august

🌊 [ august ] [ minor ] [she/her] [ enfp ! ] [ writing side blog ]  💌 i write for… - keyframes  - jjk  - witch hat atelier { all readers are gn unless specified otherwise ~ } requests are open !! don’t be shy to talk , i love making friends !! please keep in mind that this is an sfw blog only <3 i write both platonic and romantic !!

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Do u got pending works of Shoko? If so how many if not plleeeaasseee have moreee🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

I luv luv luv ur fic bout herrr it got me thinking bout scenarios of what happens when Shoko also get nightmares from yn dying yknow or yn too but like seeing Shoko’s face in a dream of how heartbroken she’ll be or worse she can’t see her face or reaction at all but yn knows it’s her and she doesn’t look like she cares but only in dream and then of course fluff comfort❤️ hehehehehdhfdjd

hello hello !!! i dont have any pending works per say, moreso just a collection of ideas, but im so pleases you liked my fic 🥹 though the idea ia certainly a bit more fluffier and comedic i suppose, and i hope you enjoy that fic as well when i get around to writing it !!!

as for your ask, i dooo like this idea verryyy much- if its shoko having the nightmare, i think it wouldn't matter how much readwr tries to comfort her-- so long as reader is a sorcerer, the possibility of their death will continue to haunt her. as established in the fic, for whatever reason, reader is too stubborn to quit jujutsu permanently. hell, even nanami wasn't able to quit forever, so it really is a lose lose situation 😭 in his words, both options are shit.

if its our reader having the nightmare i think this scenario would go well for them in terms of comfort, but still pretty bad for shoko 😭 of course, reader gets the comfort of being reassured that shoko would care about her death, or at the very least, if they can see shoko's terrified face, then they'll probably end up comforting shoko as a way to comfort themself :') again, the hurt/comfort is only momentary, though-- their reality would never let it linger for long. something something love is suffering and suffering is love (in the context of this relationship, anyway, and i hope i got that across 🥹🥹)

summary: your daughter tends to ask some interesting questions

scarjo + dadjo ; post-canon ; reader is extremely minimal its mostly between satoru and your guys' daughter ; satoru loves his baby :( i dont play abt dadjo

Even now, years later, Satoru couldn’t help but feel disdain sometimes when he looked at himself through the mirror. There wasn't a single spot on his body that was spared from the thousand cuts Sukuna had left him, let alone the huge, jagged scar that ran across his abdomen and arms. His spine was nearly sawed through, and Shoko had to work overtime to bring him firmly over the edge to the living, stitching him back together like Victor and his Frankenstein. 

Most of them were a pale silver now, still glaringly noticeable, but much better than before. Others had become an almost salmon colour, or brown even. The skin was jagged and uneven, rough under smooth fingertips when traced. 

Your little daughter was doing just that now, nestled into her fathers side, a chubby hand splayed across Satoru’s face. She looked as though she were in a trance as her stubby finger glided over skin, mouth partly open. 

“And what's got you all distracted, hm?” Satoru hummed, lifting the girl to lie comfortably on his chest. He layed back on the sofa, the movie- Ponyo, which your daughter had been watching for a week straight -played on as white noise. 

“Daddy,” she said, her voice strangely hushed, “you’re so pretty.” 

“You think so?” Satoru smiled. He chuckled as she nodded her head vigorously, her bangs falling into her eyes. With a gentle hand he tucked some strands behind her ear as she continued to watch him in wonder. 

She has your eyes, Satoru mused to himself. 

“Mhm… did they hurt?” 

“Hmm…” Satoru drew out, “well, just a little bit.” 

“Really?!” Her eyes were blown out, chubby cheeks puffed out and rosy. Her lips pushed outwards into the smallest little pout. “But they look like they’d hurt a lot!” 

Satoru laughed as he hugged her tighter to his chest, kissing the top of her head. Seriously, she’s too cute.. she gets that from you, too. 

“Yeah? They do, huh?”

She nodded her little head again, tucking it beneath Satoru’s head. Her eyes caught on another plethora of scars that littered Satoru’s collarbone, and she began to trace them once more. 

“You look like a tiger,” she mused. 

“A tiger?” 

“Yeah. Cause you’re stripey.” 

Satoru couldn’t help himself from laughing again, and he pressed kiss after kiss after kiss to her hair. He’d been so scared at first, that his daughter would be scared of him, from his appearance. That she would no longer recognize him, or feel disgusted, or embarrassed. She had been just a year old then, but the fear- irrational as it might have been -would send him down into a spiral. He still felt that way, sometimes. 

“Daddy,” your daughter piped up again, her hand stilling. “Where did you get all your scars?” 

Satoru froze for a moment. He was hesitant about telling her about Sukuna-- she was too young for that. She had been just born when Satoru had gone for that final battle between himself and Sukuna. Two months old, asleep in his arms as Satoru pressed a firm kiss to her little head, trying to commit the image to memory, in case it was the last time he’d ever see her again. It wasn’t, of course, though it was almost reality. 

“Hmm.. well, you know,” he began, “I had to fight this big, mean, bad guy.” 

“What!?” she gaped at him. Satoru lifted his lips into a smug grin. 

“Yup. He was, like, really realllyyyyy strong. He was hurting your big brother Megumi and I couldn’t have that, so obviously I beat him to a pulp.” 

Yeah. That summarized it pretty nicely, Satoru thought, while leaving out the more… horrifying details for a three year old. 

“And you won?!”

Satoru nodded. “Yup. By a landslide.” 

“Wow…” your daughter whispered. She propped her chin up on Satoru’s chest, eyes wide as she stared at him in wonder. Her little hand was curled into a fist; keeping one hand on her back, Satoru lifted his other hand to hold it over her’s. 

“Were you scared?” she asked him, completely enthralled with this story, now. 

Satoru pursed his lips together in faux thought. “Hmm…. yeah. I was pretty scared. But you know what kept me brave?”

“What?” 

“You and your mom and Megumi,” he said, leaning over to press another kiss to her temple. His daughter only stuck her tongue out, as if discomforted by Satoru’s admission. 

“Eww… Daddy, you’re getting all sappy!” 

Satoru chuckled, brushing her hair aside. She squirmed a little in his hold, trying to lay back down onto his side again. He let her wriggle around, like some flailing worm, before she felt finally satisfied with her new position. 

“Daddy,” she asked, looking up at him. 

“Yes?”

“Can I be a sor- uhm, sorc-er-er like you?” 

Satoru felt his entire body lock up. 

No. That is the last thing I want for you. He didn’t say them yet, of course, but.  

Anything but that. You could be anything else. 

“Hmm, I don’t know, sweets,” Satoru mused instead, “it’s a pretty scary job. Do you think you can handle it?”

“Yeah!” she said. She seemed so excited by this prospect, and Satoru felt like his stomach was two seconds away from flipping itself inside out. 

“You’ll have to work super hard. And a lot of people get hurt, you know…” he laughed nervously. 

“That’s okay! I’ll be strong like you so I can protect them!” 

Satoru turned to his side fully then, blocking the view of the TV, Ponyo still playing in the background. Ponyo swam up to Sosuke, bumping her nose with his as he told Granmamare that he loves Ponyo unconditionally, whether she be fish or human girl. Unconditional love; an aching. 

“Okay,” Satoru said warily, pouting. “If you say so..” 

Your daughter curled against him. “Do you think I could be a good sor-cer-cer, Daddy?”

He didn’t look at her, then. He simply could not bring himself to. What will he do, if she does become a sorcerer, and finds her remains in a body bag? 

“I think you could be great,” he said. “You could make this place great.” 

a/n: damn, two fics in one day? im on a roll today,,,,

yuki x reader 

summary: yuki and todo mourning you– the ache you leave behind

angst ; grief / mourning ; reader is the dead wife (/gender neutral) in this scenario ; gn reader ; basically its just yuki + todo visiting ur grave and missing u </3 ; pre-jjk events

“I’m back!” 

It was that singsong tone Toudou knew so well; he’d begun to associate it with tight lipped smiles and lies between teeth. Yuki’s hair was done up today- it was too hot to leave it otherwise -and she’d come bearing gifts for you to seek out your forgiveness: a basket filled with flowers and treats you liked. Toudou followed his mentor to where your stone lay and sat on the grass, still wet with morning dew. A little ladybug climbed his scraped knee. He watched it with a sort of child-like fascination that made Yuki chuckle and ruffle his head. 

She knelt down beside him, placing the gift basket in front of you. She sighed, picking up the flower bouquet tucked inside, plucking two out for herself and Toudou. Yuki placed the bouquet in front of you, then, yellow peonies and white lilies, angels breath folded in between the blossoms. She leaned forward, placing a quick peck upon the warm stone. Summer had finally begun in earnest. 

Toudou let the ladybug crawl up his finger, all the way onto his knuckle. It stopped abruptly then, before unfurling its wings and flying off. Strangely, he felt a pang of disappointment. 

Yuki wrapped an arm around his shoulder, pulling him close to her side. 

“Say hello, Toudou,” she insisted. 

Toudou felt slightly ridiculous. He wasn’t about to say hello to a rock. Still, Yuki waited for him patiently to say something. Even if he personally believed that you wouldn’t be able to hear either of them through the grave, he supposed it helped soothe the sting of grief for Yuki. The ache that you’ve left them both with. 

“Hi,” he said plainly. Yuki jostled his shoulder a bit. 

“Uhm. I hope you can hear us up there, somehow…” he trailed off. “Me and Yuki are doing good. I hope you’ll continue looking after us.” 

There. Done. Yuki ought to be satisfied now. 

And satisfied she is, it seemed, because she pulled Toudou closer, wrapping both her arms around him in a tight hug. “Oohh,” she squealed, “you’re just the cutest, huh? I bet they liked that a whole lot. You hear that? Toudou misses you sooooo much!” Yuki drawled, squeezing him. 

The summer breeze was nice. It made the grass sway all prettily. Toudou leaned further into Yuki’s side as she took a deep breath, inhaling through her nose and exhaling through her mouth. Then, she reached into the basket and took out a small cake, ripping open the package and placing the plastic back into the basket. She split it in half, handing the bigger chunk to Toudou. He took it wordlessly. 

“I wish you were here,” Yuki murmured, her eyes still fixed upon the grave. “I got the lemon and honey flavoured ones. You liked those, right?” 

“Toudou’s almost done with elementary school. Isn’t that crazy? It feels like just yesterday I picked him up after he got his ass beat by a couple of high schoolers!”

Toudou grumbled. “Don’t remind me. I was weak back then.”

He remembered, of course- Yuki offering to take him back to her apartment. And there you were, with bandaids and alcohol disinfectant, ushering him to the couch to take a seat as you dabbed at his injuries, cooing as he hissed. You had always been gentle that way. He and Yuki weren’t all that capable of it, but you had enough of that for the both of them. Of course, there was none of that now, but it was nice while he still had it. 

Above him, the sky was mostly cloudless, save for the budding cumulonimbus building in the distance behind your grave. The summer grass rippled in the wind, and, not for the first time, Toudou wondered about whether you really were looking down at them. 

It certainly did not feel like it. It did not feel like it when he heard Yuki sobbing in her room, the door closed and locked; it did not feel like it when Toudou almost took out three plates for dinner instead of two; it certainly did not feel like it now, right in front of you. Where are you? We don’t know what to do without you! 

Yuki’s bottom lip was trembling. She released a shaky sigh and asked, as she always does every time she comes here, for your forgiveness. If you were still alive, Toudou could imagine the scene that might play out: perhaps, after being treated by Ieri, Yuki would scoop you up into her arms, press kisses all over your face. Yuki so rarely cries, but this would be one of the only times she does. She apologizes again and again and again, and this time, learns when to leave and when to stay still. She would learn. 

That didn’t happen, of course. You returned from your mission battered and bruised and undeniably dead upon Ieri’s table. Yuki blamed herself, Toudou knew. The very least she could’ve done was be there with you as Ieri tried her best to save you. She couldn’t even manage that. 

With a sigh, Yuki released Toudou from her grip and stood up, dusting the grass off her pants. She left the basket for you in front of the grave, as if half hoping it would come as good use for somewhere, something. Perhaps she thought some ghostly version of you would happen upon it. 

“Alright Toudou,” Yuki said, “let's go home.”

“Already?” he asked. 

Yuki nodded. “Come on. Let’s go take a nap in the sun, or something.” 

a/n: yuki is one of my favorite characters. i want to be her dead wife so bad

summary: basically you're just constantly stressing poor sho out ; reader is kinda an ass question mark ; depictions of injury (its not too bad imo but just in case) ; smoking (obv, its shoko) ; gn reader

When you were in high school, you had thought yourself to be invincible. Perhaps not literally, of course- Satoru was the only one who could feasibly achieve such a feat -but in all the ways that mattered. You were young and foolish back then, believing the world to be in the palm of your hand like a pearl. Shoko would joke that your ego might surpass even that of the Strongest. You acted as though the earth was something you could turn in your hands over and over. Not even Suguru’s near-defecation was enough to fully shatter that image in your head.

“I can’t live like this, anymore,” Suguru had once told you- all of you gathered in Satoru’s room, Mimiko and Nanako asleep in his lap like his own. “I can’t. I’m quitting jujutsu. I’ll stay as a teacher, I think, but I’m not going on missions anymore.” 

“That’s fine,” you said. “Whatever you need, Suguru.” You would say anything so long as it kept him here. And you looked at Shoko, and thought that she looked relieved. One less person who would become a body at her table. The circumstances were horrible, but you thought she was grateful for Suguru’s decision. 

It is the blood on your hands that broke your worldview completely. It isn’t your blood, of course, but blood nonetheless, as your shaking hands hovered above the lifeless body of your mission partner. They were so young.  You remember attending the ceremony, you remember teaching them in their second year, you remember telling them what promise they had. You could be great, you’d said. You could make this place great. 

There is a distinct coppery smell in the air, mixed with the rain and the overgrowth surrounding you. Everything was sticky. Disgusting. Your own pain comes in waves, like a crushing weight pressed against your chest and your stomach, as you scramble for a plan. The curse is still active, though significantly weakened. You’re not faring much better- you flicker in and out of consciousness every few seconds. Your uniform is torn, blood gushing from your side and you desperately try to apply some pressure to the wound, even if it gets your hand red and sticky. 

It prowls around the ruined house, your haunting ghost, and you remember Shoko’s voice chastising you as she’d done a thousand times before, to stop getting in and over your head. The curse crushes ivy beneath its feet, and its scent wafts up to you, sneaking in through the metallic scent that still invades your senses. You cradle the body close to you, hiding between bushes and trees, purple clematis blooming near your feet. The mission site- a haunted mansion, with what was supposedly a grade one curse lurking inside -is half destroyed. 

Blank eyes stare up at you. The graduation ceremony was in late march- not four months ago. You don’t want to let them go. Like the curse, you don’t want to be alone. You accept your fate as ending up on Shoko’s table, and you picture her face hovering over yours, mask covering her mouth, eyes crinkling, before you close your eyes for good. 

“I’m glad he quit,” Shoko admitted to you. 

There you were. The confession you’d been waiting for. You knew the moment the words left Suguru’s lips. You were in Shoko’s room now, because Suguru and Satoru wanted to be alone so they could talk about what to do with the girls, and what to do with Toji’s own children that he’d left behind- children that Satoru had basically been procrastinating on getting, but whatever. 

The fan was on and swinging. The summer heat was almost too much to bear on your own. 

“Well, I mean, it’s one less body, right?” you shrugged your shoulders. You reached to get the green coloured nail polish you so desired. A myriad of colour options sat arranged on the floorboards before you. This shade was pretty, you thought as you read the label. Ivy. 

“It doesn’t guarantee anything,” Shoko said. “But yeah. A lot less likely.”

“Do you really think the higher ups will let Suguru stop going on missions?”

Shoko shook her head. “No way. Are you kidding?” she laughed dryly. “Suguru’s too valuable. They might lower the amount, sure, but there’s no way he’ll fully be able to stop unless he leaves jujutsu society as a whole.”

You hummed as you began to paint a coat over your nails. “I heard Nanami was gonna do that.”

Shoko picked up a colour resting near her feet- a pretty lavender colour. She lifted one knee up to her chest and began to shake the bottle before opening it. “Really? Maybe you should do that, too.” 

You looked up at her, then. You almost thought you misheard her. “What?”

“Get a normal job or something. I never understood why you and Suguru chose this life in the first place. You have no obligation here.”

“What the hell are you saying?” you laughed. You think (hope) she’s just joking. 

“Quit jujutsu while you still can. I mean, there’s nothing here for you anyway.” 

Obviously, you didn’t quit. Shoko would get frustrated with you sometimes, throwing her hands up as she chewed on the end of her cigarette. You were twenty-four, recently promoted to Grade One, when you had your worst argument. Deep down, you knew Shoko was only worried about you. Yet, some hubristic, selfish part of you thought she believed you to be weak, unable to hold your own. 

“You never listen to me!” she shouted. Each year, you saw her eyebags growing deeper and deeper. She was using her RCT constantly on herself too; you knew this, because you knew that because she’d been smoking a pack a day for two years. 

You just came back from a mission. You weren’t in the mood for a screaming match again. Like a child, you swung your legs as you sat on one of Shoko’s operating tables, simply tuning out her voice as she went on and on. 

Sometimes you wished you wouldn’t have to hear her voice. 

Eventually, she said, “What am I supposed to do, huh?! When I find you on my table one day?!” 

You snapped, and said, “Wouldn’t it be easier for you then, so you could stop pestering me?!” 

Shoko had paused, mouth hanging wide open. You winced. You didn’t mean that. Mostly. 

She was seething now, digging her nails into her palms. 

“Are you serious? Do you think I want to see the love of my life fucking dead?!” 

And it went on like that. Of course, you both apologized at some point, swore to never argue like this again. You were tired, she was tired, you both spat words you didn’t mean. 

But you tend to circle around each other like that. It always came back to this argument- Shoko begging you to leave jujutsu behind, and you stubbornly refusing. 

You circled back to this again, before you left for that mission. 

“Then how come you won’t listen to me when I tell you to quit smoking?” you said.

 It was a friendly little jab, really. You hadn’t intended to come off as mean, or however it was that Shoko perceived you. You weren’t even arguing at this point. Shoko said that you would make a cute teacher- maybe a normal high school teacher or something. She talked about how good you were with English when you were still in school, during the few non-jujutsu related lessons. 

You only sighed at her proposition, before giving her that question yourself. 

“Can’t you just-” and then she stopped, and lit another cigarette. You liked irony. “Why do I even bother?” 

In the end, you couldn’t quite place what it was that drew you to sorcery. Shoko was right. You could do whatever it was you wanted. Perhaps it was the same reason that pulled Suguru to the profession. You felt a genuine desire to help others. To protect the weak. To attempt to find morality in a world that was fundamentally immoral. To find others like you, bone of your bone, flesh of your flesh, eyes of your eyes. A saviour complex perhaps, though you wouldn’t exactly flatter yourself with that. A god complex? You were no Gojo Satoru. Whatever the reason, it kept you in like a honey trap and ivy. 

It wasn’t all bad though. As much as you two fought, you still had Shoko. 

You wake again in the backseat of a car. The body you had held is no longer in your arms, and you begin to panic. They were so little. Small, still barely out of childhood. 

You’re lying down, you realize, and the blood from your side seems to have long since stopped. Slowly you pull yourself upward into a sitting position, groaning as a new wave of pain crests over you. 

Suguru’s eyes flick up to the rearview mirror to meet yours. “Lie back down, you idiot,” he says. There’s no heat in his voice, though- you know that he’s all talk with you. 

“Sorry, dad.”

He rolls his eyes (predictable) and tells Ijichi to drive faster. The poor man fumbles, muttering that he’s going as fast as he can. Suguru isn’t Satoru, but you can tell he’s holding back words by the way his jaw clenches. 

Suddenly, you remember. “Where’s-?” You groan again in pain.

“Satoru will recover their body after he defeats the curse.” 

If there’s a body to recover goes unsaid. The curse was some kind of plant-type thing, whose vines cocooned the bodies it killed, consuming them in an indirect way. Almost like an amoeba. You laughed, the first time you drew that comparison. 

You lower yourself back into a lying position, brushing your fingertips along your bandaged side where the blood had leaked through. It was a vibrant, violent red, like the colour of bursting berries. Suguru leans his head against the side of the car as rain continues to pelt at the window. The noise was comforting. It could lull you into sleep, you think to yourself, and you close your eyes. 

“You should try it sometime,” Shoko offered her cigarette to you. She was smoking in her dorm again, despite the many times Yaga had lectured her about it. She stuffed a rolled up towel into the crack between the door and the ground, and she opened the window all the way, so that the smoke may leave with the summer breeze. You heard from somewhere that smoking while showering was a good way to hide the smoke, since it would just follow the steam or something. You weren’t totally against the idea of showering together. 

“Thanks for the offer, but I don’t intend to die from lung cancer,” you said, waving her hand away. 

Shoko shrugged before taking another drag. “Your loss,” she said. She pursed her lips and puffed outward, making a ring of smoke. It lasted for a few seconds before dissipating. You rolled your eyes. 

“Show off.” 

She lifted the cigarette to your lips, and this time you comply, gently taking it from her hand to put it in your own lips. Shoko laughed as you hacked and coughed, hitting your chest and handing the cigarette back to her. 

“Wow. Smoke much?” she teased. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you croaked. “You can’t be mad at me for staying anymore though,” you smiled. “You’re just as self destructive as I am.” 

You end up on Shoko’s table again. You always do. 

When you wake up once more, you see Shoko hovering above you, the fluorescent lights above her making a hazy halo over her. Wow. My guardian angel. You can already sense the lecture that is coming. 

To your surprise, Shoko doesn’t say anything. Her expression is unreadable as she begins to work on your wounds, undressing the haphazardly wrapped bandages around your torso. They are soaked with blood, dripping onto the linoleum floor. You wince as cold air suddenly hits the area, making you hiss as you suck in a breath. Shoko pays you no mind. 

She works in silence. You feel the warmth from her fingertips as her RCT does its magic on you. Slowly but surely, your flesh restitches together, skin folding over itself to close the gaping hole at your side. 

“Where is she? Aiko?” you manage to croak. Your mission partner. How old was she, you wonder? Eighteen? Nineteen? 

Finally, Shoko lowers her surgeon’s mask. “Dead.” 

Your brows furrow. “Yeah, I knew that, genius. I mean, did Satoru bring her body back or not?”

Shoko nods. “He got here before you did.” 

Right. Of course he did. 

“Okay. That’s, uhm. Good to know.” You turn away to look up at the ceiling, blinking slowly. Your vision is a bit fuzzy around the edges, and you could feel sleep tugging at your eyelids once again. You hear the scrape of metal against the floor, and from your peripheral, you see Shoko has pulled a chair over to sit beside you. She takes one of your hands and rests it against her forehead. 

“I thought you were mad at me,” you say. 

“I am,” she deadpans. “I’m still mad at you.”

You don’t turn your head over to look at her. You’re petty in that way. 

“Then what are you doing?” 

Shoko completely ignores you. “One day, you’re going to be the death of me.”

You want to bite back: I’ll probably be dead before you. You wouldn’t be wrong in saying that, either. Shoko hasn’t been out on the actual field in years. She’s too valuable to lose. Unlike you- apparently you’re expendable enough to be sent on a mission with a misgraded curse. So was Aiko. Satoru’s taken care of it, at least. 

God, you think to yourself, how the hell are you supposed to tell her parents? 

Shoko kisses your palm, and finally you turn your head. She’s cupped your hand against her cheek. She looks at you like the world. She waits for you to say something. You swallow. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. You don’t apologize often. Shoko knows that all too well, too, and she raises an eyebrow in suspicion. “Don’t look at me like that,” you deadpan. 

“Sorry,” Shoko laughs. “Go on, go on.” 

“I’m… sorry for getting injured and having to put you through this. And I’m sorry for not listening to you and getting arrogant about it.” 

“Mhmm,” Shoko nods. She holds your hand in her lap, playing with the tips of your fingers. She only ever does that when she craves a smoke. 

“Well, I can’t exactly not forgive you.” 

“Aww, you love me that much?”

“No.” 

Shoko gives your hand back to you, and you let it rest over your stomach. You can feel the phantom ache with your wound, the ghost of that spiked vine tendril that had pierced right through you. Your fingers twitch involuntarily at the memory. 

Shoko notices. Usually, at this point, Shoko would try again to convince you to quit. I can support us both. You could do whatever you wanted; the world’s always been a pearl in your hand. Hell, you don’t even have to do anything. You could just stay at home instead. 

How much longer until you're another body on my table, like Aiko? Like Riko and Haibara? 

But Shoko doesn’t say anything. You’d never agree; she hates your stubbornness as much as she loves it. She’s learned your lesson with you. 

“Rest,” she says, and she leans over to kiss your forehead. Your eyes scrunch shut, nose wrinkling, and your expression is so cute she gives you another peck above your eyelids again. “I’ll be back.” 

“Okay,” you say. “I love you.”

Shoko hesitates for a moment. “I love you too.” 

divider by @uzmacchiato !!

a/n: first post kinda nervous,,,, i need more shoko works im starving

please be patient with me if i can’t get to your request right away !! i try my best as i write during my free time , and i’m thankful for your understanding ^^

i will not write : smut / nsfw , sa/non-con/dub-con literally anything along those lines , 

everything else is fair game i suppose, unless it makes me uncomfortable and i reserve the right to not write (ha) your request if it does so

bangladeshi-canadian  |  she/her  | naiad

about me ,,,

hello !! you can call me august !! i like to write sometimes <3 

- i do not write nsfw and will not accept any requests pertaining to that

- occasionally i will write character/character, but usually that’s more self indulgent for myself- ships mayyyy be present in some x reader fics (but aren’t related to the actual x reader relationship) but i ask that you please don’t request anything character x character ! 

- basic dni criteria, i would think (racists, homophobes, transphobes, pro-israel, the list goes on) i will not hesitate to block you if you spread any kind of hate whatsoever in my blog. the springs are a safe space for everyone and i would like to keep it that way !!

likes: animanga , reading + writing in general i guess?? otherwise why would this blog exist lmao , pokemon (alola is my favourite but i’m more of a casual enjoyer) , the legend of zelda , mythology , chemistry , music , drawing , puzzles , stormy weather 

→ shows: apothecary diaries, jjk, frieren: beyond journey’s end , witch hat atelier , studio ghibli , madoka magica , link click , the summer hikaru died , lego monkie kid

→ games: keyframes , olnf + olba , heartstop tour , the legend of zelda (currently replaying botw + totk ) , cooking mama

dislikes: mmm basic dni criteria again , tradwifery whatever its called , disrespectful people mm,,,,