wonder if anything will be the same again.

you run a frustrated hand through your hair, cringing at the way oil meets your fingers. you know you have to wash your hair, but you can’t bring yourself to. it almost feels like a chore, combined along with your classes and being put on your ass every time when you try to spar with satoru.

(he always says he’ll go easy on you and let you win. you huff in annoyance — he never does.)

despite all the breaths of fresh air you try to take, your lungs can never feel free of the burden that they’re tainted with. you close your eyes and savor the heat of the bark against your palm, in hopes that it’ll finally soothe the ache in your chest like how it did all those weeks ago — at the beach in okinawa.

you remember the warmth of the sand against your skin, smacking your hands together when you’d sit upright to rid your skin of the small golden flecks. you remember seeing riko and gojo splashing each other in the water as you heard kuroi and suguru’s soft voices conversation from beside you. the feeling of your hair tied, the brightness of the sun drowning your skin. it’s so vivid in your mind, you wonder if everything was all a dream, sometimes.

a raspy voice breaks your reverie as it excuses itself before you move your propped leg and look down below you. a faint smile finds its way to your lips as you see a familiar brown bob accompanied by the scent of tobacco and rose body spray.

“so distant out here,” she cranes her neck up at you with pressed lips, you internally sigh in relief at the lack of a cigarette that’s usually rested between them. a small pout forms on your lips at her extended arm, looking down at her hand and then back up at her with a cocked head. “i’d say with more to do out here, i would understand why.”

you huff. “i was brutally injured not too long ago, and this is how you treat your favorite patient, let alone favorite friend?” shoko smirks with an entertained scoff.

“i don’t see utahime around here anywhere.”

“shoko!”

she snickers as she makes her way over to the grass, the plush dirt cold against her upper thighs as she unceremoniously plops down onto it. you begrudgingly ( but not really, as the lack of social interaction practically burns your throat ) hop down from the branches of the tree, the heat finally capturing you in all of its glory as you carefully sit down next to shoko.

“always reminiscing, huh?” she asks. you can see the way she fidgets with the turtleneck of her uniform, presumably from the antsy withdrawal of her cigs. you give a small hum — whether it’s an affirmation or not, you don’t know. all you know is that it’s a noise that escapes you, now only a rare sight for the people closest to you.

your tongue tingles with the longing of verbosity. eager to say something, except the brunette beats you to it first. “i get it,” she sighs. “it’s nice to be alone out here.”

“we can’t ever be alone with those two idiots,” you remind her playfully, a chuckle managing to slip past your lips as she groans at the mention of the two familiar boys.

“how’s satoru doing?” you ask softly, plucking at the dewy grass that lay beneath you. shoko looks at you quizzically from out of the corner of her eye before closing her eyes with a snorted laugh. your heads whips around to look at her as you see her head shaking fondly.

a small, contagious huff makes it way out of you at the sight before she looks back at you, honey eyes narrowing once she realizes that you’re genuinely asking. her smile never falters, though ( which is usually a bad sign considering of the sadistic streak you’ve seen her partake in ).

“have you got it for the satoru gojo?”

you gape. “i don’t—! i just,” lips pursed, you huff and tilt your chin up with crossed arms. “the escort was a bust, just wanted to see if his ego wasn’t too hurt.”

at your brash synopsis; your ears grow hot when you realize shoko definitely doesn’t believe you — especially with the way she hunches over a fit of silent snickers.

“shut up.”

“ah, i won’t bully you,” her lips twist into a grin. “for now.”

“shoko!” you throw your head upwards while you fall back and ragdoll, your back hitting the solid dirt beneath you as you put your arms over your head, blocking the sun’s view from your eyes.

all you can feel is the ache in your stomach, even with your friend’s reversed cursed technique, you can still feel the knife that once pierced the flesh linger on. your lips twist until you hear the shuffling of weeds and dirt swipe next to you. you turn your head, lifting your arm only to see the brunette scooting closer. she pauses, “what?”

“you don’t wanna lay down with me?” you feign a pout as you look up at her on propped elbows, the corner of your lip quirking up when you see how unenthusiastic she looks with your antics.

“you can get bugs on you,” she chimes before leaning against the bark of the tree.

“it’s nature, sho.”

“some of it’s pretty gross. you ever see tortoises fuck?”

“you’re so weird,” you laugh before rolling on your back again and looking back up at the sky; eyes gazing at the sun until when you look away, you see faded, floating shapes in your trajectory. she snickers too, looking up at the sky, too.

she’s starting to get eye bags, you notice — the fold of skin forming under her eyes along with faint, darkened circles that sit right under her splayed bottom lashes. unable to blame her, you simply lay there and stare. your eyes still pick up on the way she fiddles with her thumbs placed in her lap, pale yet irritated hands a stark contrast to the darkness of her uniform.

“y’know if it’s me you want instead of gojo, you can say so,” she laughs, interrupting your analysis with how hard you were staring. but this time, you don’t say anything. nothing at all, not even a small twitch of your lips in annoyance or a giggle to her joke, you simply keep staring at me.

she barely tilts her head yet it’s enough for you to notice. she finally asks, “something you’re thinking about?”

the words sit heavy on your tongue, laced with a bitterness you could only describe as filth. “do you ever wonder what’ll happen when we’re older?”

“what do you mean?”

“look at what happened, now.”

her brows relax. “oh.”

shoko’s lips pout out a little bit as she looks off into the horizon, where the school lays dormant with only few staff occasionally walking out or a few students walking out to their drivers to participate in another assignment.

your hands feel hollow with the way they’re too weak to even ball your fists, so you swallow the pit that forms in the hollow crevice of your throat and look back up at the sky.

“we’ll be together forever, right, shoko?”

you hold out your pinky to her — and despite her scoff, she interlocks hers with yours anyways.

vii. words left unsaid, words always heard

“you think it’ll get any better?”

your turn your head to the velvet voice emerging from the shadows, tensing in your spot atop the dorm balcony as you slowly look behind you. long hair is seen first; thick, ebony silk cascading down suguru’s thin t-shirt. you can’t count how many days you’ve seen him wearing that familiar white oversized tee, you wonder if it’s become a second skin for him at this point.

you hum at his presence, turning back to the dark sky that lay before you. looking at the exterior of the school that lay in the courtyard, painted with darkness as only the soft glimmer of moonlight embraces them, embraces you.

“you act like everything will go to shit.”

“i’m not saying that,” his tone is sharp — no longer smooth as how it used to be, he sounds on edge, like the rubber band inside of his throat will snap at any moment.

you hear a few small steps shuffle closer to you whilst you turn around and lean your body forward, the metal of the railing cool against the sweat of your arms. another nightmare, geto notes; from the way your hair is still frazzled and your breaths come out heavy with few quick intervals of inhalation.

you could feel his presence beside you, the aura of tensity thickening the air as you struggled not to say anything. you could feel his eyes on you, observing you. suguru was always observant somehow — you wonder how long he had been that way before you had found out. he was a very interesting boy, you learned early on.

“i never said you did,” your lips twisted like something sour fell damp in your mouth. “you’ve just changed, suguru.”

“have you not changed also?”

closing your eyes, you hope for one more breeze to pass through — for one opportunity, for one sign that’ll release you from this energy. it doesn’t.

“suguru—”

“don’t you ever wonder how the world would be,” a pregnant pause wriggles its way into the two of you, “without curses?”

you look at him only to see violet eyes focused straight ahead of him. he doesn’t glance at you nor even breathe in your direction, his shoulders don’t seem as tense though.

you shake your head with a breathy laugh. “yeah, i guess so.”

you lean further to try and alleviate the pain in your stomach, a churning inside of your gut that gives you a bad feeling just at the thought of it. sharing a look, your heads turn toward each other in the moonlight — he looks paler, you notice. sickly.

“hasn’t everybody? or at least hasn’t every jujutsu user?” you mumble.

( you notice suguru pauses, an uncharacteristic habit that he’s slowly developed — once always so sure and witty with his remarks, now wilted with the uncertainness that’s plagued him. )

“why do we exist?” he finally says.

your eyes dart around, stomach finally squeezing at the discomfort you feel at his question; yet you laugh it off anyway.

“philosophical, are we?” you meager a forced grin, although it only falters slightly once you feel him sigh out a breathy laugh. “a human’s purpose on earth is undefined, i don’t really know the answ—“

“i mean as a jujutsu sorcerer: what is our purpose?”

“i don’t know where you’re going with this,” you finally say. suguru takes a step back and stops resting against the railing. you look down at the high drop, then back at the sky — you wouldn’t want to jump to conclusions, but you can’t help but look at him out of the corner of your peripheral.

( at your absence of an answer, he fills in the quietude for you. )

“we fight curses, right? to protect civilians?” he runs a hand through his dark hair, the sweaty strands connecting with the callouses that lie embedded his fingertips.

you swallow. “uh-huh.”

“but who’s saving us?”

your lips twist into a small pout as you try to comprehend the underlying meaning of his words, you wonder what sort of plan he’s dancing around — why he can’t share it with you. he always shared everything with you.

( your mind mainly focuses on that one blanket that he would always hog when he was over, fleece and blue with white polka dots; now faded and worn, and you’re pretty sure it has one hole in it from when satoru tried pulling it towards him at the foot of the bed. )

“curses are created from human negative energy, the shit that stirs within non-sorcerers that finally manifests itself,” he spits. you don’t move.

“i know what you saw out there. about r—”

you cut him off. the topic ends at the beat of your heart.

suguru calls your name softly, looking back at you with furrowed brows and an inquisitive look upon his face. he seems like he’s genuinely considering this, you think.

a pause ensues, and all you hear are the distant chirps of crickets that inhabit the area. suguru doesn’t, he only looks at you — his ears drowning out any other noises besides the soft breathing exerted from him. he doesn’t seem fazed, he’s thought about this for a while — regardless of your answer, even though he knows it’ll hurt him either way.

“satoru,” you mutter.

“what about him?”

“he doesn’t know?”

“the burden he carries is unlike no other, and i have a feeling we can change that.” he places a soft hand on your shoulder, the warmth of his hand spreading along your arm and only furthering your nausea. “i think you know that, too.”

you turn on your heel, feet similar to lead as it takes everything within you to turn away and head back past the glass, trying to make it back to your dorm before a deft hand catches your wrist. it’s bordering tight, but your head whips around to see him nonetheless.

“promise, right?” his other hand holds out his pinky — almost ironic in a way. you can feel your eyelids heating with the oncoming wave of tears threatening to spill. you can’t though, not now.

it takes a second or two but you apprehensively bring your hand to interlock pinkies, a childish but fond gesture the four of you had always done.

soon, he will have coffee and crepes in the street. he’ll breathe in bliss. empty his cup of its grief, for the new life he will lead — you think.

“promise.”

viii. satoru gojo - the strongest

satoru gojo often feels like he’s not as strong as he can be.

how silly is that?

goodness, to him, is adjacent to a rock flowing slowly through the rapids. he’ll float there first. although, he knows it’ll follow him — he can only hope he’ll meet you in the river, up to his knees, both hands full of something good, like silverfish wriggling for the waters.

a bright, childlike grin on his face as it meets your sheepish one, as if when he were to meet you as a child — being your friend would be worth more than being the heir of the gojo clan. his yukata dirtied and muddy from the cross contaminated water, soaked and dripping once the two of you would make it onto the small rocks. he would’ve been punished by the elders for the mess he had created, but he wonders if it would have made a difference.

he wonders, if you had been there, whether you would have made a difference.

he knows you’ve made one now.

and when he hears the news from yaga, he can’t help but clench his fists like his heart had clenched alongside it. his head pounds with blood thumping through his veins as yaga’s voice muffles.

he doesn’t remember much — he remembers being told about you and suguru, he remembers yelling, he remembers the hot tears that welled up in his lashes as he walked away. he remembers going back to your dorm room, opening your door, and feeling his gut drop at the sight of it.

satoru remembers the lingering scent of your body spray and how it engulfed your room. the small scratches satoru had carved into your desk with a pencil once he had tried tutoring you (it ended horribly and you didn’t get anything done, a smile threatens to tug at his lips at the memory).

the small notes you used to pass in class with shoko folded neatly in an organizer. he picks one up and squints at the shaky kanji of shoko’s handwriting bunched up on the page compared to the way your characters floated on the small ripped piece of paper.

‘did you do #14?’ he read shoko’s.

yours read, ‘yep’.

he could almost laugh at her last response — which read, ‘nerd.’

he wonders how you’re doing with suguru — satoru wants to believe you had no part in the massacre he had inflicted on the village but there’s no way to no for sure, all they can tell is that they found one was suguru’s buttons on the scene. his fingers run along your sheets, neat and made from the days before you had left — he feels his breathing quicken at the sight of your fluffed pillows.

(you knew you were leaving, and that part hurts the most.)

his eyes dance around the decorations of your room, littered with cheery figurines and souvenirs from past missions in shibuya or sapporo, ones you’d always have to march back into satoru’s room for because you knew he had taken at least one.

he had never told you that the only reason he did that wasn’t to be obnoxious, but so that he could pull you into his room and coax you to stay a little longer — how he’d promise you wouldn’t get into trouble with yaga if you just went out for a plate of takoyaki in the middle of the night.

when he had seen suguru in shinjuku that day, all he could think about was that he wanted to tell you — how he wanted to just see you, even if it was only a glimpse; even if you hadn’t said anything to him. he just wanted to see you.

words lingered in his brain, suguru’s request burned into his head. because he didn’t come to fight, he didn’t come with aggression. he only requested that he saw his side, too. a part of him was relieved you weren’t there with him, because he was always weak to you — it would’ve made it so much harder, he thinks.

has he always felt this way about you? feeling what way? what the fuck is he thinking? he doesn't even know.

there's a big, hot, white ball of something within him — something wiry inside of his gut that cuts and scrapes at every edge inside his intestines. satoru doesn’t know what it is but he’s never felt this way before.

but he’ll go outside, and he’ll see shoko or wave to his classmates. he’ll hear the whispers float around in the halls, overshadowing the faint sound of soft laughs he used to hear when he’d bump hips with you when you would take your daily rounds — to help with the dreams you had, you said.

satoru gojo didn’t get nightmares, he just woke up with once again another weight on his shoulders the next morning, groggy with the idea of obligations that would only pile up on him. and although satoru never dared to dream when he was asleep ( nor did he know how to dream when he was awake ), he would only pretend to so that he could roam around at night in search of you.

and when he’d find your figure, shaky breaths escaping your lungs with disheveled hair and tear stained eyes — so beautifully illuminated by the celestial pearl in the sky, the only beacon of light suspended in velvet darkness. you’d look up at the moon, perhaps with a prayer in mind, as you’d only think about what to do next.

like always, he’d sneak up behind you. only this time, he wouldn’t startle you with a playful call of your name or tap your shoulder and be on the other side to confuse you. he’d merely slip behind you in silence, leaning against the railing of the open-view gap that’d let you view the outside of the high school. he’d feel you glance at him with a wobbly bottom lip, swollen from the chewing you’d had to do just to silence your cries.

satoru wouldn’t say anything. but you knew why he was there.

(or at least, why you thought he was there.)

your head would drop low with eyes screwed shut, and only satoru could hear the quaky breath you’d take as you’d try to compose yourself. azure eyes would rake across your figure with a furrowed brow, he never understood why you were so emotional — yet he’d lay a comforting hand on your back anyway. you’d savor the warmth of his palm with only more tears building up in your lashes.

he’s strong. he has to be — whether it’s for you, for suguru, for jujutsu society; doesn’t matter. that’s neither here nor there. for now, satoru will nurse the thought of your memory until it bleeds and stains the very bed he dreams of you in — knowing he’ll awake the next morning and jolt at your absence. he’ll then wash his face, hold his head high, and walk right back outside. the hurts only scabs over for the day before he opens it up again the same night.

ix. migration

“you— what?”

“i’m going to the states.”

geto’s lips quirk into a soft pout, one you’ve gotten accustomed to for the past few years.

“how come?” he asks softly, albeit you almost frown at his tone. a sound that had come to be so comforting — it tingles at your bones in small zaps and shivers. it makes you feel terrible, but you can’t help but indulge in the feeling.

“always wanted to go,” you shrug. your eyes glance to the girls’ bedroom; the two twins suguru had found in that small village that had come to be but a large pile of ash and dismay. hand still warm from tucking the two of them in, it fills you with bitter sweetness.

his eyes linger on your face — you can tell he doesn’t believe you because he always has this tell, where his lips will shift to the side momentarily as he presses them together, almost in thought. you’re not sure you believe yourself, either.

staying in japan does nothing for you but weigh you down with the slow, imminent guilt that swells your chest from the fact that you’re stuck here. of course, it wasn’t an involuntary choice to go with suguru — you felt you had no other choice but to escape the things you had seen at the place that had hurt you most.

although, you can’t help but think about the boy who’s hair lights up the room, who’s eyes can see right through you — it’s almost unsettling how much you remember the flecks of blue and detail within them, practically painting the sky in those colored irises. often times, you’ll lie awake at night; hands folded neatly over your chest as the external stimulus of the outside world provide you with a sense of security, realness.

the expensive eau de cologne of his lingers in your nose, the almost spice of the musk permanently altering your brain that’s only triggered when you walk past advertisers outside of the store trying to sell a similar scent.

you swear your eyes don’t water, even though no one’s presence is there but yours — so there’s really nothing to swear about. you just don’t want to seem like something you’re so foreign to; vulnerability. letting the tears flow down the curve of your cheekbones. you don’t wipe your eyes for it’s the only reminder you have left that that boy exists.

so the next morning, you’ll wake up. slumped over from the thing that eats at your bones, your cursed energy being the only thing you can feel running through you.

fingertips coated with the smallest bit of dust, the leather cover of the suitcase is practically unused save for the few times you’d use it when you’d be sent to the outskirts of japan for certain missions. you almost smile at the faint memories that cloud your brain around that time; shoko’s quiet laughs while utahime and you would whine at small inconveniences on the trip. stopping by certain food stalls that weren’t available in tokyo, trying new things — it makes you miss it.

but you know you can’t go back now.

you pretend not to notice the watery eyes of nanako and mimiko once they see you walking out of the door, nor do you notice suguru watching you walk out the door all the same; the robes clinging onto his figure disfiguring him into a man you no longer knew.

the soft smile that once lied on his young face now replaced by one of feigned amicability; like a customer service smile. you’ve known him over a decade and yet it seems like the two of you’ve only been roommate faintly acquainted with each other. it makes your heart thump a little harder.

you pretend not to feel the way your throat closes up as a single tear courses down your skin; leaving a residue that coats the linear path trickling down your cheek — this time, you wipe your eyes.

x. (not so) divine intervention

tongue sticking heavy in your mouth, any form of noise that you could’ve possibly made dying on your throat. your hands feel a surge of pressure through them, fingers twitching along as the gears in your head turn.

you look different, he takes note of. your hairs parted a little different, a few inches of extra length added on as well. a smile tugs at his lips; one full of mirth and almost jocularity. you look so clean, healthy — strong. there’s potential, he realizes, as he searches suguru’s memory bank of you; your face making a constant reoccurrence throughout his mind. the day you left, you cooking for the girls next to him, you lying next to him, your tears that night.

his half-smile only grows wider.

he cocks a brow before he holds his hand up in salutations. he says your name, but it’s not how he would usually say it. it’s almost raspier, lower. your lips press together as you examine him, your eyes keep flitting back up to his head — intricate stitches wrapping around the width of his forehead.

“hey,” geto looks you up and down. “shrimp.”

tilting your head up, you roll your eyes at the nickname before continuing to walk forward. you don’t know what you expected because he follows you anyway, hands clasped together under the warmth of the sleeves of his robes.

his soft footsteps easily match your quick ones, stern and at least trying to flee. you don’t wanna look at him, whether that’s because you know you’ll crumble or because you’re so upset, you don’t know. all you know is that you can’t look at him now. even when he observes the bustling streets of and makes passing comments about the citizens of tokyo.

“i wasn’t sure that you had gotten back — how come you didn’t find me?” he asks, and you know it’s only because he’s fishing.

you spare him a glance out of your peripheral. you frown softly, it doesn’t even look like suguru anymore. paler skin, thinner cheekbones, lips now a lighter shade of pink with small cracks lining them. an angry, irritated color begins to form around his forehead where the stitches lay, the thread sunken so deep in his skin that it makes your own head hurt at the probable tightness.

you quietly exhale, but you know he can hear the shaky breath that comes along with it. “didn’t know if you were busy.”

“you know i can always manage some time for you,” he smiles bittersweetly. tilting his head up, he looks up at the tall buildings that surround you, admiring the straying leaves falling from the trees. one floats down and makes its way onto your head — your eye twitches as he plucks its off your hair before holding it up to his view.

you take your time to look at it, too. it’s starting to brown with the oncoming seasonal change, an amorphous combination of a golden crisp and veranda green.

“i’ve been meaning to ask your help with something,” he doesn’t look at you, still trained on the leaf. “only if you’re ready to be my partner in crime, again." he smiles at you, one that seems more like suguru. it’s confident and teasing, and with the way he leans a little more forward brings you memories of his old demeanor back in high school, the way him and—

you pause, because for a moment, you swear you could’ve seen a glimpse of white hair behind him. it’s almost concerning how quickly your blood runs cold at the thought. it’s not out of dissent nor is it out of a manifest of obscureness to which you’ve rendered him to.

but once you hear geto speak of his name — it’s like you crumble all over again. your hands going soft and clammy, your chest surging with an almost sort of giddiness at the thought of him again. just like a wishful coin in a pond, it’s beautiful to know that there are still glimmers of this feeling. even this deep in.

“suguru?” you tilt your head back, meeting his relaxed gaze as he halts his movements.

“hm?”

“what are those?” you gesture to your own forehead, keeping your eyes locked on your head as you talk about the stitches on his own. you don’t get a reply.

after that, you don’t pay attention half-way through his explanation, stopping him again with a closer step forward as he talks about some sort of plan. really, the only thing you listen to is the small glimpses you hear of satoru’s name. he talks about something going on in shibuya, he talks about jujutsu high — and you would be lying if you said that the mention of the school didn’t make you a little sad.

you wonder what satoru’s doing, you wonder what shoko’s doing. hopefully, you’ll see them soon — even if it’s just in passing. you know nothing will be the same as it was before, but you can help but wonder what they’re doing now.

you won’t know her now — but as she puffs the remaining tobacco through the small opening of her swollen lips, shoko shakes her head and looks down at her pinky. she wonders if that promise had gone down the drain like you had. she swears she can feel the corners of her eyes dampen a little.

and you won’t know it either — but satoru can’t help but see you everywhere he looks. when he sees the first years walking back home from the mission, he trails behind them just to get the view of them lined up together; yuuji bumping hips with megumi while all he gets is a glare in return. nobara looks up on the sky and drags her feet out of boredom, spewing off mindless bits of chitchat about how she totally ‘did that’.

his neck will crane up to the horizon as his lips only recite your nothings. all he is sees is sunset, yet he’s scarred with the melancholy he carries. he’ll try to close his eyes, your hands coming up to his collarbones before you press down. until he’s bruised with incompetence; until his shame has configured the astronomical.

and satoru will smile, a slew of memories seeping back into the curves of his brain as he thinks back to those times of you — of suguru, shoko, nanami. he never stopped hurting that day, but he can’t help but smile at the sight of something begun anew.

oh well, satoru thinks — he can only wonder to what you’re doing now. something inside him hopes for a day where he’ll see you soon. he’ll wait for the day where he’ll see you soon.

𐙚 holy shit i did it

𐙚 comment to join taglist ; @kasumitenbaz @sad-darksoul @seternic @kalulakunundrum @2ukika @sugimvra

𐙚 requests are open — november thirteenth, 2024

[disneyprincemuke]

meet me in the afterglow * fem!driver

does sorry even work after you hurt the people you love?

pairings: oscar piastri x fem!driver, logan sargeant x fem!driver, sebastian vettel x fem!driver

notes: once upon a time, this 2025 szn only had like... 3/4 parts? and because i have 0 self control, it's now split into 9 parts... i promise the next part is actually the last part and there's no more surprise angst so here's the kind of comfort fic...? lolsie

(series masterlist) | (📂 2025: fall from grace)

(prev)

she stares into the restaurant where the group of blondes sit, trying to count in her head if she should finally announce her presence.

she’d been lurking in the group chat watching them make plans. plans that included her by default yet she still hesitated to bring herself out to meet them.

perhaps it’s too soon to be here? unless oscar wasn’t lying when he said that her other friends miss her too despite isolating herself for more than half the year.

“what are you doing lingering out here in the cold?” a familiar voice fills her ears with a soft chuckle. “come on in and join us for lunch, silly.”

“oscar,” she laughs sheepishly, scratching the back of her head. “i’m afraid it’s too soon for me to be here. i’ll just head back home.”

oscar tilts his head and furrows his eyebrows. he watches her turn on her heel and starts walking in the direction of her apartment. “what?” he grabs her wrist and yanks her towards the entrance of the restaurant. “no, you told me you’d join us today. you got ready and everything — even did your makeup! you look great, mate.”

she tries to pull herself back. “i don’t even know if they want me here.”

“remember what i told you yesterday,” oscar stops in his tracks and turns around to face her, “sometimes it’s all in your head. this time, trust me when i say it is. liam and mick missed you just as much as we did.”

she hesitates for a moment but eventually nods. oscar cheers and pumps his fist in the air. “great! then let’s go.”

oscar guides her into the restaurant and slowly approaches the table where their friends sit.

liam scowls at logan, “i’m seriously curious about whatever the hell goes in your head.”

“what do you mean?” logan asks, slightly hurt, “it’s a legit question. they’re just infected — sick, perhaps — so technically they’re still human.”

“point taken, but like… i wouldn’t consider them human still,” mick mumbles hesitantly, seemingly in deep thought over logan’s question. “but that’s just a very… peculiar question.”

“if rocky was here, she’d entertain me unlike you losers,” logan scoffs, folding his arms over his chest. “your answers are basic. i want an actual nurturing conversation about zombies and their human rights.”

“you guys got an extra seat for me? i have opinions about zombies and human rights,” she says softly with a smile. “i know i haven’t joined you in a while and i’m sorry. but if you let me—”

“oh, you’re here!” mick jumps up from his seat. he rounds the table and shoves oscar away from her then throws his arms around the small girl. “there’s always a seat for you! what do you mean?”

“welcome back,” liam beams with a nod. “mick here has a list of gossip he wants to talk to you about.”

logan scowls, “gossip that he refused to tell us unless you’re around.”

“well, why would i tell you boring idiots are gossip i worked so hard to get?” mick scowls, rolling his eyes. he starts to guide her towards his seat and pulls out a chair for her to sit next to him. “for a bunch of uninterested answers and sighs?”

“i could be—”

“whatever!” mick says exasperatedly, rolling his eyes. he sits her down in the seat and takes his own, pulling his phone out from his pocket. “so i have a list. let’s start with whatever the hell is going on with red bull and max.”

liam watches the girl walk out of the restaurant first, with the ruse that it’s too warm inside the restaurant. he excuses himself from mick, waving him off nonchalantly as he tries to settle the bill.

“i’m glad you’re back,” liam hums with a smile, approaching her with his head dropped and kicking rocks on the ground. “missed you, mate.”

“thanks,” she laughs, looking up from her phone. “i’m sorry i clocked out for a while there. i didn’t know how to cope with the year we were having.”

“it would’ve been nice to have you around,” he admits softly, finally stopping by her side. “this season has been so cruel to us. wish we had each other a little bit more, you know? we could’ve just gone through it together.”

she throws her head back. at some point in the year, she did consider that. but she’d tried getting herself to reach out to liam, but by that time, it felt like a case of too little too late.

“i know,” she sighs with a small smile. “i’m sorry. i thought you were doing perfectly fine without me.”

“the world’s always been a little harder on you, let’s admit that,” liam rests his arm on her shoulder, “we’re just glad that you’re back. you look like you’ve gotten back the colour in your face.”

“yeah, it’s about time,” she nods. “so, about your offers from other teams. anything that stood out to you yet?”

liam grins. “i’ve been meaning to talk to you about that after summer break. i didn’t think i’d see you til then,” he laughs. “they’re gonna announce it on the first race weekend from summer break.”

“you made a decision!” she shrieks. though, she feels her chest slightly tighten. liam avoiding a direct answer can truly only mean one thing and it’s that she’ll have to cozy up with some new driver that isn’t one of her closest friends. “that’s amazing, i’m so happy for you!”

“i’ve re-signed with andretti, mate. a year extension and if it goes well next year, i’m definitely staying a little longer,” liam jumps up and grabs her shoulders, “we’re going to be teammates forever!”

“what?” she almost drops her phone from the bombshell he’s dropped on her. “you’re not leaving?”

“don’t tell the guys yet, it’s a secret til then!” liam immediately recomposes himself when the doors open and their friends walk out.

“what are you girls giggling about?” oscar snorts, shaking his head. “keeping secrets from us?”

“it’s a teammate thing.”

“what are you doing still in the car?” logan hums, hunching to look into the car. the girl continues to sit in the passenger seat and looks ahead blankly. “oscar’s already at the door, dude. let’s go.”

“what if they hate me forever?” she frowns, turning to logan with slight tears in her eyes. “i sucked. not very family-friendly of me to act the way i did. and missing the anniversary party? not very cool either.”

“just get out of the car,” logan snorts, finally opening the door for her. he points towards the house and looks back at her. “come on. your dad told us he made your favourite cookies if it will help get you inside.”

she rolls her eyes. “you told papa i was coming?”

“just him, i promise.”

“boo. you suck.”

but she follows logan out of the car anyway. she watches as logan drags both of their bags towards the door and gives her another smile. then he walks down the pathway through the front yard to make his way to the front door.

she watches from the car as the front door opens, revealing her mother with a wide grin as she greets logan and oscar with open arms, yanking them in for a tight hug and kisses on cheeks. she only gets noticed when oscar steps aside to point at the car.

“you’re here!” her mother shrieks, hands on her cheeks as she pushes past the 2 boys in front of her. “my love, i missed you so much! i’m so glad you’re here!”

she remains in her position, hands fisted by her side as she watches her mother thread the stone pathway to walk over to her. “you look amazing. i’m so happy that you’re here.”

arms are thrown around her tightly, catching her off-guard. she’s barely even got the chance to get her carefully constructed apology out. for how she’s acted, for how she treated everyone in that house for the couple of days she spent in it.

“i’m seriously so glad you’re here. good thing i made your favourite,” her mother shrieks, starting to yank her towards the house. “and papa made cookies! then blythe stocked up on the ice cream you like hoping you were coming by with oscar and logan.

“dalton’s going to be so glad that you’re here.”

“dalton?” she asks in surprise, lifting an eyebrow as she follows her mother into the house. “isn’t he mad at me?”

her mother grins and stops right before they enter the kitchen. her cheek is cupped by her mother tenderly and the other hand brushes through her hair. “blythe sat both ciara and dalton down and told them off. i’m sorry i didn’t see you were struggling — i thought i was helping. i didn’t know.”

“you know?” she tilts her head with furrowed eyebrows. tears fill her eyes as she slumps her shoulder. “i didn’t mean to take it out on you. you know i love you, mama.”

“it’s okay. you’re still just my baby,” her mother sighs, pulling her head in to rest on her shoulder. “i should have known you were just overwhelmed. i’m sorry i didn’t notice and drove you even further.”

“oh, cool! you’re here!” dalton’s voice echoes in the house, making her jump off her mother. “i made you cookies!”

“did not,” ciara scoffs, rolling her eyes, following dalton down the stairs. “we had to buy a new batch of ingredients cause he put the egg whites in with the batter.”

dalton shakes his head disapprovingly as he passes the mother and daughter. “they told me too late. they’re not the best at instructions and that’s why you can tell ciara works all by herself in a measly little studio — can’t lead for shit.”

ciara smacks the back of his head. “fuck you.” the younger girl turns to her oldest sister with a smile. “welcome home. we set up just dance so we can watch logan trip over his feet all evening.”

“hey!”

apologising should come easy, she’s already done it attempting to make amends for the past 2 weeks with everyone. though she can’t ignore the churning in her stomach as she walks down a familiar hallway.

drafting the apology speech in her hotel room came naturally to her. with logan and oscar’s nod of approvals, suddenly she was ready to head out.

but there’s still the worry that it could be rejected.

who would want to take her back, anyway? it’s a miracle that everyone else in her life has received her with open arms after the way she acted.

she stares at the plain door for a moment and takes a deep breath. she just has to say she’s sorry, that’s all. just like how she told her friends she would.

she bites down on her lip as she finally musters the courage to land a knock on the door.

“give me a second!”

“okay, no rush.”

footsteps from inside the apartment halt for a moment. she hears heavy footsteps approaching the door and something dropping on the floor, then stumbling, making her smile to herself. then she hears the locks click hurriedly before it’s yanked open.

matt sighs in relief and throws his head back. “thank god it’s actually you. i thought i was going crazy hearing your voice.”

“over exaggeration,” she points out with a small smile. she sucks in a deep breath and exhales shakily. “hi.”

“hi,” he slouches slightly and leans on the door frame. “why didn’t you tell me you were coming? i could’ve picked you up from the airport.”

she waves his concerns away with a soft laugh. “it wouldn’t be a surprise if i asked you to pick me up, would it?” she looks down and extends her hands, a bouquet of flowers pushed into his chest. “these are for you.”

“what?” surprised, yet he still takes it into his hands. “what are these for?”

“i’m sorry,” she says softly, pursing her lips with a soft shrug. “i didn’t wanna do it over the phone or make you fly to london just so i can do it there… i blew things out of proportion and i pushed you away when all you wanted to do was help. i’m the one who burned us down.”

“they’re apology flowers?” he points out, slightly amused, scanning the bouquet with a smile. “you came all this way to say that to me?”

“i didn’t know how else to show you how sorry i really am.” she shifts uncomfortably and tucks her hair behind her ears. “i’ll spend forever making it up to you, i promise. i should have coped better and—”

“i missed you,” he says in a sigh. he puts the bouquet down on the top of his shoe back and lunges forward to throw his arms around her. he squeezes her tightly and buries his face into her hair. “you seriously should have told me you were coming.”

“matt—”

“i’m so excited that you’re finally here! i was taking kota out on a walk the other day and i walked past this new ice cream shop. i think you might really like it there,” matt starts to ramble, pulling away. “just give me 20 minutes and let’s head out for a date? how does that sound?”

she blinks, slightly taken aback by how he’s reacted. “what?”

“i haven’t been away that long, have i?” he stares at her curiously, furrowing his eyebrows. “you still love ice cream, don’t you?”

“yeah, but… you know… i was so mean to you for so long. shouldn’t you be a little angrier at me for what i did? i was such a bitch.”

“you were having a hard time,” he says immediately as she tries to berate herself. “i don’t blame you for that. it’s okay; we’re okay.” he pulls her into his apartment. “i’m just glad you’re back — my girlfriend’s back!”

“hi,” she greets with a smile, catching the older man off-guard as he approaches her. “fun summer break?”

sebastian flinches slightly and looks around him. there is nobody else here that she could be speaking to but him. “hi?” he smiles hesitantly. “it was. how was yours?”

“it was alright,” she shrugs, pressing her lips together into a thin line. she moves towards her bags to leave an empty space open for sebastian. “i got you something over the break. i went to los angeles for a couple of days.”

he tilts his head and jab his finger into his chest. “you got me something? on your trip?”

“yeah,” she grins. she turns away momentarily to grab something out of her bag and turns to present a pair of mugs to him. “i’m sorry i broke our matching mugs that one night in the paddocks. and i’m sorry i was a total bitch the entire season and that i was a big fat meanie, as dalton put it.”

he laughs, throwing his head back. if you’d asked him, he would have been more worried if they started the second half of the season with her still in the trenches.

it’s relieving to see that she’s gotten colour back into her face, making conversation and looking well put together. if her behaviour continued any longer, he’s afraid it would have become permanent at some point.

“you’re okay now?” sebastian grins, patting her on the head. she beams and nods. “okay enough to eat some ice cream?”

“yes,” she sighs exasperatedly with the roll of her eyes. “i can’t believe i haven’t eaten ice cream for 2 months. can you believe i stayed away that long?”

“honestly, i thought all this stemmed from the lack of ice cream,” sebastian jokes, poking her shoulder. “welcome back, kid. let’s make the best out of the rest of our season, okay? no more cowering into the corner — we face it head on.”

she nods firmly. “okay.”

taglist: @wcnorris @treehouse-mouse @laura-naruto-fan1998 @mindless-rock @vellicora @ironmaiden1313 @elliegrey2803 @33-81 @darleneslane @nikfigueiredo @happy-nico @namgification @localwhoore @c-losur3 @notawc @sadg3 @kazuha-pista-badam @mellowarcadefun @megatrilss1885 @peqch-pie @woozarts @meadhbhcavanagh @2bormaybenot @a-disturbing-self-reflection @mclarengf @xoscar03 @nomie-11 @green-thots @tinyhrry @iwilleatyourgod @inejismywife @love4lando @louvrepool

[imustbenuts]

eito aotsuki meta appreciation thoughts, ie why i like this character the most in THL. im like 50% done with the game maybe. spoilers spoilers spoilers etc

simply put hes actually how i feel when i see takumi doing things in a lot of routes, and his character often reflects that quite well

casting aside the possibility of certain routes just having weird or off-putting writing for whatever reasons, takumi has some major characteristics that makes him a very effective villain protag. hes like. mundanely evil. he can be heroic once in a while, but the road to the heroic routes involves a lot of "WHY WOULD YOU DO ANYTHING BUT X HERE"

to be clear takumi can be selfless as evident in route 0 but after the events of that first 100 days, he becomes dogmatic about surviving to the end at any cost with his friends, and will repeatedly convince himself he did the right thing despite... often not actually doing the right thing in whatever route he's ended up in.

his inability to basically break out of his circular reasoning mentality is his biggest flaw. seriously this kid would rather honkshoo than go "fuck it i ball". he does not plan. he's not curious. he cannot do abstract thinking. he's sometimes a massive fucking dick. things happen to him. its not exactly his fault but it so very often is his fault. (and i will stand by that he also triggers cute aggression so hard and still treasures his friends (+ eito) that takumi as a whole makes me want to clobber him with a steel pipe affectionately)

for example, the multiple eitos route. the reason why eito decides to fuck with takumi so hard here seems to be mostly out of anger at him. takumi doesnt want to find the truth to the war here, he doesnt try to think beyond sirei's orders to kill eito, and he, with the decision to kill eito, shows that he deeply does not care beyond whats infront of his nose.

in the killing game route, a similar anger seems to be present from eito wherein hes present to fuck with takumi because this timeline's version of him got killed. assuming hes aware of the greater scope of the war thats going on as with the other timelines where he consistently figures out a good chunk of whats going on, hes still understandably peeved at takumi here for taking the easy way out.

so far im seeing the most chill eitos in the truth and rebellion route where the choices to get to this route involves doing the most difficult thing and just rolling with the punches. this means sacrificing a willing kyoshika to banzai on vesh, and sparing eito bc eito has information and has technically not committed a crime in the eyes of humanity. these routes involves examining and tackling whats being fed to the group by Sirei, and then having the proverbial rug pulled from beneath them as a whole. the eito in these route chills out and is on even footing with takumi having learned that they're all cannon fodder monsters and the war is xenophobic genocidal rubbish.

the routes im not familiar with are the s.f, cult of takumi, coming of age so i cant comment on those yet. so this is an incomplete understanding of the game possibly. mengo.

eito gets as bad as takumi does and as good/heroic as takumi does narratively speaking.

theres also the whole naming shit going on.

eito addresses takumi as "takumi-kun", his given name plus friendly address, which feels like him breaking directly into takumi's bubble and breathing all over him for a pair who just met. in jp context anyway

takumi addresses eito as "aotsuki", his surname which feels very respectful with a distance, and appropriate for a pair who just met. but, he doesnt change this address AFAIK no matter how much eito behaves himself

its no wonder then they have this dynamic where takumi behaves like a skittish freaked out cat around eito. and eito just really wants to do ???? things to takumi.

theres also the fucking wordplay here

済野　sumino = empty/vast field. so 拓海takumi 済野sumino = crashing waves, empty field

衛人　eito = defender. so 衛人eito 蒼月aotsuki = defender, pale/blue moon

if you pair the dynamics of whats going on it gets fun too

Eito + Takumi addressing = fair standing as equals, and would be Defender + Crashing Waves. kinda... oxymoronic bc how do you defend the shore being eroded by crashing waves

Eito + Sumino = Defender + Empty Field. honkshoo.... youre defending nothing... nihilism mayhaps, or optimistic nihilism maybe if its gotta be interesting.

if its Sumino + Aotsuki = also fair standing as equals, and would be Empty Field + Pale/Blue Moon. fucking poetry chefs kiss

Takumi + Aotsuki = Crashing Waves + Pale Moon. actually kinda poetic since the ocean's tide is effected by the push and pull of the moon. its as strong or as weak depending. this is their dynamic of most part of the story. also the ocean also reflects the moon or whatever.

doomed toxic yaoiful poetry. its very neat.

[queerholmcs]

bbc sherlock episodes ranked based on their mycroft holmes scenes 🌂

14. unaired pilot. zero mycroft holmes. thank god they transitioned to the 90-minute format for the real thing. 0/10.

13. the blind banker. no mycroft holmes screen time. sad! (the text conversation with M at the very end, however...) 1/10.

12. the hound of baskerville. his baby brother breaks into an army base using his id card and his response is to roll his eyes, send a handful of questioning texts, and then give him 24 hours unrestricted access anyway. it's sweet! but the jim-mycroft bit at the end should have been fleshed out a bit more. who cares about about a glowing rabbit when jim moriarty is scratching sherlock's name into the walls of a cell that mycroft put him in. come on! 4/10.

11. the abominable bride. this one would be higher but the fatsuit thing is weird. but at least we get "did you understand it? the murderous jealousy." and all of his "i care so much but i'm really not very good at showing it" on the plane and don't even get me STARTED on the state of his tie! 5/10.

10. the empty hearse. he puts on his silly little outfit and learns serbian to go bring his little brother back home! and then pretends to be surprised that sherlock is interested in the current state of john watson and literally nothing else? okay. and then they play chess i mean operation and he can't handle a broken heart (how very telling!) and then they play deductions because secretly he is pleased to see you, underneath all that. 5/10. WAIT no sorry i almost forgot about the les mis phone call at the end. 6/10.

9. the sign of three. yes i know he's technically barely in this one but the phone call at the start of the reception is fun and the treadmill/sex/filing joke is silly and his role in sherlock's little mind palace scenes is exquisite! like yayyyyy there he is, guiding people to the right answer, one leading question at a time! 7/10.

8. his last vow. christmas dinner is the highlight of the episode tbh. i mean i'm kidding but only sort of. we get to see him having domestic little moments with his parents and then he's standing outside smoking with his brother asking him to refuse a suicide mission in eastern europe and "here be dragons"... it's literally sooooo..... and he gets thrown out of baker street by force teehee! and that's before we even address his appearance in sherlock's mind palace as he's attempting not to die. "what was directly behind you as you were being murdered?" and "don't go into shock, obviously." and that little bit more insight into sherlock's relationship with him. and he gets an actual on-screen interaction with greg lestrade, so that's fun! 9/10.

7. the great game. this is where the show really kicks off when you're watching from the beginning imo. soooo many fun little moments with him... turning up at baker street after that explosion to try and get sherlock to look at a case and so we get to see them interact as brothers but that's nothing compared to what we get to see between mycroft and john... "what's he like to live with? hellish, i imagine" and "sherlock's business is booming since you and he became... pals" and then john gets all dressed up to go and see mycroft about the case because sherlock puts his best man onto it and. it's all just very fun for me. 10/10.

6. the lying detective. could use more mycroft tbh but what we get is absolute top-tier stuff... the little scene where they're all tracking sherlock's phone and he comes in to see for himself and makes a comment about how he needed the excuse to stop talking to the prime minister, and then he calls john up in the middle of the night about it because everything's about sherlock and there's his little "the fact that i'm his brother changes absolutely nothing. it didn't the last time and i can assure you it doesn't with—" and i think it's super fun! and then the spooks scene in baker street where the skull is replaced with a black box and he detests conversation in the past tense and mrs hudson hisses at him to "get out of my house, you reptile"... once again, top-tier stuff! 10/10!

5. a scandal in belgravia. we get the really fun sibling rivalry stuff at buckingham palace and on top of that we get that brotherly warning of "all lives end, all hearts are broken. caring is not an advantage" and then jim sends him a text and we get a gorgeous little diva down moment and then there's still the flight-that-never-takes-off "a damsel in distress. in the end... are you really so obvious? because this was textbook. the promise of love. the pain of loss. the joy of redemption. then give him a puzzle and watch him dance" speech??? AND he makes john cancel his christmas plans (and get dumped) because he's worried about sherlock??? 11/10. i'm going to throw up.

4. the six thatchers. where do i even begin... the episode opens with the hlv flashback to "my brother is a murderer" and then two minutes later mycroft is in a secret office handing out secret files saying "a d-notice has been put on the entire incident. no-one [but us] will ever know the whole truth." and then there's the agra wikipedia quote my beloved and that entire scene is just. MWAH! opens with a mirrored shot and he's got his feet kicked up on his desk and he's twirling a pen in his hand and "i love an acronym. all the best secret societies have one" with that stupid smirk on his face. and then he just sort of stands there and watches while mary dies at the end! so it's fun. 10/10. i might have to write a book about it.

3. a study in pink. we bring the plot to a screeching halt halfway through the episode (thank you so much hbomb for that insightful analysis) to introduce sherlock's older brother who's only even in like two stories from the canon and who is here portrayed by none other than the programme's co-creator himself so that he can stand in front of you and tell you that john watson is a little liar and that sherlock holmes and dr watson are freak4freak. 10/10 no notes.

2. the reichenbach fall. truly the episode of all time. no it's still not enough to top tfp but come on. my man gives jim moriarty sherlock's life story and has to confess all of this to none other than john watson himself and then has the audacity to say "tell him i'm sorry. would you?" and after the fall itself they show him reading a tabloid paper in the diogenes club. because god forbid he put himself in a place where silence is not tradition, where he might be asked to use his words to discuss that which has just transpired. 10/10, no notes. (i mean. hm. actually i have rather a lot of notes on this. but we don't have time to get into that here.)

and coming at number 1: the final problem. he's got an old-school cinema room in his house and an umbrella-sword-gun and "who was it said, truth is rarely pure and never simple?" and "say thank you to dr watson. he talked me out of lady bracknell. this could have been very different." and "memories can resurface. wounds can reopen. the roads we walk have demons beneath, and yours have been waiting for a very long time" and "heaven may be a fantasy for the credulous and the afraid, but i can give you a map reference for hell." and "colloquially it is known as the patience grenade" (and he's authorised the purchase of quite a number of those but he'll still retch at the sight of blood) and i think i need to go and lie down now so everyone say thank you mark! 13/10. absolutely delicious. mwah!

[nyaagolor]

Ranking the Ushiromiyas based on whether or not I think they're a narc

Kinzo: -1/10. Hitting a blunt is what killed him

Krauss: 4/10. While I do think he initially would be against any kind of marijuana usage by virtue of being a conservative dude in the 80s, I'm almost positive I could convince him that growing it in the mansion's boiler room is a solid investment

Natsuhi: 0/10. As far as she's aware weed is basically the same thing as cocaine and will kill you, if you brought it near her I think she might actually pass out. However, out of everyone here I think she would benefit the most from an edible

Jessica: 9/10. If this series was set in the current day she would be hiding a vape pen from her parents and teaching Kanon how to hit in the rose garden. She gets a point taken off because she doesn't know that holding it in doesn't do anything

Eva: 6/10. Hates smoking overall, so you can't actually smoke near her without getting yelled at. Though she wouldn't snitch on you, technically, that's only because she fully intends on using it for blackmail later

Hideyoshi: 7/10. He did some sketchy business deals during the war, I'm pretty sure he's got a don't ask don't tell policy (not including Eva, she knows everything). Knocked down three points for the indirect blackmail.

George: 3/10. He's definitely a narc, but that's only because he was trying to rebel sometime in HS and went to a rotation but got laughed at for rolling the saddest, most pathetic looking joint of all time. He has a vendetta now

Rudolf: 6/10. Would probably smoke if it were modern day and isn't one to snitch but his weed etiquette is so bad that I need to knock him down a peg on principle

Kyrie: 7/10. She's the dealer. Points knocked off because she keeps cutting it with cheap shit because she knows her buyers (including her husband) are kinda dumb

Battler: 8/10. Would never snitch but loses a few points because he's bad at it. See below:

Rosa: ???/10. Feels like she'd snitch but also gives me the impression of someone who's tried cocaine before so I think her thoughts on the subject are pretty mood dependent. I don't trust her though.

Maria: 10/10. She didn't snitch on Beatrice and we all know what was in that pipe

[folklovrrr]

“They say, "Expectations are too high””

Chishiya Shuntaro x F!reader

Genre: fluff/casual, flirty

I said I wanted a man who’d take care of me, kiss me stupid, and maybe threaten a few people on my behalf.They said I was delusional.Then I met Chishiya.And now I’m in love and also a little scared.Perfect.

A/N: this is kind of short but i’ve been obsessing w this song so i haddd to write this

People used to say your standards were too high. That guys like that didn’t exist.

“You’ll never find a man like that.” they’d say.

“He’s probably fictional.”

“Or emotionally stunted.”

“Or dead.”

Well, joke’s on them, because your man is emotionally stunted, arguably a little fictional, and technically has almost died like eight times, but he’s yours.

Shuntaro Chishiya.

Professional schemer.

Amateur boyfriend.

10/10 face card.

0/10 communication skills.

But somehow? Perfect for you.

⸻

You’re lying on a rooftop in Borderland Tokyo, watching the stars (or what’s left of them), and Chishiya’s got his hoodie pulled halfway over his face like he’s too cool for oxygen.

“You know” you say, arms folded behind your head, “if someone had told me the guy I ended up with would be emotionally detached, criminally hot, and only soft for me, I would’ve laughed.”

He doesn’t look at you, but you know he’s listening.

“And yet here you are. The walking, talking version of a Pinterest boyfriend board. Quiet. Jealous only when I want you to be. Picks me up at exactly eight.”

He hums. “Time is important.”

“You’re not even trying to deny it anymore.”

“Why would I? I’m clearly thriving.”

“I thought you said I was emotionally unavailable.”

“Yeah, but in a charming way. Like, you’re mysterious, not emotionally dead.”

He finally turns to look at you, and his smirk is so subtle you barely catch it.

“You forgot ‘takes care of you in the bedroom” he says casually.

Oh.

OH???

“Excuse me?” You cough, blinking dramatically. “Sir, are you flirting with me?”

“I’m dating you.”

“Yeah, but that was borderline illegal levels of flirt.”

He shrugs. “Am I wrong?”

You roll onto your side and grin. “No, you are very correct. But don’t let it go to your pretty head.”

“It’s already there.”

[mxnhoo]

hit the stage! (y. jw)

✎ yang jungwon x reader genre concert, jungwon is in a band, reader is the photographer, jungwon and reader are best friends, reader is a hopeless romantic, kissing, cute as FUCK, the audience are cheerleaders fr, more kissing, not proofread, short cos i have 0 writing momentum warnings none word count 1.4k cly's note hai guys i'm back after almost being killed by assignments! this is like really cringe cos im like suuper rusty, sorry bout dat! hope yall like this one

now playing beautiful life - b.i

Upon a single spotlight lighting up a single spot on the stage, loud cheers erupted as the audience grew more excited for what's about to come. You held your camera, checking the settings and ensuring they were good to go before the whole concert started, and before you knew it, the whole stage lit up, a figure running out from backstage causing the cheers to emerge more violently.

Your eyes shot up instantly, the sight of Yang Jungwon never failing to mesmerise you no matter how many times you've seen him. Without wasting a moment, you held up your camera to your face, adjusting the focus to be perfectly on him.

Your finger pressed down, waiting for a moment to let it properly focus before pressing down on the button, which was followed by a loud shutter sound. As soon as you took the photo, you slowly let down the camera, wanting to see the stage with your own eyes and you could feel your whole world stop.

It was almost like your ears blocked out any sound, and you stood there with your mouth slightly agape, the sound of your heart beating at an accelerated rate being the only thing you could hear. He looked good — no — good was not enough to describe him — he looked godly, ethereal, delicate.

And from the way he made eye contact with you for a few seconds made your head spin, but as the drummer hits the crash symbol lightly, it sent you back to consciousness and you immediately brought the camera back to your face, accidentally hitting your mouth in the process.

You licked the inside of your mouth of the area you accidentally hit while focusing on getting more shots, moving around the stage if necessary and careful not to block others. You were Jungwon's personal photographer, well, technically, because you took photos for the band, and also his best friend. It was always his dream to be able to be in a band, and you were always by his side, supporting him in every way.

When his band was just starting out, they were in need of a publicity team, and you'd offered to help out. And here you were, at their concert, holding a camera just like you'd imagined. But one thing you didn't expect was how your body was reacting to this. Your palms were sweaty, your chest was pumping at a concerning rate, and your mind was filled with so many thoughts — each of them being related to Jungwon in some way.

If you couldn't tell already, you had the biggest.. fattest.. hopeless.. crush on your best friend. And you couldn't do anything but to just suck it up and pray it magically appears one day. You bit your lip, hearing the girls near you scream Jungwon's name, an unfamiliar feeling of jealousy filling your chest.

Jungwon raised his hand to the beat of the song, the beat drop of the song approaching, and as the drummer rolled on the snare drum and lifted his sticks for a brief moment, him hitting the crash symbol caused others to jump to the beat of the song, Jungwon pointing his fingers to the crowd and nodding his head as he continued to sing.

Your body was full of adrenaline, the thought to just forget about the photography and to just go crazy and enjoy the concert at the back of your head, but you brushed the thought away and remained professional, giving yourself a way to vibe by nodding and tapping your foot to the beat.

You were sitting down on a nearby chair, your hands still being put to work even after a few hours, taking individual shots of each group member now. Jungwon was now talking about their journey to make this band, and you tried to double task, listening attentively to his words as you shot photos for the band.

You giggled as Jake, the guitarist, made a cute post and you didn't hesitate to snap a photo. Your camera glides away, the camera now focused on Jungwon.

"We couldn't have done this without one person.."

Snap!

"I couldn't have done this without one person."

Snap!

"And to my convenience, that person is here. She's always been".

You lowered your camera, curious to who he was talking about until you saw him turn towards your direction, your brain having to take a moment to process what was going on.

"Y/N, our lovely photographer and our number one fan."

The thoughts in your head vanished, your mind struggling to even form thoughts as you stared at him with your jaw dropped. The crowd cheered loudly but you could only hear your own heart beat. Your eyes were locked with Jungwon, and even with the audience and the loud cheering, it was almost as if it was just the two of you.

He continued, not giving you a chance to recover, "My dear best friend". He flashed you a warm smile, your heart threatening to jump out as you continued to stare, not knowing how to react.

"And with this, I dedicate the last song to you, Y/N".

He gave you a cheeky wink before turning away, the drummer starting to play again being your cue to snap back and focus on photography. You felt sweat trickle down your temple, your breath irregular as you went back to your main responsibility.

As the guitarist started to play the introduction of your song, your eyebrows raised further, realising that they were playing the song.

"Since living feels like hell,"

That song.

"why don't we give love a try?"

Your favourite song.

You've never failed to play Beautiful Life at least once everyday. You shook your head and tapped your head to the beat more aggressively, mumbling the lyrics you knew softly as you continued to snap more shots.

Jungwon got lost in the music, his body moving freely as he moved with the music, his body like water and his hand switching from sliding on his body or pointing to the air. You grinned softly, enjoying the sight of your best friend live his dream, until you saw him look back at you and start walking towards you, while holding a mic.

You were puzzled, but kept the camera to your face regardless. You watched him through your camera as he jumped down the stage, confusing striking in everyone, especially you. You slowly lowered down your camera, unclear as to why he was walking towards you.

"So that's why..."

He maintained eye contact as he slowly made his way towards you.

"If i take your hand, accept it.."

You made steps backwards, being fearful and puzzled because you had no clue what was happening.

"I let out a clumsy confession.."

You stopped moving and he stopped his tracks right in front of you. You mumbled the next song lyrics, but his voice interrupted when he asked "Can I kiss you?" into the mic.

You stared at him, dumbfounded, but you body responded for you when you nodded slowly without realising. He let out a heave of relief before he stepped even closer and cupping your cheeks, pushing his lips onto yours.

His hands felt so warm on your cheeks. If anything, you were expecting him to be rough because there was a whole audience, but he was soft and gentle with you. He lead the kiss, slowly following the rhythm of the song. His hands ran down to your neck, his touch electrifying as you felt the strands on your arms stand up.

You released your camera, your camera dangling from the strap around your neck and you instantly wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer. It almost felt like your heart already jumped out from how fast it was beating, and a mix of emotions filled your chest.

You felt confused, ecstatic, thankful and relieved all at the same time, and you most definitely weren't complaining. The kiss was so soft and initimate, you almost wish it lasted forever and you were disappointed when he pulled away.

He rested his forehead on yours, his eyes vulnerable as he smiled at you. With his mic still in his fingers, "Y/N, I like— no, I love you!".

The crowd cheered impossibly louder and your heart skipped a beat. Your chest was tightening from his confession and you could only chuckle. You put your hand over his, forcing the mic towards your face.

"I love you too!" you yelled, your head spinning from how ecstatic you felt.

Jungwon's eyes were filled with happiness as he gave a warm grin, the one you've always loved seeing. The one that never failed to light your day.

He cupped your cheeks again before leaning in once more and kissing you again.

extra note i'm really rusty so this is mad cringey.. oh well

[misssparklingpaws]

Shadow in the Flame

Chapter 20: “This Is My Favorite One—You Have Salsa All Over Your Face”

It was late afternoon when the Tower’s private elevator chimed, announcing the arrival of a VIP guest. Aria barely looked up from her datapad—until she heard the unmistakable squeal of tiny sneakers and the pounding of very determined feet.

“Ariaaaaaa!” Morgan Stark yelled, launching herself like a Stark Industries prototype missile.

Aria barely had time to react before eight-year-old limbs wrapped around her. She caught her midair with a grunt. “Morgan! Careful you nearly took me down.”

“But I missed you!” Morgan said brightly. She landed on her feet and immediately yanked a pink suitcase behind her. “Also… I brought something important.”

Aria raised a brow. “Please don’t tell me it’s your rock collection again.”

Morgan rolled her eyes like a seasoned teenager. “No, those are classified. This is way better. The good stuff!” She beamed, dropping her small, pink rolling suitcase with dramatic flair. “Also, Mom says you forgot to call her back. And that she loves you. But mostly… I brought THESE.”

She unzipped the suitcase, digging around with purpose before triumphantly yanking out two oversized photo albums so ancient they practically wheezed. One was sparkly and chaotic, covered in faded cartoon stickers. The other had “Aria – Age 0 to 9” in Tony Stark’s unmistakable Sharpie handwriting.

“Oh no.” Aria took a step back. “Mom let you bring those?”

“Technically, I didn’t ask,” Morgan chirped.

Pepper Potts walked in right on cue, holding a coffee. “And technically, I didn’t stop her. You haven’t called me back in a week, so I figured this was fair retaliation.” She looked at Aria seriously. “Are you okay, sweetheart? You look a little pale.”

“I’ve been feeling a little off, a little nauseous the last few days, but I’m fine.”

Bob entered in gym clothes, a towel around his neck, and blinked at the scene. “What’s going on?”

Morgan plopped down on the couch, cracking open the album. “We’re going on a journey,” she declared. “This is Aria with a juice box. This is Aria in her science fair goggles. And this is Aria in what Dad called her ‘tiny overlord phase.’”

Bob peeked over and laughed softly. “Is that a cape?”

Aria groaned. “It’s a lab coat! I just wore it… with flair.”

Yelena swooped in with popcorn like a shark smelling blood. “Please tell me there’s one where she looks like a gremlin.”

Morgan didn’t hesitate. “Page seven.”

“Wait is that Tony in a mariachi vest holding toddler Aria with a sparkler?” Bucky asked.

“Yes,” Aria groaned.

“Yes,” Yelena echoed gleefully.

Bob leaned over the back of the couch. “Oh my God, you had chubby cheeks. And—is that face paint? Were you a dragon?”

Morgan kept flipping. “This one’s her birthday at the Tower—Daddy put twenty-four candles on a ten-year-old’s cake and nearly set off the fire alarm.”

“Classic Dad,” Aria murmured, eyes softening.

Morgan leaned in. “Daddy used to look at these with me. He’d tell me stories. Like how you tried to ‘improve’ the rice cooker and nearly blew up the kitchen.”

Aria blinked, then softened, setting the album down more gently. “He kept all these?”

“Of course,” Pepper said matter-of-factly. “He said you were his first proof he could do something good.”

The room went quiet for a second.

Then Bob gently touched Aria’s back. “You were his masterpiece.”

Morgan beamed. “Now I have the pictures to prove it. And I get to blackmail you with them forever.”

Aria sighed, pulling her in for a hug. “You tiny tyrant.”

Morgan grinned. “You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

Yelena pointed at a particularly nerdy pic. “I’m framing this.”

“Touch it and I’ll send your field gear to a spa for dry cleaning,” Aria warned.

Bob leaned down beside her, chuckling. “I think I’m seeing a whole new side of you.”

“Oh, I’ve got the high school journals too,” Morgan added helpfully.

Bob blinked. “Should I be scared?”

“Yes,” Aria muttered.

Morgan nodded. “Absolutely.”

After the chaos of the photos faded, the sisters retreated to Aria and Bob’s bedroom to watch a Barbie movie.

“Can I stay for a sleepover?” Morgan asked sweetly, already halfway into Aria’s bed like it was a foregone conclusion.

Aria blinked. “You didn’t even bring pajamas.”

“I have an emergency pair in the pink suitcase. Also, Mom said yes.”

Aria sighed, defeated. “Of course she did.”

Bob poked his head into the doorway, towel draped around his shoulders. “So, are we watching a movie, baking cookies, or braiding hair while we summon spirits?”

“Option B,” Morgan said instantly.

“Hard no,” Aria replied.

Morgan flopped onto the bed dramatically, arms spread. “You two will be the most boring parents eveeeeer.”

“I’m bringing popcorn while you” Aria pointed to Bob, “put on a movie. Nothing over PG-13. Definitely no R-rated stuff. And nothing scary.”

“Boriiiiing,” Morgan and Bob said in unison.

Morgan shouldn’t have suggested what came next, but it was just too tempting.

“We have 15 minutes to do this,” the eight-year-old said.

She pulled a shoebox from her suitcase labeled: DO NOT OPEN, EVER. She looked up at Bob, who sat beside her in pajama pants and a threadbare Stark Industries T-shirt, looking both amused and guilty.

“She said this was off-limits,” he whispered.

“She says everything fun is off-limits,” Morgan countered, already flipping open a cracked, sticker-covered teenage journal.

The cover read:

Property of Aria L. Stark. No peeking. I will know.

Bob squinted. “Is that a little Iron Man doodle threatening violence?”

“Yep.” Morgan grinned. “Totally on brand.”

They flipped past a few doodles, some angsty lyrics scribbled in the margins, and then—

May 7th

    “I know it’s dumb and kind of cliché, but I think I have a crush on Captain America. He’s polite and he listens and he saved me from falling when I tripped over the med lab cables last week. And I know he’s like, ancient, but also—arms. And he called me ‘Miss Stark’ in that voice and I died.”

Bob choked on his water. “She had a crush on Steve?!”

Morgan cackled. “Yep. She drew a little heart around his name. And—oh my God—this page has glitter on it.”

Bob looked horrified and delighted all at once. “I don’t know what’s worse, that it was Steve… or that she decorated it.”

Morgan wiggled her eyebrows. “So what are you going to do about it, Mr. Stark?”

“Try not to have a complex,” Robert muttered. “Also, how do I compete with the original patriot boy?”

Morgan patted his arm. “Well, you can fly. And you fold her laundry. That’s love.”

Morgan pointed to a doodle in the margin: a truly terrible sketch of “Captain Abs” with little hearts around him.

“Okay, I am framing this and showing it to Yelena.”

“No, we are hiding this forever,” Bob laughed, even as he took a sneaky photo with his phone.

Morgan looked up at him. “You’re really good to her.”

That caught him off guard. “What?”

“She’s not easy. She pretends she doesn’t care a lot. But she cares so much it’s like—scary, you know?” Morgan fidgeted. “I just want to know she has someone.”

Bob paused, smile softening. “I got her, kid. For the long haul.”

Morgan nodded. “Cool. Because if you mess up, I’m telling Mom. And she’s really scary-mad.”

“Duly noted.”

Across the hall, Aria cracked the door open slightly.

She’d heard the whispering, the laughter.

She watched for a second—Morgan snuggled to Bob under a blanket, Bob gently placing the journal back in the box like it was a sacred artifact.

And Aria smiled.

Even if she was going to murder them both in the morning. Faking she didn’t saw anything she put the snacks in the bed.

“So what are we watching” She asked

“Howl’s Moving Castle” Morgan and bob said.

“Nerds”

The soft hum of the projector filled the quiet room. The Tower’s master suite was dimly lit by the flickering images of Howl’s Moving Castle playing on the wall opposite the bed.

Aria lay stretched out under the covers, Bob curled beside her, his arm draped casually over her shoulders. Between them, Morgan was already dozing off, her head resting on Aria’s shoulder, small fingers clutching the blanket.

Bob smiled softly, watching Morgan’s peaceful breathing. “She didn’t last long.”

Aria chuckled quietly, brushing a stray lock of hair from Morgan’s forehead. “She tried to keep up with us.”

Morgan stirred, mumbling something about a firebird and snuggled closer, making herself even smaller.

Bob’s gaze softened. “You’re really good with her.”

Aria met his eyes, a rare gentle smile playing on her lips. “She’s my baby sister.”

Bob nodded slowly, voice quieter. “This is the closest I’ve ever felt to a family.

Aria looked at him, surprised but warm, and reached up to squeeze his hand.

The movie played on as the three of them settled into a comfortable silence a rare, perfect moment of warmth and quiet amidst the chaos of their lives.

Morgan’s soft breathing was the only sound besides the movie’s music, and Aria and Bob exchanged a glance full of unspoken promises and a quiet kind of love.

---

The suite was wrapped in darkness, save for the soft glow of the city lights filtering through the curtains.

Morgan stirred, blinking sleepily. She shifted carefully, trying not to wake Aria, but the thirst was persistent.

“Bob?” she whispered, her voice small.

Bob, still half-asleep, opened one eye and gave her a sleepy smile. “Yeah, kiddo?”

“I’m thirsty. Can you come with me to get some water?”

Bob sat up gently, careful not to disturb Aria. “Of course. Let me grab my slippers.”

Morgan grinned sleepily, already swinging her legs off the bed.

In the kitchen, Bob filled a glass with water, handing it to Morgan like it was the most precious thing in the world.

“Thanks, Mr. Stark,” she murmured, sipping quietly.

Bob leaned against the counter, watching her with a soft expression. “Anytime, kid. You know I’m always here.”

Morgan looked up, eyes heavy but trusting. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Bob smiled, feeling that familiar warmth spread through his chest. “Me too, Morgan. Me too.”

They stood quietly for a moment, two unlikely family members sharing a small, perfect moment in the night.

[mia-can-yap-too]

0. Prologue

synopsis:- A witch has kidnapped you. Do as she says or die.

warnings:- crack, light-hearted kidnapping

dividers by @/strangergraphics

It started with cereal. That's how you know everything is about to go wrong.

Now, it technically isn't a crime to eat cereal for lunch on a day you had considered a 'No Pants Day'. You were halfway through a thrilling showdown between your spoon and the stubborn chunk of Lucky Charms stuck on the bottom of the bowl. Very important stuff.

You were in your element. Slouchy hoodie, bad posture, inner monologue at full volume.

Then came a whoosh! and suddenly, air shimmered, and lights flickered, and your cereal floated for approximately half a second. And just like that, you weren't in your kitchen anymore.

Which bring you to now. You are sitting in a chair in what seems to be a small, cozy, and slightly crooked cottage. All around you are books, teacups, and something that smelled of cinnamon and existential dread.

Standing in front of you is a woman in a green cloak, who is nervously wiping the sweat off her brow.

"Oh my! I didn't think it would actually work! That's the first time I've tried that spell! Aren't I so amaz— Where are your pants?!"

Instinctively, you press your thighs together. "It's 'No Pants Day'," you make up an excuse.

The witch raises a brow. "'No Pants Day'? You mortals sure have some weird holidays... Anyways, you're not dressed for travel. I was hoping to catch you while you were more... well-prepared."

You blink. "Am I dreaming? Oh my God, I knew I drank too many Monster Energy Drinks... Are you a hallucination?"

She snorts. "God, I wish. I'm Mia, the best witch you'll ever meet in your life. Sorry for the inconvenience and all, but I need you to run some... errands for me."

"Like groceries? I can do that."

She grimaces. "No, it's a bit more complicated than that. You see, I might have accidentally destroyed some very important books. You know, fairytales, old legends, shit like that. All of those have been erased. Completely. Like how James Charles wishes his past crimes were. Now, I need someone to go into those stories and complete them again as a way to rewrite them. You happen to be that perfect someone!"

You furrow your brows. "Why can't you do it yourself?"

"Because of narrative affinity and other stuff you won't get because I'm the one with the Bachelors in Witchcraft here," she rolls her eyes. "Also, the characters don't like me very much. Something about meddling with backstories and stuff."

"Well, why me?"

She pulls out a scroll. It has your name on it. As well as your browser history.

"I'll be ignoring some of the things in here and get straight to the point. You've read 300 fantasy novels, wrote an essay on the impact of fairytales on all forms of art, and named your cat after a dragon. Do not act surprised."

"Okay, I admit to doing all that, but I'm not sure... it sounds quite dangerous. Also, I have work on Monday, so."

Mia seems a bit fed up with you. She sighs heavily. "It will be alright. Only some things will change, because you can't always write the same damn thing time and time again, can you? Other than that, I'm pretty sure you'll be a-okay! Besides, it's not like you have a choice, anyways..."

You stare at her. She is right. She's the one with the upper hand here. You don't even know where you are.

Fine, then. You will fix everything. As long as your boss doesn't get mad on Monday...

"Alright," you sigh. "What do I have to do?"

"Really?! Thank you!" Mia beams. "All you have to do is solve the main issue in the story and romance the main character. Easy peasy!"

"How will I get back?"

"Oh, you just have to think of this place again."

"That's all?" you ask, skeptical.

"Yup! Off you go! But first, for the love of God, wear some pants, please."

taglist:- @jeonwiixard

Once upon a Prince – Masterlist

[bu-blegh-ost]

The time has finally come, @girlsonlytreehouse !!!

Today I shall share with you the fruits of my work. But first, allow me to take you on a journey I myself have been through while counting all of this shit down.

First things first, I decided to count the rolls in the context of the characters rather than the people playing them, simply because the luck of the actual people could not be measured accurately if I only take Riptide into consideration (and also I thought it would be more fun). The guys have several different campaigns, some that I do not have access to, so I've decided to seperate all their Riptide rolls into characters they play instead, cause then we can clearly see which character is the luckiest. But ofc if you want this to be attributed differently, the data remains unchanged, so that way you all can interpret the results however you wanted and still have all the info you need on hand.

Another issue were the advantage/disadvantage rolls. When a character rolls at advantage, they roll twice and the only roll that counts is the one that was higher, while the other is discarded and the opposite goes for disadvantage. So for example if you roll at Disadvantage and you roll a nat 20 and a 2, that nat 20 technically doesn't matter. Despite that I decided to count each adv/disadv roll anyway, because despite the fact that it does not count, it was still physically ROLLED, which means it contributes to the character's overall pool of luck. I tried to separate them at first so you guys can make your own decision whether to add them or not, but in the end I decided against it cause it was insanely hard to keep up with. There were just too many and too often, which led me to believe that it was fair enough to count everything as long as they actually rolled a dice.

Which brings me to the last complication, which is of course Gillion's Prophetic Screwup. At the beginning of the campaign Gillion was able to exchange anything that he actually rolled into a nat 20, and in return the DM can change any roll he does afterwards into a nat 1. That way there was supposed to be an equal number of wild unrolled nat 20's and nat 1's to balance Gillion out back to 0, but it didn't turn out this way. In more cases than not, Grizzly would either forget or fail to find a good place to screw Gillion over, so the ability bacame much too unbalanced. So they changed it somwhere in the middle of Edison Kingdom Arc. From then on, if Gill rolled anything from 1-10 it would automatically become a nat 1, and if he rolled from 11-20, that'd be a nat 20 instead. Either way these rolls had nothing to do with luck, as he wasn't actually rolling anything, thus I decided not to count these 'artificial' nat 20's/1's. However I did keep track of them nonetheless and I'll still give you the number of those, just separately, and from then on you guys can make your own decision on whether or not you wish to count it.

OOOFFF ALRIGHT.

Without further ado, here are the nat 20's results (up to ep106):

Gillion: 52

Chip: 58

Jay: 55

Goobleck: 8

Surprised? Yeah I was as well. First things first I never expected this to be this close. And never in my right mind could I possibly predict that it would he CHIP of all people to have the highest score here. But I've seen it with my own eyes. And tell you what. Jay had this in the bag for most of the damn series. She would consistently roll good and always when you need a good roll the most. There were times when she would have such a massive lead it was unthinkable she could loose it. But then she would just kinda...stop rolling good for a bit and allow the other two to catch up. It just wasn't as visble if you don't pay much attention, but I thought it to be cute. It's as she was waiting for them <3 But she was still mostly leading. It was only the current arc that made Chip surpass her. After his terrible luck in Feywilde, he bounced back so strongly right after, that he managed to jump in front of the luck queen herself.

And now I bet you're curious about the other side of the coin. Give it up for natural 1's!:

Gillion: 55

Chip: 53

Jay: 52

Goobleck: 1

You see, I kind of expected it to be Gill, but I need you guys to know that this wasn't the case at all times. Jay? Yes. If there is one thing that's consistent is that she had the lowest amount of natural 1s at all times almost, but the person that was suffering from nat 1 curse for a long while was Chip. In the Feywilde Arc he would be so far ahead of everyone, that I was genuinely sure that there is no way anyone catches up to him. But then he popped off in the next arc with nat 20's and Gillion? Oh my gosh, Gillion didn't disappoint. I've never seen a man fail this much let me tell you XD He ended up with the least nat 20's as well, but I thought the difference would be much higher until he didn't roll 4 fucking nat 20s in ep 100 and then this double nat 20 attack roll in the Black Sea whduihdius AND HE CAUGHT UP AS WELL, more or less.

Idunno, maybe this is just how luck works, but it truly seems that the trio shares their successes and burdens almost equally. They support each other and in return fate has their backs as well. Honestly I couldn't have hoped for better results. Also can we give shout out to Goobleck, the true MVP? He's been on the show only for a while but look at this nat1 - nat20 ratio!!! Go goop man goo!!!

So now for the additional stuff that I also counted just for fun:

*Prophethic screwup nats:

Before the rules changed Gillion replaced 8 of his rolls into natural 20s, and in return Grizzly replaced 3 of his rolls into natural 1s.

After the rules changed he only got high enough number for 4 nat 20s, and a low enough number for 7 nat 1s.

So that together makes additional 12 nat 20s and 10 nat 1s from the prophetic screwup alone. I don't think they should be added, but the numbers are there so feel free to do whatever you want with them :)

Downs and death saves:

Throughout the campaign Gillion went down 14 times and rolled 8 death saves.

Chip went down 6 times and rolled 4 death saves.

Jay went down 4 times and rolled 3 death saves.

No shocker here, Gillion dies a lot XD

Knights:

In their journey Gillion knighted 4 people: Julien Booker, Clorton, Garrieth and Duke.

Corruption score:

Thus far each character has the following amount of corruption points (Black Sea):

Gillion: 0

Chip: 2

Jay: 3

Queen: 1

Gryffon: 2 (i think, unsure abt that one, may edit later XD)

Earl: 1

That is all I have for now. I may be clinically insane :)

Good day to everyone and I hope you found this data interesting. Take care <3