Salvatrix

"𝖠𝗌 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝖾 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗈𝗇 𝗅𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇." ~ 𝖯𝖺𝖻𝗅𝗈 𝖭𝖾𝗋𝗎𝖽𝖺

[journalsfromjupiter]

𝑆𝑎𝑙𝑣𝑎’𝑠 𝑊𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑠𝑒𝑎𝑡

𝑝𝑢𝑙𝑙 𝑢𝑝 𝑎 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑖𝑟, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑒𝑎'𝑠 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑚.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 🪐　 ˚　.　　　.　˚　✦　　　.　　. 　 　　.　　　　　　 ✦　　　.　　˚　🌒　　　　. ✦ 　🌍 　　.  　 　　　˚　　　　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　˚　　　.　　. 🪐　 ˚　.　 　 ✦　　　.　　˚　　　˚　.　*　　. 　˚　　.　.　🌒 .　　.　

📚 𝔹𝕣𝕠𝕨𝕤𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕊𝕙𝕖𝕝𝕧𝕖𝕤:

🌙 𝖡𝗒 𝖥𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗈𝗆: 📝 𝖡𝗒 𝖥𝗈𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗍:

✶⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷✶

🗂️ 𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥:

📎𝗖𝗹𝗶𝗰𝗸 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲!

✶⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷✶

📨 ℝ𝕖𝕢𝕦𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕤:

📎𝖢𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾!

✶⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷✶

💌𝔸𝕤𝕜 𝔹𝕠𝕩, ℝ𝕦𝕝𝕖𝕤, & 𝕄𝕚𝕤𝕔:

— 𝖣𝗈𝗇’𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗉𝗒 𝗈𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝗆𝗒 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄 (𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗒 𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾).

— 𝖨 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗆𝗒 𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝖿𝖿 (𝗌𝗁𝗈𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖨 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐). 𝖠 𝗀𝗂𝗋𝗅 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗌 𝖺 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝖾𝗆 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖾𝗇 𝖽𝖺𝗌𝗁.

— 𝖲𝗉𝖺𝗆 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖼𝗎𝗍𝖾. 𝖨 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎. 𝖨 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎. 𝖪𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝗀𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀.

𝒰𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓁 𝓃ℯ𝓍𝓉 𝓉𝒾𝓂ℯ!

𝓧𝓞𝓧𝓞, 𝓢𝓪𝓵𝓿𝓪🌙

[journalsfromjupiter]

Teeth and Ice

nakahara chuuya x osamu dazai

༄ ── ⋆🏒⋆ ── ༄

SLAM.

The plexiglass rattled so hard the entire arena seemed to vibrate.

A burst of pain flared across Chuuya’s ribs as he crashed into the boards, skates slipping violently against the ice. 

“You’re such a fucking asshole!” He hissed, his fingers gripping his stick harshly.

Osamu just looked down at him through his helmet, a sharp, infuriating smirk cutting across his face. “Keep up next time.”

“Fuck you,” Chuuya snapped immediately, shoving himself back upright.

The referee’s whistle shrieked somewhere across the rink, sharp and useless beneath the roar erupting through the arena. Fans slammed against the glass only feet away, screaming for blood, for penalties, for something violent enough to justify the ticket prices.

Osamu skated backward with infuriating ease, dark eyes fixed on him through the cage of his helmet.

There it was again.

That look.

Like he knew exactly how far he could push before Chuuya finally lost it.

Chuuya’s jaw clenched.

Three years playing against Osamu Dazai had taught him many things. Mostly that Osamu was a smug, antagonistic bastard with a god complex and a talent for getting under his skin faster than anyone else on the ice.

And worse—

he was good.

Annoyingly, disgustingly good.

“Watch your left!” someone barked.

Too late.

The puck shot across the rink in a blur, and Osamu moved instantly.

Fast. Effortless.

Chuuya reacted a second after him, skates carving sharply against the ice as he shoved off hard enough to feel the strain in his knees.

Osamu glanced over his shoulder just in time for Chuuya’s shoulder to slam into his ribs.

The impact sent him skidding hard across the ice while Chuuya surged past after the puck.

Somewhere to Chuuya’s left, the referee blew his whistle in sharp warning, but the sound drowned beneath the roar flooding through the arena.

“Jesus Christ—”

“NAKAHARA WITH THE HIT—”

Chuuya barely heard any of it.

The puck slid loose across the ice, and instinct took over immediately.

He lunged forward, catching it cleanly against the blade of his stick before pivoting hard toward the opposing net.

The arena lights flashed violently overhead, reflecting across the ice in dizzying streaks of white and gold. Players surged around him in a blur of jerseys and sharpened movement, skates carving deep against the rink as the game exploded back into motion.

He could feel Osamu’s presence before he even saw him—a shadow closing in from his blind spot, moving with that uncanny anticipation that made Chuuya want to wrap his stick around the man's throat.

The crowd volume climbed with every second.

“Nakahara pushing center ice—”

Two defensemen converged on him like a vice, but Chuuya dropped his shoulder, executing a brutal, sharp-angle cut that left them eating his ice spray. The net was right there. Clear. Wide open.

He drew back for a slap shot, putting every ounce of his weight into the flex of the stick.

THWACK.

The puck rocketed toward the top right corner—

SNAP.

The opposing goalie’s glove flashed out, catching the puck out of the air with a deafening leather smack.

The stadium erupted into a mix of groans and cheers. Before Chuuya could even curse, a heavy shoulder leaned into him, not checking him this time, but crowding him right out of the crease.

“How unlucky,” Osamu’s voice murmured near his ear, laced with entirely too much amusement for someone who had just been leveled onto the ice thirty seconds ago. “Almost had it.”

Chuuya ripped himself away, glaring through his visor. “Go die in a ditch.”

The horn blared overhead, echoing through the rafters. 

End of the second period.

The tension didn't dissipate; it just simmered as the teams began the slow skate back to their respective tunnels. Chuuya deliberately kept his eyes locked straight ahead, his chest heaving as he swallowed down the taste of copper and adrenaline. 

He could feel the eyes of the cameras on them, the commentators undoubtedly replaying their hits on a loop for the broadcast.

He marched down the rubber-matted tunnel, the heavy thud of his skates masking the frantic racing of his pulse.

༄ ── ⋆🏒⋆ ── ༄

The final twenty seconds of the third period felt less like a hockey game and more like a war of attrition.

The scoreboard overhead flared a brutal, unforgiving red: 3 - 3

Chuuya’s lungs burned with every ragged breath, his thighs screaming as he dug his skates into the chewed-up ice. The stadium was a wall of pure, deafening noise—thousands of fans screaming, stomping, demanding a miracle before the clock ran out.

Thirty seconds.

Twenty.

Ten.

The puck ricocheted violently off the boards near center ice, bouncing loose between a cluster of players.

Chuuya didn't think; he just moved, pushing past the exhaustion, his skates carving a desperate, violent arc across the rink.

He tore forward, snatching control of the puck while the crowd surged instantly to its feet around him.

Someone shouted his name.

Another player closed in from the right.

Chuuya dropped low, swerving hard enough for ice spray to explode behind him as he slipped past the defenseman by inches.

Five seconds.

Out of the corner of his eye, a dark jersey lunged to intercept him. But Chuuya anticipated it. 

The goalie shifted forward. Too early.

Chuuya’s eyes narrowed.

Got you.

He snapped his wrist.

The puck launched clean off the blade of his stick, flying past the goalie in a black blur—

THWACK.

BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZT.

The horn wailed, deafening and definitive, exactly a fraction of a second after the puck ripped into the back of the net, completely bypassing the goalie's glove.

For a beat, the arena seemed to hang in total suspense. Then, the home crowd exploded.

“GOAL! NAKAHARA AT THE BUZZER!”

Gloves grabbed at Chuuya instantly as his teammates crashed into him from every direction, shouting loud enough to blur together into meaningless noise.

Up in the stands, fans were throwing hats, beers, and merch over the glass, turning the entire arena into a riot of celebration.

Camera flashes exploded across the arena.

Chuuya was laughing, breathless and completely spent, letting his team shake his shoulders and pound on his chest protector.

But as the huddle shifted, his eyes instinctively tracked through the gap between his teammates' shoulders, searching the ice.

Away from the chaos, near the opposing bench, the rest of Osamu's team was skating off, heads low, shoulders slumped in defeat.

Except for one.

Osamu stood entirely still on the red line, his helmet resting under his arm, his dark hair damp with sweat. He wasn't moving toward the tunnel. He was just standing there, ignoring the absolute madness of the celebration around him.

Through the storm of falling hats and screaming fans, his dark eyes were locked directly onto Chuuya.

There was no smirk on his face now. No playful mockery. Instead, there was a heavy, simmering intensity that cut right through the noise of the stadium, making Chuuya’s chest tighten with something that had absolutely nothing to do with the hockey game.

One of Osamu’s teammates said something to him, before clapping his shoulder heavily.

But he didn’t look away.

And neither did Chuuya.

༄ ──────────── ⋆🏒⋆ ──────────── ༄

i don't play hockey so no judging on the technicalities 😣

[journalsfromjupiter]

plz feed us another moon wake chapter

𝖩𝖩𝖪 𝗑 𝖧𝟤𝖮: 𝖩𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖠𝖽𝖽 𝖶𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖠𝖴 - 𝖯𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝟪!

𝗑 𝖥𝖾𝗆!𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

Masterlist

🌊𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆡 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆡 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆡 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆡 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆡 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 🌊

The next morning came far too quickly.

You’d managed maybe three hours of sleep after the nightmare. The kind of shallow, restless sleep where every creak of the house felt like it might drag you back under.

By the time sunlight crept through your curtains, you already felt wrung out.

Still human, though.

You checked. Twice.

Your legs were still legs when you swung them over the side of the bed. No scales. No shimmer. No strange pulling sensation toward the ocean.

Just sore muscles and a pounding headache.

Normal problems.

You clung to that thought as you got dressed and made your way downstairs.

The house was loud again.

Utahime arguing with someone in the kitchen. Cabinets opening and closing. Shoko laughing at something.

It was so normal it almost made you dizzy.

You stepped into the kitchen just as Haibara slid a plate across the counter toward you.

“There she is!” he said brightly. “Finally awake.”

You could’ve kissed him at that exact moment. “How’d you read my mind?” 

Haibara chuckled. “You skipped lunch and dinner yesterday. Utahime said if you try that again she’s confiscating your phone.”

Utahime pointed a spatula at you from the stove. “I meant it.”

Shoko, slouched against the counter with a mug of coffee, lifted it in your direction. “Eat. You look awful.”

“Comforting,” you muttered.

Across the kitchen, Kento stood near the doorway, sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows, with car keys spinning slowly around one finger.

You furrowed your brows. “Where are you headed?” 

“You mean we.” Utahime corrected. “We’re—”

“Road trip!” Haibara interrupted. 

“Road trip where?” you asked.

Kento pocketed his keys. “The coast.”

Your stomach dropped. “…The coast?”

Shoko raised a brow immediately. “Problem?”

Your brain scrambled for something normal. “Uh—I mean, we’re skipping classes today?” 

Utahime made a face. “When have you ever cared about skipping class?”

“Yeah, aren’t you the same person who skipped class just to get a limited edition donut last week?”  Haibara piped in, right before receiving a balled-up paper towel to the face. 

Kento gestured toward the front door. “We’re leaving in fifteen minutes.”

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

The breeze passing through Kento’s car was comforting. Familiar.

You sat in the back seat, looking out as the road slowly curved toward the coastline. 

Up front, Kento drove with his usual calm focus, hands steady on the wheel. Haibara occupied the passenger seat, talking enough for all of you.

“—and that’s what Shoko said—”

“I did not say that,” Shoko interrupted from beside you.

“You did!”

“You misheard me.”

“You said—”

You barely listened. Because through the windshield, far in the distance…you could see it.

The ocean. A thin blue line stretching across the horizon. 

Your skin prickled instantly.

Shoko’s voice cut through your thoughts. “You’re doing it again.”

You blinked, turning to look at her. “Doing what?”

She nodded toward your hands.

You looked down, seeing that your fingers had curled tightly into the seat.

Shoko watched you for a long moment. “…You sure you’re okay?” she asked quietly.

You forced your hands to relax. “Yeah,” you said.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

The car rolled to a stop in the gravel lot with a crunch.

Kento killed the engine and for a moment no one moved.

The ocean stretched out beyond the cliffs ahead, wide and endless under the late morning sun. Waves rolled lazily toward the shore, white foam curling over dark rocks below.

Your skin prickled.

Haibara was the first one out of the car.

“Finally!” he said, stretching his arms above his head. “I thought Kento was going to drive forever.”

Shoko leaned forward between the seats, peering out the windshield. “Oh, tide pools.”

Utahime climbed out of the other side of the car, shielding her eyes as she looked toward the cliffs.

“Watch your footing,” she warned automatically. “Those rocks get slippery.”

You sat there for half a second longer than everyone else. 

Your chest tightened as you opened the door and stepped out.

The sound hit you immediately. Waves.

A low, steady rhythm rolling against the shore below.

Your body reacted before your brain could stop it. Something deep in your spine seemed to recognize the sound. Your muscles felt lighter, like gravity had loosened its grip on you.

You clenched your fists.

“Reader?”

You looked up.

Kento stood beside the car, watching you.

“You coming?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you said quickly, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

The group followed the narrow path down the cliffside toward the rocky beach. Gravel crunched underfoot while gulls cried overhead.

Haibara was already halfway down the trail, excitement radiating off him.

“Look at that one!” he called back. “That pool’s huge!”

Sure enough, the rocks below were dotted with shallow basins of seawater left behind by the receding tide. Small fish darted through the clear water while anemones clung to the stones like living flowers.

Shoko crouched beside one almost immediately.

“Oh hell yeah,” she said, poking gently at a cluster of shells. “Nature aquarium.”

Utahime folded her arms, raising her voice. “Don’t touch anything that looks like it might poison you.”

Haibara ignored her entirely, already crouched beside a tide pool poking suspiciously at something purple.

Kento remained near the path, surveying the rocks like he was already calculating how many twisted ankles he was about to deal with.

You stopped a few steps from the nearest tide pool.

The water shimmered in the sunlight. Your skin hummed as you took a slow step forward.

The closer you got, the stronger the feeling became.

Your heartbeat synced strangely with the rhythm of the waves.

In. Out. In. Out.

Something inside you ached to slip into the water.

“Reader?”

Shoko’s voice snapped your attention sideways.

She was still crouched beside a tide pool, but now she was watching you instead of the shells.

“You’re standing there like a zombie,” she said.

You forced your shoulders to relax. “Just looking.”

She hummed suspiciously but turned back to the tide pool.

You exhaled slowly.

One careful step closer.

Your shoe nudged a damp patch of rock.

Cold seawater splashed lightly against the edge.

The drop landed on your ankle.

Your entire body jolted.

Heat flared beneath your skin instantly. You sucked in a sharp breath.

The shimmer started—

“Hey!”

Haibara suddenly ran past you, nearly skidding across the rocks. “Guys look at this crab!”

You jerked back instinctively, heart racing. The heat faded just as quickly as it had started.

Your ankle tingled faintly where the seawater had touched it.

You looked down.

No scales. No shimmer. Nothing to worry about. Yet.

🌊𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆡 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆡 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆡 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆡 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆡 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 🌊

Tag List: @jelxqa

[journalsfromjupiter]

𝖯𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗒 𝖶𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝖲𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆

𝖠𝖮𝖳 𝗑 𝖥𝖾𝗆!𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 [𝖲𝖼𝖺𝗋𝗒 𝖬𝗈𝗏𝗂𝖾 (𝟤𝟢𝟢𝟢)!𝖠𝖴]

At Hollow Creek University, the parties are legendary, the grades are low, and the gossip flows faster than the cheap red solo cups at the (one) frat house. Students came for an easy degree, a wild social life, and maybe a little heartbreak—but none of them signed up for the killer who’s already on campus. From drunken dares in the dorms to midnight adventures in the woods, every night carries its own danger, and every friend could be a suspect. Camcorders capture more than laughs. Shadows move where they shouldn’t. Secrets fester in every corner of campus. For some, survival is about avoiding the next class or passing finals. For others, it’s about staying alive long enough to see the sunrise—or the next party. Whether you're smoking hot, funny, or even a little clever… none of that matters when the body count continues to rise.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

══════════════════════════════════════════

*You can also find more parts of this series (and more!) on my AO3 ;)

AO3: journalsfromjupiter

[journalsfromjupiter]

𝖠𝖮𝖳 [𝗐/𝖥𝖾𝗆!𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋] 𝗑 𝖲𝖼𝖺𝗋𝗒 𝖬𝗈𝗏𝗂𝖾 (𝟤𝟢𝟢𝟢)

𝖯𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝟧: 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖬𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖠𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋

Masterlist

══════════════════════════════════════════

📍The Quad, Next Day — A Little Too Sunny for a Murder Scene

The sun had the audacity to shine.

And the quad was buzzing.

Not with students. Not with cheer tryouts. Not even with those guys who always started freestyle raps near the statue of the university’s founder. (May he rest in problematic peace.)

No. Today the quad was crawling with reporters.

Cameras. Boom mics. Blinding flashes. One lady from Channel 5 even brought a dog for 'emotional' coverage. 

“Reporting live from Hollow Creek University, where a student was found brutally murdered in the woods behind the football house just hours after a raging party that featured at least six kegstands, several noise complaints, and a man dressed as Guy Fieri being tazed by campus police.”

You sat on the edge of the fountain with the rest of the group—bleary-eyed, hungover, and somewhere between denial and dry heaving. Jean had your legs across his lap, as he handed you a water bottle. 

“Can someone remind me what we’re mourning again?” Connie asked, chewing his hoodie string.

“Historia,” Mikasa replied dryly, taking a long sip of Niccolo’s coffee. “Idiot.”

“Ohhh. Right.” Connie paused. “Wait, she’s dead dead?”

“Yup,” Sasha nodded solemnly, holding a half-eaten croissant like it was a candle. “Stabbed. In the woods. Like...really stabbed.”

“Okay but like…” Armin squinted. “Do we know she was stabbed? Like medically?”

“Armin,” Annie deadpanned. “She was found holding her own intestines.”

“Oh my god.” You gagged into Jean’s shoulder. “WHY would you say it like that?”

“I’m mourning.”

“You’re not even crying.”

“I’m mourning internally.”

A heavy pause.

Then:

“I just can’t believe she’s gone…” Sasha sniffled. “She stole my curling iron.”

“She was wearing my skirt,” Mikasa muttered. “I want it back.”

Jean sighed. “You guys are monsters.”

A camera flash went off somewhere to your left.

You flinched. “What the hell?”

“Reporters,” Jean muttered, leaning against you. “They’ve been crawling all over since 7AM. Something about a ‘Ghostface’?”

“Yeah,” Armin said, flipping through his notebook and looking weirdly excited. “It’s what they’re calling the killer now. You know, since a student said they saw someone in a creepy mask near the woods last night.”

Annie looked up from where she was polishing her boots. “That was me.”

Everyone turned.

“You saw someone??” Sasha yelped, dropping her croissant.

“Yeah.” Annie shrugged. “Figured it was a frat pledge thing.”

“You didn’t think to chase them?” Jean asked, baffled.

“I was busy throwing up behind a tree, Jean.”

“Oh. Fair.”

Silence again. 

“I’m gonna miss her cute little hair flips,” Niccolo spoke up quietly.

“Thank you, Niccolo,” you said with a weak smile. “Finally someone taking this seriously.”

“She made me pizza rolls last week,” he continued. “Said I had nice wrists.”

You deadpanned. 

Another pause.

“She did compliment our wrists a lot,” Armin agreed.

“Okay but does anyone remember what happened to her?” Eren asked, running a hand through his already-disheveled hair. “Like… where she even went?”

“Last I saw her,” Connie said slowly, “she was…doing that thing she does.”

“What thing?”

“You know. Wandering off by herself while drunk.”

“Yeah, that’s definitely on-brand,” Mikasa said with a grimace.

“God.” Jean flopped dramatically onto his back across the stone edge of the fountain. “This is so messed up. We’re college students. We’re supposed to be worried about, like…hangovers and finals and if that one class counts as a humanities credit—not murder!”

“I thought the ‘Ghostface’ guy was fake,” Sasha muttered, pulling a tiny pink flask from her hoodie. “Like a myth. Urban legend kinda thing.”

“Well he’s got a body count now,” Annie said, eyes narrowed behind her mascara smudges. “So someone better start believing.”

“Are we SURE it’s not just someone doing promo for Armin’s horror zine again?” Connie asked.

“Stop blaming me for things that actually happen!” Armin snapped. “One time! That happened one time!”

Jean suddenly sat up. “Okay but…has anyone checked on Reiner?”

Everyone turned. Everyone winced.

“Oh yeah,” Sasha said softly. “He’s probably not doing great.”

───── 🩸 ─────

📍Cut To: The Football Field

Reiner was sprawled across the 40-yard line in his practice uniform, helmet on backwards, clutching a Gatorade like a baby bottle. He groaned as Coach shouted something about “getting your shoulder pads out of your ass and into the game.”

He’d heard the news that morning.

He drank half a handle of Fireball in grief.

He tried to run drills. He’d then run into the goalpost and concussed himself. 

───── 🩸 ─────

📍Back at the Quad

“Ymir’s not even on campus today,” Mikasa said with a sigh. “She’s at home watching that one video of Historia doing cartwheels over and over again.”

“Didn’t they date?” Eren asked.

“Secretly,” Sasha said. 

“Yeah,” Connie agreed. “They definitely made out at that mixer that one time.”

You looked up as the reporter with the golden retriever started getting dangerously close with her camera.

“Do we…have to give a statement or something?” you whispered.

Jean immediately stood up. “Don’t worry. I got this.”

“Jean, no—”

Too late.

He approached the camera. Dead serious. Hands clasped like a politician.

“To the Hollow Creek student body…to those grieving…to those hurting…” he said solemnly, eyes misty. “All we can do now…is heal.”

“Aww,” the reporter said, visibly touched.

“And party in her honor,” he added. “Kegstand tonight. 9pm. Bring your own mixers.”

The reporter looked horrified.

Jean winked and sat back down.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “We’re all gonna die.”

“Technically,” Armin mused, “we’re all already dying. Slowly.”

Annie smacked the back of his head.

“I mean…Historia was the first,” Sasha whispered, looking around. “But what if she’s not the last?”

No one answered.

Somewhere, just outside the view of the cameras…

A figure in a black robe stood on the roof of the humanities building.

Watching.

Waiting.

And when you blinked—

Gone.

══════════════════════════════════════════

[journalsfromjupiter]

𝖢𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝖯𝗋𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗀𝖾

𝖩𝖩𝖪 𝗑 𝖥𝖾𝗆! 𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 [𝖴𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗋 𝖤𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝖲𝗂𝖽𝖾!𝖠𝖴]

Welcome to the Upper East Side—where exorcists dine on oysters, curses are whispered behind crystal glasses, and power is more intoxicating than any cocktail served at The Black Lotus Club.

The city’s elite bear names steeped in old money and even older secrets. And its most prestigious university? Just a finishing school for future lawyers, doctors, models, CEOs… and sinners.

But beneath the glamour of penthouse parties and blood-soaked couture lies something far more dangerous than a cursed heirloom or a broken heart: the truth.

Old money doesn’t like change. And neither do the people who pull the strings.

As champagne toasts give way to whispered threats, and friendships unravel into something darker, you’ll have to decide: play the game and protect your place at the table—or burn it all to the ground.

Welcome to the Upper East Side. Where your last name is everything… and your secrets are worth killing for.

𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝟣

𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝟤

𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝟥

𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝟦

𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝟧

𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝟨

𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝟩

𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝟪

𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝟫

𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝟣𝟢

𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝟣𝟣

𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝟣𝟤

𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝟣𝟥

𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝟣𝟦

𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝟣𝟧

𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝟣𝟨

𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝟣𝟩

𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝟣𝟪

♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎ • ♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎ • ♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎ • ♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎ • ♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎ • ♠︎

𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖢𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗑𝗍:

Upper East Side!Satoru

Upper East Side!Suguru

Upper East Side!Kento

Upper East Side!Shoko

Upper East Side!Utahime

Upper East Side!Nobara

Upper East Side!Megumi

Upper East Side!Yuji

♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎ • ♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎ • ♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎ • ♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎ • ♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎ • ♠︎

𝖯.𝖲 . 𝖠𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾, 𝗈𝗋 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗉𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖬𝖾𝗍? 𝖢𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗉𝗈𝗍 𝖺𝗆𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝖬𝖺𝗇𝗁𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖺𝗇'𝗌 𝖾𝗅𝗂𝗍𝖾. 🥂

[journalsfromjupiter]

𝖢𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝖯𝗋𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗀𝖾

𝖩𝖩𝖪 𝗑 𝖥𝖾𝗆! 𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 [𝖴𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗋 𝖤𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝖲𝗂𝖽𝖾!𝖠𝖴]

𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝟣𝟪: 𝖡𝗅𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗈𝗇 𝖬𝖺𝗋𝖻𝗅𝖾

𝖬𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍

♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎ • ♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎ • ♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎ • ♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎ • ♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎ • ♠︎

For the next forty-five minutes, the party blurred into exactly what a Regent night was supposed to be: loud, sweaty, and completely detached from reality.

You danced with everyone, lost Satoru to a crowd of adoring freshmen only for him to break away five minutes later just to steal a sip of your drink, and watched Suguru gracefully dodge three different daughters of real estate moguls, all before grabbing Shoko by the waist and pulling her flush against him, spinning her into the center of the floor with a rare, unchecked laugh that was completely lost to the thumping bass.

But the Upper East Side never stayed peaceful for long.

This time, it all went wrong near the grand staircase leading to the VIP terrace.

You were heading back from the restroom with Utahime when you noticed the sudden dip in the noise level near the velvet ropes.

Naoya was standing three steps up, looking down with a lazy, venomous smirk. Satoru stood at the base, his hands casually shoved into his pockets, but his shoulders were perfectly square. "Oh, please. We all know why you keep the boy around, Satoru.”

He leaned lazily against the railing. “Is it charity? Or is it just a reminder of the time his father completely liquidated your family's offshore holdings?”

He continued. “I suppose when your mother is too busy scratching the bottom of a baggie at the Westchester Country Club to notice, you have to find entertainment somewhere."

Utahime stopped dead in her tracks beside you, her grip tightening on your arm.

Satoru tilted his head. "You're entering dangerous territory, Naoya. I'd turn around and go back to Vivienne before you say something you can't afford to pay for."

“Or maybe,” Naoya drawled, slowly stepping down one stair, “you’re just keeping the stray around until you figure out how to make him pay for his father’s sins.”

Naoya never finished the next sentence.

Satoru didn't even take his hands out of his pockets. He simply moved forward—one sudden, impossibly fast step that closed the distance between them in a fraction of a second.

With a sharp, brutal motion, Satoru brought his shoulder forward, shoving Naoya straight backward into the ornate iron railing. The champagne flute slipped from Naoya’s fingers, shattering instantly against the marble step in a spray of glass and crystal.

Naoya stumbled, his breath leaving him in a sharp grunt as his back hit the metal. But he recovered fast, grabbing a fistful of Satoru’s shirt and slamming him backward into the banister with enough force to rattle it.

“Oh, there he is,” Naoya sneered, composure cracking at the edges now. “There’s the spoiled pretty boy everyone warned me about—”

Satoru’s fist connected with his jaw before he finished.

Naoya stumbled sideways into the railing, then laughed—a sharp, disbelieving sound—as blood appeared at the corner of his mouth.

“You fucking psycho—”

Gasps erupted all around. 

You rushed down the stairs - Utahime in tow. “Get the fuck away from him, you asshole,” you sneered at Naoya, immediately grabbing Satoru’s arm to pull him back.

Naoya glowered at you, his eyes wild as he lunged again.

Before he could close the distance, Suguru appeared from the edge of the velvet ropes, easily grabbing Naoya by the lapels of his tailored blazer and hauling him upright.

“I think you’ve had enough to drink, Naoya,” Suguru said, his voice entirely conversational over the music, though his grip was tight enough to tear the stitching of the jacket. “Let’s get you outside before you make an absolute fool of yourself.”

Naoya slapped Suguru’s hands away, his face turning an angry, flushed red beneath his perfect hair. “Touch me again, Geto, and I’ll have my father pull every single line of credit your family has left in Europe.”

“Try it,” Suguru murmured, his eyes narrowing into two dark, lethal slits.

Then—

Chirp.

The sound barely registered beneath the music.

Another chirp followed almost immediately after.

Then three more.

The sound multiplied instantly, rippling outward from the grand staircase, moving like a wave across the main floor and up toward the VIP terrace.

People started reaching for their phones.

Brows furrowed.

Whispers spread.

“What the hell is—”

“Wait, who posted that?”

“No fucking way.”

People stopped watching the standoff. Heads dropped in unison. The blue glow of smartphone screens illuminated dozens of shocked, eager faces.

“What now?” Utahime muttered, her grip loosening on your arm as she pulled out her own phone.

Satoru’s breathing was still uneven beside you, the sleeve of his shirt wrinkled where Naoya had grabbed him moments earlier. Across from him, Naoya wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, already looking ready to lunge again.

But even he paused as the murmuring grew louder.

Someone near the velvet ropes barked out a sharp laugh.

“Oh my God.”

Another voice: “Who the fuck is nepo.net?”

You frowned, your hand instinctively dropping from Satoru’s arm to reach into your clutch as your phone vibrates violently against your palm.

A push notification from ‘nepo.net’ was flashing in bold letters across the display.

You tapped it. The page loaded instantly, revealing a sleek navy-and-black interface crowned by an ornate gold plaque stamped with crisp serif lettering:

NEPOTISM NET.

Beneath it, in sharp italic script, sat three simple words:

Anonymous. Unfiltered. Untouchable.

Your stomach dropped.

The rest of the site looked almost offensively polished—clean white feed cards, sleek silver icons, deep navy navigation tabs. Like someone had taken every social media platform on the market and rebuilt it specifically for Manhattan’s elite.

And sitting at the very top of the freshly updated feed—

SPOTTED: The first day of classes wrapped, but the real education is happening at Regent tonight. The Zenin heir learning the hard way that a legacy name doesn't protect a fragile ego. Word is, Naoya Z. decided to dig up some very expensive, very dusty skeletons regarding the Gojo family’s international 'mishaps' and a certain country club habit. Too bad the King of the UES doesn't take constructive criticism well.  Careful, boys. Digging up the past usually just ensures you get buried in it.  Watch your backs, elites. We're watching everything.

A heavy murmur rose from the crowd.

You slowly lowered your phone, your gaze sweeping across the room. Across the stairs, Naoya was staring down at his own screen, his jaw tight. Even Vivienne was staring at her phone from the top of the terrace, her mouth slightly open in horror.

Beside you, Satoru hadn't even looked at his phone. He was tracking the sudden wave of whispers with a clenched jaw.

“Well,” Satoru murmured, his voice carrying clearly in the quiet space. “It seems someone here has a very loud mouth.”

♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎ • ♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎ • ♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎ • ♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎ • ♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎ • ♠︎

𝖲𝖯𝖮𝖳𝖳𝖤𝖣: 𝖠 𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒𝗀𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖬𝖺𝗇𝗁𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖺𝗇’𝗌 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗍. 𝖢𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝖻𝖾𝗅𝗈𝗐 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝖺𝗆𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗅𝗂𝗍𝖾… 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋, 𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗒 𝖻𝗎𝗋𝗂𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀.

𝖷𝖮𝖷𝖮 💋

NEPO.NET

[journalsfromjupiter]

𝖢𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝖯𝗋𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗀𝖾

𝖩𝖩𝖪 𝗑 𝖥𝖾𝗆! 𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 [𝖴𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗋 𝖤𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝖲𝗂𝖽𝖾!𝖠𝖴]

𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝟣𝟩: 𝖵𝖾𝗇𝗈𝗆𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝖲𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖵𝗂𝖼𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝖦𝗂𝗋𝗅𝗌

𝖬𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍

♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎ • ♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎ • ♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎ • ♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎ • ♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎ • ♠︎ Kento stepped out first, adjusting his cufflinks.

Satoru followed immediately, stretching his arms out into the night air. “Finally. Civilization.”

Utahime huffed as she stepped out after him. “It’s a nightclub, not a diplomatic summit.”

You slipped out last, smoothing your dress as the car doors closed behind you. You could feel the music bleeding through the walls already. A low, pulsing thrum like the building had a heartbeat.

Inside: Money. Noise. Trouble.

Perfect.

The bass was heavy enough to feel in your ribs, music spilling across marble floors and gold-lit ceilings.

Suguru was already waiting near the bar, chatting with the bartender. Shoko was beside him, leaning back against the counter with a drink in her hand. Haibara was nowhere to be found, although that wasn’t too shocking.  

Shoko met your gaze first, raising her drink at you. “Late.”

You smiled. “Missed you too.” 

Satoru slid in between her and Suguru, immediately claiming space. “Missed me most, I assume.”

“No one said that,” Shoko replied without looking at him.

“Energy says otherwise.”

Drinks appeared without anyone fully ordering them—Suguru’s doing, probably. 

You took yours, scanning the room as the music shifted again, something louder, more reckless.

That’s when you saw her.

Vivienne Vanderlyn.

She stood near the center of it all—champagne glass in hand, laughter engineered for maximum radius. Her eyes flicked up at the same time yours did.

Immediate recognition.

You lifted your glass slightly.

She did the same.

Shoko followed your gaze a second later and snorted. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes,” you replied.

You crossed the space without thinking, Shoko falling into step beside you like it was instinct.

“Vivienne,” Shoko greeted flatly.

“Shoko,” she said warmly, before turning to you with a purr. “Reader! ”

“Vivienne!” You replied, with the perfect amount of bubbly, synthetic warmth that you only ever used for people with too many milliliters of lip filler. 

You leaned in for air kisses brushing against both cheeks, the faint scent of her obscenely expensive perfume invading your space.

“You look absolutely radiant,” Vivienne purred, her eyes doing a lightning-fast, highly critical sweep of your outfit, your hair, and—crucially—stopping for a fraction of a second at your collarbone.

Her smile didn't falter, but her posture sharpened. “Though, darling, you look a little unraveled. Rough first day?

Translation: I see your hickey, and I’m implying you look messy.

“Oh, you know how it is,” you replied smoothly, your smile fixed perfectly in place as you took a slow sip of your drink. “Just adjusting to the humidity. But look at you! This party is… massive. Truly. I didn't know Regent even rented out the lower-tier ballrooms anymore. It’s so… cozy.”

Shoko coughed slightly into her fist to disguise a laugh.

Vivienne’s manicured fingers tightened around the stem of her champagne flute, the glass practically groaning under the pressure.

“Well, I wanted something a bit more intimate for the first night back,” she said, her voice dropping into a sweet, dangerous register. “Not everyone can handle a crowd. Speaking of crowds… I saw Suguru at the bar earlier. He looked awfully lonely.”

Her eyes flicked pointedly to Shoko, a wicked little glint appearing behind her mascara. “I’m so happy to finally see you two arriving together. It’s finally time he claimed you.”

The air between the three of you went instantly cold, despite the thumping bass of the music around you.

Shoko didn't miss a beat. She lazily swirled the ice in her glass, looking at Vivienne with complete, devastating apathy. “Suguru only likes certain people in his space, Vivienne. You’d know that if he ever returned your texts.”

Oof. Vivienne’s perfect porcelain expression cracked for an infinitesimal second before she forced a bright, sharp laugh that sounded like shattering crystal.

“Oh, Shoko. Always so fiercely protective. It’s adorable, really.”

She turned back to you, her hand reaching out to pat your arm with a patronizing little squeeze.

“Anyway, I’m just so glad you made it. The night wouldn't be complete without our favorite local flavor. Just try not to break anything tonight, okay? Daddy had to put down a massive deposit.”

“Wouldn't dream of it, Viv. We know Daddy watches his money very closely," you smiled back, your eyes completely dead. “Have a wonderful night.”

“You too, sweetie!”

The moment you both turned your backs and stepped away into the crowd, the smiles vanished instantly.

Shoko let out a long, exhausted breath. “I need a stronger drink. If I have to look at her teeth for one more second, I’m going to lose my mind.”

“She’s getting sloppy,” you muttered, checking your phone screen to make sure your concealer was still holding up against Vivienne's visual autopsy. “I saw right through her shit.”

You shoved your phone back into your clutch, the bass of the room vibrating right through the soles of your heels.

The crowd was a blur of silk, velvet, and flashing strobe lights—everyone trying a little too hard to look like they were having the time of their lives.

The music swelled—heavier now, vibrating through the floorboards.

Someone bumped into you. Someone laughed too loudly. Someone was already halfway to drunk.

You rejoined your safety circle, Utahime’s hand finding yours in a comforting squeeze. 

“Survivors,” Suguru greeted smoothly. His eyes flicked to Shoko first, a subtle, knowing tilt to his mouth. “Did Vivienne give you her blessing?”

“She gave us a headache,” Shoko muttered, reaching over to swap her empty glass for a fresh one from the bartender.

Utahime rolled her eyes. “Vivienne’s been trying to orchestrate the entire social hierarchy since we were kids. Look at the dance floor—half of these people don’t even look like they belong at Regent.”

“They belong enough to pay the tuition,” Kento noted dryly, taking a measured sip of his drink.

For the next hour, the party dissolved into a classic high-society blur. 

The music shifted, growing heavier, louder, and more reckless as the night tore on. You danced with Utahime, laughed as Haibara made a brief, sweaty appearance to recount an absurd story about a finance heir falling into a decorative fountain.

Satoru had disappeared somewhere into the chaos immediately, which meant trouble was already in progress.

Suguru and Shoko had drifted somewhere in the middle, close enough to be seen, far enough to deny anything.

At some point, the night shifted again.

You found Kugisaki, Maki, and Mai near the bar.

Kugisaki was leaning against the counter, inspecting her nails with a critical eye, while Maki stood with a posture so sharp it could cut glass. Beside her, Mai was whispering something into her glass, a wicked smirk playing on her lips.

Kugisaki’s eyes flicked up first, spotting you. Her expression instantly transformed from bored detachment to a wide grin.

You smiled back, leaning against the bar. “I think you guys are still about six months away from being allowed to order your own drinks without supervision.”

Maki glanced at you. “We’ve had alcohol before.”

“And yet, you’re still standing here like you’re waiting for permission,” you countered smoothly, sliding onto the stool next to Kugisaki.

She rolled her eyes, dropping her hand. “Please. As if any bartender in Manhattan is going to ask for ID when you’re wearing three carats on your wrist.”

Mai swirled her drink, her eyes darting over your shoulder to scan the crowd. “Besides, supervision is incredibly boring. Though, speaking of... where's your shadow?”

“Satoru disappeared approximately four minutes after we walked in,” Shoko said, leaning against the counter beside you and catching the bartender’s eye. “Probably looking for a mirror.”

“Or a line,” you added. “Regardless, what’s the verdict on tonight? Is it as tragic as I think it is?”

Kugisaki leaned in, lowering her voice just enough to sound conspiratorial over the thumping bass. “Worse. We’ve been here for twenty minutes and I’ve already counted five separate girls wearing last season’s Chanel. If this is what the elite circle looks like, the bar is on the floor.”

“It’s Vivienne’s party,” Shoko pointed out. “The bar is always structurally compromised when she’s involved.”

Satoru slid in beside her like he’d been listening the entire time. “So true.”

Kugisaki let out a huff. “Oh no. Him.”

Satoru beamed. “Oh yes. Me.”

Kugisaki laughed despite herself. “He’s worse in person.”

“You betcha,” Satoru winked.

She flipped him off immediately.

He looked pleased.

Then—

“Megumi!”

The name cut through the noise just enough to register.

Kugisaki turned instantly. “Fushiguro?”

Megumi Fushiguro emerged from the crowd dressed almost offensively simple compared to everyone else in the room.

Black on black. Clean lines. Sleeves pushed carelessly to his forearms. No obvious designer logos screaming for attention.

His dark hair looked slightly disheveled, like he’d run a hand through it one too many times on the ride over. Sharp cheekbones. Colder eyes.

“There you are,” Satoru said. “Took you long enough.”

Megumi glanced at him. “I said I’d come.”

“And yet,” Satoru replied, “you look like you’re attending a execution, not a party.” 

Kugisaki blinked once. Twice.

“You,” she said slowly, pointing at Megumi, “are in my class.”

Megumi looked at her. “I know.”

“You never talk.”

“I don’t have anything to say to you.”

A beat.

You snorted. “I like him.”

Mai pointed between you and Megumi. “You all know him?”

Satoru answered immediately. “I collected him.”

Megumi sighed. “That’s not what happened.”

“That’s exactly what happened,” Satoru said, offended. “I found him, I claimed him, he’s mine. I’m a philanthropist.”

“You’re a stalker with a line of credit,” Megumi corrected flatly, not even looking at him as he shifted his weight.

His eyes flicked to you, then to Shoko, offering a brief, polite nod that was entirely too formal for a room currently playing high-tempo club music.

“Oh, don't be like that, Megumi!” Satoru draped a heavy arm over Megumi’s shoulders, completely ignoring the way the younger boy stiffened.

“Look around! These are your people now. The crème de la crème. The elite. Try to look a little less like you’re waiting for a dental appointment.”

Kugisaki crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing as she evaluated Megumi all over again. “So you’re telling me the quiet guy who sits in the back of the lecture hall is actually connected to the loudest playboy on the strip? Figures.”

“I’m right here,” Megumi muttered, trying and failing to shrug Satoru’s arm off his shoulders. 

Before Satoru could launch into another theatrical defense of his mentorship, a sudden shift rippled through the crowd behind you.

The heavy thumping of the bass didn't stop, but the laughter and chatter in your immediate vicinity seemed to dim, replaced by a tense, heavy murmur. The crowd parted slightly near the secondary entrance, people clearing a path without even realizing they were doing it.

Maki straightened up, her posture going from casually sharp to absolute stone. “Great. The trash arrived.”

You turned your head slightly, following her gaze across the room. 

Walking through the crowd with an entourage of sycophants was Naoya Zenin. 

Dark suit. Perfect posture. Blond hair pushed carelessly back from his face in a way that probably took forty minutes and a stylist to achieve.

Two girls trailed behind him, laughing a little too hard at something he clearly hadn’t said.

His eyes scanned the ballroom, completely dismissive of everything and everyone, until they landed directly on your corner of the bar.

Specifically, on Maki. Then on Megumi. And finally, on you.

“Ugh,” Kugisaki whispered, her lively demeanor vanishing instantly as she watched him approach. “Speak of the devil, and he appears in bespoke tailoring.”

Mai’s grip tightened on her glass, her smirk flattening into something much colder. “He really can't help himself, can he?”

Naoya closed the distance, his entourage lingering a few paces back like well-trained hounds. He didn't look at Satoru, and he completely ignored everyone else. His focus was entirely on the younger heirs.

“Well,” he drawled as he approached, slipping one hand into his pocket. “I see the kids' table is fully occupied tonight. I thought Regent was invitation-only.”

One of the girls behind Naoya let out an awkward laugh before immediately going quiet when he didn’t react.

Satoru immediately grinned. “It is. That’s why you’re confusing everyone.”

Utahime covered her mouth with her drink to hide a laugh.

Around you, the party continued like nothing was happening — glasses clinking, laughter echoing, bodies moving beneath gold lights — but your corner of the club had gone razor-sharp.

Naoya ignored Satoru with the ease of long practice. His attention settled back onto Megumi instead, sharp and assessing. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Megumi didn’t move. “Okay.”

Naoya’s eyebrow twitched slightly, like Megumi’s complete lack of interest had inconvenienced him. “Oh, look at that, it speaks.”

“Careful,” Satoru said lightly, swirling the ice in his glass. “He bites.”

“I’m aware,” Naoya replied coolly. “The family resemblance is hard to miss.”

There it was.

The hit landed exactly where intended.

Megumi’s expression didn’t visibly change, but something in his posture tightened almost imperceptibly.

Maki’s eyes sharpened instantly. “Say what you actually mean, Naoya.”

“You always assume I’m insulting you,” Naoya sighed dramatically. “It’s very narcissistic.”

“NAOYA!” A saccharinely sweet voice cut through the tension.

Vivienne appeared beside him almost instantly, one manicured hand sliding around his arm like she belonged there.

“There you are,” she sighed dramatically, leaning into his side. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Naoya glanced down at her briefly. “Have you?”

The smile on Vivienne’s face flickered for half a second too long before snapping right back into place.

“Yes,” she laughed lightly, smoothing her hand over the sleeve of his jacket. “You’d said you’d get here like an hour ago.” 

“Oh,” Naoya said, his voice entirely devoid of the warmth she was projecting. “I was just catching up with the family.”

Vivienne finally acknowledged the rest of the group, her gaze sweeping over you all with polished calculation.

“Well,” she said brightly. “This explains the hostile energy.”

Satoru let out a sharp, delighted laugh from behind his glass. “Careful, Vivienne, he’s in a mood tonight. Must be the humidity.”

Vivienne ignored him, eyes landing on Megumi now. “Ah, Megumi! You actually came.”

Megumi gave a small nod. “Hi.”

“You look handsome tonight,” she continued smoothly, before turning back toward Naoya with a softer smile clearly meant to be seen by everyone around them.

“Anyways, baby, we really should head to the VIP table. The Prescotts just arrived, and you promised you’d introduce me.”

Naoya took a slow sip of his drink. “In a minute, Viv.” 

You watched the interaction with an amused expression. “You should go with her, Naoya,” you murmured smoothly. “Don't keep your public waiting. It’s bad manners.”

Naoya’s eyes snapped back to you, the casual arrogance in his expression darkening into something venomous.

He stepped forward, dragging a reluctant Vivienne along with him, his voice dropping below the thumping bass of the music.

“Try not to embarrass yourselves tonight.”

And then he was gone.

Well. Mostly.

You watched their retreating backs, Vivienne’s heels clicking a frantic double-time just to keep up with Naoya’s long, uncaring strides.

Kugisaki broke the tense silence with a loud, theatrical gagging noise the second Naoya was out of earshot. 

“'Baby, we really should head to the VIP table,'” she mocked, her voice a perfect imitation of Vivienne’s condescending drawl. “God, she is practically begging him to walk all over her. It’s embarrassing to watch.”

“She thinks a Zenin ring is worth the bruises to her ego,” Mai said, her voice dripping with casual disdain as she turned back to her drink. “It’s a bad investment, but I guess Vivienne was never good at math.”

Satoru set his glass down on the marble counter with a heavy clink, the lazy, dangerous smirk returning to his face. “Oh, come on, give her some credit. It takes real talent to be that delusional.” 

You looked over at Megumi, who hadn't moved an inch since Naoya left. “You okay?”

Megumi didn't look up from his hands, which were loosely curled around the edge of the bar. “I’m fine. He’s always like that.”

“He’s always worse when I’m around,” Satoru chimed in cheerfully, slinging an arm over Megumi’s shoulder and successfully making the younger boy look like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole.

“It’s a defense mechanism. He knows deep down that if we ever actually went card-for-card, his trust fund wouldn't even cover my sales tax.”

“Get off me,” Megumi muttered, shoving Satoru’s arm away, though there was no real heat behind it.

You leaned your back against the bar, crossing your arms as you watched the strobe lights cut through the smoke above the dance floor.

The entirety of your pregame was fully hitting now, a warm, heavy weight behind your eyes that made the thumping bass feel less like noise and more like a physical pulse.

“We need to move,” you announced. “If I stay in this corner, I’m going to start looking for a reason to break something, and I already told Vivienne I wouldn't.”

“Please break something,” Utahime cheered, her eyes lighting up. “Preferably Naoya’s nose.”

“Later,” Suguru chimed in, stepping closer with two fresh glasses in hand. He slid one toward you and the other toward Megumi. “For now, let’s actually enjoy the liquor before the drama catches up to us.” ♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎ • ♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎ • ♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎ • ♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎ • ♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎ • ♠︎

[journalsfromjupiter]

𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖬𝗒𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝖪𝗋𝖾𝗐™

𝖥𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝖦𝖾𝗇 𝖡𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝖣𝗋𝖺𝗀𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗑 𝖥𝖾𝗆! 𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 [𝖲𝖼𝗈𝗈𝖻𝗒-𝖦𝖺𝗇𝗀 𝖠𝖴]

Five friends. One van. Zero qualifications. When these five teens trade street fights for ghost hunts, things get...weird. From cursed mansions and abandoned asylums to possessed vending machines and hallways that rearrange themselves, this isn’t your grandma’s mystery squad. Unless your grandma also carries knives, knows how to hotwire a hearse, and swears she can see the dead. They’ve got bad plans, worse instincts, and exactly one flashlight between them. Secrets spill faster than the blood in the haunted basements they explore. Every trip leaves them with more questions than answers, and occasionally a friend—or a part of the van—goes missing. But hey—someone’s gotta solve the supernatural chaos nobody else will touch. Rule number one: never, ever split up. Rule number two: seriously, do not forget rule one. (Seriously. Don’t. It won't end well.)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

✦•······················································•✦•·························································•✦

*You can also find more parts of this series (and more!) on my AO3 ;)

AO3: journalsfromjupiter

[journalsfromjupiter]

next part of the Mystery Crew when 👀

𝖯𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝟩: 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖥𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝖲𝗒𝗆𝖻𝗈𝗅

[First Gen Black Dragons x Fem!Reader x Scooby-Doo AU]

Masterlist

✦•······················································•✦•·························································•✦

The staircase creaked beneath your weight. Every step downward echoed, swallowed by the dark like the house itself was holding its breath. The air was colder here. Heavier.

And wrong.

You reached the bottom first—because of course you did—and stopped cold.

“Guys,” you called softly, voice nearly drowned by the eerie stillness, “you need to see this.”

One by one, the others joined you. Shinichiro close, too close again, hovering like your shadow. Keizo came next, flashlight sweeping across the strange space. Takeomi and Wakasa brought up the rear, both silent now, no snark left in their bones.

This wasn’t like the other rooms.

No flickering lights. No peeling wallpaper. No haunted pianos.

Just a chamber. Circular. Perfectly symmetrical. The walls gleamed white—too clean, like a surgical room or the inside of a lab. The center of the chamber held a final pedestal. And behind it, etched into the wall in deep black ink:

“𝖯𝖱𝖮𝖦𝖱𝖤𝖲𝖲: 𝖦𝖱𝖮𝖴𝖯 𝟫 – 𝖥𝖨𝖭𝖠𝖫 𝖯𝖧𝖠𝖲𝖤 𝖨𝖭𝖨𝖳𝖨𝖠𝖳𝖤𝖣.”

Keizo inhaled sharply. “There were eight other groups?”

Wakasa muttered, “Are they still here?”

Takeomi turned a slow circle. “This doesn’t feel haunted. This feels… monitored.”

You took a cautious step toward the center pedestal. 

The five tokens you had retrieved from the upper rooms seemed as if they would fit perfectly into the final device.

Each of you stepped forward, inserting each token into it’s assigned place. 

Each fell into its slot on the pedestal with a satisfying thunk. The last—your silver eye—settled in the center, and the whole structure began to whir.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Click.

The wall behind the pedestal slid open with a hiss of hydraulics.

A screen lit up.

You all flinched.

Static crackled. Then: grainy footage.

People. Other people. A group of four, maybe five. Running through the same trapdoor. Solving the same puzzles. Screaming in the same hallways. A girl sobbing into a mirror. A boy screaming at a locked door.

Then—cut.

The screen shifted to a document. Black text on white. Stark.

PROJECT MAZEHEAD – Psychological Trust Experiment Series #219B Location: Confidential Duration: Variable Objectives: – Observe group response under curated paranormal pressure – Monitor individual decision-making in isolation – Test loyalty, control, adaptability, fear tolerance STATUS: PROJECT SHUT DOWN Reason: Unreliable outcomes. One subject unaccounted for.

“…What the hell is this?” Shinichiro asked, stunned.

Keizo read faster. “It was a test. A long one. But it got shut down. And someone left it running.”

Takeomi swore under his breath. “We just walked into a failed government experiment.”

Wakasa laughed—but it was hollow, nervous. “No wonder the dolls were accurate. Someone made them.”

You were frozen. The words burned behind your eyes. Curated paranormal pressure. Test loyalty. Fear tolerance.

It wasn’t just a haunted house.

It was an algorithm. A psychological maze. And you’d played right into it.

You turned sharply on your heel. “Shinichiro.”

He flinched. “Yeah?”

“You knew about this place. Didn’t you?”

Everyone turned to look at him.

His mouth opened. Closed. Then finally—“I didn’t know this.” His voice was raw. “I read about the house online. I thought it was, like, a gimmick. An urban legend. I thought it’d be...fun.”

“Fun?” you echoed, voice flat.

“I didn’t mean—” He stopped. “I just wanted us to do something. Together. Before everything changes.”

That hit too close to home. You looked away.

Behind you, the screen shifted one last time.

Footage of your group now. Every moment. Every room. From impossible angles.

The projector blinked off.

And the door behind you began to close.

“NOPE,” Keizo shouted, grabbing Wakasa and diving through it.

You followed, yanking Shinichiro with you. The metal slammed shut behind Takeomi.

Darkness again.

But only for a moment.

You blinked.

You were in the first room again.

Back at the entrance. Where the burlap sacks still sat. Where the old broken table leaned. Where this all began.

Keizo was sprawled on the ground. Wakasa looked dazed. Takeomi was already leaning against the wall, lighting a cigarette with shaky fingers.

Shinichiro turned in a slow circle. “We’re back.”

You said nothing.

Because there, sitting neatly on the old table, was a laminated card.

You picked it up.

THANK YOU FOR PARTICIPATING IN PROJECT MAZEHEAD A member of our team will debrief you shortly.(Results may vary.) For questions, contact: [REDACTED]

Silence.

Then Wakasa barked out a laugh. “Shin. Next time you want a team-building activity? We’re going bowling.”

You passed the card to Takeomi, who read it and just muttered, “I need therapy.”

Keizo looked at you. “Are we… gonna talk about this?”

“Nope,” you said instantly. “Not yet. Not now.”

You turned. Started walking toward the door.

Shinichiro followed, of course.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t think it would be like this.”

You didn’t answer.

Then, just as the sun hit your face again for the first time in what felt like hours, you exhaled.

“…Next time you go exploring cursed houses, Shin, I’m staying home.”

He smiled softly. “Noted.”

But you both knew the truth.

If he asked again—you’d probably still follow.

Behind you, the door clicked.

And slammed shut.

Suddenly, the house was gone.

No more building. No more path. Just…forest.

Keizo blinked. "We just got Blair Witched."

"Come on," you said, rubbing your temples. "Let’s get out of here."

No one argued.

Not this time.

✦•······················································•✦•·························································•✦

[journalsfromjupiter]

𝖧𝖺𝗂𝗄𝗒𝗎𝗎 𝖧𝗈𝗎𝗋 - 𝖬𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍

Welcome to Haikyuu Hour—where volleyball boys steal hoodies, friendships turn into something dangerous, and every late-night conversation somehow becomes a core memory. These are the moments between the matches: the convenience store trips, the midnight phone calls, the chaotic sleepovers, the almost-confessions, and the laughter that echoes long after the gym lights shut off. Soft stories. Loud people. Far too many emotional disasters. Take a seat. Stay awhile. And don’t forget to charge your phone. Practice is over. Now the real chaos begins.

𝖭𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖲𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝖫𝗈𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 [𝖡𝗈𝗄𝗎𝗍𝗈 𝗑 𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋]

𝖱𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 [𝖨𝗐𝖺𝗂𝗓𝗎𝗆𝗂 𝗑 𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋]

𝖫𝗈𝗏𝖾, 𝖲𝖾𝗍, 𝖬𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁 [𝖪𝗎𝗋𝗈𝗈 𝗑 𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋]

𝖫𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝖣𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾, 𝖥𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝖫𝗈𝗈𝗄 [𝖳𝗈𝗋𝗎 𝖮𝗂𝗄𝖺𝗐𝖺 𝗑 𝖥𝖾𝗆!𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋]

𝖰𝗎𝗈𝗍𝖾 𝖬𝖾 𝖦𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝗒 [𝖠𝗄𝖺𝖺𝗌𝗁𝗂 𝖪𝖾𝗂𝗃𝗂 𝗑 𝖥𝖾𝗆!𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋]

𝖳𝗈𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖢𝖺𝗌𝗎𝖺𝗅 (𝖣𝖾𝖿𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝖭𝗈𝗍) [𝖸ū𝗃𝗂 𝖳𝖾𝗋𝗎𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗆𝖺 𝗑 𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋] 𝖤𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗋 𝟦𝟢𝟦 — 𝖢𝗎𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖥𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 [𝖡𝗈𝗄𝗎𝗍𝗈/𝖪𝗎𝗋𝗈𝗈/𝖪𝖾𝗇𝗆𝖺/𝖮𝗂𝗄𝖺𝗐𝖺 𝗑 𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋]

[journalsfromjupiter]

𝖧𝖺𝗂𝗄𝗒𝗎𝗎 𝖧𝗈𝗎𝗋: 𝖤𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗋 𝟦𝟢𝟦 — 𝖢𝗎𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖥𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽

Bokuto/Kuroo/Kenma/Oikawa 𝗑 Reader

What happens when five idiots get night shift at a shawarma stand?

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“Kōtarō you fucked it up!” 

“NO I DIDN’T, I JUST COULDN’T TELL—” 

“Wait—wait guys, lock in,” Tetsurō hissed, his face illuminated by the harsh blue light of his laptop. “This guy’s looking kinda weird.”

“Kinda weird?!” Tooru shrieked, nearly dropping his phone on your pillows. “His head’s hanging off!”

“I think he’s an anomaly,” Kenma muttered, his thumbs moving quickly.

“Okay, but what if that’s just how he looks?” Kōtarō argued, squinting so hard at his iPad his forehead was touching the glass.

“WHY THE HELL WOULD HE LOOK LIKE THAT?”

“People can be ugly, Tooru.”

“Not decapitated ugly!”

SLAM. 

Silence fell over your bedroom, save for the hum of your AC.

"Who shut the window?” 

“Not me,” Kenma answered immediately.

Static crackled faintly from someone’s device.

“Guys, focus!” Tooru groaned. “The ugly guy is still standing there!”

“Stop calling him ugly!” you snorted. “That’s actually so mean if he’s normal.”

“Let’s serve him!” Kōtarō tapped his screen enthusiastically. 

You blinked down at your screen.

“Everything feels slow today..” 

You bit the inside of your cheek, watching the way the NPC’s limbs moved in jagged, frame-by-frame increments. “Actually... he does seem off.”

“Didn’t I say that?!” 

“Just…give me the warm one,” the customer rasped through the speakers. 

“Nah,” Tetsurō started, his avatar walking towards the button. “Let’s close it.” 

“Are you su—”

SLAM. 

Silence. 

“Ok!” Kōtarō said, clapping once. “I think we did it—”

“Hey wait, don't do that. I can’t think like this.” 

“That’s creepy,” you muttered, your skin prickling.

SLISH.

You all turned your avatars around. A gooey, tar-like mass began to rise up from the floorboards right next to the rotating shawarma meat.

“OH MY GOD THERE GOES THE INSPECTOR.”

“WHO KEEPS MISSING THE ANOMALIES?!”

“Maybe if SOMEONE would stop yelling in my ear—”

“Maybe if SOMEONE knew what a human spine looked like—”

Your chair creaked as you leaned forward, squinting at the screen hard enough for your eyes to start burning. The tiny shawarma kiosk glowed beneath the dim lighting of the game, harsh fluorescent panels flickering weakly overhead while your avatars stood frozen behind the counter. The grill crackled softly from the back corner.

Honestly, it shouldn’t have been this stressful. It was Roblox.

Somehow, though, the game had managed to drag all five of you into a level of concentration usually reserved for a deep-set tiebreaker in the fifth set of Nationals.

Kenma sat cross-legged near the foot of your bed, phone balanced lazily in his hands while the glow of the screen reflected faintly across his face. Tetsurō had claimed the floor beside your desk chair at some point, stretched out on his back with his laptop propped against his stomach. Across from him, Tooru lounged sideways against your pillows, completely locked into his phone, while Kōtarō practically disappeared into your beanbag chair with his iPad tilted dramatically toward his face.

Onscreen, the gooey thing finished dragging itself out of the ground before settling into a terrifying, unnatural stillness. 

“Is it done?” you asked carefully.

Nobody answered.

Your avatar shifted slightly as you moved toward the register, the squeak of digital shoes echoing faintly through the empty lobby. A customer shuffled towards the window.

You froze. The others did too.

He looked…normal. Mostly. Brown jacket. Tired face. Slight slouch.

But something about him felt heavy. His movements dragged half a second too slowly, like the game itself was lagging behind him. His head twitched once. Then again.

Tooru inhaled sharply. “Nope.”

“Wait,” Kenma said quietly. “Don’t close it yet. Check the manual. Does he have a mole on his left cheek?”

The customer stopped directly in front of the window, his face painted in a wide, frozen smile. Your stomach dropped. Not because the smile looked scary, exactly—but because as the light from the kiosk hit his face, you realized his eyes weren't just closed.

They weren't there.

“Absolutely not,” Tetsurō muttered.

The customer’s head suddenly snapped ninety degrees to the side with a wet, crunching sound.

All five of you screamed at once.

“CLOSE IT! CLOSE IT! SLAM THE WINDOW!”

The window slammed shut. 

“Uh,” Kōtarō said weakly. “Did we win?”

“No,” Kenma replied instantly.

That made it worse.

Your cursor drifted slightly across the counter without you meaning to. You opened the CCTV, desperate to see if he’d walked away.

Something was standing in the doorway of the stand. Not fully visible. Just a wrongly-shaped darkness that seemed to swallow the pixels around it.

“Don’t go out there,” Tetsurō said, his voice dropping an octave.

“I wasn’t going to,” you lied, your heart hammering against your ribs.

The thing in the doorway moved.

The lights in the kiosk flickered once. Twice.

Tooru went completely quiet.

Even Kōtarō stopped breathing dramatically for once, which honestly might’ve been the most alarming part of all.

Kenma’s thumb hovered over his screen. “We didn’t trigger that,” he said.

The thing in the doorway tilted its head slowly—mimicking the customer from the window—right before everyone’s screens turned a deep, blood-red, and a distorted screech blasted through everyone's speakers at 100% volume. 

You all shrieked in perfect, terrified unison. 

[bokuwaka left the game.]  [t0opookawa left the game.]  [y0u left the game.]  [blackkatkuro left the game.]  [koznma left the game.]

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

ugh I missed my haikyuu boys!!

[journalsfromjupiter]

𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗋𝗒 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗉 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖩𝖺𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝖳𝗈𝖽𝖽?

𝖲𝗉𝗈𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗅𝖾𝗋𝗍: 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝖺𝗇’𝗍.

──────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────────────────

If there was one thing about Jason Todd?

It was his absolutely uncanny ability to be a stubborn, reckless, maddening asshole—even in the most perilous situations.

Didn’t matter if you were cuddling on the couch, grocery shopping, stitching up his bullet wounds at 3 a.m., or, like now, fighting for your actual, literal life.

Sure, you’d broken up with him. Or… he’d broken up with you. One of the two. Neither of you really knew what happened that night; it was a lot of yelling, some door slamming, a broken mug, and an almost-kiss. But for pride’s sake, you like to think you broke up with him.

He was stubborn. He was an asshole. He was emotionally constipated, prone to disappearing for days without a word, allergic to communication, and capable of turning even an apology into a full-blown argument.

And he had that annoyingly good hair….the kind you wanted to yank on in both frustration and other ways. And that body, cut from muscle and guilt and leather and—

Ugh. What an asshole.

In fact, he was the same asshole who’d gotten you into a full-blown shootout-slash-inferno at exactly 11:46 p.m. on a Thursday night.

But hey. When in Gotham, right?

——— ✦ ———

“What the actual fuck are you talking about, Jason?!” you shouted, diving behind a stack of half-scorched crates just as another one exploded into flaming splinters. “You dragged me here!”

“I didn’t fucking know he’d actually be here!” Jason snapped back, dual pistols already out, smoke curling around his silhouette like a devil in Kevlar. “It’s not like I planned to bring you to a goddamn firefight!”

He was referring to Firefly—the unhinged pyro who’d been setting Gotham’s back alleys and chemical plants ablaze for two straight days. Arson, chaos, homemade napalm...it was very on-brand for Gotham’s least subtle criminal.

It’d also made your morning commutes…difficult, to say the least.

But again. When in Gotham.

“Not the first time,” you muttered under your breath, crawling low across cracked concrete to yank a fallen henchman’s rifle from the floor. You didn’t even like guns. You preferred knives. They were sharper. More accurate. But Jason Todd came with accessories, some emotional, and some ballistic.

Before you could stand, a rough hand hooked around your waist, yanking you back.

Jason. Of course. Always playing body armor.

He pulled you tight against him, shielding you from a fiery shockwave as another explosion roared somewhere nearby. His voice, low and close, was half-growl, half-prayer. “Don’t say things like that,” he said, breath hot against your ear. “Makes me sound like the bad guy.”

Jason’s grip was firm—almost too firm—and the moment you were pulled against his chest, it all came rushing back. The heat of him. The scent of gunpowder and motor oil. The way your body used to fit against his like a goddamn custom order.

You shoved at his chest, half-hearted, more symbolic than effective. “You are the bad guy,” you snapped, huffing. “You just have better branding.”

Jason scoffed, low and bitter. “Please. I wear a helmet. Branding isn’t exactly my top priority.”

Another blast rocked the building, flames licking up the walls, debris falling like hell’s confetti. The air smelled like smoke, gasoline, and regret.

Jason leaned in close, lips brushing your temple. “We need to move. He’s rigged the whole fucking place.”

“No shit,” you hissed, coughing into your sleeve. Still, you followed him without question, boots skidding across scorched floor tiles as you both raced down a crumbling corridor.

He blasted open a side door and shoved you through it first, ever the gentleman-slash-human-shield.

Inside, the air was hot and stale, the only light from the glow of fire behind you. There was blood streaked across your cheek—maybe his, maybe yours—and Jason slumped opposite you against the wall, breathing hard.

And then, because you just couldn’t help it, you said:

“You always do this.”

Jason’s head lifted. His jaw clenched beneath the edge of his helmet. “Do what?”

“This!” You gestured wildly. “Drag me into a flaming building, get me shot at, almost blown up, and then act like I’m the crazy one for having a goddamn reaction.”

“I didn’t ask you to come tonight,” he said, voice low and defensive.

“No, you just said, ‘I have a lead on Firefly,’ and gave me that look—”

“What look?”

“The ‘you’re the only person I trust not to get me killed’ look,” you snapped. “Which is absolute bullshit, by the way.”

Jason was quiet for a beat. Two. Three.

Then: “You are the only person I trust not to get me killed.”

God. He said it like it was a confession. Like it meant something.

You glared at him, your pulse thudding in your ears like the sound of approaching doom. “Jason.”

But before you could finish whatever that was about to become—romantic or enraged or worse—Firefly’s shriek echoed through the corridor.

“Peek-a-boo, Red Boy!”

His shriek was followed by a whooshing sound.

You barely had time to look.

Jason grabbed you, threw you to the ground, and covered your body with his just as a fireball screamed through the hallway.

The world exploded in white and orange and heat.

Everything vanished.

For a few long seconds, there was nothing but smoke and ringing ears and Jason’s weight pinning you to the cracked floor.

You became aware of his breath on your neck. Of the way his hand had slid beneath your head to keep it from hitting the concrete. Of the way his body still trembled slightly; not from fear, but from fury.

“You okay?” he asked, voice rough.

“Yeah,” you whispered, blinking up at him through ash. “You?”

He didn’t answer.

He just stared at you, like you were the only real thing in a city made of shadows and smoke.

And maybe, just maybe—that was why you knew that you would always love Jason Todd.

Because in Gotham, love was never soft. It was fire. It was chaos. It was a damn-near beautiful ruin.

And Jason? He was the wildfire you simply couldn’t walk away from.

──────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────────────────

𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗉 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗁𝗂𝗆? 🤭

[journalsfromjupiter]

hii it's me again, I think you know why I'm here :)

-that one anon that does not play about upper east side gojo

𝖢𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝖯𝗋𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗀𝖾

𝖩𝖩𝖪 𝗑 𝖥𝖾𝗆! 𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 [𝖴𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗋 𝖤𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝖲𝗂𝖽𝖾!𝖠𝖴]

𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝟣𝟨: 𝖲𝖾𝖾𝗇, 𝖭𝗈𝗍 𝖧𝖾𝖺𝗋𝖽 (𝖸𝖾𝗍)

𝖬𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍

♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎ • ♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎ • ♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎ • ♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎ • ♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎ • ♠︎

5:28 PM Satoru 🔵: i’m calling it now regent is going to be mid Shoko 🖤: everything is mid to you except yourself Satoru 🔵: correct

Your phone lay face-down on the counter as you wrapped a robe around yourself, stepping out onto the marble floor. Droplets traced a slow path down your skin before disappearing into the warm fabric.

Steam still clung to the bathroom mirror. The air was heavy, softened by heat and something faintly expensive.

You had barely stepped into your bedroom when you heard the faint click of your front door unlocking.

A voice followed immediately after. “Hello?? Are you done being bent over and can finally focus on getting ready for tonight?!”

Utahime.

You exhaled slowly, tilting your head back for half a second.

“I have two outfits to choose between, and I’m not sure if I should do a full outfit change mid-event,” she added, already walking in. 

She appeared in your doorway with a flourish, holding two garment bags.

Then she stopped mid-step.

Her eyes narrowed. “…You let him give you a hickey.”

You blinked. “No, I didn’t.”

Utahime lifted a perfectly manicured finger and pointed at your collarbone. 

Silence.

You turned sharply toward your vanity mirror, tilting your head to the side to inspect your reflection.

A pause. 

“Fuck.” 

Utahime, without missing a beat, tossed her bags down onto your couch and clapped once. “Okay. No time to spiral. Regent night. We’re behind schedule. Hair. Outfit. Damage control. Move.” 

You stared at her for a second. “Behind schedule? I literally just showered—”

“And now you’re sporting a hickey like someone's frumpy girlfriend,” she replied immediately. “So get dressed.”

You pointed at her. “That’s not helping.”

Utahime ignored you completely, already dragging you toward your vanity. “Sit,” she ordered.

“Didn’t you want me to get—.”

“Sit.”

You sat.

Hair tools appeared on your vanity. A brush. Gel. Three different sprays that all claimed to do fundamentally the same thing but cost wildly different amounts. Utahime was already sectioning your hair and working with practiced hands. 

“So,” she began casually, “First thing. Suguru and Shoko.”

You blinked at the mirror. “What about them?”

A pause as Utahime met your gaze. “You know….”

You narrowed your eyes slightly. “I know…what?”

“That they’ve been hooking up.”

Silence.

Utahime leaned closer to you. “They’ve been doing this for weeks.”

You frowned slightly. “I knew they were hooking up, but…Suguru doesn’t do things for weeks. Neither does Shoko.”

Utahime snorted. “Exactly.”

That made you pause. “…Huh.”

♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎

Utahime moved on, tilting your chin in her direction.. “Okay. Makeup.”

“No glitter,” you warned immediately.

“Too late,” she said, already opening a palette.

She leaned in, brushing concealer under your eyes with soft, precise strokes now. “Tonight feels different.” 

You met her gaze, furrowing your brows. “Different? How?” 

 She tilted your chin in the opposite direction. “Everyone’s been…weird all day.”

“Paranoia isn’t a good look on you.”

“It’s not paranoia,” Utahime said, stepping back slightly. “I have a sixth sense about these things.” 

You couldn’t deny it. She really had a sixth sense about things. She’d predicted the market dip last spring, the Redford divorce months before it went public, and—more impressively—called that three separate “exclusive relationships” on campus were already over before the couples themselves figured it out.

You turned to admire her work in the mirror. “Ugh, sometimes I think I should hire you.” 

Utahime made a face. “Ew. Don’t degrade me like that.” 

You snorted. “Never change.” 

♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎

You smoothed down the front of your dress, checking your reflection in your phone camera one last time—angle, lighting, expression.

SNAP. Posted. 

The limo sped through the clustered streets of the Upper East Side, city lights already beginning to flicker awake as dusk settled in. Storefront windows glowed gold. Sidewalks buzzed. Everywhere you looked, people were moving with purpose, or pretending they had one.

Inside the car, it was quieter. Dim lighting. Soft leather. The faint hum of the engine beneath it all.

Utahime sat across from you, one leg crossed elegantly over the other, lips parted slightly as she applied gloss with the kind of focus usually reserved for surgery.

“Don’t look at me,” she said without glancing up. “You’ll make me mess up.”

“I’m not doing anything,” you replied, lowering your phone slightly.

“You’re existing,” she shot back. “It’s distracting.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, leaning back against the seat. 

The limo slowed, gliding to a stop beneath the awning of The Calderon. 

Utahime glanced out the window. “God, I hate this place.”

“You love this place,” you corrected, already reaching for the door handle.

“I love what happens inside this place,” she said. “Big difference.”

Reginald opened the door before either of you could move further. Cool evening air slipped in, brushing against your skin.

“Christ, it’s cold for September,” Utahime muttered as you both stepped out, heels clicking softly against the polished stone of the courtyard.

You sidled up beside her, slipping an arm around her shoulders. “I’ll keep you warm, babygirl.”

She snorted, leaning into you anyway as the doorman pulled the glass doors open. “You’re so full of shit.”

You both laughed as you crossed into the lobby and toward the elevator.

♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎

Suguru stood behind his bar, sleeves rolled, four glasses already lined up in front of him. “Right on time.”

You didn’t respond, just tossed your bag onto his couch and slid onto one of the barstools. 

“Whatever’s strongest,” you said. “Utahime stressed me out.”

She flicked your ear before padding off down the hallway. 

Suguru’s mouth curved slightly as he reached beneath the counter, retrieving a bottle of aged Japanese whiskey. “Of course she did.”

He poured, the amber liquid catching the low light before he slid the glass toward you.

You knocked it back in one go, before grimacing. “Eugh.” 

Utahime reappeared, with Shoko in tow. “Found her.” 

You glanced over, before narrowing your eyes at Shoko. 

She waved you off in a ‘We’ll talk later’ gesture. 

You smirked before turning back towards Suguru. “We’re all leaving from here, right?” 

He nodded, downing his second shot. “Yep.” 

A sharp knock cut through the air.

You didn’t even turn. “Who else would it be,” you muttered as the door swung open.

Satoru stepped inside like the room, dressed in a loose silk shirt with just enough of the buttons left undone to suggest carelessness, not accident. Silver glinted at his wrist.

“It’s okay,” Satoru announced, spreading his arms as if blessing the room. “I’m here to save you all.”

Utahime let out a long, suffering sigh. “No one asked you to.” 

Suguru didn’t move, just lifted his glass slightly. 

You rolled your eyes. 

Satoru sauntered into the apartment, before taking the barstool on your other side. “Aren’t you looking mighty fine tonight?” he murmured, leaning in towards you. “You pick this out yourself?” 

You glared at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Oh, nothing.” He said, before peering down your cleavage. 

You shoved him backwards slightly, unable to help the smile growing on your lips. “You’re so annoying.” 

He grinned before reaching across the counter for Suguru’s glass and bringing it to his lips, before quickly handing it back to him. “Eugh. The fuck are you drinking?” 

Suguru smirked, taking the glass back. “Nature’s Viagra.” 

Shoko rolled her eyes, already reaching past him to steal a bottle of Clase Azul. 

“Why’re you here so early, anyways?” Utahime asked, taking a sip of her martini. “You usually show up at the last second.” 

“She’s right.” You mused, turning back to him and narrowing your eyes. “You’re usually two strokes deep in the apartment staff when we’re pregaming. Something’s up.” 

Satoru raised his hands and scoffed. “Please, you make me sound like a whore.”   

The silence was loud. 

Satoru clicked his tongue. “Hello?! Not even a denial, or a sympathetic glance? Sugu? Hello?!?” 

Suguru shrugged, leaning back against the counter. “Truth’s the truth, playboy.” 

You snorted, before taking a sip of Shoko’s drink. 

Utahime set her glass down before pointing at Suguru and Shoko. “Alright, we need to address something.” 

Shoko raised an eyebrow, her gaze following Utahime’s finger. “What are you talking about—” 

“This—” Utahime gestured. “Whatever you two have going on.”

Suguru smiled, entirely too calm. “We’re standing.”

“Now you’re being an ass,” Utahime snapped.

You leaned your elbow on the counter, resting your chin in your hand. “No, no, let her cook.”

Shoko sighed, dragging a hand through her hair. “It’s not a thing.”

“It’s been a thing,” Utahime shot back immediately.

“It’s not a thing-thing,” Shoko corrected, narrowing her eyes slightly.

It was Suguru’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “So I’m not a thing-thing?” he said playfully. 

Shoko gave him a glare. 

Satoru leaned closer to you, voice dropping. “Ten bucks says this blows up before midnight.”

You didn’t even look at him. “Fuck off.”

“Hundred and fifty?”

You turned your head slightly, meeting his gaze with a wicked smirk. “You’re on.”

“Ah-ah!” Utahime said, pointing at the two of you. “You two aren’t innocent. You two hook up all the time.” 

You and Satoru shared a glance. “Yeah, but it doesn’t count.” you said, shrugging. “It’s…Satoru.” 

Satoru nodded. “Yeah. It’s me.” 

Shoko exhaled, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Can we not do this right now?” 

Utahime crossed her arms. “That’s not a denial.”

“That’s a not your business.”

“Everything is my business,” Utahime said flatly.

“What’s her business?” Came a voice from the door. 

It was Haibara and Kento. 

“Shoko and Suguru are fucking.” Satoru said plainly. 

“OhmyGod.” Shoko muttered, burying her head in her hands. 

Haibara blinked. “Oh.”

Kento didn’t even pause as he slipped his jacket off, voice flat. “That was obvious.”

Shoko groaned, dragging her hands down her face. “I hate all of you.”

Haibara lit up as he bounded forward. “Wait, how long has this been going on?”

“Long enough,” Satoru said breezily, peering down your dress again.

Shoko whipped her head toward him. “Why are you talking?”

Kento poured himself a drink. “This explains a lot.”

Shoko pointed at Kento. “You’re supposed to be neutral.”

“I am,” he said calmly. “That was neutral.”

Utahime clapped once, delighted. “See? I’m never wrong.”

“You’re rarely quiet, that’s for sure,” you muttered.

She ignored you completely, eyes flicking between Shoko and Suguru. “So what is it? Casual? Complicated? Sex is too good to stop?”

“None of the above,” Shoko said quickly.

“All of the above,” Suguru corrected at the exact same time.

Silence.

You slowly turned your head back towards Satoru, eyebrows lifting. “Oh, that’s interesting.”

Satoru leaned in again. “Told you this was blowing up.”

Shoko bit the inside of her cheek. “We are not doing labels.”

Suguru’s smile didn’t drop, but something in it sharpened slightly. “No, of course not.”

“Whew!” You interrupted, reaching across the counter and grabbed a bottle of Macallan 18. “Let’s all take a shot to that.” 

Utahime grabbed a shot glass immediately. “This conversation is paused, not over.”

Shoko pointed at her. “Drop it.”

“Never,” Utahime said sweetly.

Haibara leaned over the counter, eyes lighting up as he read the label. “Is this—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Suguru cut in smoothly, sliding the bottle out of his reach. “Just drink what you’re given.”

You snorted, pouring out a round for everyone. 

Satoru grabbed his shot, tilting his head toward you. “What are we toasting to?”

You paused, gaze flicking briefly to Shoko. Then Suguru.

Then Utahime, who looked entirely too pleased with herself.

You smirked slightly. “To making bad decisions.”

“To shutting up,” Shoko muttered.

Suguru huffed a quiet laugh. “Consistent.”

“Predictable,” Kento added.

“Necessary,” Satoru corrected, clinking his glass lightly against yours.

“Cheers,” you finished.

Clink.

The shots went down in one clean motion—burning, smooth, expensive in a way that almost justified itself.

Almost.

Haibara blinked, coughing once. “Okay—yeah, that’s—wow.”

Utahime winced. “That’s smooth.”

You exhaled sharply, setting the glass down. “Okay—again.”

“Absolutely not,” Kento said immediately.

“Absolutely yes,” Utahime countered, already reaching for the bottle.

Haibara was halfway through pouring another before anyone could stop him. “So what’s the plan? Are we showing up to Regent together or…?”

Utahime perked up immediately.

Kento adjusted his cuff. “It would be better if we staggered arrivals.”

Suguru nodded. “Agreed.”

Utahime frowned. “No, I hate that. It feels disjointed.”

You reached for your phone, glancing at the time. 

“Fifty minutes,” you said. “Plenty of time for more rounds.” 

“Absolutely not,” Kento replied at the exact same time that Satoru said, “Absolutely.” 

“Okay, but the arrival thing—if we stagger, who goes first?” Haibara asked, before downing his shot with a grunt.

“Not us,” Utahime said immediately, grabbing her glass. “We don’t arrive early. That’s embarrassing.”

“Agreed,” you said. “Early is for people who need attention.”

Satoru snorted. “That’s ironic.”

You ignored him.

Suguru leaned back against the counter, thinking. “We split into two groups. Create some space.”

Kento nodded. “Less predictable.”

“More dramatic,” Utahime added.

Haibara clapped his hands together, breaking the moment. “Okay! Groups. I call not being with Kento because he kills the vibe.”

“I maintain the vibe,” Kento said calmly.

The resulting silence was telling. 

Suguru exhaled a quiet laugh. “Fine. Satoru’ll take Kento.”

Satoru grinned wickedly, while Kento soured significantly. 

“I’m not babysitting him,” Kento said flatly.

“You couldn’t handle me,” Satoru shot back, already reaching for another pour.

“I don’t want to handle you.”

“Sounds like a personal problem.”

Utahime pointed between the rest of you. “Okay, then what—me, you, Shoko, and Haibara?”

You gave a quick shake of your head. “That’s uneven. Two to four? And Suguru’s left out.” 

Suguru pushed off the counter, grabbing his glass. “Alright, enough. Final groups.”

He pointed lazily. “Me, Shoko, Haibara.”

You and Utahime shared a glance. 

Kento adjusted his watch. “That leaves—”

“You, me, Utahime, and Satoru,” you finished, already knowing. 

Satoru brightened instantly. “Perfect.”

Utahime clapped once, triumphant. “I love when things work out.”

Shoko huffed, reaching for a bottle of Belvedere. “Alright. Final decision. Groups are set.”

“A shot to celebrate.” You said, holding out your glass.

Kento looked at the various bottles decorating the bar. “Mixing all these shots definitely isn’t a good idea.”  

Satoru didn’t even look at him as he reached for the Yamazaki. “Neither is half the stuff we do. What’s your point?”

“Longevity,” Kento replied.

“Boring,” Haibara said, already raising his shot.

You tilted your head, watching Kento over the rim of your glass. “You can sit this one out, Ken, if it makes you feel better.”

“I won’t,” he replied calmly.

“Then stop bitching,” you shot back.

A beat.

Then, Kento reached forward, picked up his glass, and held it out. “Fine.”

Haibara cheered. “Yes! That’s what I’m talking about.”

Shoko tapped her glass against the counter. “Are we doing this or just talking about it?”

Utahime, of course, couldn’t help herself. “To…questionable group decisions.”

“To worse ones later,” Satoru added.

Clink.

The second (or perhaps, third?) group round went down quicker.

You exhaled, setting your glass down with a quiet tap. “Okay. Now I feel it.”

“Yeah,” Utahime said, wincing slightly. “That one hit.”

Haibara exhaled sharply, shaking his head.  “Oh wow. Okay. Yeah.”

“Give it five minutes,” Shoko said. “You won’t care.”

Suguru checked his phone briefly, then slid it back into his pocket. “Car’s here in five.”

Haibara perked up. “First wave!”

“Stop calling it that,” Kento said.

“It is that,” Haibara insisted, already halfway to the door before realizing no one else had moved. “Wait—who else is showing up tonight?”

Suguru shrugged. “Everyone.”

Haibara bounced lightly on his heels. “No, but actually, who do we need to look out for?”

Kento adjusted his cuff again. “No one, if you behave.”

Satoru snorted. “So everyone.”

You tilted your head, thinking. “Well, obviously Kugisaki, Maki, and Mai.”

Shoko leaned back against the counter. “You think Naoya’s showing up?” 

“Definitely.” You and Utahime said in unison.

Haibara groaned. “That already lowers the quality of the night.”

Suguru pushed off the counter, draining the last of his glass. “Two minutes.”

Satoru raised a finger. “I think Megumi’s coming. I invited him.” 

Everyone glanced over. 

You blinked. “Toji’s kid?” 

Satoru hummed, like he’d just mentioned the weather, pouring himself another shot. “Yep.”

Haibara looked between you all. “Toji?!”

“There’s only one,” Kento said, his lips pressed in a flat line.

You studied Satoru. “Thought you hated that whole family.” 

“My family doesn’t like them,” he corrected easily, knocking back the shot. “But the kid’s pretty cool.” 

You shared a glance with Suguru, who shrugged. “As long as the kid’s down to hang.”  

“He is,” Satoru said. “Kid’s got a spine.”

Utahime tilted her head slightly. “...We’ll see.”

Then, Suguru’s phone buzzed.

He glanced down. “Car’s here.”

Haibara clapped once. “Okay! First wave—”

“Don’t,” three voices said at once.

He paused. “…Okay.”

Shoko pushed off the counter, slower, more deliberate. She grabbed her clutch, checking her reflection in the darkened screen of her phone for half a second before slipping it away again.

At the door, Haibara turned back around like he physically couldn’t leave without one more comment. “Okay but seriously guys, if something happens before you get there, just check my story.”

Suguru reached past Haibara, opening the door. Cool air slipped into the apartment again, brushing against warm skin and expensive fabric.

“Phones on,” Suguru said casually. “Just in case.”

Utahime watched the three of them closely, eyes narrowing just slightly. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

Suguru glanced back at her. “That’s a big ask.”

Haibara laughed, then finally stepped out into the hallway.

The door shut with a soft click.

“So…” you started. “Another shot?” 

“Thought you’d never ask.” Satoru quipped, sliding his shot glass forward. 

And what a night it was about to be.

♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎ • ♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎ • ♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎ • ♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎ • ♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎ • ♠︎

P.S. for all you guys to look forward to - i've been working on a little project for this fic and hopefully i get to release it with the next chapters!!! 🤭 so stay tuned for chapter 17/18

[journalsfromjupiter]

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 🪐　 ˚　.　　　.　˚　✦　　　.　　. 　 　　.　　　　　　 ✦　　　.　　˚　🌒　　　　. ✦ 　🌍 　　.  　 　　　˚　　　　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　˚　　　.　　. 🪐　 ˚　.　 　 ✦　　　.　　˚　　　˚　.　*　　. 　˚　　.　.　🌒 .　　.

hello there you beautiful souls!!!

i know i don’t really post like this often, but i wanted to share something with you all 🖤

i made a request form for anyone who wants to send me ideas, prompts, or little wandering thoughts. i love the beautiful concepts you all send me, and i wanted to give you a better, easier way to reach me instead of everything getting lost or buried in my inbox lol

if you’ve ever had a fic idea, a scene stuck in your head, or just something you’ve been quietly obsessed with…you can leave it here:

a place for wandering thoughts🖤

love you all!

[ov-44]

Reposted from my Bluesky acc.

[journalsfromjupiter]

𝖢𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝖯𝗋𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗀𝖾

𝖩𝖩𝖪 𝗑 𝖥𝖾𝗆! 𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 [𝖴𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗋 𝖤𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝖲𝗂𝖽𝖾!𝖠𝖴]

𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝟣𝟧: 𝖣𝖺𝗒 𝖮𝗇𝖾, 𝖣𝖺𝗆𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝖣𝗈𝗇𝖾

𝖬𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍

tw! it does get a little hot and heavy.

♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎ • ♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎ • ♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎ • ♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎ • ♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎

The lost boy lingered in your mind for a brief, passing moment—pink hair, frantic apologies, and something about “Philosophy” trailing behind him like a weak excuse.

But the moment your phone buzzed, he was gone.

2:48 PM Utahime 💅: so. we need a game plan. Shoko 🖤: game plan?   You: for???  Utahime 💅: Tonight.  Utahime 💅: it’s the first day of school AKA one of the most exciting nights of the year?   Shoko 🖤: oh yeah  Shoko 🖤: I got invites from the Redford’s, the Vandermeer’s, and the Van Alen’s Utahime 💅: I heard from Julian that he got the Echelon Club for the night You: I thought we were going to the Meridian??  Utahime 💅:  Yea but we ALWAYS go there Utahime 💅: Let’s actually live a little

You scoffed. 

You: uh huh… You: anyways I heard that Vivienne Vanderlyn booked out the entire Regent, and she’s always a good time  Shoko 🖤: you say that because last time you drank so much tequila sunrise that you didn’t even get to see the damn sunrise You: yeah yeah details  Utahime 💅: FOCUS PEOPLE  Utahime 💅: we need to decide You: kugisaki just posted on her private asking where people are going tn Utahime 💅: See?? Utahime 💅: This is why planning matters You: ur so cute when you’re being a busybody Shoko 🖤: I second that  Utahime 💅: GUYS. LOCK IN.  Utahime 💅: Pros and cons list go! Shoko 🖤: Meridian = predictable You: Regent = chaos You: Echelon = Julian pretending he’s a tech billionaire Utahime 💅: his family literally owns shipping companies You: exactly  Shoko 🖤: the cosplay is embarrassing

Another message popped up in a separate group chat. 

Haibara☀️: hello beautiful people have we decided where we are headed tn?  Kento🕴️: Remember we have classes tomorrow morning  Utahime 💅: booo Shoko 🖤: BOOOO You: tomato tomato Suguru 💼: Meridian will already be full Suguru 💼: half the finance department goes there by default Suguru 💼: statistically speaking we’ll spend the night standing Utahime 💅: unacceptable You: Regent then? Haibara☀️: wait didn’t someone get arrested at the Regent last year Shoko 🖤: technically they were only detained You: semantics Satoru🔵: wait why are we discussing locations like peasants Satoru🔵: just come to Echelon Shoko 🖤: absolutely not Kento🕴️: Julian’s DJ last year was literally playing remixes of the national anthem Satoru🔵: it slapped actually Suguru 💼: u have shit taste 

You rolled your eyes as you turned the corner toward the Kingsrow steps.

You: Echelon is out You: Meridian is boring You: Regent it is Kento🕴️: finally some leadership Haibara☀️: wait what time You: eleven  Utahime 💅: ten You: eleven  Utahime 💅: TEN Suguru 💼: 10:30. compromise 

You slipped your phone back into your bag with a quiet sigh. 

The air outside was warmer than you expected, sun hitting the stone steps in that lazy mid-afternoon light. Students filtered past in clusters, already talking about the night to come.

You adjusted the strap of your bag as you descended the wide steps toward the street exit.

You found Reginald, your driver, leaning against that familiar Mulsanne, looking off down the street with his usual air of boredness. 

The second he spotted you, he gave a small nod.

“Good afternoon, Miss Montclair,” he said smoothly. “I trust your first day has been…productive.”

“Debatable,” you said, stepping off the last stair. “Are we early or late?”

“On time,” he replied. “As always.”

He opened the rear door for you, and you slipped inside, the leather seat cool against your skin, letting your bag fall beside you with a soft thud as the door shut behind you with a clean whoomp.

A moment later, Reginald slid into the driver’s seat.

The car pulled away from the curb smoothly, blending into the line of late-afternoon traffic spilling out from Dominae Regis.

For a few seconds, neither of you spoke.

You leaned your head back against the seat and exhaled.

Reginald glanced at the rearview mirror. “Straight home, Miss Montclair?”

You paused as your phone buzzed.

Unknown: missing ur beautiful self

You exhaled through your nose, faintly amused despite yourself.

Unknown: u alive or did academia take u out already Unknown: I’m starting to think DR is a cult btw You: please tell me you’re at home Unknown: that I am  Unknown: tragically bored

You pressed your thumb lightly against your screen, a small smile tugging at your mouth before you could stop it.

Unknown: sooo u gonna bless me with the gift of ur presence? 

Reginald spoke again, tone neutral but faintly knowing. “Home, then.”

“Yes. Let’s go home.” You confirmed, looking up to meet his eyes briefly in the rearview mirror. 

You: indeed Unknown: wow Unknown: didn’t even have to beg this time, character development You: don’t get used to it Unknown: too late, I’m emotionally dependent now

You huffed a quiet laugh, shifting slightly in your seat as the city blurred past outside the tinted windows. Glass towers, boutique storefronts, pedestrians who looked like they were always late to something important.

Unknown: hurry up. I can only wait so long :( 

Reginald brought the car to a smooth stop in front of your building. The engine purred down into silence.

He turned slightly. “We’ve arrived, Miss Montclair.”

You slipped your phone into your bag, meeting his gaze again. “Thank you, Reginald.”

He gave a small nod, already stepping out to open your door. “I’ll see you later.”

You stepped out into the warm air, the familiar weight of the city shifting around you again. 

♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎

The hallway was quiet, your footsteps the only sound as you moved down the corridor. 

Unknown: u here yet You: open your door

You stopped in front of the fifth door from the emergency exit. 

Matte black. Gold-etched numbering. The kind of door that didn’t need a peephole because no one who lived here expected surprises.

You lifted your hand.

Knocked once.

Then again.

And you’d lifted your hand to knock one more time, when the door swung open. And there he was.

Hair messy, shirt half-untucked, and a sexy-as-hell grin plastered on his face. He looked at you for half a second like his brain had to reboot just to confirm you were there. “You’re early.” 

You rolled your eyes as he stepped aside to let you in. “You told me to hurry up.”

“And how often do you listen when I tell you what to do?” He asked as you stepped past him.

The apartment greeted you like it always did—with bergamot in the air, faint and clean. Minimalist furniture. Intentional negative space. A living room that looked like it had been designed by...well. Ino, himself. 

His hand slipped around your waist as he guided you further inside, simultaneously taking your bag from you. “So…how was day one?” 

You let him steer you a few steps before slipping free of his hold, glancing around the apartment like you were taking it in for the first time. As if you hadn’t memorized it already.

“Same,” you said finally.

He scoffed lightly. “That’s not an answer.”

You dropped onto the couch without ceremony, leaning your head back against the cushions. “It is if nothing interesting happened.”

“Nothing?” he asked over his shoulder, moving toward the kitchen.

You cracked one eye open to watch him as he grabbed two glasses from a cabinet. 

“Not a thing.” 

Ino paused with the bottle halfway to the glass. 

“Wow,” he said slowly. “First day back and you’re telling me the entire student body behaved normally?”

“Shocking, I know.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

You lifted a shoulder. “You asked how my day was.”

“I asked for the truth.”

“The truth,” you said calmly, “is that I went to class. I sat through unnecessary introductions. I listened to people I could care less about talk about themselves for more than 30 seconds.”

“And?”

“And that’s it.”

He hummed under his breath, clearly unconvinced, but didn’t push. Instead he carried the glasses over and handed one to you.

You took it without looking up. “Thank you.”

He didn’t sit right away. Just stood there a moment, studying you the way someone does when they’re deciding whether to call a bluff.

“…You met people,” he said.

You took a small sip. “I did.”

“Anyone interesting?”

Your gaze drifted toward the far wall of the apartment, thoughtful for a moment.

Then you shook your head. “Not particularly.”

That got a quiet laugh out of him. “Now I know you’re lying.”

You glanced up. “Do you?”

“Please,” he said, finally dropping onto the couch next to you. “Put a hundred rich kids in one building and at least three of them will do something insane before lunch.”

“Maybe they were all on their best behavior.”

“For you?” he asked.

You tilted your head slightly. “Why wouldn’t they be?”

Ino leaned back, watching you with that same amused look. “…Good question.”

You watched him for a second before you suddenly remembered. “Oh! I did meet someone new. A freshman. With pink hair.” 

Ino blinked. “…Pink.”

You nodded once, taking another sip. “Pink.”

He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. “Like dyed pink?”

You shrugged, ice clinking faintly as you set your glass down. “He ran into me,” you added.

“Literally?”

“Quite.”

“And he survived the encounter?” Ino asked, eyebrows lifting.

You tilted your glass slightly, considering. “Barely. Almost broke my phone.”

“Poor kid.”

You glanced toward him over the rim of the glass. “He apologized.”

“That’s good survival instinct.”

“Incredibly.”

Ino leaned back again, studying you with that same faintly amused look.

“So let me get this straight,” he said. “Your entire first day, surrounded by the worst collection of trust funds and inherited egos on the eastern seaboard…”

He gestured lazily with his glass. “…and the only interesting thing that happened was a pink-haired freshman crashing into you.”

You paused.

Then smiled faintly. “Yes.”

Ino stared at you for a beat, before his mouth tilted into a lazy grin. “You’re weird.”

You rolled your eyes, reaching for your drink again. “You’re one of the few people I would let call me ‘weird’.”

He caught your hand, pulling it to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to it. “I’m honored.” 

You watched him, unimpressed on the surface. But you didn’t pull away. “As you should be.” 

Ino’s thumb lingered for a second longer than necessary against your knuckles before he let your hand rest back in your lap. But, instead of pulling away, his hand came up, fingers brushing lightly under your chin, tipping your face up toward him.

You narrowed your eyes slightly, already suspecting his intentions. 

His thumb brushed your jaw once more, slower this time.

Then he leaned in.

The kiss began as a gentle press of his lips against yours. His thumb traced the curve of your jawline, a feather-light caress that made you shiver slightly. His other hand found the small of your back, pulling you closer. 

His lips moved against yours, the kiss deepening as he angled his head to the side. One hand tangled in your hair, gripping gently as he tilted your head back, allowing him to kiss you with renewed fervor. His tongue delved past your lips, exploring the warm cavern within, stroking along your own tongue.

You could feel the heat radiating off of him, could feel the way his body trembled slightly as he pressed you flush against his chest. His lips moved against yours with a rhythm that stole your breath, leaving you just a little lightheaded.

The kiss gradually grew sloppier, and more urgent, as you gripped his shoulders, nails digging into his skin through the fabric of his shirt.

Suddenly, Ino broke the kiss, his lips moving from your mouth to your jaw. His teeth grazed the tender flesh, before his mouth moved lower, to the column of your throat. He kissed and sucked at your pulse point, his tongue laving over the spot where your heartbeat pounded beneath your skin. 

You let your hand comb through his hair, before tugging his head back so he could meet your gaze. “No hickeys,” you reminded him, pointing. 

Ino didn’t answer. He just looked at you. Like the words hadn’t fully registered past whatever instinct had taken over instead.

His gaze dragged over your face slowly, heavy in a way that made the air feel tighter than it had a second ago. And then, with a wicked grin, he leaned forward, his eyes gleaming. He took your pointed finger into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the tip, before—without warning—his teeth closed around the tip, biting down just hard enough for you to feel the sharp sting of pleasure-pain. His tongue laved over the slight indention, soothing the reddened flesh as he sucked on your finger, his cheeks hollowing with the motion.

He released your finger with a soft pop, before surging forward to capture your mouth in another kiss. At the same time, he pushed you back against the couch, his body covering yours as he hovered above you. His knees pressed against the outside of your thighs, pinning you in place, as his hands gripped the back of the couch on either side of your head. 

He pulled back, his face mere inches from yours, his breath hot against your lips. "Your wish is my command," he murmured as his eyes flicked down to your lips, watching as they parted slightly with each shaky exhale.

He dipped his head lower, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck once again. He kissed you there, his mouth hot and open, his tongue snaking out to taste you. His teeth grazed your collarbone, as he popped open all the buttons of your shirt. He wasted no time in moving his lips lower, to the swell of your breasts. He nipped and sucked at the skin, while his hands slid down your sides, gripping your hips, pulling you flush against him. You could feel every inch of his body pressed against your own, and it made your head spin.

BUZZ. 

BUZZ. 

BUZZ. 

“Ignore it,” Ino murmured, his hand snaking downwards and teasing along your inner thigh.  

BUZZ. 

BUZZ. 

You tried.

You really did.

But your phone was relentless.

With a quiet breath, you reached around him, fingers slipping between the space of his shoulder and the couch, tugging your bag closer. He didn’t stop you—but he didn’t stop either.

You pulled your phone out.

Utahime. Of course.

“Answer it then.” Ino murmured against your neck, his voice a low growl. 

You hesitated for half a second.

Then you pressed accept.

“Hello?” you said, voice steadying itself into something more normal, more composed.

“I need help,” Utahime’s voice rang through the phone immediately. “I can’t decide what to wear. Actually, fuck it, I’m FaceTiming you.” 

“Don’t—!” you said quickly, breath catching as Ino popped your shirt off completely. 

There was a pause.

“…Why not?” Utahime asked. “What are you doing?”

Your brain short-circuited. “Nothing,” you said too fast.

Ino, completely unhelpful, slid his hands around to cup your rear, squeezing as he ground his hips against yours.

“…Are you in a car?” 

“Yes,” you said quickly.

“That sounds like a couch,” she replied.

“It’s a very nice car.”

“Why is—?”

You closed your eyes for half a second. “Utahime,” you said carefully. “Please focus on your outfit.”

“That is not an answer.”

“It is the only answer you’re getting.”

Silence. Then: “…I’ll call back in ten minutes.”

“No—!”

But she had already hung up.

♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎ • ♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎ • ♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎ • ♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎ • ♠︎ • ♣︎ • ♥︎ • ♦︎

first time writing a hot and heavy scene on here omgg