Latest Posts by sirxaibs - Page 3

no hate to yall but someone give a fun teasing, sweet and lighthearted astarion fic. I don’t want smut, I don’t crave the angst (at least at the moment) LIKE SLICE OF LIFE OR SOMETHING. let this man be happy and safe and comforted. Even some scenes within the first week of meeting tav. YALL ARESOMEANTO HIM!!

Imagine just kissing Astarion’s face for no other purpose than to just shower him with them?

No goals, no ulterior motives, no nothing but affection and love for your sweet, sweet Astarion.

Kisses across his cheeks, kisses when he smiles and his fangs show, kisses across his forehead and across his brows when they’re furrowed.

Any and every part of his face was blessed with your kisses because you felt like he needed them to feel better. The poor man could only stand their in stunned silence as you continued with your day after smothering him in kisses, asking non in return because you only wanted him to feel loved without feeling the need to having to pay it back, for that wasn’t what you wanted.

You just wanted Astarion to feel unconditional love, respect and support from you, he didn’t need to do a single thing.

You didn’t kiss him for superficial reasonings but because you loved him too much that words couldn’t describe properly of how much you cared for him, so much to the point it came out on the form of you kissing his face whenever he showed any and every expression he could muster.

You loved Astarion for who he was inside and out, he could be a worm or a fucking goose for all you cared, but that wouldn’t stop you from loving and caring for him all the same.

so like i saw this prompt somewhere on here about a reader reaching…. completion and the other saying “i know baby” and im currently longing for the time when I used to play this game all the time

Kaeya Alberich

The night air in Mondstadt is crisp, carrying the faint scent of dandelions and the distant hum of revelry from the city below. But here, within the quiet sanctuary of Kaeya’s room, the only sound that matters is the soft cadence of his voice.

It had started with a drink, just one. A quiet escape from the noise of the tavern, from the ever watchful eyes of the city. Kaeya had offered, his smirk playful, his voice dripping with charm.

“Stay a little longer tonight, won’t you?”

And you’d said yes, because how could you ever say no to him?

Now, the candlelight flickers, casting warm shadows along the walls, bathing the room in a golden glow. Kaeya leans against the edge of his bed, a glass of wine resting in his palm, swirling lazily as he watches you from beneath heavy lashes. His coat had long since been discarded, leaving him in that deep blue shirt, the top buttons undone, exposing of his collarbone.

“You always look so tense,” he murmurs, tilting his head. His voice is smooth, teasing, but there’s something else beneath it something softer. Something meant only for you. “You let everyone else see you so strong, so put together… but I wonder,” he sets the glass down with a soft clink, his gaze locking onto yours, “who do you fall apart for?”

The weight of his words settles deep in your chest, warm and heavy. Your fingers twitch against the fabric of your clothes, a quiet tell you know he doesn’t miss. There’s something thick in the air between you, something unspoken but understood.

Kaeya rises from his seat, slow and deliberate, his movements fluid like the wine in his glass. He steps closer, close enough that you can feel the coolness of his body against the warmth of your own. His gloved fingers reach up, ghosting over your jaw, tilting your chin up just enough to meet his gaze.

“Let me, just this once,” he breathes, his voice a whisper between you. His fingers brush against your skin, featherlight, as if testing, waiting for permission. “Let me see you unravel.”

And you do.

—

The room is warm, the scent of candle wax and wine lingering in the air. The flickering light casts shadows over Kaeya’s face as he hovers above you, his body flush against yours, pressing you into the soft mattress beneath him. The usual playfulness in his expression has melted into something deeper something raw.

His breath is uneven, his usual composure slipping with every desperate movement. His lips trace slow, open mouthed kisses down the curve of your neck, his gloved hands roaming over your body, mapping you like he’s trying to commit every inch of you to memory.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice rough, hoarse with need.

Your breath hitches, fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. He exhales a soft curse against your throat, his forehead pressing into the crook of your neck as he tries to steady himself, to hold on just a little longer. But the way you move beneath him, the way you whisper his name it’s undoing him.

Kaeya groans, a deep, broken sound, his grip tightening around you as he presses you impossibly closer. His body shudders, his breath ragged, his voice barely a whisper as he murmurs against your lips, “It’s okay… Let go, baby. I’ve got you.”

And when you do, when pleasure overtakes you, leaving you trembling beneath him, Kaeya follows soon after. His breath stutters, his arms wrapping around you like he never wants to let go, his entire body shuddering against yours as he loses himself completely.

Even when the waves of pleasure fade, he doesn’t move, doesn’t pull away. He stays pressed against you, his heart hammering against your own, his fingers tracing lazy circles over your skin. His lips ghost over your temple, pressing soft, lingering kisses against your heated skin.

“I know, baby,” he murmurs, voice thick with exhaustion and something softer something more vulnerable. “I know.”

The night is quiet save for the sound of your breathing, the distant hum of Mondstadt beyond the window. And in that moment, wrapped in Kaeya’s arms, you know neither of you is ready to let go just yet.

VERY SHORT VERY SELF INDULGENT

⋆˚✿˖° ❝𝗜𝘁 𝗙𝗲𝗲𝗹𝘀 𝗖𝗿𝗼𝘄𝗱𝗲𝗱❞ ⋆˚✿˖°

────୨ৎ────

Gojo Satoru X reader

Geto Suguru X reader

────୨ৎ────

3. Men who listen to mitski

The way this took so much effort because i wanted a funny chronically online scene for the reader but then remembered it was 2006 and had re write like half of it

if you missed the last chapters —>masterlist

₍^. .^₎⟆ The next day, you found yourself training with Gojo, as usual. The air was thick with the sound of shuriken slicing through the air, but something was off. Gojo’s movements weren’t as fluid as usual, his energy wasn’t as contagious.

“You’re a little off today,” you commented, narrowly dodging a sudden flurry of shuriken that came your way. You grinned, trying to keep the atmosphere light, but it was clear something wasn’t right.

He flashed you a grin, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Am I? Maybe you’re just slow today,” he replied, his voice teasing, but there was a strange sharpness to it that made you furrow your brow.

You took a step back, studying him carefully. This wasn’t the usual Gojo. The playful tone that usually had you laughing was gone, replaced by something more… tense. But you didn’t want to focus on it. You were here to train, not to try and read his mood.

“Hey, are you okay?” you asked, trying to keep things casual.

Gojo didn’t answer. Instead, his grin morphed into something more teasing, his eyes glinting with a strange intensity. “So, last night… you had fun with Geto, huh?” he asked, voice casual, but the words cut sharper than they should’ve.

You blinked, surprised. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Gojo shrugged, his expression light, but there was a tension in the air that you couldn’t ignore. “Oh, nothing,” he said. “Just noticed the jacket. You two seemed… cozy.” His grin was still in place, but there was something more biting about it now.

Your stomach tightened. That was the second time he’d mentioned Geto today. You didn’t know what was going on, but it didn’t sit right with you. “It’s just a jacket,” you said, trying to laugh it off.

His eyes narrowed, and the playful façade slipped for just a moment, revealing a flash of something deeper something that made you uncomfortable. “Hmm. Sure. But you know, you could’ve asked for my jacket. I thought we were closer. Guess I was wrong,” he muttered, almost to himself.

You felt a knot form in your chest. What was this? Why was Gojo acting like this? You weren’t even sure what was going on between you and Geto, but it didn’t feel like you’d done anything wrong. Yet, Gojo was making you feel like you had.

The next barrage of shuriken came at you, and you barely dodged in time. One grazed your shoulder, and you winced, irritation bubbling up. You tried to shake it off and focus on the fight. “Are you gonna keep throwing these until you get it out of your system?” you shot back, trying to keep your voice steady despite the unease creeping up your spine.

Gojo tilted his head, his eyes sharp. “What, are you mad?” His tone was light, but there was an edge to it now. “I just didn’t expect you to be all… buddy-buddy with him. It’s cute though, you two matching. Really sweet.”

You gritted your teeth, frustration flooding in. “What’s your problem, Gojo?”

“My problem?” He threw another shuriken at you, sharper, faster than the others. “You’re my problem. You—” He stopped himself, clearly realizing too late he’d said something more than he’d meant to. “You know what? Never mind. Just keep dodging.”

Another barrage came at you, but you avoided them with ease, though your patience was starting to wear thin. You weren’t going to let him throw you off track, but you could feel the growing tension between you.

“Gojo,” you began again, trying to force some calm into your voice, “What’s going on with you today?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he just stood there, his usual nonchalance slowly returning, but it was forced, like he was trying too hard to keep up the front. “Nothing,” he muttered, his tone flat. “I’m just messing with you. Nothing’s going on.”

You narrowed your eyes, seeing through the cracks in his mask. There was something he wasn’t saying, and it was frustrating the hell out of you. “Look,” you said, taking a deep breath, “If you’ve got an issue with me or with Geto, just say it. I’m not gonna guess at what you’re thinking.”

Gojo flashed you that signature grin, the one that always made you feel like everything was fine, like nothing was too serious, but this time it felt like he wasn’t trying to comfort you “I don’t know what you mean,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m just here to make you sweat. Keep up.”

But there was no real challenge in his voice anymore. His movements were slow, almost lazy, and you could tell he wasn’t really pushing you anymore. He was holding back, but you had no idea why.

The frustration was bubbling up inside you, a sense of unease you couldn’t shake. “Don’t give me that. You’ve never acted like this before.” You stepped forward, trying to keep your tone steady, but it was hard with the emotions swirling. “So, what’s going on, Gojo? Why are you acting like this?”

For a moment, Gojo’s grin faltered, just barely, before he quickly masked it with another casual shrug. “Nothing,” he repeated. “I’m just messing with you.”

You stood there for a moment, unsure whether to push further or to drop it. The problem was, you couldn’t drop it, not when you could see something shifting beneath the surface. You had no idea if it was jealousy, frustration, or something else entirely, but something was off, and it wasn’t just with him.

You bit your lip, trying to push the sinking feeling down. Maybe today wasn’t the day for answers, but you knew Gojo had something on his mind.

Then, just as you were about to take another step, you felt the sharp sting from your shoulder, the spot where the shuriken had grazed you earlier. You winced, holding your arm as you glanced at Gojo. He noticed, immediately dropping his teasing demeanor and stepping forward.

“Hey,” he said, his tone suddenly soft, all traces of the previous tension gone. “Let me see.” His voice was unexpectedly gentle, and you could hear the concern, even though he was trying to hide it.

You hesitated for a second before pulling your hand away, letting him check the cut. Gojo gently ran his fingers over the wound, his touch surprisingly careful. His usual cocky grin had disappeared, replaced by a quiet intensity as he inspected it.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, his brow furrowed slightly.

You shook your head, a little stunned by the sudden shift. “It’s fine, Gojo. It’s just a scratch.”

He didn’t seem convinced, still looking at the injury like it was more serious than it was. “Still,” he muttered, “don’t want you hurt, okay?” he lets out a small sigh “especially by me.”

You watched him, confused by the sudden change in mood. A second ago, he’d been throwing jabs at you, both literal and verbal and now here he was, tending to you like it was nothing.

You tried to read him, but Gojo’s face was a mask again, the playful grin returning even if it didn’t quite match his eyes. “cmon let’s get it wrapped up,” he said, his tone returning to its usual cocky cadence.

You stayed silent for a moment, trying to piece everything together. But Gojo didn’t seem to want to dive any deeper. He gave you one last look, and you could almost hear the unsaid words in the air between you, but he turned away quickly, dragging you without another word.

You followed, still holding your shoulder, the weight of everything left unsaid hanging heavily in the air.

—

a few years previously

It was a warm summer afternoon, the sun casting a golden glow over the playground where you and Gojo had spent countless hours together since childhood. The two of you were sprawled out on the grass, the faint smell of fresh cut grass mixing with the summer air. You lay side by side, heads tilted back, eyes staring up at the sky, watching the clouds drift lazily by.

“Hey, remember when we used to pretend we were superheroes?” Gojo asked, his voice light, as if it was just yesterday that you both had made up all kinds of ridiculous adventures.

You chuckled, turning your head to look at him. “Yeah, and you always insisted on being the most powerful one, even when I was clearly the more strategic one.”

He shot you a teasing grin, his white hair falling messily across his forehead. “Well I am the most powerful so I had to be the strong one. You needed someone to protect you.”

You rolled your eyes, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “Please, I was always the one saving you. You had no idea how to plan. I was the brains of the operation.”

Gojo laughed, the sound carefree, like it always was when the two of you were together. “Fine, fine. You were the brains, and I was the muscle.”

“Yeah, I can’t fight you on that one,” you agreed, smiling softly.

The two of you lapsed into a comfortable silence, the memories of childhood games and adventures playing in your mind like a movie you couldn’t stop watching. It felt strange to think about how things were about to change, how high school would be the next step for both of you, separating you from the simplicity of these carefree days.

“Hey, you think we’ll still hang out after we start high school?” Gojo asked suddenly, his voice quieter now, like he was considering something a little more serious than usual.

You shifted, propping yourself up on one elbow to look at him more closely. “Of course we will,” you said with confidence, though part of you was unsure, a little nervous. “We’ve been close since we were little. That’s not going to change just because we go to high school.”

Gojo turned his head to face you, his blue eyes unusually soft. “Yeah, but what if everyone else is… different? What if we’re not as close as we were?”

You smiled, giving him a small, reassuring nudge. “Gojo, we’ve always been close. No matter what happens, that’s not going to change. We’re always going to be us.”

He smiled back, a little brighter this time, though there was a flicker of uncertainty behind his eyes that only you seemed to catch. “Yeah. You’re right.”

You both lay back down, your fingers brushing for a moment before you settled into the grass again, the sound of the wind in the trees the only noise filling the space between you. It was moments like these that made you feel like time would never move forward, like nothing could ever pull the two of you apart.

As you both lay there, it was clear, no matter what high school would bring, you and Gojo would always be close. That bond was unshakable. And even as life would change, as it always did, you knew that it would never quite change the way you felt when you were together.

—

After practice, the tension that had settled between you and Gojo still lingered, but it was quieter now, more subdued. The usual spark in his eyes was a little dimmer, his usual cocky grin tucked away. “Hey,” Gojo finally spoke, breaking the quiet, though his voice wasn’t as playful as usual. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

You raised an eyebrow, surprised. “You’re apologizing now?”

He shrugged, running a hand through his messy white hair. “I don’t know. Just… being a little much today, I guess. Got in my own head for no reason.”

You glanced at him, still unsure what was going on. “You’ve been weird since practice. What happened?”

Gojo sighed, glancing ahead as if unsure how to explain himself. “I don’t know. Maybe I just didn’t like how things were last night. With Geto, I mean. I wasn’t mad, but… I guess I felt a little weird about it.”

You blinked, trying to piece it together. “Weird how? You think I did something wrong?”

“No, no, not that,” Gojo said quickly, shaking his head. “It’s just that you two seemed so… comfortable. It’s like I wasn’t part of the picture, y’know?” He stopped walking for a second, looking at the ground like he was thinking it over. “I guess I just got a little insecure about it, but that’s on me, not you.”

The confession hung in the air, and for a moment, you were silent, letting it sink in. “You don’t need to worry about that. I mean, we’re all friends, right? Geto and I… we were just talking. Nothing more.”

Gojo’s eyes softened slightly, and he nodded slowly. “Yeah. I know. It was dumb. But sometimes I get caught up in my own head, and things just get weird. I don’t want to make things uncomfortable.”

You smiled gently, trying to lighten the mood. “It’s fine. Just don’t go making assumptions, okay? If something’s bothering you, just talk to me. I’m not going anywhere.”

Gojo flashed a small smile at that, but it wasn’t his usual smirk. It was quieter, more thoughtful. “Yeah. I guess I need to stop overthinking stuff.”

You both continued walking, the silence between you now more comfortable. “So, are we good now?” you asked, breaking the quiet again.

Gojo nodded. “Yeah, we’re good. I’ll try not to be such a pain in the ass next time.”

You laughed softly, nudging him with your elbow. “Just don’t be a jerk. That’s all I ask.”

He grinned then, the familiar playful glint returning to his eyes, though it was tempered with something more sincere now. “Deal. But you know you love me anyway.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Sure, sure. You’re my idiot.”

Gojo chuckled, the tension between you now feeling like a distant memory. “Yeah, and I’m fine with that.”

The two of you continued walking, The day had just started and nobody like gojo could make you feel so much in such little time.

—————

Shoko Ieiri never asked to be the unwilling audience to whatever tragic, slow burn, one sided romantic drama her two idiot best friends were trying to pull off. But alas, here she was in the front row seat to the disaster. So let’s present a four part mini opera of watching a dumpster fire puke out babies.

Act One:

It was another regular morning at Jujutsu High. The classroom was quiet, everyone minding their business, trying to get through the day without anything too ridiculous happening. Wishful thinking. Because on the other side of the room, Y/n was drumming their pencil against the desk, humming a tune.

Gojo leaned in, ever so smooth, flashing his usual grin. “Hey, Y/n, what do you say we grab lunch together? Just the two of us?”

Ah, there it was. The daily delusion. Shoko sighed, resting her chin in her palm, waiting for the inevitable crash and burn.

Y/n turned, their face with confusion, not with realization, but pure, innocent excitement. “Gojo, don’t we all eat lunch together everyday? that’s like a no brainer.”

Gojo’s grin faltered for half a second before he recovered. “…Yeah… sure, whatever. You’re just so fun to be around, Y/n. It’s never a harm to ask” He threw in a wink, as if that was going to help.

Shoko took a slow sip from her water bottle . Pathetic. Then looking at her bottle, the stickers all plastered were from you every time you go out to the city in tokyo. You always bring back one for her

Looking back up you were already turning away to her direction. “Hey, Shoko, did you watch that episode of Nana I was telling you about? It was so good!”

Gojo blinked. Shoko stared.

Amazing. That was a direct hit. Instant death. No jujutsu technique needed.

Gojo slumped over his desk, muttering something about how he was right there and you could talk about that show with him while Shoko just smirked. This was getting entertaining.

Act Two:

Between classes, everyone filtered through the hallways, chatting, stretching, or plotting how to sneak past Yaga’s next lecture. But Shoko? She was once again a reluctant bystander to whatever foolishness Geto was about to attempt.

Geto, the smooth talker, slid in with an almost dramatic tone. “So, there’s this new café that opened up downtown. Maybe we could check it out later today? I’m know you’d love the desserts.”

Now, a normal person would recognize this for what it was, an invitation, a clear attempt at spending time together, possibly even a date.

Y/n was not a normal person.

“Oh! I love desserts! But—” They suddenly stopped, looking deep in thought. “Oh! I still have some cookies left from last week’s batch. I should probably finish those before they get stale.”

Geto blinked, his calculated charm thrown completely off course. “Uh, yeah. I guess that would be a smart thing to do.”

Shoko stifled a laugh. Geto, you absolute fool. You thought you were different?

He tried again, nudging them slightly. “But if you do decide to ditch the cookies, I’ll happily accompany you”

Y/n grinned. “That sounds fun, but I really do love my cookies.”

And there it is. Another fatality.

Geto sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Right, right…”

Act Three:

By the afternoon, the four of them had gathered in the courtyard, basking in the rare moment of peace before things inevitably went to hell again. Shoko, once again, sat back to enjoy the train wreck unfold.

Gojo tried first. “So, I was thinking… We could go out for ice cream later. Just the two of us.”

A good attempt. Direct, casual. Maybe this time?

“Ice cream? Oh, that sounds fun!” Y/n nodded, and for a brief moment, hope glimmered in Gojo’s eyes. But then.

“Though I should probably focus on dinner first. Maybe I should stop by the store later for ingredients.”

Gojo smiled, but it was strained. “Yeah… sure, ingredients for dinner.” He shot Geto a please, I’m dying here look, but Geto only shrugged.

Geto leaned in, voice smooth as always. “Honestly, you should just let me take you out to dinner instead. We know by now I know all the best spots. No need to worry about cooking.”

Y/n blinked before smiling. “Oh! That’s so sweet of you, Geto! But, I swear, I’m so bad at picking good places”

Here it comes, Shoko thought, already knowing where this was headed.

“—Like, I thought that noodle place last week was a great idea, and then it was super salty, and—”

Geto chuckled, exasperated. “Yeah, well, that’s why I said i’ll just take you to the best places. No more bad decisions.”

“Wow, you’re are so thoughtful!” Y/n beamed. “Maybe we should all go together, huh? That would be fun!”

Gojo and Geto exchanged a silent look.

They’re not gonna make it.

Shoko sighed, tossing her cigarette away.

Act Four:

Later that afternoon, everyone was gathered at the training grounds, but the real battle had nothing to do with cursed techniques. It was the ongoing war of Will she ever take a hint?

Spoiler: No.

Gojo leaned toward Geto, whispering, “This is getting ridiculous. I should just straight up ask.”

Geto sighed. “Nah. If she’s not getting it now, she never will. just need to wait for the perfect moment.”

Meanwhile, Y/n practically skipped past them, grinning. “Hey, Gojo, Geto! After training, you wanna come watch me try this new recipe I found? I bet it’ll be fun!”

Gojo and Geto exchanged yet another defeated glance before sighing in unison.

Shoko exhaled, flicking her lighter open and shut. Idiots. All of them. But at least it was entertaining.

Maybe one day they’d figure it out.

…Probably not.

—-

The sun beginning to set as you and Geto found yourselves finishing up with the day’s training. Most of the students had already scattered, and Gojo had disappeared to God knows where, leaving just you and Geto alone in the training grounds.

You were still bouncing around with that same vibrant energy, talking about all sorts of things, mostly food, as usual. Geto watched you for a moment, a smirk on his lips. He had tried so many times to ask you out subtly, to flirt here and there, but you were always too distracted by something else, too bubbly to catch the hints.

He sighed softly, running a hand through his black hair. It wasn’t that he wasn’t enjoying your company, it was exactly the opposite. You were easy to be around, your endless energy infectious, and his patience had reached its limit.

You turned to him, noticing the way he was looking at you. “What’s up, Geto? You look like you’re thinking hard about something.”

He took a step closer, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made you blink in surprise. “Alright, enough of this.” He said it bluntly, no more jokes or subtle hints. “Listen, you and I are making ramen tonight. Just us. No Gojo, no distractions. We’re doing this.”

You tilted your head, completely oblivious to the seriousness in his voice. “Ramen? Ooh, sounds fun! Wait, do you mean like, together together?” You asked, your enthusiasm growing.

Geto felt a small chuckle bubble up. “Yeah, together together.” He mimicked your tone, feeling a little ridiculous at how long he’d been trying to get you to notice the actual intentions behind his words. “Just the two of us. We’re cooking. No interruptions.”

It finally clicked. He could see the sparkle in your eyes as your face lit up. “Oh! That sounds amazing! I love making ramen! We can make it super spicy, and I’ll bring the snacks!!”

He paused, staring at you for a moment as the realization hit him: Maybe he had been going about it all wrong. You weren’t the kind of person who needed subtlety or flirty comments to catch on. No, you needed directness.

“Exactly,” Geto said, a little more softly, his usual teasing smile playing on his lips. “Just you and me. No distractions. We’ll make the perfect ramen.”

You bounced on your heels, the excitement in your voice palpable. “Yes! I’m so down. Let’s make it a fun night! I promise I’ll keep the kitchen mess to a minimum… well, mostly.” You laughed, already imagining how the night would go.

Geto shook his head fondly, a warm smile finally tugging at his lips. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

As the two of you walked off together to gather ingredients, he couldn’t help but feel a bit lighter. Maybe it wasn’t about trying so hard to get your attention. Maybe it was just about spending time together, letting things unfold naturally. Tonight was a start, at least.

And as you skipped ahead, chattering excitedly about ramen, Geto’s heart did something strange, something he hadn’t quite expected. Maybe this was the way to get closer to you after all.

—-

The quiet hum of the city outside was drowned out by the bubbling broth on the stove and your excited rambling about spice levels.

Suguru found himself watching you more than actually cooking. You were fully in your element, tossing ingredients into the pot with reckless confidence, tasting as you went, adjusting flavors with an enthusiasm that made him smile.

He wasn’t sure when it had started, this thing where he always tried to pull your attention toward him. maybe it was when he first laid his eye on you. He could never tell. Being around you warped his sense of composure Maybe it was back when Gojo first took an interest in you loud, obnoxious, and always draped over your shoulder, demanding your attention.

Suguru had done the same, in his own way. Casual compliments, lingering glances, even slipping little jokes into conversations that only you would catch. But no matter what, you never seemed to pick up on it. If Gojo did the exact same thing, you just laughed, played along, as if it was all part of the game.

Had you ever noticed that Suguru was trying just as hard? That he had been fighting for your attention this whole time?

“Suguru,” your voice cut through his thoughts, bringing him back to the present. You were holding a ladle out to him, expectantly. “Taste test.”

He blinked, then leaned down, taking a careful sip. The broth was rich, spicy, just a little too much heat but that was exactly how you liked it.

You grinned at him. “Good, right?”

He licked his lips, letting the flavor settle before nodding. “Yeah. It’s perfect.”

Your grin widened as you turned back to the stove, humming to yourself.

Suguru exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. Maybe all this time, he had been making things too complicated. Maybe it wasn’t about trying to win your attention over Gojo’s, or proving something to himself. Maybe it was just about moments like this standing next to you, cooking together, existing in a space that was just yours.

He reached over, plucking a noodle from the pot before you could swat his hand away.

“Hey!” You huffed, glaring playfully. “Patience, Geto.”

He smirked, chewing as he leaned against the counter. “I’ve been patient for a long time.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was warmth in your expression. “Well, it’s paying off now, isn’t it?”

Suguru paused. Then, a slow, genuine smile spread across his face. Yeah. Maybe it was.

—

Suguru smirked as he leaned against the counter, arms crossed as he watched you fuss over the ramen. The way you were talking fast paced, slightly dramatic, and full of over the top confidence reminded him of someone else.

“You know,” he said casually, “I’m starting to think that when Gojo isn’t around, you just turn into a mini version of him.”

You froze mid-stir, turning to face him with an exaggerated gasp. “Excuse me?”

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk growing. “Think about it. You get loud, overly confident, and act like you’re the star of the show. Sound familiar?”

You pointed the ladle at him, scandalized. “I do not act like Satoru.”

Suguru chuckled. “You literally just did the dramatic gasp he does whenever someone insults him.”

Your mouth opened to argue, but then you paused, replaying your own reaction in your head. A look of horror crossed your face. “Oh my God.”

“There it is,” Suguru teased, laughing. “Acceptance is the first step.”

You groaned, dramatically slumping against the counter. “This is terrible. I can’t be like him! I have dignity!”

“Uh huh.” Suguru rolled his eyes. “Keep telling yourself that.”

You grumbled under your breath as you went back to stirring the ramen. “I don’t even wear ugly sunglasses like he does.”

“Yet.”

You whipped around and flicked a droplet of broth at him, making him dodge back with a laugh.

“This is slander,” you huffed, but there was amusement in your eyes. “I’m way cooler than Satoru.”

Suguru hummed, pretending to think. “Eh. Debatable.”

You scoffed, shoving him lightly. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet, here I am, spending my night with you instead of doing literally anything else.”

You paused at that, blinking up at him. Suguru realized a second too late how genuine that had sounded.

You tilted your head. “Is that your way of saying you like spending time with me?”

Suguru clicked his tongue, turning back to the counter to hide his face. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, mini Satoru.”

You snorted, bumping his shoulder before going back to the ramen. “Whatever you say. Regular boring sized Suguru”

He sighed, shaking his head but he couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips.

He wasn’t sure why, but something about this moment felt… different. The usual teasing from Gojo was absent, no one else was around to interrupt, and for once, he had your attention all to himself.

“You keep staring,” you said suddenly, not looking up from the pot.

Suguru blinked, caught off guard. “Yeah? Maybe I just like watching you cook.”

You snorted, finally glancing at him. “You’re just waiting for me to mess something up, aren’t you?”

“Now why would I do that?” He grinned, but the truth was, he hadn’t even thought about the mess you were inevitably going to make. His mind had been too preoccupied with something else something he hadn’t quite figured out how to say yet.

You waved a hand at him. “Okay, okay, taste test round two.” You scooped up a bit of broth and held the spoon out. “Be honest.”

Suguru leaned in, lips brushing the spoon as he took a slow sip. Your eyes were locked on him, waiting expectantly.

“…It’s good.”

“That’s it?” You frowned, tilting your head. “Just ‘good’?”

Suguru held back a chuckle. “It’s really good.”

You beamed. “That’s better.”

Silence settled for a moment, broken only by the occasional bubbling of the pot. Suguru knew he should say something should bring up the fact that he wasn’t here just because of the ramen, that he wasn’t just tagging along for fun. But the words felt… stuck.

He’d spent so long trying to get you to notice him, to see him the way he saw you. But Gojo was always there, taking up space, making everything a competition. Suguru had been competing without even realizing it.

Maybe it wasn’t a competition at all. Maybe it was just this.

“You’re thinking really hard about something again,” you pointed out, nudging him with your elbow. “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

Suguru scoffed. “Very funny.”

“I am funny,” you shot back before turning back to the stove, humming to yourself.

Suguru hesitated, then reached out, lightly tugging at the sleeve of your uniform.

You blinked, looking up at him in confusion. “What?”

For once, Suguru didn’t try to be subtle.

“Thank you,” he said simply.

You tilted your head. “thank you? what do you mean”

He chuckled. “for… being yourself. with me, I’m glad it’s just us.”

Your expression softened, and for a moment, Suguru thought just maybe you finally understood what he meant.

You smiled. “Me too.”

And for now, that was enough.

You and Geto leaned back in your chairs, full and satisfied after your surprisingly successful attempt at making ramen. The kitchen was a complete disaster, a few stray noodles on the floor, and broth splashed in places you definitely didn’t remember spilling it

Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you grinned. “Okay, I’m not gonna lie… that might’ve been one of the best meals I’ve had in a while.”

Geto stretched his arms behind his head, looking as effortlessly cool as ever. “I’ll admit, I’m impressed. This turned out better than I expected. Though… I’m still not sure how I feel about all the weird internet jokes you kept throwing in.”

You gasped dramatically. “Excuse me? Those are top tier. Don’t act like you didn’t laugh when I said, ‘I like turtles.’”

“I laughed because it was random,” he said, shaking his head, though amusement flickered in his eyes. “Honestly, I’m starting to think you spend too much time online.”

You scoffed. “Hey, just because you don’t appreciate the beauty of Charlie the Unicorn doesn’t mean I have a problem.”

Geto groaned. “That was disturbing. You made me watch a video about a unicorn getting its kidney stolen.”

“It’s iconic,” you corrected. “If you don’t know about Charlie, You don’t deserve the internet at all”

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s kinda the goal.”

You shook your head in mock disappointment. “Wow. So you’re telling me you don’t even check MySpace every day?”

“Nope.”

You gasped again. “You don’t even… wait, do you even have a MySpace?”

Geto smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Oh my God. You don’t, do you?” You pointed at him. “You’re a MySpace hater.”

He chuckled. “I wouldn’t say I hate it. I just don’t see the point of telling the whole world my favorite song and ranking my friends.”

“You are so lucky we made good ramen, or else I’d be rethinking this friendship.”

He shrugged, completely unbothered. “I’ll live.”

You slumped dramatically in your chair. “This is honestly tragic. You probably don’t even know about ‘Peanut Butter Jelly Time.’”

Geto rolled his eyes, but he was clearly holding back a laugh. “I know about it. And I regret knowing about it.”

“You just have no taste,” you said with a grin, finishing off the last bit of broth in your bowl. “But don’t worry, I’ll make sure to educate you properly. By the end of this year, you’ll be quoting ‘The End of the World’ without even realizing it.”

He gave you a side glance. “If that happens, I need you to know that it’s entirely your fault.”

“Obviously,” you said proudly.

Geto shook his head, his smirk softening. “Still, I gotta admit… all this internet nonsense? It makes you you.”

You paused, stomach flipping slightly at the unexpected sincerity in his tone.

“Wow,” you teased, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up your neck. “You’re getting all sentimental on me now?”

He shrugged. “Just telling the truth.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “You’re still insufferable.”

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk turning a little softer. “You love it.”

You let out an exaggerated sigh. “If you say so. But I’m still not forgiving you for all that slander against early internet culture.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll find some way to get back at me,” Geto said, moving to clear the dishes like it was no big deal. “But for now, I’ll give you the win. The ramen was good.”

You leaned back in your chair, watching him. “You’re not half bad yourself, you know.”

He met your gaze, smiling in that quiet, knowing way of his. “Maybe next time, I’ll teach you how to cook something special. Not just ramen.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You just wanna flex your superior cooking skills.”

“Maybe,” he said with a wink as he rinsed his bowl. “Or maybe I just like spending time with you.”

Your heart did a weird little flip. He didn’t even seem to realize what he’d just said, but it hit you harder than you expected.

You blinked, covering it up with an easy smirk. “Oh? And here I thought I was the one keeping things interesting.”

He shot you a teasing look over his shoulder. “You do. That’s why I keep coming back.”

But then, with a final chuckle, Geto turned back to the sink, and the moment passed. You exhaled, pushing yourself up to help him clean. “Alright, alright. I’ll let you have this one.”

“Good,” he said with that infuriatingly smug smile. “You know I don’t like to lose.”

You rolled your eyes, but your grin stayed put. now busy packing away the leftovers from your ramen experiment, the kitchen finally settling into some semblance of order after the chaos of cooking. Humming to yourself, you scraped the last of the broth into a container, already thinking about what to do next.

“Hey,” you called over your shoulder, “we should have a movie night. You, me, Gojo, and Shoko. It’ll be fun.”

At the sink, Geto let out a small, barely audible sigh as he wiped down the counter. It was so subtle you almost missed it, but something about the way his shoulders tensed made you glance over at him. He didn’t say anything, just kept scrubbing at an already clean spot like it had personally offended him.

“Movie night?” you repeated, a little softer now. “It’s been a while since we all hung out. We can watch something dumb like She’s the Man or Napoleon Dynamite, just eat snacks and chill.”

Another pause. This time, you caught the way his jaw tensed before he exhaled.

“You in?” you asked, tilting your head, trying to read him.

“Yeah, sounds great,” he replied, but his voice was flat, and when he put the dishcloth down, he did it with way too much care like he was making an effort not to be rough with it.

Something was definitely off.

You smiled at him anyway, hoping to lighten the mood. “Awesome! I’ll text everyone and see what they wanna watch.”

Grabbing your phone, you started typing, but you kept sneaking glances at Geto. He had moved to the fridge now, but instead of grabbing anything, he just stared inside like it would tell him what to do next. His fingers tapped idly against the door, and his expression was distant, like he wasn’t really present.

You hesitated before speaking again. “Hey,” you said gently, “are you okay?”

He blinked, snapping out of whatever thought had him distracted. “Yeah,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Just tired.”

You didn’t entirely believe him, but you also didn’t want to push. Instead, you softened your approach. “too much ramen?”

He gave a small shrug. “Something like that.”

You hummed in understanding. “Well, no pressure. If you don’t feel up for a movie night, I can make up some excuse to cancel. Ill say gojos ego gave me a headache or something.”

That got a small chuckle out of him brief, but there. “Tempting,” he admitted, closing the fridge without taking anything. “But it’s fine. I don’t mind hanging out.”

You smiled. “Good. But if you do want to dip early or just chill instead of watching some dumb comedy, just say the word, okay?”

He looked at you then, really looked at you, and for the first time that evening, the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease a little. “Alright,” he said, softer this time. “Thanks.”

Feeling like you’d at least chipped away at whatever was bothering him, you turned back to your phone. “Cool. Everyone’s in. We’ll start at eight.”

He nodded, walking over to lean against the counter, watching as you set your phone down. He seemed calmer now, but there was still something unreadable in his expression.

“You want me to pick up snacks?” you asked, glancing at him.

“No need,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ve got it covered.”

You studied him for a second, then decided to let it go. Instead, you grinned. “Alright, cool. Then I’ll focus on setting up the couch. You know how Gojo is about his pillow arrangements.”

That actually got another small smirk out of him, and he shook his head in mild exasperation. “Yeah. He acts like he needs a throne to watch a movie.”

You laughed. “Exactly! Which is why I will be taking the best spot before he gets here.”

Geto just shook his head again, but there was warmth behind his usual sarcasm this time.

You grabbed a blanket from the corner and started draping it over the couch. “Okay, so what do you wanna watch?”

He shrugged. “I’m fine with whatever.”

You gave him a pointed look. “Come on. You always have opinions about movies. What’s your guilty pleasure pick?”

He rolled his eyes but smirked slightly. “I don’t have one.”

You gasped dramatically. “Not even The Lizzie McGuire Movie?”

“Not a chance.”

“Alright, what about High School Musical?”

“Still no.”

You huffed. “You hate joy.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I don’t hate joy. I just don’t need to watch a bunch of teenagers dramatically singing about basketball.”

“Fine,” you said, dramatically flopping onto the couch. “Then you pick something.”

He thought for a second, then finally said, “How about Pirates of the Caribbean?”

You perked up. “Okay, solid choice. Jack Sparrow is iconic.”

Geto smirked. “Exactly.”

—

You were digging through your closet, feeling content now that the tension from earlier had faded a little. “This is gonna be fun,” you murmured, pulling a blanket out and throwing it on the bed.

From across the room, Geto hesitated, watching you. The frustration that had been lingering in his expression all night seemed to finally fade, replaced by something quieter something softer.

He didn’t say anything, just shook his head to himself before heading to grab the dishes. “Yeah,” he muttered, almost too quiet for you to hear. “It will be.”

—

adjusting the TV, making sure everything was perfect for the upcoming movie night. The room was cozy, blankets spread across the floor, pillows carefully arranged on the couch. You had even set up a snack station chips, candy, and, of course, a bowl of ramen (leftovers from earlier). Satisfied, you were just about to sit down and relax when

BAM!

Gojo burst through the door like a human hurricane, his usual cocky grin stretched across his face, eyes alight with excitement.

Before you could react

WHAM!

He scooped you up effortlessly, lifting you clean off the ground like some kind of overexcited golden retriever in human form.

“Movie night!” he shouted, his voice way too loud for the small space. “It’s starting! Let’s gooooo!”

You let out a surprised squeal, kicking your legs as you tried to break free. “Gojo! What the hell? Put me down!”

But he only laughed, spinning you around like a ragdoll. “You were taking too long! We gotta get in the zone mentally, physically, spiritually—”

“You’re gonna break my back, you psycho!”

From the couch, Geto watched the scene unfold with mild amusement, lazily popping a piece of popcorn into his mouth. His expression was unreadable, but the way he leaned back with an arm draped over the back of the couch told you he was thoroughly entertained.

“Gojo, let her breathe,” Geto finally said, though his voice held no real urgency. “We do still need her conscious for the movie.”

Gojo scoffed but finally let you go, dropping you onto a pile of pillows with exaggerated care. “There. Safe and sound!”

You huffed, pushing your hair out of your face as you shot him a glare. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet, you keep inviting me back,” he teased, plopping down beside you like he hadn’t just thrown you around like a wrestling dummy.

Shaking your head, you turned to Geto. “Can you believe him?”

Geto smirked. “Unfortunately, yes.”

Gojo gasped dramatically, clutching his chest like he’d been wounded. “Betrayed. By my own best friends.”

“Shoko’s not even here yet,” you pointed out, looking at the clock. “She’s late as always.”

Geto hummed. “Classic Shoko.”

“Alright, alright, what are we watching?” Gojo said, grabbing the remote and scrolling aimlessly through the DVD menu. “Because I vote Shrek. A classic. Iconic. Timeless.”

Geto groaned. “We watched that last time and we already decided a movie.”

“Yeah, because it’s good,” Gojo argued. “What else are we gonna watch? The Notebook?” He made an exaggerated gagging sound.

You rolled your eyes. “like something with actual adventure? Like Pirates of the Caribbean?”

At that, both Gojo and Geto perked up slightly.

“Oh,” Gojo said, considering it. “You know what? That is a solid choice.”

Geto nodded.

You grinned. “Great, then it’s settled. Captain Jack Sparrow it is.”

As you pressed play, the usual chaos settled into a comfortable stillness. The glow of the TV flickered across the room, casting warm shadows on the walls. The energy from earlier had finally evened out, leaving only the familiar quiet of good company.

Gojo, predictably, ended up sprawled next to you, his head resting against your shoulder like he’d done it a thousand times before. He hadn’t even asked, just flopped down with a content sigh, making himself at home.

Meanwhile, Geto had claimed his usual spot infront of you, his posture relaxed but still composed, his eyes half lidded as he absently ate from the bowl of popcorn in his lap.

Shoko, having arrived late as usual, was already half asleep, curled up on the floor in a pile of pillows. The quiet rise and fall of her breathing mixed with the sounds of the movie playing in the background.

Gojo shifted slightly, pressing closer, his arm draping lazily over your side. “You make a great headrests,” he murmured, half awake.

You huffed a quiet laugh but didn’t move away. “You’re lucky I tolerate you.”

“I know,” he sighed, fully content.

Geto, looking back from his spot, shook his head in mild exasperation, As the movie played on, the world outside seemed to fade. You, Gojo, Geto, and Shoko just the four of you, tangled in blankets, sharing warmth and quiet moments that didn’t need to be spoken aloud.

In the soft silence of the room, you felt the small, intimate moments that made this all feel so right. Gojo’s head, warm and heavy against your shoulder, the gentle movement of his hand as it brushed against your side occasionally, a reminder that even in his antics, he still found peace in being close to you. Geto’s calm presence, so steady, grounding The feeling of being wrapped in their presence was quiet, comforting.

Gojo shifted again, scooting just a little closer, his body curling into you with an ease that made you smile despite yourself. You weren’t sure how long you’d been sitting there, but you realized the movie was mostly a background noise now, the quiet comfort of their presence making everything else fade away.

You absentmindedly ran your fingers through gojo’s hair, the softness of it a comforting distraction. His bright strands slipped through your fingers, each motion slow and deliberate. It was soothing his hair, the steady sound of the movie in the background, the rhythmic rise and fall of Gojo’s breathing as he laid next to you, perfectly at ease. It felt like the world outside had disappeared for a while.

You glanced at Shoko, who had sprawled herself out on the floor in a nest of pillows. Her usual indifference was replaced with a rare, unbothered expression, her eyes closed as she softly snored, blissfully unaware of the world. You couldn’t help but smile inwardly. Of course, she’s asleep already.

——

Geto’s footsteps were silent as he made his way to the door, but even in the quiet, he couldn’t quite escape the feeling that settled in his chest. He paused for a moment, glancing back at the scene in front of him. The room was still, save for the soft rise and fall of your breathing as you lay peacefully between Gojo’s arms. Gojo had shifted so that he was fully curled around you, his head resting gently on top of yours, as if you were always meant to be this close. Your soft breaths were a contrast to the rhythmic rise and fall of Gojo’s chest, which seemed impossibly calm despite the chaos of their lives.

For a moment, Geto stood there, just watching. There was something so comforting about the image of you nestled in Gojo’s arms. It was peaceful. It was perfect. But it made something twist inside him something old, something familiar. Something that had always been there, lurking, every time he let his heart wander too far into thoughts of you.

You had always been Gojo’s, whether you’d known it or not. The bond they shared had always been clear, too strong to ignore. Geto wasn’t foolish enough to pretend it wasn’t. They’d always been together friends, partners in everything from training to missions and while Geto knew his place, he couldn’t help but want more. He wanted more than just being the second person in the room. More than always being the one to stand in Gojo’s shadow, even when he told himself it was fine, it was enough.

And yet, despite the ache, despite the pull of his emotions that made his chest tight, he couldn’t bring himself to walk away. Not from you. Not from this.

His eyes softened, his gaze lingering on you as you lay between Gojo’s arms, still unaware of his presence. He wished, for just a moment, that things were different. That you could see it the way he did see him the way he wanted you to. But it was easier to be the one in the background. It was safer, less complicated.

You were happy like this, with Gojo, and Geto could never bring himself to take that away from you.

But there was always that gnawing feeling, that silent, quiet resentment that clung to him. The bitter realization that no matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he might want it, he was always going to be the one left behind. The second option. The one who watched from the sidelines as Gojo took what he wanted what you wanted.

He swallowed hard, turning his back to the room, his fingers brushing lightly against the doorframe. He let out a soft, almost inaudible exhale. “Maybe next time,” he whispered to himself, his voice barely a murmur.

He didn’t give up. Not on you, not on his feelings, not on his place in your life.

But tonight, as he watched Gojo protectively curl around you, the ache in his chest was a little more difficult to ignore. And for a moment, just a moment, Geto let himself feel it let himself feel the weight of being the one who always stood at the edge of the frame, never truly part of the picture.

He pushed the door open quietly, slipping out into the hallway with a final glance at the scene. And then, he let it go for now.

He would wait.

Just like he always had.

—

The early morning light filtered through your window, casting a soft, hazy glow across the room. The sound of steady breathing filled the space, the comforting rhythm of Gojo and Shoko still deep in sleep beside you. But something felt off. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. You had been half awake for a while, the warmth of Gojo’s arm around you, the soft rustling of Shoko in her sleep, but your mind kept wandering back to Geto.

He hadn’t been with you all morning.

You slid carefully from your bed, trying not to disturb Gojo or Shoko, and crept out into the hallway, padding softly toward Geto’s room. The floorboards creaked lightly underfoot, but the house was still and quiet in the early hours. When you reached the door, you hesitated for just a moment before gently pushing it open.

Geto was there. He stood near the window, his back to you, eyes fixed on the distant horizon. His figure was a silhouette against the light, bathed in the soft golden light of dawn. His posture was still, almost too still, like he was lost in his own thoughts.

You stepped closer, careful not to disturb him, and gently knocked on the doorframe.

“Geto?”

He didn’t turn right away. His eyes stayed fixed on the view outside, but there was a slight shift in his shoulders that told you he’d heard you.

“…You’re up early,” he finally said, his voice soft, almost quieter than usual.

“I could say the same for you,” you replied, your words light but carrying a weight of concern.

He let out a slow breath, but still, he didn’t turn to face you. His gaze remained focused on the outside world.

You walked into the room, closing the door behind you gently, your bare feet making soft taps on the wooden floor as you moved to sit beside him. There was an unspoken quiet between the two of you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. The room felt calm, almost sacred in the stillness of the morning.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. It was just the quiet sounds of the world outside and the soft rhythm of your breaths as you sat next to him, a companion in the silence. You wanted to ask what was on his mind, but you knew better than to push. Sometimes, silence was the only answer that made sense between you two.

Your gaze shifted to his hair, messy from sleep and the weight of his thoughts. It wasn’t the first time you’d noticed the strands falling in a way that looked far too tangled for someone who always had their life so meticulously in order. Without thinking, your fingers reached up, brushing a few strands away from his face. His hair was softer than you remembered, even with the small tangles, and it felt calming to be this close to him.

You didn’t speak just continued brushing through his hair, your fingers moving delicately through the strands. You didn’t need to say anything; the act itself was enough. You could feel the tension in his body start to loosen under your touch, the sharp edges of whatever burden he’d been carrying softening with each stroke.

After a while, Geto finally let out a breath, his shoulders relaxing. He didn’t turn toward you, but you could feel his presence shift, becoming more grounded, more at peace. His fingers twitched slightly, but they stayed resting on his lap, not yet reaching for yours, but you felt the quiet acknowledgment between you.

“You don’t have to do that,” Geto said, his voice still soft, though it wasn’t as distant as before. “You could just ask me what’s wrong.”

You paused for a moment, letting your hand hover for a second before continuing to brush through his hair, the light click of your fingers in his strands the only sound in the room.

“I don’t need to ask,” you murmured. “I can tell. You’re always so quiet when something’s bothering you.”

Geto chuckled, a soft sound, and finally, his gaze shifted. He looked at you, his eyes soft and almost tired, but there was something there something vulnerable. “You know me too well,” he said with a slight smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You smiled back at him, your fingers still combing through his hair. “I don’t need to know everything to see when you’re carrying something heavy.”

There was another long silence. The kind that wasn’t awkward but felt like the two of you had somehow always understood each other without needing to say it out loud. The quiet hum of the outside world filtered into the room, the chirping of birds, the faint rustle of the morning breeze. It was the kind of peace that felt infinite, as if the world outside was perfectly content to wait for you two to find your calm before it continued on.

You continued to brush through his hair, and Geto’s breath evened out. There was no need for words only the comfort of this small, private moment between the two of you. You didn’t need to ask him what was on his mind, and he didn’t need to tell you. Not right now, anyway.

For a brief moment, Geto closed his eyes, his head tipping slightly toward you as he let himself be present in the peace you’d created. Your touch was grounding, like a steady rhythm that pulled him back from whatever distant thoughts had been pulling at him.

Geto rn after this chapter:

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Yuta Okkotsu X Reader [mild crack edition]

Hey guys do you want to see a silly thought that came to mind when I myself am dramatically in love with this character.

Synopsis: Oh my god, Geto just beat you to a pulp! Will you focus on not dying like a normal person, or will you be lame and pathetic and stare at Yuta like he’s the love of your life? (Spoiler: It’s the second one.)

⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ The battlefield is in ruins. smoke and dust filling the air, debris scattered across the temple grounds. The echoes of battle still ring in your ears, but your body is too weak to move. You, Maki, Panda, and Inumaki are barely conscious, slumped against the shattered ground, too injured to do anything but watch as Yuta stands alone against Geto.

Your vision blurs from exhaustion, but you can see him, Yuta, battered and bloodied, standing firm with his sword drawn, Rika’s monstrous form looming behind him. He looks nothing like the nervous, flustered boy you once teased during training.

This Yuta is strong. Determined.

“I didn’t realize you were such a womanizer.”

Geto’s mocking tone cuts through the chaos like a blade. Even in your dazed state, you pick up on it.

You blink slowly, trying to focus. What…?

Yuta doesn’t hesitate.

“Don’t be rude,” he says firmly, his voice steady. “This is pure love.”

Your heart stops.

Then it shatters into a million pieces.

Your lip wobbles. Your breath hitches. Tears well up in your eyes faster than you can control.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, voice trembling. “That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.”

Maki, who is barely holding onto consciousness, cracks open an eye to stare at you. “Are… are you crying right now?”

You are. Fat tears stream down your battered face as you clutch your chest, completely overwhelmed.

“H-He loves her so much,” you hiccup, your body too weak to do anything but sob in place. “I c-can’t— It’s so romantic!”

Panda, equally injured, groans. “Oh no. They’re simping while dying.”

Inumaki, barely breathing, wheezes, “Salmon…”

You ignore them, still crying. “Do you hear the way he said it?! The passion! The devotion! The way he’s fighting for the one he loves!” You sniffle loudly. “I-I think I’m gonna pass out from how beautiful this is.”

Maki lets out a ragged sigh. “You’re already half-dead. Focus.”

But you can’t focus. Not when Yuta is standing there, declaring his love in the middle of battle like the protagonist of the most heart wrenching romance novel you’ve ever read.

You clutch Maki’s sleeve weakly. “I-I know I should be focusing on not dying, but—” Another dramatic sniff. “He’s just so perfect.”

Maki shoves your hand off. “I swear, if you use the last of your energy to think about—”

“It’s too late,” Panda mutters. “They’re already gone.”

You nod, eyes still sparkling with tears. “G-Gone for Yuta Okkotsu.”

Meanwhile, Yuta and Geto are still fighting for their lives. Yuta has no idea you’re in the background, weakly crying over how much you love his love.

Gojo, who has just arrived and is surveying the battlefield, pauses when he hears your quiet sobbing. He turns, looking down at you with mild amusement. “Ah,” he hums, crouching beside your beaten form. “So you’re the dramatic one as always.”

You sniffle again. “Gojo-sensei,” you whisper hoarsely, grabbing onto his sleeve like you’ve just seen heaven. “Have you ever seen love so pure?”

Gojo glances at Yuta, then back at you. His lips curl an amused smirk.

“…Yeah,” he says quietly, his voice softer than usual. “I think I have.”

alternate ending

Gojo glances at geto, then thinks to himself. His lips curl an amused smirk.

“…Yeah,” he says quietly, his voice softer than usual. “I think I have.”

me writing wholesome content minding my business.

me writing one piece of spicy media.

YOU HORNY BITCHES! ALL OF YOU. FOR SHAME FOR SHAME

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ Matching Pyjamas (Hello Kitty Edition)

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆Characters: Gojo Satoru, Nanami Kento, Geto Suguru and Shoko Ieiri

Synopsis: you give your lovely partner matching pyjamas, They unfortunately are whores for you

my other works -> fun little fics

!!!WARNINGS!!!

This is explicit content so viewer discretion is advised. It’s not my job to babysit. If you’re not comfortable or know you shouldn’t be reading adult content then think again before reading.

Gojo Satoru

ᓚ₍⑅^..^₎♡You originally were out buying some pyjamas for yourself. (gojos card just might be the one you were using for the purchase) Hello Kitty pajama pants laid there in front of you, thinking they were adorable and cozy. But then you saw a pair in Gojo’s size and thought, Why not?

ᓚ₍⑅^..^₎♡When you hand him the pants, he gasps like you just proposed. “Matching pajamas?! Are we that couple now?!” He pretends to wipe away a fake tear. “I never thought this day would come.” He’s already stripping out of his current clothes before you can say anything.

ᓚ₍⑅^..^₎♡He absolutely loves them and will not stop posing in front of the mirror. “I make Hello Kitty look good,” he brags, striking ridiculous model poses. He keeps calling himself “Hello Kityoru” and refuses to wear anything else for the rest of the night.

ᓚ₍⑅^..^₎♡You two end up on the couch, wrapped up in blankets, binge-watching a random show. Gojo insists on taking a million selfies, dramatically captioning them like “Couples who slay together, stay together.” You have to confiscate his phone at one point because he keeps sending them to Nanami.

ᓚ₍⑅^..^₎♡It starts off sweet, Gojo pulling you into his chest, arms snug around your waist as he buries his face in your hair. But then? His hands start wandering, his breath gets lower, and before you know it, his lips are ghosting over your neck. “Mmm, you smell nice,” he murmurs, his fingers slipping beneath your hoodie, tracing slow circles on your stomach. “Too nice for me to behave.”

ᓚ₍⑅^..^₎♡Gojo loves to move against you just to mess with you. He shifts just right, pressing his hips against your backside when he’s spooning you, or rolling his body against yours when he’s on top. And he’s smug about it. “Oops,” he whispers against your ear when you gasp, acting so innocent. “My bad.”

ᓚ₍⑅^..^₎♡He absolutely uses the cozy night as an excuse to get his hands on you. Laying on the couch together? His hands are under your pajama top, tracing the curves of your waist. Oh you’re getting up to grab snacks? He very casually tugs at your pants, threatening to slip them lower, just to hear you yelp.

ᓚ₍⑅^..^₎♡At first, it’s slow and sweet, Gojo pressing lazy, open mouthed kisses along your jaw, your throat, his hands warm and steady on your waist. But the second you react, tilting your head, sighing against his lips. he grins. “Oh? You like this?” And just like that, his grip tightens, his kisses turn hungry, and suddenly, the pajama pants aren’t feeling so necessary anymore.

ᓚ₍⑅^..^₎♡At some point, he’s got you under him, hands braced on either side of your head, still wearing those ridiculous Hello Kitty pajamas, but his eyes? Dark. Mischievous. “You’re so cute,” he hums, dipping down to steal another kiss. “I should keep you in these all the time.” His fingers hook under your waistband, tugging just a little. “Actually… maybe not all the time.”

ᓚ₍⑅^..^₎♡Gojo thinks it’s hilarious to keep them on while he has his fun. He’ll push them just low enough to get what he wants but leave them bunched around your thighs, smirking down at you. “Matching pajamas and matching moans?” He laughs breathlessly. “We’re really on the same wavelength, huh?”

ᓚ₍⑅^..^₎♡ Hello Kitty Pajama Pants: Ruined? By the end of the night, one of you is definitely missing your pajama pants (probably you), and Gojo is grinning like the troublemaker he is. “Oops. Guess we’ll have to get new ones.” But when you glare at him, he just laughs and pulls you back into his arms. “Fine, fine~ I’ll make it up to you… eventually.”

————

The moment you hand Gojo the matching Hello Kitty pajama pants, his reaction is so dramatic,

“Matching pajamas?!” he gasps, clutching them to his chest like you just handed him a sacred relic. “Are we officially that cute couple?” He grins, already stripping out of his current clothes before you can stop him.

You roll your eyes, laughing as he wiggles into the soft pink pants, the little Hello Kitty faces decorating the fabric in a way that’s both adorable and completely ridiculous on a six-foot-three sorcerer.

“How do I look?” He strikes a pose, flexing his arms like he’s about to model for a Hello Kitty Calvin Klein ad. His toned stomach is on full display as his shirt lifts just enough to tease the perfect lines of his abs. He tilts his head, catching the way your eyes linger.

Oh. He definitely noticed.

“You checking me out?” His smirk is nothing short of dangerous as he steps closer, fingers grazing the hem of your own pajama pants. “Because, babe, you don’t have to stare. If you wanna touch—”

You shove him. “Put a shirt on before you catch a cold, dumbass.”

Gojo dramatically flops onto the couch, draping himself across your lap instead. “But you like me shirtless,” he teases, resting his chin against your thigh. “And besides, aren’t these nights supposed to be all cozy and intimate? I think this is a great start.”

You huff, fingers absentmindedly threading through his soft, white hair. “Intimate doesn’t mean we have to skip the movie part.”

“Doesn’t it?” His hands sneak under your pajama top, palms warm against your skin as he traces light, lazy circles up your ribs. The touch is barely there, but it sends a delicious shiver down your spine. “Because I really like the idea of an intimate night with you…” His voice dips lower, breath warm against your skin.

“Gojo—”

He tuts, lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. “That’s not what you usually call me when we’re alone, sweetheart.”

Your heart jumps as he suddenly shifts, pressing you back against the couch cushions, his weight settling between your legs. His smirk deepens as his fingers toy with the waistband of your pajama pants, pulling just enough to make you squirm.

“You put me in these adorable pants,” he muses, pressing a slow, lingering kiss just below your jaw. “You should’ve known I’d find a way to make the night even better.”

And judging by the heat in his eyes? That’s exactly what he plans to do.

At first, it’s innocent his arm draped around your shoulders as you settle against him, legs tangled under a shared blanket. The soft glow of the TV flickers across his features, his usual sharp grin replaced with something softer, almost content.

But then his fingers start moving.

A slow, absentminded drag along your thigh, just under the blanket. A featherlight stroke against your ribs, just under your hoodie. He’s watching the movie… or at least pretending to but you can feel the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips every time you shift in response.

His thumb brushes circles over your hipbone, teasing, deliberate. The warmth of his palm lingers over your stomach before sliding lower, dipping just beneath the waistband of your pajama pants. Not enough to be indecent, just enough to make you ache.

Your breath hitches, and that’s when Gojo finally moves.

He turns his head, pressing a slow, lazy kiss to the side of your neck, his lips warm against your skin. He lingers there, exhaling softly, letting the heat of his breath send shivers down your spine then he grins.

His fingers tighten on your waist, his body shifting ever so slightly against yours, letting you feel him. His mouth moves up, lips brushing just behind your ear, and then teeth. A playful nip that sends heat pooling low in your stomach.

The movie continues to play, completely ignored, as Gojo hums against your skin, his voice a low, teasing whisper.

He’s not watching the movie.

“Babe,” he sighs, pulling you against his chest like he has to be touching you at all times. “We look so cute right now. I feel like we should commemorate this moment.”

You roll your eyes, shifting in his lap. “With what? A picture?”

Gojo hums, his hands way too low on your waist. “Oh, I was thinking of something more… fun.”

Before you can even process what he means, he’s already pressing his lips to your neck soft at first, just the ghost of a kiss, but then he lingers, his breath warm against your skin. His fingers tighten on your hips, subtly rocking you against him, and your breath catches.

“Satoru,” you warn, but it’s not much of a warning when it comes out that breathless.

He grins against your skin. Yeah, he noticed.

“What?” he murmurs, feigning innocence as he trails kisses up to your jaw, his voice dropping into something low, teasing, dangerous. “I’m just appreciating my girlfriend. In her cute little pajama pants. Cuddling with me like a good girl.”

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his hoodie, trying not to react, but Gojo is Gojo. he always gets his way. His hands slide beneath your hoodie, fingers spreading against your bare skin, warm, firm. He pulls you closer, until you’re flush against him, your hips slotted perfectly together, and the feeling of him beneath you makes heat spark down your spine.

“You knew this would happen,” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “You put me in these cute little pajama pants and expected me to behave?” His teeth graze your earlobe, making you shiver. “That’s cute, babe. Really cute.”

You open your mouth to tell him off, but then he moves, rolling his hips up into you slow, deliberate. Your breath stutters, and his smirk deepens.

“There we go,” he murmurs, tipping your chin up with one finger so you’re forced to meet his gaze. His eyes are dark now, filled with something dangerous, and suddenly, the matching pajamas seem like the last thing on his mind.

“You’re-” You try to say something, but he kisses you before you can get the words out, slow at first, letting you think you have some control, but then his hands tighten, pulling you hard against him, and suddenly, you’re letting out a soft, breathy moan into his mouth.

Gojo groans at that, gripping your waist tighter. “Fuck, baby,” he breathes against your lips, his usual teasing gone. “You sound so sweet.”

His lips move back to your neck, kissing, sucking, biting, and you know he’s leaving marks, but you can’t bring yourself to care when he’s gripping your hips like that, guiding you over him in slow, lazy motions.

“We were supposed to be cuddling,” you manage to say, your voice much weaker than you want it to be.

Gojo chuckles against your throat, fingers dipping under the waistband of your pajama pants. “We are cuddling,” he murmurs, sliding them lower. “Just, you know… closer now”

And just like that, your cute, cozy night? Completely ruined. But with the way Gojo’s hands are gripping your thighs, his lips dragging down your collarbone, his voice thick with want you really, really don’t mind.

He refuses to take them off. “I think these are my new signature look,” he declares, walking around the house like he’s on a runway. You catch him wearing them under his Jujutsu uniform the next day, claiming, “They’re my lucky pants now.”

Nanami Kento

≽^• ˕ • ྀི When you first show Nanami the matching Hello Kitty pajama pants, he just stares at them. Then at you. “You can’t be serious.” But you are very serious.

≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼ It takes some gentle persuasion (which may or may not involve you pulling the ultimate guilt trip and telling him that it would make you so happy). He sighs and eventually mutters, “…Fine.” Victory.

≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼Once he actually puts them on, you cannot stop laughing. The sight of the Nanami Kento standing in the middle of your bedroom, wearing pastel pink Hello Kitty pajama pants, is something you’ll cherish forever. He looks down at himself, sighs again, and mutters, “This is ridiculous.”

≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼He won’t admit it, but the fabric is actually really soft, and he appreciates that. He also loves how happy it makes you, even if he pretends to be suffering. “If you ever tell Gojo about this, I’ll never forgive you,” he warns, but there’s the tiniest hint of a smile.

≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼You both end up on the couch, curled up under a blanket, drinking tea and reading books. It’s peaceful, quiet, and everything Nanami loves about being with you. At one point, you rest your head on his shoulder, and he leans into you without a second thought.

≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼You catch him in the kitchen later, making tea with his sleeves rolled up, looking effortlessly handsome despite the cartoon cats on his pants. You giggle, and he raises an eyebrow. “What now?”

≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼When you tell him he looks adorable, he just sighs in that exasperated but affectionate way. Then, without looking at you, he mumbles, “As long as it makes you happy, I don’t mind.”

≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼Nanami genuinely wants to have a normal, cozy night with you. He really does. But then you curl up next to him, looking so soft in those matching Hello Kitty pajama pants, and suddenly, his thoughts aren’t so pure anymore. He exhales sharply, rubbing his temple like he’s fighting for his life. “You look adorable,” he murmurs, voice a little rougher than he intends. You don’t miss the way his fingers flex against his thigh like he’s restraining himself.

≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼At first, he’s just holding you an arm around your waist, a steady, grounding touch. But the longer you’re in his lap, the more his fingers drift tracing patterns against your hip, smoothing up your back, gripping your thigh just a little tighter than necessary. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it until he hears you suck in a breath. “Apologies,” he says, clearing his throat and forcing himself to loosen his grip. “I didn’t mean to—” You shift in his lap, pressing against something very solid. Nanami tenses. His hands immediately snap back to your waist like he’s trying to regain control of himself, but his jaw clenches as he exhales sharply through his nose. “Please,” he murmurs, voice strained, “don’t move like that.”

≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼He thought they were cute funny, even but now all he can think about is how easy they’d be to pull off. The soft fabric bunching around your thighs as you shift against him, the way they ride low on your hips he’s trying to be respectful, truly, but the urge to just… take is becoming unbearable. “You’re making this very difficult for me,” he finally admits, his voice deep and controlled but his grip on your waist betraying him.

≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼Even when he’s rock hard beneath you, even when his breath is uneven and his fingers are digging into your skin, he still has the audacity to be gentle about it. “If you keep teasing me like this,” he murmurs against your ear, voice thick with restraint, “I might lose my composure.” And then, because he’s Nanami Kento, he still asks, “Would that be alright?”

≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼ The moment you give him permission, the second you whisper something sweet, needy, desperate Nanami snaps. His hands slide under your pajama pants, gripping your thighs as he flips you beneath him. His lips are everywhere your neck, your collarbone, your stomach. “These are cute,” he murmurs, tugging at the waistband, his breath hot against your skin. “But they need to come off.” with the way his fingers are already hooking under the fabric, his eyes dark and hungry, you know he’s not asking anymore.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

You had picked out the matching Hello Kitty pajama pants as a joke, thinking it would be funny to see Nanami, a man who lived in crisp suits and an air of professionalism, lounging around in something so domestic and cute.

At first, it was funny. You had laughed, taking a picture of him sitting stiffly on the couch, frowning down at the little cartoon cat printed on his leg. But then you had curled up next to him, resting your head on his chest, letting his warmth seep into you.

Now Nanami is struggling.

His arm is wrapped securely around you, his fingers resting on your waist not moving, because he refuses to let them. But you’re soft, warm, pressing against him in all the right ways, and he’s gripping onto the last frayed threads of his self control.

“You look adorable,” he says, his voice perfectly even though he’s very aware of the way it’s lower than usual.

You hum against his chest, shifting slightly. His fingers twitch.

“I still can’t believe you agreed to wear this,” you say, running your hand down his stomach, innocently but your palm presses against his lower abdomen, just barely brushing beneath the hem of his hoodie. Nanami exhales slowly, controlled, like he’s trying to regulate himself.

“It’s not the worst thing you’ve made me wear,” he admits. A pause. “Though it may be the most distracting.”

You tilt your head up, catching the tight set of his jaw, the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. Your eyes flick down to his hand still resting on your waist flexing like he’s restraining himself.

Oh.

You press your palm against his stomach again, just a little lower this time and Nanami stiffens.

His grip on your waist tightens, and his breath comes out sharp.

“Apologies,” he says quickly, his hand immediately relaxing, like he’s forcing himself to pull back. “I didn’t mean to—”

You shift against him again, and this time, you feel it, something solid beneath you, something that wasn’t there when you first cuddled up next to him.

Nanami’s body locks up. His fingers snap back to your waist, holding you still as he lets out a long, slow exhale through his nose.

“Please,” he murmurs, voice strained, “don’t move like that.”

You blink up at him, feigning innocence. “Like what?”

His eyes darken. His fingers flex again, digging just slightly into your waist.

“You’re making this very difficult for me,” he finally admits, his voice deep, measured, controlled.

You bite your lip, shifting again, just to test him. The sharp inhale he takes, the slight clench of his jaw he’s trying so hard to be polite, to keep his hands steady, to maintain some level of restraint.

But you don’t want him to be restrained.

You reach up, trailing your fingers along his jaw, and his eyes flick to yours heated, dangerous.

“Satoru would’ve already pinned me down by now,” you muse, teasing. “Guess you’re not as desperate as I thought.”

Nanami moves before you can even process it.

One second, you’re settled against him, and the next, he’s flipping you onto your back, his body covering yours, his hands braced on either side of your head.

His voice is low, dark, frustrated as he leans down, his lips brushing against your ear.

“I am not Satoru,” he murmurs.

And then, before you can even react, his hips press down, rolling against you with slow, deliberate pressure.

You gasp, fingers curling into his hoodie, and Nanami lets out a shaky breath like he’s the one unraveling.

“You,” he murmurs, lips moving along your jaw, your throat, “are testing my patience.”

His hands slide under your hoodie, warm against your bare skin, fingers spreading across your ribs. His grip tightens, pulling you closer, and you shudder when his mouth ghosts over the sensitive spot below your ear.

“Would it be alright,” he murmurs, “if I lost my composure?”

His fingers hook under the waistband of your pajama pants, tugging just enough to send a clear message.

And with the way his eyes darken, his breath ragged against your skin you know that, the second you say yes, there will be no more patience. No more restraint.

Just Nanami, desperate, needy, and completely undone for you

And that’s how Nanami Kento, the most serious man alive, ends up standing in your bedroom wearing pink Hello Kitty pajama pants with his dress shirt still tucked in.

Geto Suguru

₍^. .^₎⟆Geto Pretends to Be Innocent, He acts like the matching Hello Kitty pyjama pants are just a cute, domestic moment. He lets you cuddle up to him on the couch, an arm draped lazily around your shoulders, stroking small circles into your skin. But does he have ulterior motives? yes. absolutely. The moment you shift in his lap a little too much, his grip tightens, and his voice drops into something low and commanding. “You’re squirming, sweetheart. You wouldn’t be trying to get my attention, would you?”

₍^. .^₎⟆Geto doesn’t ask he just pulls you into his lap when he wants you there. His large hands settle firmly on your hips, keeping you exactly where he wants you. And when you shift just slightly against him, he lets out a slow, amused hum. “Careful,” he murmurs, fingers flexing. “Unless you want me to handle you.”

₍^. .^₎⟆ One resting on your thigh, the other tracing slow, absentminded circles along your stomach, teasing just below the hem of your hoodie. He’s casual about it, like he’s not fully aware of the way your breath hitches every time his fingers dip just a little lower.

₍^. .^₎⟆He makes you think you’re in control, letting you straddle his lap, letting you run your hands through his hair, until he suddenly grips your wrist, stopping your movements, his dark eyes locked on you. “You look so confident sitting up there,” he muses, his voice smooth, dangerous. “Should I remind you who’s really in charge?”

₍^. .^₎⟆ Geto loves patience. He loves making you lose yours. He moves slow his hands tracing over your body, his lips brushing against your neck, whispering soft, teasing words that leave you squirming. “Look at you,” he murmurs, kissing along your throat. “So desperate, and I’ve barely even touched you.”

₍^. .^₎⟆He has no problem keeping the pants on while he teases you, pulling the waistband just low enough to let his fingers slip beneath. “You were so excited about these matching pajamas,” he muses, his smirk sharp. “You wouldn’t want me to ruin them too quickly, would you?”

₍^. .^₎⟆His voice alone is enough to break you. low, smooth, dark with amusement as he murmurs every filthy thing he’s about to do to you. “You’re going to be good for me, aren’t you?” His hand tightens on your throat, not squeezing, just holding. enough to make you shiver. “Or do I need to teach you how to behave?”

₍^. .^₎⟆The Morning After, Geto wakes up first, watching you sleep with a knowing smirk before deliberately pulling on his Hello Kitty pajama pants again. When you stir awake, he stretches, looking completely satisfied. “Didn’t you say you wanted a cute, cozy night?” he teases, brushing his fingers along your bare thigh. “Because I think we got a little… off track.”

——-

You had expected some pushback, maybe a little teasing, maybe even a dramatic sigh of suffering, but what you hadn’t expected was for Suguru to slide into the Hello Kitty pajama pants so effortlessly. No complaints, no hesitation. Just a smooth, almost nonchalant acceptance that left you momentarily stunned.

So here you are now, snapping a picture of him looking utterly unbothered.

“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Geto leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching as you practically vibrate with excitement over the fact that he’s actually wearing the matching Hello Kitty pajama pants. The soft pink fabric contrasts against his dark hair and broad frame, hanging low on his hips in a way that should be illegal.

You nod, grinning. “Very much.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, stepping toward you, his movements smooth and deliberate. “You’re staring, sweetheart.” His voice is deep, rich, laced with amusement.

You cross your arms, trying so hard to act casual. “Because it’s funny.”

One dark brow lifts. “Is it?” He tilts his head, as he approaches you.

You don’t even realize you’re backing up until your legs hit the edge of the couch. Before you can react, he’s right there, caging you in without touching you. He leans down, voice dropping into that smooth, dangerous murmur that always unravels you.

“You sure it’s funny?” His fingers skim along the waistband of your pajama pants, slow and teasing. “Because you’re looking at me like you want something.”

Your breath catches, and his smirk deepens.

“You can tell me, love,” he murmurs, lips brushing against your ear. “I don’t mind giving you what you want.”

His hands slide lower, settling on your hips, pulling you flush against him. The heat of his body, the lazy way his fingers trace your skin—it’s too much and not enough at the same time.

“Suguru—”

He hums, dipping his head to press slow, lingering kisses down your throat. “Mmm. I love when you say my name like that.”

Your hands grip his arms for balance, your heart hammering in your chest. The cute, innocent pajama night. maybe not so much.

The night was supposed to be cute. Just you and Geto, curled up on the couch in your matching watching a movie, maybe sharing a few lazy kisses before bed.

It was supposed to be domestic, just a night of cuddling, a bad movie playing in the background, and maybe some sleepy kisses before bed.

But now?

Now you were in his lap, your legs straddling his thighs, your back arching as his large hands gripped your waist, and the look in his dark eyes was anything but sweet.

“You were so excited about these pajamas,” he murmurs, voice low and smooth, his fingers dragging leisurely beneath your hoodie, skating along the warm skin of your stomach. “Did you plan for this to happen?”

You try to respond, really, you do but the way his hands spread over your hips, controlling the way you move against him, has your thoughts scattering. His touch is firm, teasing, and when his thumbs press just right into your skin, your breath catches.

Geto notices. He always notices.

“You’ve been squirming all night,” he muses, tilting his head, that infuriatingly lazy smirk playing at his lips. “Shifting in my lap like you’re trying to get my attention.”

His lips brush your ear, his voice sinking into something dangerous.

“So tell me, sweetheart what exactly do you want?”

Your fingers tighten in the fabric of his hoodie, but before you can answer, he moves, rolling his hips up just right into you. A gasp escapes before you can stop it, your body tensing, and that that makes Geto chuckle, low and dark.

“Ah,” he hums, his grip tightening. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

You bite your lip, heat coiling low in your stomach. “You’re such a-”

He tsks, catching your chin between his fingers, tilting your head up so you have no choice but to look at him. His dark eyes gleam with amusement, but there’s something wicked beneath it something that sends a sharp pulse of need straight through you.

“Watch your mouth,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your lips, pressing just enough to part them. “Or I’ll have to remind you how to behave.”

Your heart pounds, but Geto only smirks, his fingers trailing lower, his palm resting lightly over your throat. He doesn’t squeeze doesn’t need to. The unspoken command is clear: be still. Let me handle you.

And god, he does.

His lips are on your neck before you can even process it, kissing, biting, marking, each drag of his mouth slow and possessive. His hands grip your hips, forcing you to grind down against him, and the friction between you has heat pooling between your legs way too quickly.

“You’re already shaking,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice laced with amusement. “I’ve barely even started.”

You make a sound between a whimper and a protest, but Geto only chuckles, his hands trailing down to the waistband of your pajama pants, fingers slipping beneath the fabric.

“You wanted to keep these on, right?” he teases, tugging them just low enough to make you gasp. “Or should I take my time ruining you?”

You shudder, clutching at his hoodie, but Geto doesn’t move. He just watches you, patient, expectant, his grip steady on your waist.

“Go on,” he murmurs, dark eyes gleaming. “Be a good girl and ask me for it.”

And with the way he’s looking at you, his smirk sharp, his grip firm, his breath warm against your throat you already know you’ll break for him.

You always do.

"I can fix him" this "I can make him worse" that Pathetic. I can love him so much that it changes the course of the entire narrative.

Shoko Ieiri

૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡When you pull out the matching Hello Kitty pajama pants, Shoko gives you the most unimpressed look imaginable. She takes a slow drag from her cigarette, exhales, and deadpans, “You’re serious?”

૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡You expect her to fight you on it, maybe tease you a little, but she just shrugs. “Eh. As long as they’re comfy.” And just like that, she puts them on like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡It’s unfair how good she looks, even in pink Hello Kitty pajama pants, an oversized hoodie, and messy hair. She’s lounging on the couch, one leg draped over the armrest, looking like a model. “How do you do that?” you ask, genuinely baffled.She smirks, tilting her head just enough to make your stomach flip. “Wouldn’t you like to know, pretty girl?”

૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡Shoko has a teasing streak a mile long, and she loves seeing how far she can push you. She’ll straddle your lap, fingers tracing lazy circles on your skin, her breath warm against your ear all while still wearing those ridiculously cute pajama pants.

૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡She acts like she’s just being playful, just having fun, but you know better. The way her nails drag down your back, the way she tilts her head and gives you that look yeah, she’s fully aware of what she’s doing.“What?” she asks, feigning innocence as her fingers dip just under your waistband. “You wanted a cozy night in, didn’t you?”

૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡ She’ll nuzzle into your neck, her voice soft, lazy, dangerous. “You wanna beg, don’t you?” she murmurs, lips ghosting over your pulse point. “Bet you’d sound so pretty.” And when you do whimper? She grins.

૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡Shoko has no shame when it comes to getting a reaction out of you. She’ll let out the softest, most sinful little sighs against your skin, just to watch you lose your composure.“You’re so easy to tease,” she murmurs, lips grazing your throat before she bites down, just enough to make you gasp.

૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡stretching every moment just to make you squirm. Loves the way you get impatient when she moves too slow.“You’re already needy?” she teases, nipping at your earlobe. “I haven’t even started yet.”

૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡She’ll keep them on as long as possible, just to torture you, but the second you snap and try to take control? That’s when she really starts having fun.She smirks up at you, amused, as you pin her down. “Finally lost your patience, huh?” she hums, lifting her hips just enough to help you slide them off. “Took you long enough.”

૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡The pajama pants are nowhere to be found, and Shoko looks way too satisfied with herself. She stretches out, giving you a slow once-over before smirking. “So,” she muses, voice still husky from the night before, “wanna get matching panties next?”

—-

You should have known Shoko was going to be a terror for the night the second she slipped into the matching Hello Kitty pajama pants. She did not say anything about them, did not tease you right away. She just pulled them on, stretched like a cat, and flopped onto your couch like she owned the place.

The real problem was not even the pants. It was the look she had been giving you all night. That lazy, knowing little smirk, the slow drag of her gaze as she watched you from across the room, the way she stretched her arms over her head just to make you look. She knew exactly what she was doing, and the worst part was that she was enjoying every second of it.

At first, she kept it innocent. She curled up next to you, tucked herself against your side, and pretended to care about the movie playing in the background. It was comfortable, familiar, warm. But then her fingers started moving.

Then she shifted.

At first, it seemed like she was just adjusting her position, getting comfortable. But then she threw a leg over yours, settling fully into your lap, arms looping lazily around your neck, and suddenly, focusing on the movie was not an option anymore.

You swallowed hard, hands coming up to grip her hips. “Shoko.”

She tilted her head, looking way too amused. “Hmm?”

“You’re doing this on purpose.”

Her smirk widened. “Doing what on purpose?”

Oh, she was evil.

You opened your mouth to call her out on it, but before you could, she rolled her hips. Slow, deliberate. Your breath caught, and your fingers dug into her waist before you could stop yourself. That only made her chuckle, low and satisfied.

“Look at you,” she murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face like she was not actively ruining you. “You’re already squirming.”

Your breath came out shakier than you wanted. “You’re—”

Before you could finish, she leaned in, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your throat. Her lips were warm, her breath soft, and when her teeth scraped lightly against your skin, your fingers flexed against her hips.

Shoko grinned against your neck.

“Poor thing,” she coos, tilting her head. “You look so flustered. Should I slow down?”

You open your mouth probably to tell her no. you want more but before you can even form a thought, she moves, rolling her hips against yours with slow, deliberate pressure. Your breath stutters, hands instinctively flying to her thighs, and that makes her chuckle.

“Oh? Finally touching me?” Her voice is dripping with amusement as she leans in, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your neck. “I thought you were trying to behave.”

Her hands slip beneath your hoodie, nails dragging up your stomach, featherlight and teasing. “You’re always so cute when you try to pretend you have self control.”

You squeeze her thighs in warning, and she only laughs, pressing her lips to your ear.

“Yeah?” she hums, shifting against you again, this time with purpose. “Then show me, sweetheart.”

Her hands slid under your hoodie, fingers trailing up your stomach, slow and teasing, tracing along your ribs like she was in no rush at all. And that was the worst part. She was not. She was taking her time, dragging out every touch, every little movement, just to watch you react.

“Shoko,” you exhaled, tilting your head back as she kissed a slow path down to your collarbone.

“Mm?” she hummed, like she was not the reason your pulse was racing.

You tightened your grip on her hips, trying to regain even a little bit of control, but she just laughed, low and knowing, before rolling her hips against yours again.

This time, you whimpered.

And god, that did something to her.

“Fuck,” she muttered, her voice dipping into something rough, something dangerous. She pulled back just enough to look at you, her eyes dark, lips parted. “You sound so pretty when you do that.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks, and you bit your lip, but Shoko just grinned, dragging her fingers down to the waistband of your pajama pants, toying with the fabric.

“You gonna be good for me?” she murmured, hooking her fingers just under the hem and tugging, just a little.

Your breath stuttered. “Yes.”

She hummed, pressing her lips just below your ear, her voice a little too pleased.

“Then let’s get these off, sweetheart.”

Okay so... theres this thing called being a super graphic ultra modern girl and me & my girl well. we've gone pro

Sometimes I get Insecure but then remember I’m hot and in my mind i’m married to anime characters

YAYAYAYYA

anyways follow my insta if you perpetually think of hawks @sirxaibs

um… i wrote some spicy headcannons… I uhhh 🙉

𖦹.✧˚ MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN 𖦹.✧˚

“He asked for no pickles >:(” Trope Headcannon

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚The Classic Luigi Dilemma™ → Luigi is too nice for his own good. When the waiter sets down his plate and he realizes they got his order completely wrong, he just freezes for a second, staring at it like it personally betrayed him.

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚Internal Panic Mode → His brain immediately starts short circuiting. Do I say something? No, that’d be rude! But I didn’t order this! But maybe it’s fine? But I was really looking forward to- oh no, they’re walking away :(

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚The Nervous Little Smile™ → Instead of complaining, he just awkwardly chuckles and goes, “O-oh! Haha, well, um… guess I’ll just eat this, then.” Meanwhile, you can see the disappointment in his eyes

. ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚Your Protective Instincts Kick In → Oh, absolutely not. This is Luigi, your sweet, beautiful, anxious boy. He deserves to eat what he actually ordered. So, before he can talk himself into suffering through it, you wave down the waiter.

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚Luigi’s Immediate Reaction → His eyes widen in pure terror. “W-wait, no, it’s fine! I don’t wanna cause trouble—”

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚But You’re Already On It → With the sweetest but firmest voice, you politely explain that they got his order wrong and ask them to fix it. You make sure to be nice (because you know he’d feel bad otherwise), but there’s no way you’re letting him sit there with something he doesn’t want.

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚Luigi.exe Has Stopped Working → He just stares at you in awe, cheeks heating up. His brain is going, Oh no they’re standing up for me I think I’m in love all over again.

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚The Waiter Fixes It, and Luigi is So Grateful → The moment they walk away with his plate, he looks at you like you just saved his life. “You… you really didn’t have to do that,” he mumbles, embarrassed but so touched. ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚You Just Smile → “Of course I did! You deserve to get what you actually ordered, Luigi.”

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚Flustered Boyfriend Mode Activated → He gets so shy but also so in love. He keeps fidgeting with his napkin, mumbling something about how amazing you are.

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚The Happiest Green Bean → When his correct order finally arrives, he thanks the waiter about five times and then immediately takes a bite, beaming. “Mmm! Grazie!” he says, looking at you with pure adoration.

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚Bonus: Extra Softness → The rest of the meal, he keeps sneaking little glances at you, still blushing. At one point, he shyly reaches for your hand under the table and squeezes it. “You’re the best, you know that?”

⋆˚✿˖° Picture this ⋆˚✿˖°

Dinner was supposed to be relaxing. A nice little date, just you and Luigi, eating at a cozy restaurant in Toad Town. The kind of place with checkered tablecloths, candles on every table, and the smell of fresh-baked bread in the air.

Luigi had been excited, too he’d spent the entire walk here rambling about how much he was craving their famous mushroom risotto. So when the waiter finally brought out your food and set a plate of… was that seafood pasta? in front of him, you knew something was wrong.

Luigi blinked at the plate. Then again. Like he was hoping it would magically turn into what he actually ordered.

“Oh! Uh… haha…” He let out a nervous chuckle, shifting in his seat. “W-well, um… I guess this looks good too…?”

You frowned. “Lu, that’s not what you ordered.”

He waved a hand, already trying to play it off. “Oh, it’s no big deal! I, uh… I like pasta?” He stabbed a shrimp with his fork, his expression betraying him entirely.

Yeah, no. Absolutely not.

Before he could talk himself into just eating it, you waved down the waiter. Luigi’s eyes immediately widened in panic.

“W-wait, no, no, it’s fine! I don’t wanna bother—”

“Excuse me,” you said, smiling at the waiter, “but I think there was a mix-up. He actually ordered the mushroom risotto.”

The waiter glanced at the plate, realization dawning. “Oh! My apologies, I’ll fix that right away.”

“No problem!” you said cheerfully.

The moment the waiter walked off with his incorrect order, Luigi turned to you, absolutely beside himself. “You—you didn’t have to do that!” His face was already pink, hands nervously fiddling with his napkin. “I mean, they’re busy, and I-I didn’t wanna be a bother, and—”

You reached across the table and squeezed his hand, effectively shutting him up.

“Luigi,” you said, giving him a look. “You deserve to eat what you actually ordered.”

His mouth opened, but no words came out. He just stared at you, completely flustered, eyes full of awe like you just pulled off the most heroic act imaginable.

“I-I…” He cleared his throat, squeezing your hand back. “…Grazie.”

When the waiter finally returned with the correct dish, Luigi thanked him at least five times before eagerly taking his first bite. His entire face lit up in pure happiness.

“Mmm! Oh, it’s so good!” He practically melted into his seat, finally able to enjoy his meal. Then, he glanced at you, still pink in the face. “You, uh… you’re really amazing, you know that?”

You just grinned, nudging his foot under the table. “I do know that, actually.”

Luigi let out a shy little laugh, cheeks still burning. But before he could get too flustered, he shyly reached for your hand again, holding it under the table as he ate.

You didn’t miss the way his thumb softly rubbed against your skin.

Yeah. Totally worth it.

You to Luigi : oh man... sorry bro. i accidentally left some lipstick on your neck.. here let me kiss it off... shit i left more... here hold on... oh no i left even more...

✮⋆˙Luigi my first ever crush ✮⋆˙

Luigi Falling in Love with You Headcanons… ✮⋆˙

⋆˚࿔The Slow Burn trope —> Luigi isn’t the type to fall head over heels instantly. At first, he just enjoys your company, always feeling comfortable around you. But one day, he catches himself staring a little too long or getting nervous when you smile at him, and oh no, he realizes, he really likes you.

⋆˚࿔Flustered Mess™ → The second he acknowledges his feelings, he’s done for. He trips over his words, gets all fidgety when you’re around, and turns bright red if you so much as compliment him. Mario immediately picks up on it and teases him relentlessly.

⋆˚࿔Trying to Impress You (and Failing Adorably) → Luigi wants to look cool in front of you, so he tries to be bold. maybe he volunteers to lead an adventure or lift something heavy. But, well… he’s still Luigi. Cue him accidentally tripping over a Koopa shell or getting startled by a Boo. You laughing and helping him up makes him fall even harder.

⋆˚࿔Acts of Service Love Language → He’s not always the best with words, but he shows his love in little ways. Fixing things for you, making sure you have power-ups before a mission, carrying extra snacks just in case you get hungry. he’s always looking out for you.

⋆˚࿔Jealousy? What’s That? → Luigi thinks he’s being subtle when he sees someone else flirting with you, but his face says everything. He suddenly stands a little closer to you, gets extra polite (too polite), and tries to subtly outdo the competition (which usually backfires).

⋆˚࿔Confession Gone Wrong (But Right) → He wants to confess in a romantic way, maybe during a peaceful walk or while watching the stars. But, because he’s Luigi, something always goes wrong, a Goomba interrupts, he trips right before saying it, or he gets so flustered that he just blurts out, “I LIKE YOU A LOT!” and nearly faints.

⋆˚࿔Happiest Man in the Mushroom Kingdom → If you return his feelings? Oh, he’s over the moon. He gets even more flustered at first, but then he just melts into being the sweetest, most thoughtful boyfriend ever. Dates with him are full of laughter, good food (he’s a great cook!), and him holding your hand like you’re the most precious thing in the world.

⋆˚✿˖° Picture this ⋆˚✿˖°

Luigi had a plan.

A simple, foolproof plan.

He was going to take you on a peaceful walk through Toad Town, steer you toward the twinkling lights of Shooting Star Summit, and confess his feelings under the stars. It was perfect. Romantic, private, minimal risk of unexpected disasters.

…Which meant, of course, that it all went horribly, horribly wrong.

It started when he tried to lead you toward the summit. “O-oh! Hey, how about we, uh… take a little detour?” he asked, sweating slightly.

You blinked. “A detour where?”

“To, uh…oh! Look, a flower stand!” he blurted, immediately abandoning his original plan. He rushed over, determined to buy you the prettiest flower there, only for his foot to catch on a loose cobblestone.

He tripped. Knocked over the entire display. Sent flowerpots flying.

Toads screamed.

“Oh no, no no no- sorry! I-I got it!” Luigi panicked, scrambling to pick everything up while turning an alarming shade of red. You helped, trying not to laugh at his flustered state, and the poor Toad running the stand just sighed, clearly used to this kind of chaos.

With the situation barely salvaged, Luigi very awkwardly handed you a slightly squashed daisy. “F-for you,” he mumbled, staring determinedly at the ground.

You took it, grinning. “Why, thank you, kind sir.”

He nearly combusted on the spot.

Despite that disaster, he was determined to see his plan through. So, after a few deep breaths, he finally led you up to Shooting Star Summit. The view was just as beautiful as he imagined, the night sky stretched endlessly, stars twinkling like tiny fireflies.

This is it, Luigi. Don’t mess this up.

He turned to you, heart hammering. “S-so, I… uh… there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

You looked over at him, curiosity shining in your eyes. “Yeah?”

Luigi opened his mouth-

—and was immediately tackled by a rogue Koopa shell out of nowhere.

“WAH!”

You gasped as he tumbled down the hill, arms flailing. The shell bounced away harmlessly, its owner, a very apologetic Koopa chasing after it. Meanwhile, Luigi lay sprawled in the grass, absolutely defeated.

You rushed to his side. “Luigi! Are you okay?”

He groaned, staring up at the sky like he was questioning every life choice that led to this moment. Why him?

And then, before he could stop himself

“I LIKE YOU A LOT!” he blurted, voice cracking slightly.

Silence.

His brain completely short circuited. His entire body went stiff as the realization hit him. Oh no. Oh no no no, that wasn’t how I was supposed to say it.

Then, you laughed.

Not a mean laugh, not at all, it was warm, delighted, the kind of laugh that made his heart flip. You smiled down at him, eyes twinkling. “You like me, huh?”

Luigi, still flat on his back, squeezed his eyes shut. “…Yes.”

You giggled, reaching out a hand to help him up. “Well, it’s a good thing I like you too.”

He froze.

“You- wait, what?!”

You squeezed his hand, laughing again. “I like you too, Luigi.”

His face lit up so red, Mario might’ve mistaken him for a Fire Flower. He stumbled over his words, completely flustered, but the only thing his brain could settle on was:

Best. Night. Ever.

"You attract what u fear"

You : aahhh a sweet easygoing bi man with beautiful brown eyes

Present Mic / Hizashi Yamada x Reader

⋆˚✿˖° Feedback Loop ⋆˚✿˖°

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ This man has zero chill, and I have zero chill for him. He’s a freak. He has to be. The studded leather jacket proves it.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ You all see loud and annoying I see a rockstar who would definitely date a younger woman. peak rockstar behavior. Except instead of the wild, bad boy type, he’s got the personality of a total dad rock guy. classic vinyl collection, bad puns, probably owns at least three band tees from the ’80s.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ Anyway, this is teacher him, but you? You’re the new TA, and unfortunately, you’re already down bad and you’ve BEEN down bad…. The way I wrote this is a little taboo… how your high school crush on Present Mic never really faded, and now, as a new UA TA, you’re right back where you started… only this time, he’s looking at you differently.

Anyways I wrote this very light hearted!!

Warnings: idk you simp for older man and he sorta flirts back. you’re 22 in this story but yuh

૮₍´｡ᵔ ꈊ ᵔ｡`₎ა You could hear the distant hum of the city below as you and Hawks crouched on a rooftop, surveying the warehouse across the street. It was a classic sting operation, intel suggested a group of low-level villains were stockpiling illegal support gear, and you two were here to put a stop to it before things escalated.

Hawks adjusted his goggles, barely looking phased. “Man, these guys never learn, huh?”

You smirked. “You sound almost bored.”

“‘Cause I am,” he admitted, stretching his arms lazily. “I could’ve wrapped this up ages ago, but apparently ‘reckless property damage’ is frowned upon.” He threw up air quotes, grinning.

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, yeah, heaven forbid you actually follow protocol.”

Hawks snickered but then glanced at you, tilting his head. “So, what’s next for you, anyway?”

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, c’mon, you’ve got the skills, the power, and a shiny little hero license,” he said, casually flicking a feather toward the warehouse to listen in. “You ever thought about… I dunno, long-term plans?”

You frowned. “I am a pro hero. This is the long-term plan.”

Hawks hummed. “Yeah, for now. But what about later? You gonna keep doing this forever?”

You huffed. “What else would I do?”

“I dunno.” He shrugged. “Some heroes eventually go into support roles, some do solo work, some…” He gave you a pointed look. “End up teaching.”

You scoffed. “Yeah, no thanks.”

Hawks snorted. “Wow. Said that real fast.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You don’t exactly strike me as ‘teacher material’ either.”

“Hell no,” Hawks said without hesitation. “I’m not about that ‘shaping young minds’ crap.” He waved a hand. “I don’t got time to babysit kids who think they’re hotshots just ‘cause they passed an entrance exam.”

You exhaled through your nose. “You do know they need heroes to train the next generation, right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hawks said lazily. “Good thing there’s people out there willing to do it. But me? Nah. I care about results. Not teaching a bunch of kids how to throw a punch.”

Something about that didn’t sit right with you. You fell silent, watching the warehouse as Hawks kept talking.

“I get why some people do it,” he continued. “Sure, it’s important, but I’d rather be out here handling real threats, not lecturing some kid about ‘proper combat form.’”

You pursed your lips, staring at the city skyline. You’d never really thought about teaching before. You’d always assumed you’d stick to hero work, fighting, saving people, that’s what you trained for. But…

Wouldn’t it be better if newer heroes were properly prepared before getting thrown into all this? Before they had to stand on rooftops like this, watching crime unfold and making impossible choices?

You suddenly remembered your own time at U.A., the mentors who guided you, the lessons that stuck with you, the moments that shaped you.

Hawks might not care about the next generation. But maybe… you did. You inhaled deeply. “Someone has to do it.”

Hawks glanced at you. “Huh?”

“Teach,” you clarified. “Someone has to make sure they don’t just become a bunch of reckless brats.”

Hawks smirked. “That sounded real pointed.”

You ignored him, mind already racing. Maybe this was something worth considering. Maybe making a difference didn’t just mean being in the field. it meant helping others get there, too.

Before you could say more, Hawks suddenly grinned. “Welp. We can debate hero philosophy later. Right now-” He flexed his wings. “I believe it’s ass kicking time.”

You exhaled, pushing the thoughts aside. Teaching could wait. For now, you had a mission to finish.

—-

The idea had been nagging at you ever since that mission with Hawks. You hadn’t been able to shake it, how different would things have been if someone hadn’t taken the time to teach you? If the pros before you had just decided they didn’t care about shaping the next generation?

It was a dangerous job. Heroes had to make impossible choices every day.And if you could help even one student avoid the mistakes you had made… wasn’t that worth it?

So, when the opportunity to assist at U.A. came up, you took it. Standing at the school gates, you felt incredibly unprepared.

The school looked the same as when you were a student. The towering gates, the familiar pathways, the slight hum of excitement in the air.

But now, instead of wearing a uniform, you were standing here as a pro hero. A teachers assistant to the very people who had once trained you.

Before you could start spiraling, a very familiar voice rang out. “Nooooo waaay!”

You barely had time to react before a blur of yellow moved into your peripheral vision.

“Yo, Y/n!!” Present Mic grinned, stepping right in front of you. “Look at you, all grown up and back at U.A.!”

Your brain stalled for a moment. Because oh. Oh no. You had mentally prepared yourself to see your old teachers again, sure.

But Hizashi Yamada? The very same Present Mic who had been the coolest teacher when you were a student? The one whose energy was infectious, who had somehow made learning fun, whose voice had been a constant in your life back then?

Yeah. You were not ready. You forced yourself to smile. “Hey, Mic.”

He grinned even wider. “Man, this is wild! Feels like just yesterday you were wandering the halls! Now you’re back and all pro hero-y!” He clapped a hand on your shoulder. “I knew you were gonna be big someday!”

You swallowed. Say something normal. Say something normal.

“Uh well, you were one of my favorite teachers, it was bound to happen if you were there for me” you blurted. The moment the words left your mouth, you immediately regretted them.

Hizashi’s eyebrows shot up, and then he smirked. “Ohoho? Is that so?” He leaned in slightly, eyes glinting. “Favorite, huh?”

Your face burned.

“N-not like that!” you stammered, waving your hands. “I just.. I mean… your class was fun, and..” He laughed, clearly enjoying your suffering. “Man, this just keeps getting better.”

You groaned, covering your face.

Hizashi grinned, rocking back on his heels. “Well, it’s good to have you back. These kids are gonna love you.”

You exhaled, trying to compose yourself. “Yeah, well… let’s hope I survive them first.”

“Pshh. You survived me, didn’t ya?” He winked. “This’ll be a piece of cake.”

Your heart stuttered. Oh. Oh, this was going to be dangerous for your heart.

—

The halls of U.A. felt different now. As a student, they had been full of excitement, nerves, and the overwhelming presence of those who had come before you. But now, walking through the main building as a pro hero and teacher, the weight on your shoulders felt entirely new.

You adjusted the hem of your hero costume, feeling the crispness of how new it was. Even though you had experience in the field, nothing quite prepared you for standing in front of a room full of students expecting to learn from you.

“You got this,” you muttered to yourself, taking a steadying breath before stepping into the teacher’s lounge.

Aizawa was the first to look up, his usual tired expression unreadable. “You’re early,” he noted, setting down his coffee.

“I figured I’d try to make a good impression,” you replied, attempting a casual smile.

Present Mic leaned against the counter, grinning. “First day jitters? Don’t worry, we all had ‘em. Well, except for Eraser here. He just scowled his way through it.”

Aizawa sighed. “I still do.”

You chuckled, some of the tension easing from your shoulders. Before you could respond, the door swung open, and Midnight strolled in. “Oh, our new young hero teacher has arrived! Ready to inspire the next generation?”

“I hope so,” you admitted, rubbing the back of your neck.

Midnight winked. “Confidence is key. And if all else fails, just channel your inner Aizawa, give them the stare.”

“I’m right here,” Aizawa deadpanned.

The conversation continued as a few other teachers trickled in, welcoming you and offering small pieces of advice. It was reassuring, knowing that despite the prestigious reputation of U.A., the staff was still just a group of people doing their best.

Then, the bell rang. Your first class was waiting You turned to see Shouta Aizawa standing up and heading to the door, coffee in one hand, capture weapon draped loosely around his neck. He looked as exhausted as you remembered from your time as a student, but there was a small, approving nod in his greeting. “. Ready for your first day?”

You gave him a firm nod. “Yes, sir.”

He raised a brow at the formality but didn’t comment. “Good. You’ll be shadowing me for the first week. Learn the flow, get used to the kids. Don’t let them walk all over you.”

You swallowed. “They’ll try?”

“Of course,” he deadpanned. “They’re future pro heroes. Testing limits is in their nature.”

Before you could respond, the bell rang. Aizawa gestured toward the door. “Come on. Let’s introduce you.”

Walking into Class 1-A’s homeroom was surreal. The chatter died down the moment Aizawa stepped inside, eyes instantly on you. These weren’t just random students; these were the next big names in hero society, brimming with potential. Some of them were already whispering, clearly recognizing you from your own hero work.

Aizawa’s gaze swept over them, and the class immediately straightened up. “This is Lumine. She’s a pro and will be assisting in your training from now on. Treat her with respect.”

You took a step forward, clearing your throat. “It’s nice to meet you all. I was in your place not too long ago, so if you have questions or need advice, I’m here to help.”

A student raised a hand, an excitable redhead in the front row. “Can we see your Quirk in action?”

You smirked. “Maybe another time perhaps your next training session.”

A few students groaned in disappointment, but a blue haired student beside him adjusted his glasses, nodding approvingly. “A professional approach. I look forward to learning from you.”

As the students got to work, you exhaled, easing into your new role. First day nerves or not, you were ready for this. After all, you weren’t just here to assist you were here to help shape the future of hero society.

As Aizawa turned to the board, the atmosphere in the classroom shifted. It started small whispers, giggles, but you could feel it. The moment your eyes met with some of the students, they looked away too quickly, stifling laughter like they were plotting something.

Then, predictably, a hand shot up.

“Yes?” you asked, already bracing yourself.

Denki Kaminari grinned, leaning back in his chair. “So, uh… what’s your type?”

A few eyes shot up to stare at him. Particularly a certain purple adjacent kid started glaring. You blinked, thrown off for only a second before regaining composure. “My type?”

“Yeah, you know,” he wiggled his eyebrows. “Like… in a romantic sense.”

“Denki.” Iida’s voice cut through the air, scandalized. “That is highly inappropriate to ask a teacher’s assistant!”

“But it’s important info!” Denki argued, slouching in his seat. “Like, what if we need to set her up with someone?…. like myself” he muttered the last part but the rest of the class gathered what it was.

You raised an eyebrow. “I’m here to teach, not to date.”

Denki clicked his tongue. “Damn, there goes my plan.”

“Your what?” you asked.

Jirou groaned, smacking her forehead. “He’s been muttering about ‘securing the ring’ since you walked in.”

You blinked. “Wait. Excuse me?”

The class lost it.

Even Aizawa, who had been diligently ignoring the nonsense, finally turned, rubbing his temples like he had a migraine forming. “Kaminari. If you spent as much effort on your studies as you do on flirting, you might actually be a decent student.”

Denki pouted “Sensei, that’s harsh.”

You crossed your arms, fighting back a laugh. “I think what Kaminari meant to ask was if I have any advice for balancing hero work with personal life.”

The blond perked up. “Ohh, yeah! That’s totally what I meant!”

Aizawa sighed. “Right. That’s enough for today. Open your books before I start handing out laps.”

The class groaned but obeyed, even as you heard whispered bets being placed on whether Denki would propose by the end of the semester.

Class had barely settled before you heard the unmistakable sound of a palm smacking the back of Kaminari’s head.

“Ow!” Denki yelped, rubbing the spot where he’d been hit.

“Quit being an idiot,” Bakugo grumbled from his seat, arms crossed, eyes narrowed like he was personally offended by Kaminari’s entire existence. “You sound pathetic.”

“Excuse you, Bakugo, but I was just making conversation,” Kaminari shot back, still grinning despite the clear lack of support. “You don’t understand romance.”

Bakugo’s glare sharpened. “I understand that you should shut the hell up”

“Damn, man,” Kirishima cut in with a chuckle, elbowing Bakugo. “Give him a break. It’s not every day a there’s someone new teaching. Let him dream.”

Bakugo scoffed. “It’s embarrassing.”

Before Kaminari could retaliate, Mina gasped dramatically, slamming her hands on her desk. “Wait, wait, wait! Kaminari’s getting all the attention here, but I think we’re missing the real question!” She turned to you with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Who was your teacher crush when you went here?”

The class erupted.

“Ohhh, good one, Ashido!” Sero laughed, leaning forward on his desk. “C’mon, spill! Was it Aizawa-sensei?”

At that you whipped to turn to aizawa but you can see he’s already regressed into his sleeping bag.

“Present Mic?” Kirishima guessed. “He’s got that cool vibe, y’know?”

“I swear if anyone says Midnight, I’m walking out,” Jirou deadpanned, already rubbing her temples

.

You held up a hand, trying to contain your laughter. “Okay, okay, first of all, just because i’m barely older than you all doesn’t mean I’m just going to gossip.”

A wave of boos filled the room.

“Second of all,” you continued, ignoring them, “That wasn’t even anything I thought about when I was your age”

Mina sighed dramatically. “Ugh, so responsible.”

“I’m literally here as a teacher’s assistant,” you reminded her, crossing your arms. “What did you expect?”

“Secret romances,” Kaminari answered instantly.

“You guys watch way too much TV,” you muttered.

Meanwhile, in the corner of the room, Todoroki, who had been silent this whole time, slowly turned to Momo. “Is this… normal?”

Momo sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Unfortunately, yes.”

At the front of the class on the ground, Aizawa audibly exhaled, already regretting everything. “I should’ve taken the day off.”

The teasing finally died down after a few more minutes, mostly because Aizawa threatened extra homework, but you could still hear the occasional whisper of “I know it was Aizawa” and “Kaminari’s totally going to propose by the end of the week.”

You barely made it into the teachers’ lounge before dropping into the nearest chair with an exhausted sigh. The first half of the day had been absolute chaos. You knew Class 1-A had a reputation, but no amount of mental preparation could’ve readied you for Kaminari planning your imaginary wedding, Mina interrogating you about teacher crushes, and Bakugo nearly committing homicide out of secondhand embarrassment.

Aizawa sat down across from you, looking unsurprised. “You survived.”

You exhaled, rubbing your temples. “I think so.”

Before he could respond, the door slammed open. “YOOO! How’s our newest teacher assistant holding up?!”

Your stomach flipped. Present Mic strolled in, grinning ear to ear, and before you could even process the way your heartbeat definitely skipped, he was dropping into the seat beside you, all energy and enthusiasm.

“I heard 1-A gave you a hell of a welcome,” he laughed, elbowing you lightly. “Gotta say, I love the enthusiasm, but you good?”

Your brain was short circuiting. He smells good. Why does he smell so good?

You snapped out of it immediately. “Y-Yeah! Totally fine! Just y’know, Students being students, and uh, some… unexpected questions.”

Aizawa gave you a slow, knowing side eye but said nothing, sipping his coffee. Hizashi leaned in slightly, his expression full of curiosity. “Ohhh? What kind of questions?”

The door opened again, giving you a much needed second to gather yourself as Midnight, Cementoss, and Snipe walked in. Midnight smirked the second she spotted you. “Oho? Is this about the interrogation 1-A put you through?”

You groaned. “Why does everyone already know about this?”

Cementoss chuckled. “Word travels fast when it involves that class.”

Snipe took a seat, tipping his hat back. “So? What’d they grill ya on?”

You hesitated, but of course Midnight leaned forward, eyes glinting. “Don’t be shy now. Spill.”

You exhaled in defeat. “Okay, fine, Kaminari apparently thinks we’re getting married, Mina demanded to know if I ever had a teacher crush, and the rest were just hyping them up.”

Silence. Then, Midnight lit up. “Oh, now this I gotta hear.”

“No, you really don’t,” you muttered.

But it was too late. Present Mic gasped dramatically beside you. “WAIT.” He pointed at you with exaggerated excitement. “You had a teacher crush?!”

Your face felt hot. “Nope! That’s classified information,” you said way too quickly, reaching for your drink like it could physically save you from this conversation.

Hizashi let out an offended noise, leaning closer. “It’s me, isn’t it?!”

Your brain short circuited. Your entire body froze. Aizawa, who had been silently watching this train wreck unfold, took a slow sip of his coffee. “It’s not you.”

“You don’t know that!” Hizashi shot back, grinning, and oh no, he was looking right at you.

You could feel the heat creeping up your neck, but you refused to crack. “I- I am not answering that.”

Midnight smirked, clearly catching something. “Hmm… interesting.”

You glared. “Drop it.”

“Never,” she teased.

Meanwhile, Hizashi was still grinning, completely oblivious to your inner turmoil. “Aw, c’mon! I won’t tell anyone!”

You buried your face in your hands. “I literally don’t trust you.”

The teasing continued as the rest of the staff ate, and even though your entire body was still burning from that interaction, you had to admit… it wasn’t a bad way to spend your break.

—

You walked beside Aizawa, still recovering from the absolute disaster that had been lunchtime. Your face felt like it was permanently warm, and you were convinced you’d never be able to look Present Mic in the eyes again.

“So,” he started, voice dry as ever, “you want to be a teacher?”

You nodded, still staring ahead, trying to will away your embarrassment. “Yeah. I mean, today was hectic, but it felt… right, y’know?”

Aizawa hummed. “Uh-huh.”

Something about his tone made you glance at him warily. “…What?”

“Oh, nothing.” He took a slow sip from his coffee, expression unreadable. “Just thinking about how subtle you were about it in the lounge.”

You frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He side eyed you, and even though his face barely changed, you could feel the judgment.

Your stomach dropped. “I—what—” You groaned, covering your face. “Please stop.”

“Just saying,” he continued, deadpan, “if this was a test on subtlety, you’d be repeating the year.”

You groaned louder. “Oh my god.”

He sipped his coffee again, shrugging. “But, y’know. Mic’s an idiot, so you’re probably fine.”

“That is not reassuring.”

He didn’t respond, just kept walking like he hadn’t just ruined your entire life. You, on the other hand, were spiraling. How obvious had you been? Was everyone going to figure it out? Was Hizashi already onto you?

Before you could fall further into despair, Aizawa glanced at you again. “But if you’re really serious about teaching, you should stick with it. You did fine today.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity. “Oh. Thanks.”

“Sure.” He paused, then added, “Just maybe work on your poker face.”

You groaned one last time, and Aizawa smirked ever so slightly as you both headed back to class.

—

It was the next day and stared at Aizawa like he had just told you to fight a Nomu with your bare hands.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“You’re assisting Yamada for the day,” Aizawa repeated, his tone flat as always. “He’s leading practical drills, and it’s good experience for you.”

Your stomach twisted. This is fine. This is totally fine. It was not fine. Because Present Mic. Hizashi Yamada was the one teacher you definitely didn’t trust yourself to be normal around.

It had been so much easier when you were a student, admiring from afar. But now? You had to work alongside him, one on one, for the entire day, and if yesterday’s conversation in the teachers’ lounge was anything to go by, you were one slip-up away from giving yourself away entirely.

Still, you swallowed your nerves and forced yourself to nod. “Got it.”

Aizawa gave you a slow, knowing look, because of course he did but didn’t comment. “Good. He’s in Gym Gamma. Try to keep up.”

You huffed. “I can keep up.”

Aizawa smirked slightly like he knew something you didn’t. That was never a good sign.

—

By the time you reached Gym Gamma, you could hear his voice from outside the doors.

“Alright, listeners! Today’s all about reflex training! You gotta be fast, ya gotta be alert, and ya gotta be ready to move at a moment’s notice!”

You took a deep breath and stepped inside.

The moment you did, Hizashi turned to face you, his signature grin in full force. “Ayooo! There’s my assistant for the day!”

You swore you felt your heart stutter for a second.

“Hope you’re ready!” he continued, jogging up to you. “’Cause today’s lesson is all about speed and adaptability!”

You forced yourself to nod, pretending you weren’t two seconds from combusting. “Right. Sounds good.”

He clapped a hand on your shoulder, and oh no he’s touching me—

“You ever seen my sound-based reflex drills in action before?” he asked, completely oblivious to the absolute crisis happening in your brain.

“uuuh not up close.”

He gasped, offended. “WHAT?!” He grabbed his chest like you’d personally wounded him. “Then today’s your lucky day, sidekick, ‘cause you’re not just assisting, you’re participating!”

You tilted your head. “oh? set the stage then”

The students murmured at that, sensing the challenge. Hizashi raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Ohooo, confidence! I like it!”

You just smirked. “Let’s get started.”

—

The second he fired off his first attack “HEY!!” your body reacted on instinct. In reality this was probably the worst person to fight against you for the demonstration against mic. Because with his quirk it basically didn’t work on you

Before the shockwave could hit, you shifted into light, letting the sound waves pass through you harmlessly before reforming on the other side.

The class gasped.

Even Hizashi blinked in surprise. “Well damn!!”

You shrugged, barely fazed. “Sound doesn’t hit photons the same way.”

Hizashi’s grin grew. “Ohhh, this just got interesting.”

What followed was an all out battle of speed.

Every time he tried to catch you off guard, you moved like light itself, phasing through attacks, blinking across the battlefield, even absorbing energy and redirecting it when necessary.

At one point, he fired off a rapid burst of sound—

“YEAHHHHH!!”

—and you split into pure photons, streaking through the air before reforming behind him.

The students went wild.

Kaminari practically screamed. “YO, THIS IS INSANE!”

Mina was jumping up and down. “OUR TEACHER ASSISTANT IS A BADASS!”

Meanwhile, Hizashi looked positively thrilled.

“You’re fast,” he admitted, pushing his shades up. “I like that.”

You smirked. “Told you I could handle myself.”

His grin widened. “Alright, alright, I see you.”

—

Training continued as you and Mic took turns guiding the students through drills. By the end of the session, they were still buzzing with excitement, practically vibrating with leftover energy. You, on the other hand? Barely broke a sweat.

Even after all that work, they were still hyped.

Mina came sprinting toward you, a crowd of students following close behind. “You are officially my favorite person now.”

“SO—ABOUT THAT MARRIAGE PROPOSAL—”

Before he could finish, Bakugo decked him straight into the ground. You barely had time to react before you were kneeling beside the poor guy, eyes wide in alarm.

Meanwhile, Shoto stood nearby, still deep in thought. “Can you move at the speed of light, or is it just partial?”

Midoriya, frantically flipping through his notebook, barely spared the scene a glance. “And if your body converts into photons, do you still feel force? Can you absorb soundwaves instead of dodging them?”

“Sensei, can you teach me how to be that fast?” Mina asked, practically bouncing.

“Yeah!” Kirishima grinned. “You gotta have some training tips, right?”

You chuckled. “It’s all about reflexes and learning how to read your opponent. I’d be happy to show you some drills.”

The class collectively cheered.

Even Bakugo gave a considering nod, though he still scowled. “Tch. I guess that was decent.”

Hizashi, standing beside you, elbowed you lightly. “Look at that, you’re already building a fan club.”

You felt your face heat up. Not now, heart. Not now

You sighed with a smile on your face, rubbing your temples before looking over at Hizashi, who was grinning like a proud parent.

“Man,” he said, shaking his head. “Didn’t expect you to steal the whole show!”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips.

Hizashi strolled over, hands on his hips, still beaming. “I gotta say, did not expect you to be this OP.”

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Guess I like surprises.”

He chuckled. “Well, consider me pleasantly surprised.”

Then, he winked. Damn it. You were this close to completely losing your composure.

—

The students were still hyped as they cleaned up, practically buzzing with leftover energy. Kaminari was full on re enacting the moment you dodged a sound blast, complete with dramatic slow-motion effects, while Mina hyped him up like a ringside announcer.

Meanwhile, you and Hizashi strolled toward the exit, letting them finish up.

“I gotta say,” he grinned, hands behind his head, “I knew you had skills, but damn! You didn’t even break a sweat!”

You smirked, keeping it cool. “Well our quirks kinda cancel each other put, I don’t know if i’m all that good”

He laughed, and damn it. why did it sound so nice up close?

“A bit of an advantage? You made dodging my attacks look like a warm up.”

You shrugged, playing it off. “Maybe I’m just really fast.”

He shot you a teasing look. “Ohhh, I see how it is, you’re humble about it, too.”

You chuckled, shaking your head, but something about this moment felt… surreal.

Because walking next to Hizashi like this, like equals, just chatting after sparring was something high school you never would’ve imagined.

You used to have a massive crush on him. And not just a little one. No, it was bad. He was your teacher, but also the funniest teacher in the school. You always looked forward to passing him in the halls, laughed at his corny jokes, and maybe, maybe daydreamed a little too much about him calling your name in attendance.

And now?

Now you were working with him. Now he was grinning at you like you were someone worth his attention.

You were so distracted by that realization that you nearly walked straight into a wall.

“Oi.” Hizashi nudged you before you could embarrass yourself further. “You still with me?”

You cleared your throat, trying to refocus. “Yeah! Yeah, just, thinking.”

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oho? What about?”

How I used to have a hopelessly embarrassing crush on you, and now you’re standing next to me, smiling, and my brain is actively trying not to short circuit.

“…Lunch,” you blurted instead. “Thinking about lunch.”

Hizashi blinked. Then laughed, shaking his head. “Man, if that’s what’s on your mind after training, I must not’ve pushed ya hard enough!”

You grabbed onto the distraction like a lifeline. “Oh, please. I could do that all day.”

He shot you a grin. “Good. ‘Cause we’re definitely doing that again.”

Your brain short-circuited.

Oh.

But, no. You weren’t gonna let him have all the fun.

Summoning whatever ounce of courage you had left, you smirked. “Oh yeah? You sure you can keep up?”

The second the words left your mouth, you realized your mistake. Hizashi’s grin widened. Way too much.

“Ohhh,” he said dramatically, cupping his ear. “What was that?”

You instantly regretted everything.

“I—I said—” You hesitated. Why did he look so amused?

“You asking if I can keep up?” He leaned in slightly, eyes glinting. “Ohooo, you’re getting bold!”

Your face burned. “Never mind.”

“Nah nah, too late now!” He laughed, giving you a playful nudge. “I love this side of you!”

You turned away, internally screaming. Hizashi, completely unaware of your impending emotional crisis, just grinned. “Hope you’re ready for round two, Y/n!”

You exhaled sharply, forcing yourself to recover. “Looking forward to it,” you said, managing to sound almost confident.

Hizashi?

He just smiled that was the moment you knew, you were so screwed.

.

——-

It started off as a normal conversation in the common room. The class was unwinding, chatting about training, when Mina, of course, had to bring it up.

“Okay, but seriously,” she said, sitting cross-legged on the couch, “did anyone else notice the energy between Present Mic and our assistant today?”

Sero smirked. “Oh yeah. Flirt Central.”

“Flirt Central?!” Kaminari sputtered, nearly dropping his drink. “Nuh-uh. No way. I refuse to accept this!”

Mina blinked. “Uh… what?”

Kaminari crossed his arms, looking like a very pouty child. “They’re our teacher. They shouldn’t be flirting with some old dude!”

“Old dude?” Midoriya raised an eyebrow. “Hizashi-sensei is 30.”

“Yeah, and our TA is 22! That’s a huge gap!” Kaminari argued.

Yaoyorozu tilted her head. “eight years is maybe stretch for—”

“I don’t care! It’s not fair!” Kaminari whined, flopping over onto the couch.

Mineta, who had been unusually silent up until now, suddenly slammed his hands onto the coffee table.

“You’re all missing the point!” he cried dramatically. “This is a mentorship t-to-slow-burn romance unfolding right before our eyes! WOMEN WHEN THEYRE VULNERABLE MAKES THEIR BOOBS so-”

The room collectively groaned.

“Mineta, shut up,” jirou snapped from the corner.

Mineta ignored her, eyes sparkling with excitement. “We should be celebrating this! They have the perfect dynamic! The confidence! The power balance! The forbidden allure of—”

Jirou smacked him over the head. “You’re disgusting.”

“OW! You just don’t appreciate a good romance—”

“I appreciate not hearing you be a creep,” Jirou shot back.

Meanwhile, Kaminari was still sulking. “I don’t care what any of you say. Our assistant deserves someone their age. Like…like me!”

The room went silent.

Mina squinted. “Denki. You’re 16.”

Kaminari groaned, flopping dramatically onto the couch. “That’s not the point!”

“Yes, it is,” Sero said bluntly.

“But, like, imagine!” Kaminari sat up. “What if we had a thing going instead? They’d be so much happier with me!”

“Dude, you barely passed last week’s quiz focus on today first,” Sero deadpanned.

Kaminari gasped. “That has nothing to do with my marriage!”

Meanwhile, Midoriya, who had been furiously scribbling notes the whole time, looked up.

“You guys are focusing too much on how… conventionally pretty she is” he said nervously . “What we should be discussing is how their quirks could compliment each other in battle.”

Iida nodded. “Now that is a productive conversation.”

“Boooooring,” Mina said. “I wanna talk about how they’d be the coolest staff couple ever!”

Kirishima grinned. “Yeah! Imagine the interviews!”

Ochaco gasped. “Oh my gosh, the fan edits would be insane.”

“I know!” Mina grabbed her shoulders. “Someone has to start a ship name.”

Kaminari screamed into a pillow.

As the chaos unfolded, Bakugo groaned, standing up abruptly. “I swear if you extras don’t shut up about this, I’m blowing up the common room.”

“Aw, c’mon, man!” Kirishima laughed. “You gotta admit, they have good chemistry!”

Bakugo scowled.

—

Meanwhile, completely unaware of the discourse happening in the dorms, you were in the teacher’s lounge, where Hizashi was currently trying to convince you to join him for karaoke after work.

And if your face was a little too warm every time he winked at you…

Well.

Nobody needed to know.

You: i'll see a man with long hair and remember i'm not above temptations of the flesh

guys who would fuck with present mic brain rot. There is like no stories for him on here and i’m seriously about to start a one man revolution if I need too.

Cleanup on aisle 4

⋆˚✿˖° ❝𝗜𝘁 𝗙𝗲𝗲𝗹𝘀 𝗖𝗿𝗼𝘄𝗱𝗲𝗱❞ ⋆˚✿˖°

────୨ৎ────

Geto Suguru x Reader

Gojo Satoru x Reader

────୨ৎ────

⋆˚✿˖° 2. I’ve Played these Games Before

Headcannon, the men are stupid

if you missed the last chapter and want more-> masterlist

₍^. .^₎⟆ Geto sighed, stretching his arms as he strolled toward his dorm. The study session had been useless (as expected), but at least it had been entertaining. Though, if he was being honest, the best part of the evening had been watching Gojo flail around in real-time romantic panic.

He smirked to himself. That was going to be fun to watch unfold.

Not that he cared much about the bet itself. That was just a way to mess with Gojo, to see him squirm. Nothing more.

His plan was simple he’d treat you exactly the same as always. Calm, confident, teasing. Unlike Gojo, he didn’t need to rely on some ridiculous strategy. He wasn’t about to start googling psychological tricks like a lovesick idiot.

No, he’d just make a few subtle changes. More intentional eye contact. More casual touches. More moments of quiet attention, the kind that made people feel like they were the only one in the room.

At least, that’s what he thought, until lunchtime the next day, when Gojo started getting on his nerves.

Because, of course, Gojo wasn’t capable of subtlety.

“Wow,” Gojo whistled, sliding into the seat across from you. “Look at you, already eating without me? I thought we had something special.”

You looked up mid bite, a spoonful of rice halfway to your mouth. “Gojo, you were literally behind me in line.”

“Details,” he waved off, dramatically propping his chin in his hand. “But you know, I was thinking of eating alone today… until I saw you, and my heart just knew I couldn’t let that happen.”

You snorted. “Sounds rough, buddy.”

His sunglasses slid down his nose just enough for you to see his eyes sparkling with mischief. “You have no idea.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled, taking another bite of your food. Gojo watched you closely, subtly shifting in his seat. Step one—mirroring movements. You lifted your spoon, and he lazily picked up his chopsticks. You leaned forward slightly, and he mirrored the action. He was subtle about it, of course. Natural. Completely normal. Definitely not weird.

Except you paused, squinting at him.

“…Are you copying me?”

Gojo choked on air. “Wh—what? No! Pfft. I’m just sitting.”

Your grin widened. “Satoru, are you copying me?”

He waved his chopsticks. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

You squinted a second longer, then shrugged, going back to your food. “Mhm. Sure.”

Gojo let out a silent breath. Okay. Maybe less obvious on that one.

Right. Step two—eye contact.

He leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm as he gazed at you, letting his signature smirk tug at his lips. A confident, roguish expression that, historically, had driven people wild.

You, however, just blinked at him. “Are you- why are you staring at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re waiting for me to read your mind or something.”

Gojo sighed dramatically. “I was just admiring the way the cafeteria lights shine in your eyes. Very mesmerizing. Stunning, even.”

You blinked again. “Satoru, the cafeteria lights are fluorescent.”

“Exactly,” he grinned. “Yet, somehow, you make them work.”

You just groaned, shaking your head. “You are so weird.”

He ignored the minor setback and moved to Step three—casual physical touch. Casual. Natural. Smooth. So he reached across the table and lightly flicked your forehead.

You recoiled, dramatically grabbing your head. “Ow?!”

“Oops.” He grinned. “Slipped.”

“You slipped into flicking me?”

“Crazy, right?”

You narrowed your eyes before retaliating, smacking his arm with the back of your spoon. “Oops,” you mimicked, grinning. “I slipped.”

Gojo laughed, holding up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, truce.” You huffed, still smiling, before turning your attention back to your food.

Step four—make them laugh.

He was already a pro at that. Easy. No problem. You weren’t in a bad mood or anything, just a little spaced out, quietly picking at your food while Geto and Shoko talked beside you. Normally, you’d be more engaged, but today, your mind just wasn’t all there.

Gojo, of course, noticed. And he could not let that slide.

“Alright, I’m making an official declaration,” he announced, leaning forward with a grin. “I’m getting her—” he pointed dramatically at you “—to laugh before lunch is over.”

Shoko didn’t even look up from her juice box. “Shouldn’t take long. Five minutes.”

“Two,” Geto said, smirking. “He’s predictable.”

You blinked at them. “Wait—what? I do laugh.”

“Not enough,” Gojo countered, watching you with exaggerated scrutiny. “Not the real, ugly, snorting kind. That’s the goal.”

“You don’t need that,” you said flatly.

“Oh, but I do.”

He leaned forward, hands clasped like he was about to deliver something profound. “Okay. Picture this. I’m fighting this cursed spirit the other day—big, ugly thing, smelled like a sewer. And it looks at me and goes, ‘Hey, aren’t you that discount Kakashi?’”

Silence.

Geto exhaled through his nose, mildly amused. Shoko just sighed. You gave Gojo a slow blink.

Gojo placed a hand on his chest, scandalized. “Nothing? That was comedy gold.”

“That was sad,” Geto corrected.

“Okay, fine, I can do better,” Gojo said, shaking it off before dramatically throwing himself against Geto’s side. “Bro, I can’t believe this. My own best friend, laughing before she does. This is a betrayal. How do I go on?”

“Quieter,” Geto muttered, shoving him off.

Gojo ignored him. “Alright, last attempt.” He turned to you, suddenly serious. “If you don’t laugh in the next ten seconds, I’m taking your dessert.”

Your head snapped up. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

And then, as if to prove he meant business, he grabbed two onigiri from Geto’s tray, wiggled them like little sock puppets, and in the most high pitched, overly dramatic voice you’d ever heard, went:

“Oh no, Gojo-sama, please spare us! We are but humble rice balls!”

He made one onigiri turn to the other. “Brother, I don’t think he’s going to show us mercy…”

The second onigiri shook dramatically. “No, we still have so much to live for! My wife, my children, who will tell them what happened to me?”

“I will, dear brother,” the first one promised solemnly. “I will tell them of your bravery!”

“No!” The second onigiri screamed (or rather, Gojo screamed for it). “You must live on! Let me be the one to—AHHH!”

And with that, Gojo chucked the onigiri into his mouth and took an exaggerated, victorious bite.

You burst out laughing. The kind of laugh you couldn’t hold in if you tried, the kind that made you lean forward onto the table, shoulders shaking as you gasped for air.

Gojo pointed at you with a mouthful of rice. “Boom. Victory.”

Shoko sighed, sipping her juice. “Took longer than I thought.”

Geto shook his head. “I’m never letting you near my food again.”

But Gojo wasn’t listening. He was too busy basking in his success, leaning toward you with a cocky grin. “Told you you couldn’t resist my charm.”

“You’re an idiot,” you wheezed, still catching your breath.

“And yet,” Gojo said, stealing your dessert anyway, “an idiot with perfect comedic timing.” You groaned I’m reply.

He grinned, triumphant.

Then, Step five, say their name more. “Hey, (Y/N),” he drawled, propping his chin on his hand.

You raised an eyebrow. “Yes, Satoru?”

He blinked. “Uh.”

Damn it. He didn’t actually have anything to say. He’d just read in some stupid article that saying your name was supposed to make you subconsciously more interested in him.

“…Nothing,” he said smoothly, smiling. “Just wanted to remind you how nice your name sounds.”

You gave him a look. “Right.”

A beat of silence. Then

“Satoru,” you said, voice suspiciously sweet.

Gojo grinned. “Yeah?”

“You are being weird.”

“Me?” He placed a hand over his chest, mock-offended. “Weird? Perish the thought.”

You just laughed, shaking your head as you finished the last of your food. “Anyway, as fun as this has been, Im a little thirsty.”

Gojo gasped. “What, you’re leaving me?”

“You’ll survive.” You smirked, standing up. “Probably.”

He clutched his chest dramatically. “(Y/N), your cruelty knows no bounds.”

You just rolled your eyes but smiled. “I’ll be back I want to get a other juice Gojo”

And then you were gone, disappearing into the cafeteria crowd.Gojo sighed, dropping his head onto the table.Well. That could’ve gone better. He pulled out his phone, opening his notes app.

The Gojo Satoru Foolproof Love Plan™ (That Hopefully Works and Doesn’t End in Humiliation)

1. Mirroring movements (FAILED. TOO OBVIOUS.)

2. Eye contact (??? Unclear. Need feedback.)

3. Casual touches (Flicking? Bad idea. Find alternative.)

4. Make them laugh (SUCCESS. OBVIOUSLY.)

5. Say their name more (Awkward. Do not force it.)

6. Grand romantic gesture??? (Not yet. Too soon.)

7. Don’t mess this up. (Currently… TBD.)

Gojo sighed, locking his phone.

—

Geto watched from across the lunch table, fingers idly tapping against his drink, as Gojo leaned way too far into your space. He dropped your name into the conversation at least three times in the last minute, nudged your arm, and let out an exaggerated laugh at something you’d said, something that wasn’t that funny. Then when you got up he looked straight at gojo.

“Alright,” Geto drawled, resting his chin in his palm. “Are you trying to scare them away?”

Gojo shot him a look. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Geto just raised an eyebrow. Gojo’s eye twitched slightly. Shoko, who had been watching this unfold with the air of someone witnessing a tragic yet hilarious accident, snorted. “You’re overdoing it,” she told Gojo.

“No, I’m not” Gojo started, then cut himself off, visibly forcing himself to look less desperate. He leaned back, feigning ease. “I mean, pfft. No way. This is all natural.”

Geto exhaled slowly, leveling Gojo with a knowing look.

Because here was the thing, Gojo wasn’t bad at this. He was naturally charismatic. He could be smooth. But when he actually cared about something? When it actually mattered?

He became a disaster, it was obvious that this mattered. Which meant Geto had the upper hand for now. He allowed himself a small smirk before turning back to you as you came back. Unlike Gojo, he wouldn’t trip over himself. He wouldn’t force it. He’d just let things fall into place.

This was going to be easy.

Except.

As lunch went on, Geto noticed something.

At first, Gojo’s fumbling had been amusing. Watching the ever-confident Satoru practically trip over his own feet was undeniably entertaining. But the longer Geto watched, the more he started to realize why Gojo was messing up so badly. Because Gojo flirted all the time. He teased, he charmed half the jujitsu world was wrapped around his finger without him even trying.

Gojo actually liked you.

The thought settled like a weight in Geto’s chest. His fingers tapped idly against the table.

He glanced at you. You were laughing, completely oblivious to the quiet crisis happening across the table. And something about that sent an uncomfortable twist through his stomach.

He wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like this was serious. He was just messing with Gojo. That’s what he’d told himself. That’s all this was.

…Right?

Then why did his gaze linger a little too long when you smiled? Why did it bother him when Gojo made you laugh first? Why did it feel like he was always second to Gojo?

Because that was how it always went, wasn’t it?

Gojo was loud, blinding, impossible to ignore. The center of attention in every room. And Geto?

He was there. A presence. A shadow. Not invisible, not overlooked but never first. watching Gojo fight for your attention, watching you react to him, laugh at him. The weight in Geto’s chest grew heavier. His grip on his drink tightened.

No.

This wasn’t about Gojo. It wasn’t about the bet. It wasn’t about proving a point. This was about you. Because he didn’t just want to win. He wanted you and for you to know he wont always come second

He exhaled slowly, leaning back in his seat, watching as Gojo tried (and failed) to act casual.

—

“You know, (Y/n),” Gojo drawled, slinging an arm over the back of your chair like he owned the place. His fingers drummed lazily against the wood, his usual cocky smirk in place. “I’ve been thinking.”

“That’s a first,” you quipped without missing a beat, eyes still focused on your food as you casually poked at your meal.

Across the table, Geto exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking his head in amusement. Shoko, perched beside him with her cigarette balanced between two fingers, barely hid her smirk as she took a slow drag.

Gojo clicked his tongue, feigning offense. “Rude. I was about to say something really profound, actually.

Finally, you glanced up at him, eyes sparkling with playful curiosity. “Oh? Enlighten me, oh wise and powerful one.”

Gojo grinned wider, but Geto, who knew him better than anyone, noticed the way his fingers tapped just a little too quickly against the table. A nervous tic, barely noticeable. Interesting.

“Well, now I don’t want to with that attitude” Gojo continued, voice dripping with forced nonchalance. “I was just thinking, don’t you think we make a great pair?”

You blinked at him, head tilting slightly with a smirk. “A pair of what, exactly?”

For the first time since opening his mouth, Gojo hesitated. It was only for a fraction of a second, but in that brief pause, Geto could see the exact moment doubt crept into his friend’s mind.

“A pair of… cool people?” Gojo finally offered, flashing a sheepish smile, one hand adjusting his sunglasses even though they hadn’t moved.

There was a beat of silence. Shoko exhaled smoke through her nose, unimpressed. Geto took a slow sip of his drink, watching the interaction unfold with the air of a man witnessing a slow motion car crash painful, but fascinating.

Meanwhile, you squinted at Gojo, head tilting slightly, as if trying to decipher some kind of hidden meaning. “Did you just try to flirt with me by suggesting we… form a club?”

“No” Gojo started, but before he could finish, Geto decided to cut in. Because, really, this was just too good to pass up.

“Oh, I dunno,” he interjected smoothly, tilting his head slightly in your direction. His voice carried the perfect balance of amusement and intrigue, just enough to make Gojo twitch. “I think he’s onto something. You are pretty cool, after all.”

That got your attention. Your lips curled into a delighted grin as you turned to Geto. “Someone recognizes my greatness!” You placed a dramatic hand over your chest. “It’s about time.” You stick out your tongue to gojo

“Get I’m your knees and say I’m cool and you’re not ” You pointed your chopsticks at gojo,

Geto hummed, pleased with himself as he set his drink down. “I only speak the truth.”

Gojo’s eye twitched. Oh, come on.

Shoko exhaled another puff of smoke, watching the scene unfold like it was the best entertainment she’d had in weeks. This is a mess, she thought. A hilarious, glorious mess.

Gojo, meanwhile, looked like he was seconds away from combusting. He narrowed his eyes at Geto, who looked far too pleased with himself, before quickly shaking it off.

“Anyway,” Gojo cut back in, clearly trying to regain control of the conversation. He turned to you again, tapping your shoulder lightly as his grin returned. “What I meant was, you and me? We work well together, y’know? Great chemistry and all that.”

You smirk at him. “Like lab partners?”

There was a moment of silence and then Shoko choked on her drink. Geto coughed lightly, raising a fist to his mouth to cover his smirk. But internally? He was dying.

Gojo froze. His jaw clenched for just a fraction of a second before he forced a grin, his usual confidence cracking under the weight of sheer secondhand embarrassment. “Exactly like lab partners,” he said, voice painfully flat.

“Cool!” You beamed, completely oblivious to Gojo’s growing inner turmoil. “Let me know when we’re dissecting frogs, I guess.” Then you for up and ran to utahime for a moment when you see her aggressively waving you over.

Gojo groaned, flopping back in his seat like a man defeated.

Shoko wiped a tear from her eye, shaking her head. “This is actually painful to watch.”

“Not for me,” Geto mused, barely containing his smirk as he leaned back.

Gojo turned his head just enough to glare at him. “You suck.”

“Aw, Satoru,” Geto drawled, resting his chin in his palm. “Don’t be such a sore loser.”

“Losing implies I’ve lost,” Gojo shot back, sitting up with renewed determination. “And I never lose.”

Geto merely raised an eyebrow. “Sure,” he said smoothly, sipping his drink again. But inside, he was still thinking about the way you had laughed at his words. The way you had turned to him so easily, bright eyed and happy.

And just like that, what was supposed to be a harmless bet felt like something else entirely. Something he wasn’t willing to lose.

—

After lunch wrapped up, Gojo had been dragged away by some underclassmen pestering him for help though, judging by his exaggerated groan of suffering, you’d think they were sentencing him to life in prison. Shoko had peeled off shortly after, muttering something about a nap and waving lazily over her shoulder.

That left you and Geto.

The two of you walked side by side through the courtyard, the afternoon sun casting long shadows on the pavement. It was warm but not unpleasant, with a soft breeze rustling through the trees. Birds chirped somewhere in the distance.

“So,” Geto said, hands slipping casually into his pockets. “Lab partners, huh?”

You grinned, glancing up at him. “What? You don’t think me and Gojo have great chemistry?”

Geto hummed, pretending to consider it. “More like chaotic combustion.”

You laughed, nudging his arm playfully. “Okay, thats just basic math when you out us I’m a room together”

The sound of your laughter settled into Geto’s chest, warm and lingering. He’d always liked that about you how easy it was for you to find amusement in things, how naturally lighthearted you could be. It was one of the reasons he enjoyed your company so much.

He wasn’t even sure when it had started this noticing of yours. The way you smiled when you were really, genuinely happy. The way your hands moved when you talked excitedly. The way your eyes lit up when you were being playful, like they had during lunch when you had turned to him.

Yeah. He was noticing a lot more than he used to.

“You were really enjoying yourself back there,” you mused, shooting him a knowing look.

Geto smirked. “Can you blame me? Watching Gojo crash and burn is one of life’s simplest pleasures.”

You laughed again, and he found himself watching you a little too closely.

It had started as a joke. Just a bet. A way to mess with Gojo and watch him struggle for once.

But somewhere along the way, something shifted.

Maybe it was because you always seemed to get along with him so easily, without all the dramatics and fanfare that followed Gojo everywhere. Maybe it was because teasing you came as naturally as breathing, and you always played along. Maybe it was because, when you looked at him, it never felt like he was standing in Gojo’s shadow.

Because Geto had spent years watching people flock to Gojo first. It wasn’t something he resented, not really it was just the way things were. Gojo was loud, larger than life, the sun in the center of everyone’s orbit.

But now, as you walked beside him, smiling and laughing and completely unaware of the thoughts creeping into his head he wondered what it would be like if, just this once, he wasn’t second.

If you chose him.

“Alright, then,” you said suddenly, shaking him from his thoughts. “If Gojo and I are chaotic combustion, what kind of chemistry do we have?”

You grinned up at him, eyes bright with curiosity. Playful. Innocent. But for the first time all afternoon, Geto felt just the slightest bit off balance. But for the first time all afternoon, Geto felt just the slightest bit off balance. Because for all his usual confidence, for all his careful, patient planning, he hadn’t been expecting that.

His smirk lingered, but this time, it took a fraction of a second longer to form.

“Hmm,” he mused, tilting his head in thought. “I’d say… slow burn.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Wait, is that a real chemistry thing or—”

“Who knows?” Geto said smoothly, flashing you a teasing smile before stepping ahead. “Guess you’ll have to figure it out.”

You gaped at him. “Oh, now you’re being mysterious?”

He only laughed, glancing back over his shoulder. “What can I say? Gotta keep things interesting.”

You rolled your eyes but grinned as you jogged to catch up with him and Geto, for all his patience, was beginning to wonder if maybe, just maybe, he wanted to win this more than he thought.

The neon lights of Tokyo buzzed overhead as the four of you wandered the crowded streets, blending into the after-school . It was that perfect in between time too early for the late-night crowd, but just late enough that everything felt a little more exciting.

And, as usual, Gojo was causing problems.

“You dragged us out here,” you sighed, watching Gojo pat down his pockets like he’d just realized he forgot something important. “How do you not know where we’re going?”

“I do know!” Gojo huffed, placing a hand over his heart like you’d mortally wounded him. “I’m just giving the night a sense of mystery.”

“You lost the directions, didn’t you?” Shoko deadpanned.

“Have some faith in me,” Gojo scoffed.

“I did,” Geto mused. “Then I watched you confidently lead us to a random 7-Eleven last time because you thought there was a ‘secret food market’ underground.”

Gojo groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Are none of you gonna let that go?”

“No,” you, Geto, and Shoko said in unison.

Gojo grumbled under his breath, but before he could keep digging his own grave, you gestured toward a bright, bustling arcade across the street.

“Let’s just go in there,” you suggested. Pointing towards the arcade near by “Since our fearless leader clearly has no actual plan.”

Gojo perked up. “Hey! I did have a plan—”

“Oh my god, shut up and walk,” Shoko sighed, already making her way inside.

—

The place was packed, rows of flashing game screens, the constant clinking of tokens, and the occasional victorious yell from someone landing a big win. It was the kind of that was just fun enough to be energizing rather than overwhelming.

Immediately, Gojo beelined for a claw machine. “I’m winning something for you,” he declared, pointing at you.

You raised an eyebrow. “Bold of you to assume you’ll win.”

Gojo grinned, cracking his knuckles. “Bold of you to underestimate me.”

“Gojo, I watched you spend 3,000 yen last time trying to win a keychain,” Geto reminded him, his voice thoroughly unimpressed.

“Okay, but this time is different,” Gojo insisted. “This time, I have motivation.”

You snorted. “Sure you do.”

Shoko rolled her eyes and wandered off to find a rhythm game, and Geto turned to you, smirking. “Wanna bet on how many tries it takes before he gives up?”

You grinned. “Oh, absolutely.”

Thirty Minutes Later…

Gojo was slumped against the claw machine, forehead pressed against the glass, as the plush he had almost grabbed slipped back into the pile for what had to be the twentieth time.

“…This thing is rigged,” he muttered.

Geto, sipping his drink, hummed. “Mmm. Sure.”

You held out a hand toward him. “Pay up.”

Geto sighed but placed a few coins into your palm. “I should’ve known better.”

Shoko strolled back over, glancing at Gojo’s miserable form. “Wow. Are we gonna have to carry you out of here?”

Gojo groaned dramatically. “Leave me. I belong to the void now.”

You rolled your eyes before stepping up to the machine, slipping in a coin. “Here,” you said, gripping the controls. “Let me show you how it’s done.”

Gojo peeled himself off the glass just enough to watch, skeptical. “If you win this on your first try, I’m actually gonna lose my mind.”

You maneuvered the claw, timed the drop perfectly, and…….Bam!

“Your mind better be severally lost when I turn around” you smirk while holding it out to the three of them. Then talking a look at the white haired guy.

“Here, since you worked so hard for it”

Gojo blinked. Then he stared at you. “…You’re giving it to me?”

You shrugged. “Yeah. You worked hard for it.”

Gojo expected you to rub it in, to make some smug comment about how much better you were, but you didn’t. You just… gave it to him. No teasing, no conditions. Just an easy, casual, Here, this is yours.

Something in his chest actually ached.

He took the plush from your hands, staring down at it like it was something important.

“…Wow,” he muttered, voice a little quieter than usual. “So this is what kindness feels like.”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

“No, no, this is a life changing moment,” Gojo insisted, holding the plush to his chest. “I feel so appreciated right now.”

Geto smirked. “You’re gonna sleep with that thing, aren’t you?”

Gojo scoffed. “Of course not.” He absolutely was.

Shoko yawned. “Can we go now, or do you need a moment to emotionally bond with the plush?”

Gojo pouted. “Let me have this.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “C’mon, Gojo.”

As the four of you made your way back outside, Gojo fell into step beside you, still clutching the plush. He glanced at you, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Maybe he had completely embarrassed himself tonight, but… This was definitely the best prize he’d ever won.

—

The four of you ended up at a cozy little ramen shop tucked into a side street, the kind of place with handwritten menus, warm lighting, and the rich smell of broth and grilled meats filling the air. It was nothing fancy, but it was good, one of Geto’s usual spots, which meant it was guaranteed to be great.

The ramen shop was cozy, the kind of place that felt like a well kept secret. The handwritten menus, the warm yellow glow from the hanging lanterns, the smell of rich broth and grilled skewers, it all made for a welcoming atmosphere. A place you could linger, talk, enjoy good food without pretense.

Gojo was still holding the small, plush keychain you’d won for him at the arcade earlier, absentmindedly squeezing it between his fingers as you all slid into a booth. He had insisted he didn’t need it, but you had seen the way his face lit up when you handed it to him, how he twirled it in his hands the entire walk over. He hadn’t let go of it since.

Shoko and Gojo immediately launched into a heated debate over toppings, something about whether bamboo shoots were a necessary addition or a waste of space.

You and Geto exchanged a glance. Unspoken solidarity.

“You wanna share something?” Geto’s voice was casual, smooth, as he leaned an elbow against the table, turning his full attention to you.

You blinked. “Uh"…

Gojo, mid argument with Shoko, snapped his head around so fast you thought he might get whiplash.

“What?”

Geto hummed, reaching for the menu, eyes glinting with amusement. “I was just saying we could split something.” His gaze flicked back to you, warm and steady. “Figured you’d get tired of Gojo stealing food off your plate.”

You scoffed, tilting your head in mock consideration. “That’s… actually a really good point.”

Gojo gasped, pointing an accusatory chopstick at Geto. “I do not steal—”

Shoko snorted. “You ate half my gyoza last week.”

Gojo immediately turned to her, defensive. “You weren’t gonna finish them!”

“You didn’t ask.”

Geto chuckled, nudging the menu toward you. “So? What looks good?”

You skimmed the options, feeling the weight of Geto’s gaze. He wasn’t rushing you, wasn’t pushing, just waiting, watching, letting you make the decision. It was subtle, but it felt different from his usual teasing. More intentional.

Meanwhile, across the table, Gojo had gone suspiciously quiet.

He kept fidgeting with the plush you won him, his fingers idly squeezing its soft fabric. He tried to tell himself it wasn’t a big deal, so what if Geto was pulling out his smooth operator act? That’s just how he was. And it wasn’t like Gojo cared. Except… he kind of did.When the food finally arrived, the table filled with steaming bowls of ramen, plates of dumplings, and skewers of grilled meat. Gojo had ordered the biggest portion possible…partly out of habit, partly as some unspoken form of protest.

Geto slid the bowl of spicy miso ramen between the two of you. “You want the first bite?”

You shrugged. “I don’t mind—”

Before you could finish, Geto picked up a spoon, scooped up a bit of broth, and lifted it toward you

.

“Here. Try it.”

You blinked. Gojo blinked. Shoko, sipping her drink, raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

“…Are you feeding me?” you asked, both amused and caught off guard.

Geto smirked. “Only if you want me to.”

Gojo’s chopsticks snapped in half.

You chuckled, shaking your head before taking the spoon from Geto yourself. “I can handle it, thanks.”

Geto leaned back, looking very pleased with himself. “Fair enough.”

Gojo, meanwhile, was gripping what was left of his broken chopsticks, staring down at his ramen like he was contemplating the meaning of life.

Shoko nudged him with her elbow. “You good?”

Gojo didn’t look up. “I’m fine.”

Shoko smirked. “Uh-huh.”

Gojo kept stirring his ramen. He wasn’t going to say anything because what was there to say? Geto wasn’t doing anything technically wrong. It was just his usual, effortless charm. The same charm that made people naturally gravitate toward him. But tonight, for some reason, it was getting under Gojo’s skin. He knew Geto knew how he played things, knew how easy it was for him to slip into that role. And Gojo had always been fine with that. They were best friends, partners in crime. But now? Now, watching Geto lean just a little closer, watching you smile and laugh without hesitation Gojo felt something simmering in his chest. A feeling he didn’t quite want to name.

Shoko nudged him again. “You sure? Because you’re either planning murder or having an existential crisis over there.”

Gojo exhaled, flopping dramatically against the booth. “I’m just thinking.”

Shoko’s smirk widened. “Thinking about what, exactly?”

Gojo scowled. “Nothing.”

She didn’t press, but she didn’t have to. They both knew exactly what he was thinking.

Across the table, you and Geto were still chatting, sharing your ramen without a second thought.

Gojo finally dropped his chopsticks with a dramatic sigh, flopping back against the booth. “Okay, enough about feeding each other. We get it. You guys have basic teamwork skills.”

Geto, completely unfazed, turned to him with a lazy grin. “You jealous, Satoru?”

Shoko bit back a laugh.

Gojo rolled his eyes. “Me? Jealous? Of you?” He let out a loud, exaggerated laugh before immediately turning to you. “Hey. You wanna try my ramen?”

You gave him a flat look. “Gojo, you got the most boring option on the menu.”

Gojo gasped. “Excuse me? Classic shoyu ramen is a timeless masterpiece.”

Geto chuckled, watching the exchange with amusement. “Yeah, nothing says excitement like a safe choice.”

Gojo pointed a dramatic finger at him. “I don’t need your judgment, Suguru.”

“Not jealous,” he muttered. “Just… not that hungry anymore.”

Shoko raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment.

You, however, nudged his arm lightly. “Gojo, you literally ordered the biggest bowl on the menu.”

He glanced at you, blue eyes flickering with something unreadable for a second before he shrugged. “Guess my appetite’s smaller than I thought.”

Lies.

Gojo always ate like he had a bottomless pit for a stomach. But tonight, the food tasted a little bland.

Geto leaned back in his seat, watching him carefully. He didn’t say anything, but the way his fingers tapped lightly against the table made it clear he noticed the shift.

For the rest of the meal, Gojo stayed a little quieter than usual, only half-listening as you and Geto talked. He didn’t make a fuss. Didn’t push the usual playful banter. But every now and then, his gaze would flicker toward Geto, then back to you. And for the first time in a long time, he wondered if maybe, just maybe, He was already too late.

Geto just smiled, relaxed and confident as ever. He didn’t need to gloat, Gojo was already riled up enough for the both of them.

Across the table, Shoko stretched her arms over her head, looking just about done with the two of them. “Alright, children. Eat your food before the shop kicks us out.”

Gojo grumbled under his breath before finally taking an actual bite of his ramen. But as he chewed, he glanced at Geto, then at you, and then back at Geto. He didn’t say anything. But in the back of his mind, he was already planning his next move.

——

The streets were quieter now, the distant hum of the city fading as the four of you made your way back to Jujutsu High. The crisp night air nipped at your skin, but the warmth of the ramen shop still clung to you, the scent of broth and grilled meat lingering in your clothes.

It should have been a perfect night. A rare one, even. Just the four of you, no missions, no training, no looming sense of responsibility. But despite the easy conversation and the comfortable rhythm of your walk, something felt… off. Or maybe different was the better word.

You weren’t sure when you started noticing it. Maybe it was back at the ramen shop, or maybe even earlier at the arcade, but the feeling had been creeping up on you all night, just subtle enough to ignore, until now.

Geto had always been smooth. Confident in a way that never felt overdone, just natural. He had a way of making things seem effortless, like he wasn’t even trying. But tonight, there was something pointed about it. The way he leaned in just a little closer, the way he found reasons to keep the conversation between just the two of you, the way his gaze lingered a second too long.

And then there was Gojo. Normally, he’d be the loudest one here, cracking jokes, making everything a competition, dragging all the attention toward himself like it was second nature. But tonight?

Tonight, he’d been different too.

Quieter. A little distant. He still teased, still complained, but there was something off about it. Like his heart wasn’t really in it.

You stole a glance back at him. He was trailing just a step behind, hands buried deep in his pockets, his usual long strides feeling slower, heavier. His shoulders were set, his jaw tight—like he was thinking too hard about something he didn’t want to say. It made something in your chest twist.

“Cold?”

You blinked, snapping out of your thoughts. Geto’s voice was low, even, pulling you back to the present.

“Huh?”

“It’s chilly,” he said, already shrugging off his jacket. “Here.”

“Oh, I’m fine—”

“Just take it.” His tone left little room for argument as he draped the jacket over your shoulders before you could protest, his fingers grazing lightly against your collarbone. Your breath hitched. Geto was always like this, thoughtful in a way that felt effortless, like he didn’t even have to think about it you try to rationalize to yourself.

“…Thanks,” you murmured, fingers instinctively curling around the fabric.

He smiled, shoving his hands into his pockets as he kept walking beside you. His pace was steady, close but not too close, just enough that your arms brushed every now and then—not quite accidental, but not completely intentional either.

It was the kind of thing you probably wouldn’t have thought twice about—if it weren’t for the way Gojo had gone completely silent behind you.

You glanced back again.

Gojo’s expression was unreadable, his lips pressed into a thin line. He was still fidgeting with the plush keychain you’d won for him earlier, rolling it between his fingers, his grip just a little too tight. Something about the sight made your stomach sink.

“Shortcut?”

Shoko’s voice broke the tension, casual and lazy as she stretched her arms over her head.

Gojo barely hesitated. “Yeah, same.” His voice was flat.

You blinked. “Shortcut?”

Shoko gestured to a narrow side path. “Cuts the walk down. Bit of an uphill climb, but faster.”

“But it sucks,” Geto pointed out, unimpressed. “Too steep.”

She shrugged. “Worth it.” Then she turned to you and Geto, smirking. “Guess you two are taking the scenic route, huh?”

Your face immediately went warm. “That’s not—”

“Later,” she cut you off with a lazy wave, already tugging Gojo along.

You barely caught a glimpse of his face before he turned away. But for a second. Just a second. his eyes flickered toward you, something unreadable behind them. Like he wanted to say something. But he didn’t.

Instead, he let himself be pulled along, following Shoko without another word. Just the Two of You. The silence left in their absence felt heavier than it should have.

“Guess it’s just us,” Geto said lightly, casting a glance at you.

You huffed, still flustered. “Shoko says stuff just to mess with people, you know.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah. But… she’s usually not wrong.”

Your stomach did a weird little flip.

“What?” you blurted out, a little too quick.

Geto didn’t answer right away. He just smiled to himself, looking ahead like he knew something you didn’t. Your thoughts tangled together, a mess of contradictions. Gojo had been off tonight. And Geto was acting just different enough that you couldn’t ignore it.

It made something in your chest tighten. They were your friends. You weren’t supposed to overthink things like this. But something was changing. And you didn’t know how to feel about it.

The rhythmic sound of your footsteps filled the silence between you. The campus was still a ways off, the path stretching ahead of you under the glow of streetlights. “…Did you have fun tonight?” Geto’s voice was softer now, lacking his usual teasing edge.

You hesitated. “…Yeah. Did you?”

He nodded, his gaze lingering on you. “More than I expected to.”

There was something about the way he said it that made your pulse jump.

You looked away, focusing on the ground ahead of you. “…You want this back?” you asked, shifting under the weight of his jacket.

He shook his head easily. “Nah. Looks better on you.”

Your face felt warm despite the cool air.

“So,” Geto broke the quiet, hands still stuffed in his pockets. “You really gonna make me carry this whole conversation by myself?”

You shot him a look. “You’re the one who insists on talking all the time.”

He grinned. “Well, yeah. Someone’s gotta keep things interesting.”

You scoffed. “Oh, right. Because I’m just so boring.”

“Didn’t say that.” His tone was teasing, but his gaze flickered over to you with something unreadable. “Just quiet.”

You huffed. “I can be fun.”

“Oh?” He raised a brow, intrigued. “Prove it.”

You squinted at him. “What, you want me to juggle or something?”

“That’d be a start.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. “Fine. Uh… okay, did I ever tell you about the time I completely humiliated myself in front of Mei Mei?”

His eyes lit up. “No, but I already know this is gonna be good.”

You groaned, shaking your head. “It was awful. I was helping her carry some stuff, right? Trying to be useful. But I tripped on absolutely nothing, flailed like a total idiot, and somehow managed to launch her entire stack of training manuals across the courtyard.”

Geto let out a loud laugh. “No way.”

“Oh, it gets worse. Instead of, I don’t know, getting up with some dignity, I just laid there for a second. Mei Mei didn’t even say anything, she just stared at me like she was trying to figure out if I was a lost cause.”

“That sounds like her.”

“I still don’t know if she was more disappointed or just impressed by how thoroughly I managed to embarrass myself.”

Geto was still grinning. “That’s beautiful. I wish I’d been there.”

“See? I am fun,” you said triumphantly.

He hummed, tilting his head in consideration. “I don’t know. That sounds less like ‘fun’ and more like ‘chronic bad luck.’”

You smacked his arm. “Oh, shut up.”

He just laughed, rubbing the spot like you’d actually hurt him. “Okay, okay. You win. You’re fun.”

“Damn right I am.”

You were both smiling now, the warmth of the moment making the chilly night air feel insignificant.

“…You should laugh more,” he said after a beat, his voice quieter.

You blinked at him. “Huh?”

He shrugged, looking ahead. “Just saying. It suits you.”

Your stomach flipped again, but this time, you didn’t push the feeling away.

Instead, you just shook your head with a soft chuckle. “You really don’t know when to stop, do you?”

“Not a chance.” He flashed you a grin, his steps falling just a little closer to yours.

The rest of the walk was quiet, but not uncomfortable. Just charged in a way you weren’t used to.

By the time you reached the school gates, your thoughts were a mess.

The weight of Geto’s jacket still lingered on your shoulders.

somewhere in the back of your mind, Gojo’s silence stuck with you in a way you didn’t quite understand.Something was changing and you had no idea what to do about it.

The school grounds were quiet at this hour, the faint hum of the cicadas in the trees the only sound filling the night air. Most of the students had long since gone to sleep, the dorms dark and still, but you and Geto lingered by the entrance, neither of you quite ready to part ways just yet.

You shifted the jacket draped over your shoulders, acutely aware of its warmth, of the faint scent of Geto’s cologne still clinging to the fabric.

“You’re thinking too hard,” Geto’s voice broke the silence, amused.

You blinked, glancing at him. “Huh?”

He smirked. “You get this little crease in your brow when you’re overthinking something.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “I do not.”

“You do,” he insisted, tapping a finger to your forehead in demonstration. “Right here. Deep in thought. Probably overanalyzing everything that happened tonight.”

Your stomach flipped.

You were overthinking it. Overthinking him. Overthinking Gojo, and the weird tension that had lingered between the three of you all night. Geto must have noticed the way your expression shifted, because his smirk softened.

“…You good?” he asked, quieter now.

You hesitated.

You could play it off, pretend everything was fine. But part of you, maybe the part still rattled by the way tonight felt different, didn’t want to.

“…Do you think Gojo’s mad at me?” The words slipped out before you could second guess

them. Geto’s expression didn’t change, but you noticed the way his fingers twitched at his sides.

“No,” he said simply.

You frowned. “Then why was he acting so weird?”

Geto exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “You’ll have to ask him that yourself.”

You huffed. “That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one I can give you,” Geto said, looking at you now, gaze steady. “Whatever’s going on with Gojo, it’s not my place to say.”

That definitely meant something.

You stared at him, searching for some kind of hint, but Geto just smiled, unreadable as ever.

Before you could press further, a voice cut through the quiet.

“You guys are still out here?”

You turned, and there he was Gojo, standing a few feet away, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his uniform. He must have circled back at some point, because Shoko was nowhere to be seen.

For a split second, his gaze flickered to the jacket on your shoulders. His fingers tightened around the plush keychain in his hand.

“…You took a while ?” he asked, voice light, but there was something off about it.

You swallowed. “Uh. No. We just walked and talked.”

Gojo nodded, like that answer was expected, but the sharp edge in his expression didn’t ease.

“You didn’t have to wait up for me,” you said, attempting to ignore the strange tension between the three of you.

Gojo just shrugged, rocking back on his heels. “Yeah, well. I was gonna be real mad if you got kidnapped before I had the chance to make fun of you tomorrow.”

You rolled your eyes. “Touching.”

But there was something about the way he said it that made your chest feel tight.

The three of you stood there for a moment, the silence thick between you and then Geto, ever the smooth one, clapped his hands together. “Well. It’s late,” he said easily. “We should probably get inside before Yaga yells at us.”

You nodded, suddenly feeling exhausted.

Gojo said nothing. Geto turned toward the dorms, his stride unhurried. But just before he walked past Gojo, he slowed just enough to murmur something under his breath.

You didn’t catch it. But whatever it was made Gojo’s jaw tighten. You hesitated, glancing between the two of them. You could feel whatever was happening here, unspoken and heavy, and it made something in you twist.

“…Night,” you said finally, the weight of the day settling over you.

Geto smiled, easy and warm. “Night.”

Gojo just nodded, but his usual smirk was nowhere to be found. You weren’t sure what to make of that. As you finally turned to head inside, the weight of Geto’s jacket still on your shoulders, you had the distinct feeling that tonight had changed something.

.

.

Geto: I like your laugh😽

You: Chat is this rizz !?!

Geto: you just ruined it

Geto: we were having a moment

You: Chat am I cooked?

Geto: WHO ARE YOU TALKING TOO RIGHT NOW

You: chat clip that

.

🫧𓇼𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐

.

Gojo: can i try rizzing you up

You: sure

Gojo : PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

.

Taglist: @inthedarkshadows000

Reply to the masterlist if you want to be added to the taglist!!!!!

⋆˚✿˖° ❝𝗜𝘁 𝗙𝗲𝗲𝗹𝘀 𝗖𝗿𝗼𝘄𝗱𝗲𝗱❞ ⋆˚✿˖°

────୨ৎ────

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Geto Suguru x Reader

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Gojo Satoru x Reader

────୨ৎ────

oh there is another guy that’s a love interest? well let’s just let it cook for a bit first

────୨ৎ────

₍^. .^₎⟆ Synopsis: In a world of curses and power struggles take center stage, you’ve always kept to the simple aspects of life. Focussing on your studies, your friendships and life in the dorms. Though everything changes when Geto challenges Gojo that he can’t win your heart and what happens when Geto realizes that Gojo needs to lose.

⋆˚✿˖° 1. Unintended Study Breaks

⋆˚✿˖° 2. I’ve Played these Games Before

⋆˚✿˖° 3. Men who listen to Mitski

⋆˚✿˖° 4. How it feels to be a girl and do no wrong

⋆˚✿˖° 5. “What kind of woman are you attracted to”

⋆˚✿˖° 6. You are a Cougar!!!

⋆˚✿˖°

⋆˚✿˖°

for my other works-> MAIN MASTERLIST

⋆˚✿˖° ❝𝗜𝘁 𝗙𝗲𝗲𝗹𝘀 𝗖𝗿𝗼𝘄𝗱𝗲𝗱❞ ⋆˚✿˖°

Unintended study breaks

────୨ৎ────

Gojo Satoru X Reader

Geto Suguru X Reader

────୨ৎ────

Synopsis: In a world of curses and power struggles take center stage, you’ve always kept to the simple aspects of life. Focussing on your studies, your friendships and life in the dorms. Though everything changes when Geto challenges Gojo that he can’t win your heart and what happens when Geto realizes that Gojo needs to lose.

WORD COUNT: 4K +words bc i forgot

₍^. .^₎⟆ The second year Jujutsu students myself, Gojo, Geto, Shoko, and a beautiful cute underclass Utahime were gathered in the common area, theoretically doing homework. In reality, we were doing everything but homework.

Gojo, lying upside down on the couch with his legs over the backrest, was dramatically tossing popcorn into the air and trying to catch it with his mouth. He had a zero percent success rate, but he never gave up. Shoko was sprawled across the floor, using a pile of textbooks as a pillow, idly flicking through a medical journal like it was a fashion magazine. Geto was sitting properly at the table, actually doing his homework like a responsible human being, while Utahime sat beside him, aggressively erasing something from her worksheet with the energy of someone who hated their life choices.

I was sandwiched between Gojo and the armrest, trying to copy Geto’s notes with out it being to obvious.

“Pfft bro.” Gojo suddenly sat up (well, tried to he mostly just flopped onto me). “Geto, your handwriting looks like it belongs on some ancient cursed scroll. You a reincarnated sorcerer or something?”

“It’s called cursive, Satoru.” Geto didn’t even look up.

Gojo gasped dramatically. “Oh my god. My best friend is cursed? This is a betrayal of the highest order.”

“Cursed technique: calligraphy,” I added solemnly, earning a chuckle from Geto and an eyeroll from Utahime.

“You guys are so dumb,” Utahime muttered, rubbing her temples.

Gojo gasped again, louder this time. “Did you hear that? She called us dumb!” He clutched his chest like he’d been shot.

“You are dumb,” Shoko said lazily from the floor, not even looking up.

“That’s different! You’re mean in a fun way.”

Utahime threw her eraser at him. It bounced off his Infinity and hit me instead.

“Ow!” I yelped. “I’m just a civilian in this battle!”

Gojo gave me a very serious pat on the head. “Casualties of war, my friend.”

I shoved him off the couch. He landed with a loud oof, but it was impossible to tell if it was real or exaggerated for dramatic effect. Probably the latter. There were very few that he turned his infinity off for.

“That’s it, I’m calling Yaga,” Utahime announced, standing up.

“Oh no, whatever shall we do?” Gojo deadpanned from the floor, not moving an inch.

“Utahime, sit down. You know you’re not actually gonna snitch,” Shoko said, flipping a page.

Utahime hesitated… then sighed heavily and sat back down. “I hate all of you.” Then turns toward you and shoko “oh except you both, you guys can of no wrong ever… except fraternize with the enemy”

“Aww, we love you too,” Geto said with a grin.

“No, you don’t.”

The room fell into a brief moment of peace. I was about to actually focus on my homework when a sudden SMACK!

A popcorn kernel hit Utahime square on the forehead.

Silence.

Slowly, she turned her head toward Gojo, who was whistling innocently, hands behind his head.

“…You’re dead.”

I barely had time to grab my notebook before she lunged at him, and the entire common room erupted into .

Utahime lunged at Gojo with all the fury of a woman who had had enough. Gojo, being Gojo, simply leaned back, letting Infinity do its thing. Utahime’s hands stopped midair, frozen inches from his stupid, smug face.

“Oh nooo, I’m so scared,” Gojo said flatly, grinning ear to ear.

Utahime clenched her fists. “Turn it off. Right now.”

“Nah.”

“Gojo, I swear to-”

“Ah-ah-ah,” Gojo interrupted, wagging a finger. “No swearing, Utahime. You’re a role model.”

“I will end your bloodline.”

“You’d have to get through my Infinity first.”

Utahime looked about this close to grabbing a chair and throwing it at him, which, honestly, would have been hilarious, so I was rooting for her. Unfortunately, Geto always the peacemaker decided to intervene.

“Alright, enough. Gojo, stop being a menace,” Geto said, not even looking up from his notes.

Gojo placed a dramatic hand on his chest. “Me? A menace? Suguru, how could you say that?”

“Easily.”

“Cold. Ice cold.” Gojo turned to me and Shoko, looking for support. “Did you hear that? He doesn’t even hesitate to slander me!”

“I mean,” I said, flipping a page in my book, “you did start it.”

Shoko nodded. “Yeah, and I’m pretty sure you deserve it.”

Gojo gasped. “Et tu, Brute?!”

“Okay, first of all,” I said, setting my pen down, “don’t act like you read Julius Caesar.”

“I’ve read some books,” Gojo huffed.

“Manga doesn’t count,” Geto said.

“I WASN’T GONNA SAY MANGA.”

We all just looked at him.

“…Okay, fine, I was, but still!”

At this point, Utahime had accepted that violence wouldn’t work and decided to settle for a verbal attack instead. “This is why you don’t have a girlfriend.”

The room went silent.

“OH MY GOD.” Gojo reeled back like she’d stabbed him in the heart. “I can’t believe you’d say something so cruel!”

“Well, am I wrong?”

Gojo dramatically fell onto the couch, clutching his forehead like he was about to faint. “I’m young! I have my whole life ahead of me! Besides, love is a distraction”

“More like nobody can tolerate you,” Utahime muttered.

“EXCUSE ME?”

I leaned toward Shoko. “How long do you think this will last?”

Shoko yawned. “Until Yaga finds us or Gojo runs out of stupid things to say.”

“So if it’s the latter… never?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

Gojo and Utahime were still in a heated debate about his supposed “overwhelming rizz” versus her “chronic bad taste in men.” Meanwhile, I was hunched over the table from the couch, desperately trying to copy Geto’s notes without getting caught.

“Y’know,” Geto said without looking up, “if you actually studied, you wouldn’t have to steal my notes.”

“I do study,” I whispered back with a glare. “I just study better when the answers are already written down.”

Geto chuckled, twirling his pen. “Uh huh. And how’s that strategy working for you?”

“Well, I haven’t failed out yet.”

“Yet.”

I squinted at him. “Are you rooting against me?”

“Of course not,” he said smoothly. “I’m just saying, if you need help, you could always ask.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Would you actually help, though? Or would you just lecture me about proper study habits?”

Geto smiled. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Before I could argue, Utahime’s voice cut through our conversation.

“At least I don’t actively repel women like a cursed technique,” she snapped at Gojo.

Gojo gasped, clutching his chest like he’d been shot. “What is wrong with you? Why would you say something so hurtful?”

“Because it’s true,” Utahime said.

I turned to Geto, lowering my voice. “Is it bad that I kind of want to see how this ends?”

Geto smirked. “I’d be more surprised if you didn’t.”

Shoko, who had been lying on the floor the entire time, finally sat up and looked at Gojo. “Didn’t you try flirting with a girl last week, and she walked away before you even finished your sentence?”

Gojo pointed at her, looking betrayed. “That was because she was in a hurry!”

Geto and I exchanged a look.

“She was speed walking like she was being chased by a curse,” I said.

“She practically teleported out of there,” Geto added.

Gojo groaned, throwing himself onto the couch. “You guys suck.”

“Not as bad as your game,” Utahime muttered.

Before Gojo could launch a counterattack, the door suddenly slid open. Yaga stood in the doorway, looking like he had already lost the will to deal with us. His eyes scanned the mess popcorn on the floor, a couch war, me mid cheating…., and Shoko still lying down like a corpse.

Nobody moved. Nobody breathed.

“I don’t even want to know,” Yaga muttered.

“Great!” Gojo said immediately. “Then we don’t have to explain!”

Yaga exhaled through his nose. “Just clean this place up.”

“Yes, sir,” I said quickly, trying to look as innocent as possible.

He gave us one last look a “I regret everything look” before leaving. The second the door shut, everyone exhaled in relief.

“That was a close one,” I muttered, stretching my arms.

“For you guys,” Utahime huffed. “He probably blames me for not keeping you idiots in line.”

“You could fun away and report gojo. Maybe there might be some balance for once” Geto suggested.

“I should,” she muttered, not realizing the diss thrown at her. “But then I’d have to listen to him whine about it for weeks.”

Gojo sat up, grinning. “You know me so well.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

Gojo turned to me, grinning. “Speaking of whining”

I blinked. “I’m sorry?”

He narrowed his eyes. “You’ve been copying Geto’s notes this whole time, haven’t you?”

“Uh.” I quickly slapped my notebook shut. “No?”

Geto smirked, resting his chin on his hand. “You totally have.”

“Et tu, Suguru?” I gasped, mocking Gojo from earlier.

“You did steal my notes,” Geto said. “I’m just stating facts.”

Gojo scoffed. “You should’ve copied my notes.”

Utahime snorted. “Like you have anything worth copying.”

“Excuse you, I am a genius,” Gojo said, flipping his nonexistent long hair.

Shoko held up a test paper. “Dude, you got a 42 on the last history quiz.”

Gojo waved a hand. “Pfft, history is for nerds.”

“You’re literally failing.”

“Okay, but in my defense”

“No,” Geto and I said at the same time.

Gojo gasped dramatically. “Wow. No faith in me. I am shattered.”

“Good. Stay that way,” Utahime said, picking up her notes.

I turned to Geto. “Do you think if we actually ignored him for long enough, he’d just disappear?”

Geto chuckled. “Doubtful. He’d probably just start singing for attention.”

“First of all, rude,” Gojo said. “Second of all-”

He started humming loudly, off-key, and obnoxious.

“Shoko,” I deadpanned, “do you still have that chloroform from your medical kit?”

Shoko sighed. “Sadly, I used it all.”

And just like that, our study session once again devolved into . Gojo, of course, took zero hints and continued humming except now, he had started tapping his pen against the table like some kind of makeshift drum.

I turned to Geto. “If we don’t stop him now, this will escalate into full-blown karaoke.”

Geto sighed, flipping a page in his book. “I know.”

“I can feel him about to start beatboxing.”

“You underestimate me,” Gojo said, pointing at me with his pen. “I was gonna freestyle.”

“Oh my God,” Utahime muttered.

“Yo check it ” Gojo slapped the table like a DJ soundboard. “Name’s Gojo Satoru, and I’m here to say”

“No,” Geto and I both said at the same time.

Gojo ignored us. “I’m the strongest sorcerer in every way”

“Shoko,” I cut in. “Is there really nothing in your med kit strong enough to knock him out?”

Shoko, who was sipping from a juice box like she had long since given up, shook her head. “Nah. We’d need industrial grade sedatives.”

I groaned. “We were so close.”

Geto sighed, rubbing his temple. “Alright, let’s get this over with.” He reached out, grabbed the eraser I had totally been using for notes, and casually chucked it at Gojo’s forehead.

It bounced off with a soft thud.

Gojo immediately stopped rapping. He blinked, processing what had just happened.

“Did you just throw an eraser at me?”

“Yes,” Geto said, already turning back to his book. “And I’ll do it again.”

Gojo looked at me. “Did you see that?”

“I did.”

“And you’re just okay with this?”

“I actively support it.”

“Wow. No loyalty. You wound me.”

“You’ll live,” I said.

“I could die from heartbreak, you know.”

I stared at him. “That would be the dumbest cause of death I’ve ever heard.”

“It happens to dogs all the time”

“You’d be a moron,” Utahime corrected.

Gojo ignored her, turning back to me with his signature grin. “Y’know, if you wanted my attention that badly, you could’ve just asked instead of teaming up with Geto to attack me.”

I deadpanned. “You were the one freestyling about yourself unprovoked.”

“Because you inspire me,” he shot back, winking.

I stared at him. “Did you just try to spin that into flirting?”

Gojo leaned in slightly. “Is it working?”

Geto flicked another eraser at him. “No.”

Gojo yelped, dodging this time. “HEY—”

“Well,then ” Gojo said cheerfully, “we should probably get back to studying.”

“You’re the reason we’re in trouble,” Utahime snapped.

I sighed, finally opening my textbook for real. “Okay. Fine. Studying. Let’s go.”

Gojo turned to me, grinning. “You wanna sit next to me?”

“No.”

“Cold.”

Geto smirked, nudging me. “He’s gonna be annoying until you agree, you know.”

“I know,” I muttered.

And just like that, our study session actually started.

Then Gojo got bored again.

For about five minutes, there was actual, real silence.

I was finally getting through the first few pages of my textbook. Utahime was scribbling notes, muttering to herself. Shoko had somehow managed to study while still lying on the floor. Geto was flipping through his book, and Gojo.

Wait.

I slowly looked up from my textbook. Gojo was quiet. Too quiet. I glanced at Geto, who immediately caught my look. He sighed, barely tilting his head toward Gojo. Check on him.

I turned.

Gojo was sitting next to me, pretending to read, but his page hadn’t changed in five minutes. His pen was in his mouth. And he was staring directly at me.

I blinked. “…What?”

Gojo grinned. “Nothing.”

I squinted. “Then why are you staring at me like that?”

“I just like looking at you.”

Utahime immediately gagged. “Oh my God.”

Geto coughed, very obviously covering a laugh.

Shoko, still on the floor, just sipped her juice box.

I groaned, rubbing my face. “Gojo-”

“Satoru,” he corrected. “We’re close enough for first names, aren’t we?”

I stared at him. “No.” ironically enough you call him satoru everyday but in solidarity for utahime you had too.

Gojo dramatically gasped. “After everything we’ve been through?”

“What have we been through?” I asked flatly.

Utahime sighed. “Can we please just study?”

Gojo leaned toward me, resting his chin on his hand. “I would if I had some motivation, y’know?”

“Your motivation is not failing,” Geto said.

Gojo ignored him. “Maybe if someone gave me a little reward for my hard work—”

I grabbed an eraser and shoved it into his mouth.

“Mmfh—!” Gojo spit it out, coughing. “You just fed me rubber!”

“Oops.” I smiled. “My hand slipped.”

Gojo wiped his tongue with his sleeve, pouting. “I hope you know you just kissed me indirectly.”

I stared at him. “Gojo, I will throw you out of this room. Thats not even now that works. It just touched my hand”

Gojo wiggled his eyebrows. “You want to be alone with me that badly?”

Utahime immediately launched her pen at his head.

Gojo ducked, laughing. “Hey! Violence isn’t the answer”

“I swear to God”

The door slammed open again.

Everyone froze.

Yaga stood in the doorway. Again.

His eye twitched.

Utahime immediately pointed at Gojo. “IT WAS HIM.”

Yaga slowly inhaled. Exhaled. “I don’t care. I don’t care. But if you all don’t shut up and actually study” His voice dropped. “You will be running laps until the sun rises.”

Utahime, Geto, and I immediately sat up straight.

“Yes, sir,” we all said in unison.

Yaga shut the door.

Silence.

Then, Gojo leaned toward me and whispered, “Wanna fake an injury to get out of this?”

I grabbed another eraser.

Gojo yelped.

And the study session continued.

—————

the common room had mostly cleared out. Utahime had stormed off first, muttering about how she was never studying with idiots again a bold faced lie, considering she always came back, no matter how much she complained. Then, you had left, still grumbling about not finishing copying Geto’s notes.

Which left just Gojo, Geto, and Shoko in the now technically cleaner, but still slightly chaotic, common room. The table was strewn with abandoned papers, a couple of open textbooks, and a suspiciously high number of empty juice boxes thanks to Shoko’s seemingly endless supply.

Gojo groaned as he flopped onto the couch like he had just fought a life or death battle, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Man, I really gave it my all in there.”

Geto, who hadn’t moved from his spot at the table, barely glanced up from his book. He was always the responsible one, making sure at least one of them actually retained knowledge from these sessions. “You didn’t study at all.”

Gojo peeked out from under his arm with a lazy grin. “I tried, Suguru. I really did.”

Not entirely true. He had opened his book once. That should count for something.

“But some things just aren’t meant to be,” he added with a dramatic sigh.

Shoko, still lounging on the floor with her back against the couch, snorted. “Like your academic success?”

Gojo gasped, lifting his arm to dramatically clutch his chest. “Shoko, watch yourself!”

She just shrugged, casually sipping from yet another juice box.

Geto finally closed his book with a sigh, the sound sharp in the quiet room. “So. Are we gonna talk about how you spent the entire session shamelessly flirting?”

Gojo froze for half a second. Then, as if that half second of hesitation hadn’t existed, he stretched lazily, playing it cool. “Ah. You noticed.”

Geto gave him a flat, unimpressed look. “It was painfully obvious.”

Shoko smirked. “Yeah. You’re about as subtle as a slap to the face.”

Gojo waved a hand like their words meant nothing to him. Even though, yeah, maybe he had been laying it on a little thick. But it wasn’t his fault you were fun to tease. That was on you. No matter now much he tries, you never seem to realize it.

He rolled onto his side, resting his cheek against the couch cushion. “You guys don’t get it. It’s called natural charm.”

Shoko raised her juice box. “So you should probably develop some.”

Gojo shot up, pointing at her. “you’re on thin ice lady”

Geto leaned back in his chair, watching him with a knowing look. “So what’s your plan, exactly?”

Gojo blinked. “Plan?”

Geto smirked, his fingers tapping idly against the table. “You do have a plan, right?”

Gojo squinted at him. “…a plan for?”

Shoko hummed. “I think he’s asking if you actually like her or if you just enjoy being annoying.”

Gojo opened his mouth then promptly shut it. Because that? That was a trap question. A dangerous, loaded question. He glanced at Geto, who was watching him too closely, like he was waiting for a specific answer. Gojo didn’t like that.

So he did what he did best. He deflected.

“Look, does it really matter?” He grinned, leaning back against the armrest. “We’re both having mindless fun”

Geto chuckled, his smirk deepening. “You sound like an ass.”

Gojo smirked right back. “It’s how we bond”

Geto tilted his head slightly, studying him. “Then let’s bet on it.”

Gojo hesitated for half a second. See, here was the thing: Geto never made a bet unless he was certain he’d win.

“…I’m listening.”

“If you actually manage to get a date with her” Geto said smoothly, “I’ll do all your homework for two weeks.”

Gojo sat up immediately. “Two weeks?”

That was so much homework.

“Two weeks,” Geto confirmed, still smirking.

Gojo narrowed his eyes. “…And if I don’t?”

Shoko, who had been waiting for the perfect moment, finally chimed in. “Then you start taking school seriously and stop pursuing her”

Gojo froze.

That? That was a nightmare scenario.

He looked at Geto again, and oh.

Oh.

That was definitely a smug look.

Gojo knew exactly what that meant.

“…Wait a second,” he said slowly. “why are you betting against me?”

Geto shrugged, looking far too pleased with himself. “I just think you might overestimate your charm.”

“Ohhh, bullshit,” Gojo said immediately, pointing at him. “You wouldn’t be making this bet if you didn’t think I’d win.”

Geto didn’t even try to deny it. “I guess you’ll just have to prove me wrong.”

Shoko snorted. “That’s not happening.”

Gojo scowled. “Okay, why are you so confident?”

Shoko smirked. “i’m on a Y/n fan page so I just want to see happens.”

Geto leaned back in his chair, looking a little too smug for Gojo’s liking. “You don’t exactly have the best track record with romance, Satoru.”

Gojo scoffed. “Okay, first of all, yes I do.”

Shoko raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t a girl walk away mid sentence last time you tried flirting?”

Gojo crossed his arms. “She was in a hurry.”

“She ran,” Geto corrected, grinning.

“She had places to be!”

Geto just kept smirking.

And that was when Gojo really put the pieces together.

“…Wait a minute,” Gojo said slowly. “You want me to fail.”

Geto didn’t react. Which meant Gojo was definitely right.

Gojo’s grin widened. “You like her, don’t you?”

Geto finally sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “…And there it is.”

Shoko raised an eyebrow at Geto. “oh! this is some plot i didn’t even see coming.” yes she did, but it’s her fault for being friends with idiots.

Gojo pointed dramatically. “You do!”

Geto still didn’t deny it. He just exhaled, standing up. “Are you taking the bet or not?”

Gojo stared at him for a second longer.

Then he smirked.

“Oh, I’m definitely taking it.” He held out a hand. “let’s say a month”

Geto took his hand, shaking it firmly. “a month.”

Shoko just shook her head, standing up as well. “You two are dumb.”

Gojo flopped back onto the couch, grinning. “Maybe.” He turned to Geto. “But I’m the one who’s gonna win.”

Geto just smirked. “We’ll see.”

And just like that, the bet was on.

—

The moment Geto and Shoko left, Gojo stayed where he was on the couch, staring at the ceiling. His legs were sprawled out, one arm draped over his stomach, the other dangling off the side, fingers lightly tapping against the floor. The room was eerily quiet now, aside from the faint hum of the overhead lights and the occasional rustling of papers left behind on the table.

Then it hit him.

“Those bastards left me with the mess.”

He groaned, tilting his head to glare at the table. Textbooks sat half open, notes scattered across the surface, empty juice boxes piled on top of one another in a sad little mountain. Crumpled up papers littered the floor, evidence of Shoko’s inability to toss things into the trash from a distance.

Sighing, he let his head fall back onto the couch. He’d deal with it later. Maybe. Probably.

Right now, he had bigger things to think about.

Like the fact that he had two weeks to get a date.

Two. Whole. Weeks.

That should be plenty of time. He was Gojo Satoru, after all. He was charming. People liked him. He could pull this off.

…Right?

He exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face.

He didn’t usually think about this kind of thing too much. Flirting with you had always been easy. It was just something he did, a joke, a game, a way to pass the time. At least, that’s what he’d always told himself.

But now? With an actual bet on the line?

It felt… different.

Because if he actually tried, if he really put in effort and you still didn’t like him back

Gojo sat up abruptly. Nope. Not going there. Not thinking about that.

Instead, he grabbed his phone from his pocket and immediately typed into the search bar.

How to make someone like you.

A flood of articles popped up.

• 10 Psychological Tricks to Make Anyone Fall for You!

• Signs Your Crush Might Like You Back!

• Why Are You Googling This? Just Be Yourself, Dude.

Gojo frowned at that last one. Rude.

Clicking on the first link, he skimmed the list:

1. Mirroring their movements to build subconscious trust

2. Prolonged eye contact

3. Casual physical touch

4. Making them laugh

5. Using their name often

Gojo read through it once. Then again. His stomach twisted. Because… he already did most of this. And yet. You hadn’t fallen for him.

Was that why Geto had looked so smug earlier? Because he knew? Knew that Gojo had been trying, even if he hadn’t admitted it? Knew that it hadn’t worked? Gojo groaned, flopping back onto the couch dramatically, one arm slung over his face.

This was stupid. This was so stupid. He shouldn’t care this much. It was just a bet. He was just messing around. …Except he wasn’t. Not really.

Because if he lost, if this went wrong it wouldn’t just be a bruised ego.

It’d be proof.

Proof that maybe you really didn’t see him that way. That maybe you never would and that? That was worse than any stupid bet. Gojo exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair before opening his notes app.

The Gojo Satoru Foolproof Love Plan™ (That Hopefully Works and Doesn’t End in Humiliation)

1. Mirroring movements (Subtle. Act natural. Don’t be weird.)

2. Eye contact (Not too much though. Don’t be creepy.)

3. Casual touches (Hand on shoulder? Ruffling hair? Is that too much? I don’t know.)

4. Make them laugh (I can do that. I do that.)

5. Say their name more (But not in a weird way.)

6. Grand romantic gesture??? (Only if desperate.)

He hesitated, then added:

7. Don’t mess this up.

Gojo stared at the list for a long moment.

Then he shut his phone off and leaned back against the couch, pressing his palms into his eyes. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe he should just drop it. Forget the bet. Move on.…But he knew he wouldn’t.

Because if there was even the smallest chance that this worked. If there was even the smallest chance that you might actually like him back. Then he had to try.

Tomorrow, he thought. Tomorrow I’ll start. And maybe, just maybe this wouldn’t be a complete disaster.

I was writing while on vacation, and before I knew it, I had 30,000 words down. Then I thought, hmm, why not turn this into a little chapter book? It’ll make editing easier. So, I shall! It won’t be a proper series (unless there’s a demand, I suppose. 😼)

Here I am with a Jujutsu Kaisen fic that was originally meant to be a high school Gojo story. Then it turned into a relationship bet trope with Geto, and suddenly, Nanami showed up. Now, I’m dangerously close to turning this supposedly fluffy story into manga canon.

Anyway, I can’t win. Fuck the creative juices.

Touya Todoroki / Dabi x reader

Summary: As you pick Touya up from rehab, you reflect on how you got here

WARNING: hurt/ barely comfort. It’s a Dabi fanfic so prepare for rude behaviour and a lot of self deprecation on his part.

word count : 9734

FOLLOW ME AND GIVE ME SOME IDEAS!!

RUN BOY RUN - Woodkid

₍^. .^₎⟆ You drum your fingers against the steering wheel, staring at the front doors of the rehab center like they might explode. The car hums softly beneath you, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the parking lot. You’ve been sitting here for a while, waiting. Thinking.

It’s been weeks since you last saw Touya. Weeks of wondering if he’d actually stay. Weeks of resisting the urge to show up just to check.

And now, finally, here he comes.

The doors push open, and there he is, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, shoulders hunched against the wind. His hair’s a mess, probably hasn’t touched a comb in days and his scars catch the sunlight in a way that makes them stand out even more. He looks tired, in a way that’s more than just physical. But his eyes? Still sharp. Still him.

The second he spots you, he stops. Just stands there, staring, like he wasn’t expecting you to actually be here.

You push open the car door and step out before he can overthink it. “Hey,” you say, keeping it easy.

Touya scoffs, tilting his head. “Hey.” His voice is rough, like he hasn’t used it much.

You take him in, scanning for any sign of what? A breakthrough? A relapse? Hell if you know. He just looks… different. Not better, necessarily. But different.

“How was it?” you ask.

Touya rolls his eyes. “Awful.” Classic. “Same boring speeches, same awkward group sessions. Food was shit.”

You smirk. “No shock there.”

He exhales sharply, something like amusement, but you don’t miss the tension in his shoulders.

“But you stayed,” you say, watching him closely.

Something flickers across his face quick, almost undetectable. He looks away, shifting his weight. “…Yeah,” he mutters. “Guess I did.”

For a moment, neither of you say anything. It’s not awkward, just… heavy. The weight of everything unsaid sits between you, pressing at the edges. You had spent weeks wondering if he’d bail, if you’d get some shitty phone call, if you’d ever see him again. And now he’s here. Whole.

Touya clears his throat and jerks his chin toward the car. “You just gonna make me stand here, or what?”

You blink, shaking off your thoughts. “Right.” You open the passenger door. “Get in.”

He hesitates for half a second before slumping into the seat with a quiet sigh. As you settle into the driver’s side, you glance at him out of the corner of your eye. He’s staring out the window, absently picking at the frayed edge of his sleeve.

You grip the wheel. “You hungry?”

Touya snorts. “Depends. You taking me somewhere that serves actual food?”

“Yeah, yeah. No more rehab cafeteria mystery meat, I swear.”

For the first time, he smirks just barely, but it’s there. Then, after a beat, he mutters, “…Thanks for picking me up.”

Something tightens in your chest, but it’s not worry this time.

“Yeah yeah,” you say, pulling out of the parking lot. “now don’t get emotional on me.”

Touya leans his head against the window, exhaling as the car rolls forward, the sun sinking lower in the sky. And for now, that’s enough.

—-

When you met him, no one could have guessed that he’d be in your car sharing an intimate bond to intimate so fast.

The first time you and Dabi met, he tried to kill you.

No, really he actually tried. None of that lazy, half-assed, villain posturing. He sent a fucking wall of blue fire straight at you, no warning, no witty one liner. And when you barely managed to dodge, he clicked his tongue like he was annoyed you had the audacity to survive.

“Should’ve just stood still,” he’d said, tilting his head, eyes gleaming with something between amusement and boredom. “Would’ve saved us both a lot of time.”

“You always this much of an asshole, or am I just special?” you shot back, already bracing for the next attack.

Dabi had smirked, rolling his shoulders. “Dunno. Guess we’ll find out.”

That was how it started.

And somehow, for reasons neither of you ever addressed, your run-ins turned into something else. You fought, sure. But over time, it stopped feeling like an actual battle and more like… a routine. A bad habit. A game. He never went for the kill. You never hit him hard enough to stop him. And when the fights ended, more often than not, you’d end up talking.

Which led to nights like this.

Tonight, it was an abandoned lot. He’d set some shit on fire, you’d put it out, and now he was perched on the edge of a rusted-out shipping container, cigarette between his fingers, watching you like he was waiting to be entertained.

“You’re getting slow,” he remarked, exhaling a curl of smoke.

You shot him a look as you stomped out the last few embers. “Or maybe you’re just getting predictable.”

Dabi snorted. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that.”

You climbed up onto the container, ignoring the way he barely shifted to make room for you. He always did that sat like he dared you to invade his space, then acted all put out when you actually did.

“Real ambitious arson job tonight,” you muttered, stretching out your legs. “You only half-commit to everything, or just crime?”

Dabi flicked ash in your direction. “Like you’re one to talk. You had at least three chances to stop me, and you didn’t.” He shot you a sideways glance, smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth. “Starting to think you like having me around.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, because listening to you bitch and moan is so much fun.”

“Hey, someone’s gotta keep you on your toes,” he said, lazily tapping ash off the side. “Can’t have you getting soft. If anything i’m helping a little girl become a hero”

You scoffed but didn’t argue. And that was the thing this was normal now. Fighting, bickering, sitting around after like you weren’t supposed to be on opposite sides. Like you weren’t supposed to be enemies.

Maybe that’s why you started noticing things.

Like how he leaned against walls like his legs were seconds from giving out. Or how his hands shook just a little when he smoked, like the heat didn’t quite reach all the way through him. Or how, no matter how sharp his smirk was, his eyes never quite matched.

And because you were a fucking idiot, you started caring.

Which is why, after another long, pointless fight, you threw a water bottle at him.

Dabi caught it, glaring. “The hell is this?”

“Hydration, dipshit,” you said, wiping sweat from your forehead. “Y’know, because you’re a walking pile of burnt kindling, and I’d rather not have you passing out mid fight.”

He stared at the bottle like it had personally offended him. Then at you. Then back at the bottle.

“You do realize I hate you, right?” he deadpanned.

“Uh-huh. Drink the damn water, Dabi.”

His jaw tightened, fingers flexing like he was debating throwing it at your head.

Instead, he cracked the cap open, took a slow sip, and never broke eye contact.

“…You’re fucking annoying,” he muttered.

You grinned. “And yet, here we are.”

He exhaled sharply, flicked his cigarette away, and leaned back against the wall. For once, he didn’t have a comeback. Just sat there, eyes flickering toward the skyline, quiet for once.

Not as a villain. Not as a hero.

Just as a guy too stubborn to admit he might not hate the company and just maybe a guy learning people can care for him.

Though it didn’t stop there, meetings became a lot more frequent.

“You stalking me, hero?”

Dabi didn’t even bother looking at you as you landed on the rooftop beside him. Just flicked his cigarette, barely missing your foot, and leaned back like he didn’t have a care in the world.

You sighed. “You just torched a building. Kinda my job to show up.”

“Yeah? And yet, here you are not doing shit about it.” He smirked, finally turning to you. “Shouldn’t you be slapping cuffs on me or whatever the fuck it is heroes do?”

You rolled your eyes. “Like you’d let me.”

“Damn right I wouldn’t.” He exhaled a slow stream of smoke, letting it curl between his fingers before he flicked the cigarette off the side of the roof. “And we both know you don’t have the balls to try though you might like the cuffs on you.”

You clenched your jaw but didn’t argue not wanting to entertain whatever thoughts he’s trying to imply, which only made his smirk widen. “That’s what I thought.”

“You always this fucking insufferable, or is it just for me?”

Dabi gave you a slow, lazy once-over, tilting his head. “I save my worst for special people.”

“Wow. Flattered.”

“You should be.” He stretched his arms over his head, sighing. “Not everyone gets to be my personal waste of time.”

You crossed your arms. “You say that, and yet, you’re the one still talking to me.”

Dabi chuckled low, rough, full of something mean. “Yeah. Guess I like watching you squirm.”

—-

You hit the ground hard, barely rolling in time to avoid getting fried. The pavement still sizzled from Dabi’s flames, burning through your sleeves as you pushed yourself up.

Dabi, still standing like he didn’t just try to incinerate you, gave you the most unimpressed look of all time. “That was pathetic.”

You spat blood onto the ground, glaring up at him. “You hit like a bitch.”

Dabi actually laughed at that, crouching just enough to get in your face. “You wish I hit like a bitch.” His fingers twitched, heat curling around them. “We both know I could turn you to fucking ash if I wanted to.”

You swallowed hard but held his gaze. “Then why don’t you?”

He tilted his head, watching you like a cat watching a half dead mouse. Then his grin stretched slow and sharp.

“‘Cause I like this,” he murmured. “Watching you scrape yourself off the ground. Watching you try so fucking hard to be something.” He leaned in just a little closer, voice dropping to something almost amused. “It’s entertaining.”

Your fists clenched. “You’re a real piece of shit, y’know that?”

Dabi smirked. “Yeah. And?”

You shoved yourself up, ignoring how your legs ached. “One day, I’m gonna put you down for good.”

His grin widened like that was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. “Oh, please do.”

——

Dabi was sitting on the curb like he had just clocked out of a long shift at his 9-to-5 arson job. Arms draped over his knees, a half-burnt cigarette dangling from his fingers, and an expression so profoundly bored that you had to take a second to process the absolute wreckage behind him.

The alley looked like a battlefield. Scorch marks everywhere, trash melted into unrecognizable blobs, and some guy still smoking from the flames. He was groaning, which was good it meant he was alive. But considering how crispy he looked, he probably wasn’t gonna be winning any beauty pageants soon.

You let out a long, suffering sigh. “Dabi.”

Dabi tilted his head back lazily to look at you. Then he exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. “Oh. You.”

You planted your hands on your hips, giving him the best I am so fucking tired look you could muster. “What the fuck happened this time?”

Dabi gave you a slow blink, like you just asked him why the sky was blue. “What the fuck do you think happened?” He waved a vague hand at the destruction behind him. “I had a bad night.”

You threw up your hands. “And what, this was your therapy session? You scorched a guy!”

Dabi sighed dramatically, rolling his neck. “And yet, he’s still breathing. How ‘bout that?”

You groaned, dragging your hands down your face. “You have to stop causing problems for fun.”

He snorted. “Wrong. The problems cause me for fun.”

You gave him a long, unimpressed stare. “Did you read that off a bumper sticker?”

Dabi smirked. “Nah. Came up with it just now. Pretty good, huh?”

You ignored that. “Did it ever occur to you to just… I don’t know, go home and watch TV like a normal person?”

“I am watching something,” Dabi said, grinning. “You. Losing your goddamn mind.”

You let out a slow, deep breath, resisting the urge to punt him into the nearest dumpster.

Then Dabi rested his chin on his palm, gaze flicking over you. “And yet, here you are. Again.”

You squinted. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He smirked. “If I had a dollar for every time you showed up to stop me but didn’t actually stop me, I’d be able to afford the therapy that daddy dearest never gave me.”

You jabbed a finger at him. “Listen here, you little shit—”

“I mean, really,” he went on, like you hadn’t spoken. “You could be off doing hero stuff. Arresting actual villains. Filing paperwork. Touching grass. But nah. Instead, you’re here. With me.” His smirk widened. “Kinda pathetic, don’t you think?”

Your fingers twitched. So help me God, you thought, if I don’t get out of here in the next five minutes, I am actually going to commit a crime.

You inhaled sharply through your nose, turned on your heel, and started walking.

“You’re not worth the effort.”

Dabi chuckled behind you, lazy and full of smug amusement.

“Keep telling yourself that, hero.”

——

The drive is quiet. its a warm kind of quiet. No one felt like they wanted break it. It was comfortable.

Touya is slouched in the passenger seat, arms crossed, jaw locked, radiating the kind of hostility that could curdle milk. His whole vibe is very moody teenager who just got grounded, which is impressive considering he’s a grown-ass man.

You let the silence ride for a while, because you know him. You know he’s stewing. Probably pissed at himself for actually staying in rehab instead of setting the place on fire and walking out in a dramatic blaze of glory. Maybe pissed at you for witnessing the fact that he actually completed something for once in his life.

After a few more minutes of unbearable tension, you finally break.

“You want food?”

Touya snorts. “What, we celebrating?”

You keep your eyes on the road. “I just figured you’d rather eat something that isn’t microwaved cardboard.”

“Bold of you to assume I even ate that shit.”

You exhale slowly through your nose. Patience. Touya is like a stray cat he hisses, scratches, and pretends he doesn’t need anything, but if you ignore him long enough, he eventually starts lurking near your door at dinner time.

“There’s a diner up ahead,” you say, because you will be feeding this dumbass whether he likes it or not. “It’s either that or you starve.”

Touya sighs, like agreeing to basic human needs is such a burden. “Fine. Whatever.”

-

The diner you pull into looks like it should’ve been condemned twenty years ago. The neon sign flickers like it’s having an existential crisis, and the parking lot is a graveyard of questionable life choices.

Inside, the place is nearly empty just a couple of truckers at the counter, mumbling over half-eaten plates of regret. The waitress barely looks up as you both slide into a booth.

Touya, being Touya, immediately sprawls out like he owns the joint, kicking his feet onto the seat across from him. He snatches up a menu but doesn’t actually read it just taps his fingers against the table like he’s already planning an escape route.

The waitress shuffles over, popping her gum. “What’ll it be?”

“Cheeseburger. Extra fries. Coffee,” Touya says, snapping the menu shut like he just finalized a business deal.

You squint at him. “Coffee? This late?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh, I’m sorry, are you my mom now?”

You stare at him, debating whether or not to slide his menu across the table and slap him with it.

Instead, you sigh and place your own order. The waitress scribbles it down, looking just about as done with this conversation as you are, then walks off.

Touya slouches even further if he keeps this up, he’s going to merge with the booth. “So. You gonna give me some big, cheesy speech about how proud you are of me?”

You don’t even blink. “Do you want one?”

His lip curls. “Hell no.”

“Then no.”

Touya squints at you like he’s waiting for the catch. Like you’re gonna hit him with some life is a journey Hallmark bullshit at any moment. But when you don’t, he just clicks his tongue and looks away.

“You didn’t have to come get me,” he mutters. “Could’ve just called a cab.”

“Yeah, I could’ve.” You lean back in your seat. “But I didn’t.”

His fingers twitch against the table, like he wants to argue but can’t come up with a good enough reason. So instead, he scoffs and mutters, “You’re a pain in the ass.”

You smirk. “Yeah, well. So are you.”

When the food finally arrives, Touya wastes zero time inhaling it like he’s fresh out of a 24-hour famine. Fries? Shoveled into his mouth at breakneck speed. Burger? Absolutely demolished. It’s impressive, really. Borderline concerning.

You eat like a normal human being, sipping your drink as he continues his speed run.

Eventually, between bites, he mutters, “…Food’s not bad.”

You hide your smile behind your drink. “I’ll take that as a thank you.”

Touya glares. “Don’t push it.”

You let the conversation fizzle out after that. No talking about home. No lectures. No big emotional moments. Just greasy diner food and the occasional sarcastic remark.

And when you both eventually leave and get back in the car, he doesn’t argue when you take the long way home. Doesn’t snap when the silence stretches again this time a little less heavy.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s his way of saying thanks.

You’re halfway through your plate when you notice it Touya has stopped inhaling his food like a wild animal and is just… sitting there. Not glaring, not throwing sarcastic barbs, just absentmindedly pushing a fry around his plate with a vaguely thoughtful expression.

You blink. “Oh God.”

Touya raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“You’re thinking.” You point at him with your fork. “That’s never a good sign.”

He scoffs, shoving the fry into his mouth. “Shut up.”

But he doesn’t immediately follow it with another insult, which is weird. He just leans back, arms crossed, staring at you like he’s weighing whether or not to say something.

You tilt your head. “What?”

He exhales sharply through his nose, like this this moment, this entire night is physically painful for him. Then, finally, he mutters, “You look tired.”

You blink again. “Wow. Thanks. That’s what every person wants to hear.”

Touya rolls his eyes. “I’m just saying. When’s the last time you actually slept?”

You shrug. “I sleep.”

He snorts. “Yeah? When? Between your constant babysitting and whatever dumbass hero shit you’re doing?”

You open your mouth, then close it. Because okay, maybe you don’t get as much sleep as you should. But it’s not like he’s one to talk.

Touya notices your hesitation and smirks. “That’s what I thought.”

“Yeah, well,” you huff, stabbing at your food, “not all of us have the luxury of napping through our responsibilities.”

“Luxury?” He scoffs. “I was in rehab.”

“You chose not to set the place on fire and escape. I call that a vacation.”

Touya stares at you for a second, then against all odds laughs. Not his usual sharp, mocking laugh, but something quieter. Real. It throws you off so badly that you just sit there, blinking at him.

“What?” he asks, still smirking.

“You laughed.”

He tilts his head, pretending to think. “Shit, did I?”

“Yes, and it wasn’t even a mean laugh.” You squint. “Are you dying?”

Touya rolls his eyes. “You’re so fucking dramatic.”

“Says the guy who fake-died for three years.”

“Touché.”

You shake your head, still thrown by the fact that he’s being… weirdly chill. Like he’s actually letting himself exist in this moment instead of treating it like some obligatory punishment. It’s suspicious.

Then, just as you’re about to call him out on it, he reaches across the table, plucks a fry off your plate, and pops it into his mouth.

You gape at him. “Did you just—”

“Yep.” He grabs another one. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

You slap his hand away, scandalized. “I fed you! I rescued you from microwave mush, and this is how you repay me?”

Touya grins, all teeth, the corners of his eyes crinkling just slightly. “Consider it a tax.”

You groan, dropping your head onto the table. “I should’ve left you in rehab.”

“Eh,” he says, stealing one more fry just to be an asshole, “but you didn’t.”

And for once, there’s no smugness behind it. Just quiet acknowledgement.

No thank you, no big emotional revelation just a stolen fry and the simple fact that, no matter how much of a pain in the ass he is, you still showed up.

—

The air was thick with smoke, the night split by the wail of sirens and the distant shouts of first responders. The whole block was bathed in flickering orange light, fire consuming what used to be a warehouse now it was just a giant cautionary tale about what happens when dumbasses with unstable quirks play with explosives.

You exhaled through your nose, mask pulled up high, and glanced at the six-foot wall of muscle and arrogance standing beside you. Fucking Endeavor.

“So,” you said, tilting your head toward the raging inferno, “A+ work on the whole ‘subtle infiltration’ plan.”

Endeavor didn’t even look at you. Not surprising. “This isn’t the time for sarcasm.”

You gestured broadly at the absolute catastrophe in front of you. “See, I disagree. Because if we’re not laughing, we’re crying, and I—” You clapped a hand to your chest. “—am emotionally fragile.”

“Focus.” His voice was clipped, sharp, like he was the only professional here.

You rolled your eyes. “Right, right. ‘No nonsense. Only mission.’ Because God forbid we acknowledge that this is a shitshow.”

He ignored you, which was basically the foundation of your entire working relationship.

“What’s the plan?” you asked, already scanning the building for signs of movement.

“Contain the fire and get the survivors out,” he said, striding forward. Flames licked up his arms, rolling off his shoulders like he wasn’t currently surrounded by highly flammable debris.

You sighed, flexing your fingers. “Cool. Love a good ‘rushing into a death trap’ moment.”

Still no reaction.

You followed him in, ducking through the collapsed doorway as heat immediately punched you in the face. Smoke curled through the halls, thick and suffocating, clinging to the walls like a living thing. You yanked your sleeve over your mouth, glaring at Endeavor’s broad back.

“You ever not act like you’re fireproof?” you muttered.

“I am fireproof,” he shot back.

You scoffed. “Okay, but I’m not, so let’s not turn this place into a crematorium before we’re done.”

Predictably, he didn’t dignify that with a response.

You both moved quickly, scanning the rooms, stepping over broken crates and unconscious bodies. Most of the smuggling ring had been handled either burned, unconscious, or very interested in getting arrested if it meant not being roasted alive.

The first survivors were on the second floor, huddled in what used to be an office but was now just another death trap.

You stepped over the threshold, crouching beside a barely conscious man. “Hey, buddy,” you murmured, hoisting him onto your shoulder. “Let’s get you the hell out of here before this place caves in, yeah?”

Endeavor hauled up another survivor with ease, barely even trying. God, so annoying.

“Get them out,” he ordered. “I’ll keep moving.”

You adjusted your grip, ignoring the sweat rolling down your temple. “Awesome. You run headfirst into hell, I’ll play babysitter.”

You turned on your heel, smoke curling at your feet as you hurried back out.

By the time you made it outside, paramedics were already rushing forward, taking the man from your arms. You exhaled sharply, rolling your shoulders, and turned back toward the warehouse.

Endeavor was still inside.

Not that you doubted him. He was the number two hero for a reason. But you’d seen enough missions go south to know that confidence didn’t mean shit when fire had a mind of its own.

Then—

An explosion rocked the building.

Your stomach lurched, heart pounding. For a split second, pure instinct screamed at you to move, to go back in but then, blue-orange flames burst from the second floor, and a moment later, Endeavor strode out of the smoke, dragging the last survivor behind him.

Because of course he did.

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, yeah. Congrats on being a one man army.”

He barely spared you a glance, brushing soot off his shoulder like he hadn’t just walked through an explosion. “Handled.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Oh, for sure. Totally casual. You ever not act like you just expect to survive every dumbass decision you make?”

His eyes cut to you, sharp and assessing. “You don’t take this seriously enough.”

You arched an eyebrow. “And you take it so seriously you forget to breathe. Maybe if you stopped treating every mission like a personal vendetta, people wouldn’t be so quick to call you an ass.”

His expression didn’t change. “I get results.”

You snorted. “And I get migraines every time we work together. Funny how that works.”

Endeavor let out a huff his version of done with this conversation and turned away, stalking toward the police.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you surveyed the mess around you. Another night, another catastrophic team up with Japan’s most emotionally constipated man.

You really needed a drink after this.

But before you could make a break for the nearest bar, a voice rumbled beside you.

“…You did well.”

You blinked. Slowly turned your head.

Endeavor didn’t look at you just kept his gaze on the wreckage, arms crossed, face unreadable.

You squinted. “I’m sorry. What?”

His jaw ticked, like saying it physically pained him. “…I said, you did well.”

A slow grin spread across your face. “Holy shit.”

Endeavor immediately looked regretful. “Forget it.”

“Oh no no no, you don’t get to take that back.” You clutched your chest, mock gasping. “Endeavor praised me? I think I might cry.”

He sighed through his nose, very pointedly not engaging.

But you weren’t done.

“Wow. This must be what being a favorite child feels like.” You nudged him with your elbow. “Does this mean I get a ‘World’s Okayest Sidekick’ mug? Maybe a ‘#1 Emotional Support Hero’ t-shirt?”

Endeavor turned his head slightly. “You want a mug?”

You blinked. “Wait. Are you serious?”

He shrugged, which, coming from him, was basically a yes.

You grinned.

Oh, you were never letting him live this down

Now your relationship with the number 2 hero was never your favourite team ups. Though you did feel a strange bit of validation and growth every time you had the chance.

—

You had fought villains, survived explosions, and worked with Endeavor without committing arson (yet), but nothing, nothing. had prepared you for sitting at the Todoroki family dinner table.

Yet here you were, trapped between Hawks, who looked way too entertained, and Shoto, who was sipping his drink like he was emotionally detached from this entire situation.

Endeavor sat at the head of the table, arms crossed like he also didn’t want to be here, and Fuyumi was the only one smiling like this wasn’t the most awkward hostage situation you’d ever been part of.

“So!” she said brightly, setting down a plate in front of you. “How has working with my dad been?”

You immediately froze, a piece of food halfway to your mouth. Slowly, slowly, you turned your head to glance at Endeavor.

He was already looking at you.

Judging.

Daring you to open your mouth and ruin your career.

Hawks, the absolute devil, nudged your side with his elbow. “Go on. Be honest.”

You took a sip of water to buy yourself some time. “Well…” You cleared your throat. “He’s, uh… very efficient.”

Shoto snorted. “That’s a polite way to put it.”

You pointed your fork at him. “See? He gets it.”

Endeavor exhaled through his nose, which, given the fact that his entire body was basically a walking furnace, made it look like he was barely restraining himself from setting the table on fire. “If you have something to say, say it.”

Hawks smirked, leaning closer. “Yeah, say it.”

You shot him a you are so dead after this look before sighing dramatically. “Fine. You want the truth?” You turned to Endeavor. “Working with you is like trying to have a conversation with a brick wall, if that brick wall was actively judging you and could also set things on fire.”

Fuyumi gasped. Shoto took another sip of his drink. Hawks nearly collapsed against the table, laughing.

Endeavor, completely unfazed, just grunted. “You still get the job done.”

“Wow,” you deadpanned. “I am so touched.”

Hawks wiped a fake tear from his eye. “Man, this is so much better than I imagined.”

You turned to Fuyumi. “Blink twice if you need rescuing.”

She actually laughed at that, waving a hand. “Oh, it’s not that bad!”

Shoto, still completely monotone: “It is that bad.”

Endeavor let out the longest suffering sigh of his life.

By the time dinner ended, you were slumped against the doorway, utterly drained. Hawks, of course, was thriving, stretching his arms over his head. “Well, that was fun! Same time next week?”

You whipped around. “Do not manifest that.”

Fuyumi clapped her hands together. “Oh! That would be wonderful—”

“NO.” You pointed a warning finger at Hawks. “This is your fault.”

He grinned. “Worth it.”

As you stepped outside, you exhaled deeply, rubbing your temples. “I need a drink.”

Hawks slung an arm over your shoulders. “Told you it’d be fun.”

You shoved him off. “Keigo, I swear to god—”

—

Fighting Dabi was always a pain in the ass. Not just because of the fire which, yeah, was a huge problem but because he never shut up.

Tonight was no different. Flames roared around you, painting the alleyway in flickering blue as you dodged another wave of heat. The bastard was laughing, like this was some kind of game.

“What’s the matter, hero?” Dabi taunted, taking a lazy step forward. “Too hot for you?”

You huffed, rolling your shoulders as you steadied yourself. “Wow, never heard that one before. You come up with that yourself?”

His smirk widened. “Nah. I save my best material for special occasions.”

Before you could throw back another quip, Dabi’s eyes flickered to your uniform specifically, to the slight burn mark on your sleeve, barely visible but unmistakable.

And then, his entire demeanor changed.

His smirk faltered, replaced by something sharper. More calculating. His gaze darkened.

“Huh.” He tilted his head, stepping closer. “That’s interesting.”

You kept your stance firm, watching him carefully. “What?”

Dabi’s eyes flicked back to yours, his grin returning, but this time it was more… sinister. “That burn mark.”

You frowned, glancing at your sleeve. “Yeah? What about it?”

He let out a low chuckle, but there was something off about it something almost too amused. “Been spending time with other guys? I thought we were exclusive”

Your stomach twisted, but you kept your expression neutral. “oh? and what makes you say that?”

Dabi crossed his arms, the flames around his hands flickering dangerously. “So… you’ve been working with him, huh?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb.” His voice dripped with something between mockery and genuine intrigue. “You’ve been on missions with Endeavor.”

You still weren’t sure why that mattered to him, but something in his tone made your skin crawl. You scoffed, keeping your voice even. “Yeah, so? He’s the number two hero. I work with a lot of pros.”

Dabi let out a slow whistle, shaking his head. “Man, that’s hilarious.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What the hell is so funny?”

His smirk widened, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You, hero. Running around, playing sidekick to that bastard.” He let out a low chuckle, stepping even closer. “I wonder… did he finally get what he wanted?”

Your jaw clenched. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Dabi’s smirk twitched, like he was enjoying some inside joke at your expense. “Nothing. Just seems like you don’t know your mentor as well as you think.”

Something about the way he said it sent a chill down your spine. But you weren’t about to let him rattle you. “If you’ve got something to say, say it.”

Dabi just grinned, stepping back. “Nah. I think I’ll let you figure it out yourself.”

And before you could stop him, he vanished into the night, leaving behind nothing but embers and more questions than you wanted to deal with.

—

You had somehow let Fuyumi trick you into another dinner. You weren’t sure how it happened one second, you were wrapping up a mission with Endeavor, and the next, you and Hawks were walking up to the Todoroki house like it was some weekly scheduled event.

“You manifested this,” you muttered, glaring at Hawks as you knocked on the door.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied, smirking. “I think this is great for you.”

“I hope you get hit by a rogue Nomu.”

The door opened before Hawks could come up with a comeback, and Fuyumi greeted you with her usual bright smile. “You came!”

“Yeah, yeah, against my better judgment,” you muttered as she ushered you inside.

This time, the vibe was slightly less tense than before. Natsuo still wasn’t here (no surprise), but the rest of the family was present Endeavor looked like he would rather be anywhere else, Shoto was neutral as always, and Hawks was making himself way too comfortable again.

As Fuyumi moved to set the table, you noticed something different this time a photo album was open on the coffee table, pages slightly worn at the edges.

You nudged Hawks and motioned toward it. “Look at this. Actual proof that Endeavor has been outside of a crime scene.”

Hawks chuckled, leaning in. “Wow. I can’t even picture him smiling.”

You flipped a few pages, finding old photos of Fuyumi, Shoto, and Natsuo when they were kids. The pictures looked almost normal—almost like any other family.

Then you saw a photo that made you pause.

It was a boy, older than Shoto but still young, with white hair and striking blue eyes. He was grinning, arms crossed with a cocky smirk, like he knew he was the coolest person in the room.

You frowned, tapping the picture. “Who’s this?”

Fuyumi turned from the kitchen and followed your gaze. Her expression softened just slightly. “Oh… that’s Touya.”

You glanced at Hawks, who also looked mildly surprised. “Huh. Never heard of him.”

Fuyumi’s smile dimmed just a little. “He was our oldest brother.”

Was.

You weren’t dumb. That single word told you enough.

Endeavor’s entire posture tensed, but he didn’t say anything, just kept staring at the table like the conversation wasn’t happening.

Shoto was unreadable as ever. “He passed away a long time ago.”

You blinked, looking between them. You hadn’t even known Endeavor had another kid, and now you were learning he was dead?

Hawks, who was usually one to crack a joke, was silent beside you, his sharp eyes studying the photo with an unusual seriousness. “How?”

Fuyumi hesitated, shooting a glance at her father. “An accident,” she said carefully. “A fire.”

You didn’t need a full explanation to understand there was a lot more to the story than she was letting on. The entire atmosphere in the room had shifted like an invisible weight had settled over the conversation, suffocating and heavy.

You looked at the boy in the picture again. Touya. Something about his expression, his posture, felt oddly familiar, but you couldn’t place why.

Hawks leaned back, whistling lowly. “Damn. Didn’t know you had another sibling, Shoto.”

Shoto’s eyes flickered to his father before looking away. “Most people don’t.”

You glanced at Endeavor, who was completely silent, jaw clenched. If the man was already emotionally constipated on a good day, now he looked like someone had shoved a grenade down his throat and pulled the pin.

Yeah. You were not asking follow-up questions.

Fuyumi gave you a sad smile before quickly trying to shift the mood. “Anyway! Dinner’s ready.”

You exchanged a glance with Hawks, silently agreeing to drop it for now.

But as you ate, your eyes kept drifting back to that photo. There was something about it, something that made your stomach twist.

Something that told you this wasn’t the whole story.

—

You’re barely five minutes into the drive when Touya starts fidgeting. One leg bouncing, fingers tapping, sighing dramatically every few minutes like he’s about to say something and then deciding against it.

You ignore him for as long as humanly possible.

Then another heavy sigh.

“For fuck’s sake,” you say, glancing at him. “What?”

Touya smirks. “Nothing. Just love a good awkward silence.”

You roll your eyes and turn down a side street, heading toward an old parking lot on the edge of the city. It’s the kind of place that’s either a sketchy drug deal spot or just an abandoned lot that no one’s cared about for years. Either way, it’s empty, which is exactly what you need.

When you park, Touya squints at you. “Oh, nice. Super ominous.” He leans back, crossing his arms. “So, what, this is where you tell me you’ve secretly been hired to kill me? ‘Cause, honestly? Should’ve done it before you wasted money on my food.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you mutter, digging around in the glove compartment. “I’m playing the long con.”

Touya watches as you pull out a slightly crumpled pack of cigarettes. He blinks. “The hell? Since when do you smoke?”

“I don’t.” You tap the pack against your palm, knocking one loose. “Except when I do.”

He huffs a laugh and pulls out his own pack. “Terrible influence. Hope you know that.”

“You’re literally the last person who gets to say that to me.”

Touya just shrugs, flicking his lighter open. He takes a slow drag, then leans over the console, offering you the lighter with a lazy smirk. “Go on, then. Join me in my terrible life choices.”

You roll your eyes but lean in, lighting your cigarette. The first inhale burns your lungs in a way that’s almost nostalgic, and when you exhale, the smoke curls into the night air.

For a while, neither of you speak. Just sit there, smoking in companionable silence, staring out at the city lights in the distance.

Then Touya, ever the shit-stirrer, side-eyes you. “Soooo… you’re in love with me, right?”

You cough on your cigarette, nearly choking. “What the fuck—”

He grins, leaning back against the seat. “I mean, think about it. You picked me up, bought me food, brought me to this super romantic abandoned parking lot—” He gestures vaguely. “Like, if you’re gonna confess, at least do it with some dramatic flair.”

You take a slow, pointed drag. Exhale. Stare him dead in the eyes.

“Touya,” you say dryly, “if I were in love with you, I’d have worse problems than this cigarette.”

He snorts, tipping his head back. “Fair point.”

Another silence stretches between you, this one lighter. Less heavy, more like… a pause between bullshit conversations.

Eventually, Touya flicks his cigarette out the window, watching the ember fizzle out. “…Y’know,” he mutters, “you didn’t have to pick me up.”

You shrug. “Yeah. But I did.”

He side-eyes you again, expression unreadable. Then he exhales sharply and shakes his head. “Idiot.”

“You’re welcome,” you say, smirking.

He groans, slouching further into his seat, but he doesn’t argue.

And that’s how you know he actually means thank you.

—

The smell of smoke still clung to the air, thick and acrid, curling in the space between you and Dabi… Touya. You didn’t even realize you were gripping your fists until your nails bit into your palms, but you couldn’t help it. You couldn’t breathe.

It made sense now. The way he moved, the way he spoke, the way he never really tried to kill you even when he had the chance. The pieces had been there all along, but now they were clicking together too fast, too loud.

And Dabi- no, Touya- was watching you like a cornered animal, all teeth and venom, muscles tight like he was ready to bolt or attack, whichever came first.

“Say something,” he muttered, voice rough. “You’re staring like a fucking idiot.”

Your throat was dry, words sticking to your tongue like glue. But then, finally—

“You’re Touya.”

His jaw twitched, fingers curling at his sides. “No shit.”

The sheer casualness of it nearly sent you over the edge. “No shit?” You took a step forward, shoving a hand through your hair. “That’s all you have to say? You.. You let me think you were just some guy this whole time”

“I am just some guy.”

“Don’t fucking do that,” you snapped. “You lied to me.”

Dabi let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Lied? Oh, that’s rich.” He took a step toward you, voice dropping into something low and mean. “You think I owe you the truth? That I was just gonna sit you down like, ‘Hey, by the way, I’m a walking family tragedy with daddy issues bigger than this whole fucking city’?” He sneered. “Be for fucking real.”

Your chest tightened, but you forced yourself to hold his gaze. “I thought we—”

“What? Had something?” His grin was all sharp edges, nothing warm behind it. “Hate to break it to you, but that was your mistake.”

You felt something crack in your ribs, but you ignored it. “I trusted you.”

Dabi’s expression twisted into something ugly, something raw, but it was gone in an instant, swallowed up by that same defensive, sharp-toothed smirk. “Then you’re even dumber than I thought.”

You sucked in a sharp breath, hands trembling. “Why are you doing this?”

He scoffed. “Doing what? Telling you the truth?” He stepped closer, and you could feel the heat radiating off him, warning you to back off but you didn’t. “You wanna play hero so fucking bad, then act like one. Arrest me. Fight me. Do whatever the fuck your little code tells you to do.”

You clenched your jaw. “You’re pushing me away.”

“Good.”

That hit harder than it should have.

Silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. Dabi wasn’t looking at you anymore he was staring past you, at nothing, jaw tight like he was trying to hold back words that could shatter his teeth.

But you’d had enough.

You exhaled sharply and took a step back. “Fine.”

His head tilted slightly, but he didn’t move, didn’t react.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Guess I was wrong about you.”

Dabi let out a short, hollow laugh, shaking his head. “Guess you were.”

The city felt too loud. Even with the distant hum of sirens fading into the night, even with the crackling embers of the smoldering wreck behind you, the weight in your chest made it hard to hear anything else.

Touya—Dabi—was still standing there, arms crossed, head tilted just slightly like he was waiting for you to walk away. Like he expected you to.

And maybe you should.

Maybe you should turn on your heel, pretend like this conversation never happened, pretend like his words didn’t bruise, pretend like your chest wasn’t burning with something ugly and disappointed.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you took a breath. Steadier this time. Then another.

“Okay,” you said, voice quiet but firm. “I’m leaving.”

His shoulders barely shifted. “Yeah. Got that part.”

You ignored him. “But I’m not letting you do this.”

His jaw tensed. “Do what?”

“This.” You gestured at the space between you, at the sharp, jagged edges of this conversation, at the way he was standing like a kicked dog trying to pretend it didn’t hurt. “Pushing me away like it’ll fix anything.”

He scoffed, but it didn’t have the same bite. “And what, you think not pushing you away is a better idea? Think about it, genius. What do you actually want from me here?”

Your fingers curled at your sides. “I want the truth.”

Touya laughed. It wasn’t sharp this time wasn’t even mean. Just quiet. Exhausted.

“The truth?” He shook his head, looking past you again, somewhere far, far away. “I gave you the truth, and you didn’t like it.”

“You gave me a version of it,” you shot back. “The one that hurts the least for you.”

His expression flickered for half a second something too fast to catch, something that almost looked guilty. Then, just as quickly, it was gone.

“And?” he said, like he was daring you to argue. “That’s what people do.”

“No, it’s what you do.”

Silence.

For the first time since this started, Touya actually looked at you. Fully. His eyes were hard, unreadable, but you could feel the tension underneath it all.

He thought this was the last time you’d talk. Thought this was the final thread snapping between you, the moment where you’d finally decide he wasn’t worth the effort.

And maybe you should.

But instead, you exhaled, rubbing a hand down your face.

“Y’know what?” you muttered, stepping past him. “Forget it. Just forget it.”

And for a second, you thought that was it.

But then, so quiet you almost didn’t hear it—

“…I didn’t want you to know.”

You froze.

Turned back.

Touya was still standing in the same spot, still holding himself like his own body was a battlefield—but his fists were clenched, his head dipped just slightly, like this admission was something he hadn’t meant to say out loud.

He let out a breath, shaking his head. “You-” His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard. “You were never supposed to know.”

Your heart twisted.

“Why?”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he took a slow step back, eyes flicking somewhere over your shoulder—like he was making sure you weren’t blocking his escape route.

You stared at him for a moment longer, waiting.

He didn’t say anything else.

Didn’t take it back. Didn’t try to fix it.

So you nodded, lips pressing into a tight line. “Okay.”

The city air was still thick with the scent of smoke, but the fire wasn’t the problem anymore. Not really.

You should leave. You should let this be what he wanted it to be one clean break, one final cut before you could crawl too deep under his skin.

But then he said it again.

“I didn’t want you to know.”

Barely above a whisper. A confession that sounded like it had been ripped from his throat against his will.

You froze. Turned back.

Touya’s gaze flickered to you, but only for a second before he looked away, jaw locking.

You swallowed against the tightness in your chest. “Why?”

Nothing.

Not right away, at least. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, fingers twitching at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them. Like he wanted to reach for something, maybe even you, but wouldn’t let himself.

Finally, after what felt like forever, he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Because you look at me like I’m-” He stopped himself, mouth pressing into a thin line.

You tilted your head, stepping closer. “Like you’re what?”

Touya scoffed, rubbing a hand down his face before running it through his hair, shoulders tensing. “Like I’m fixable.”

That knocked the air out of you.

“Touya…”

His fingers curled into fists, a sharp breath escaping through his teeth. “Don’t.”

But you couldn’t not. Not when he was standing there like this, when the usual cocky bravado had cracked just enough for you to see what was underneath.

“You think I’m trying to fix you?” you asked, voice softer now. “That’s not—” You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “That’s not what this is.”

He let out a short, humorless laugh. “Isn’t it?”

“No.” You shook your head. “I just- I care about you.”

His head snapped up at that, eyes narrowing like the words had physically hurt him.

You took another step closer, slow, careful, hands open at your sides like you were approaching something fragile. “You don’t have to push me away.”

His throat bobbed.

For a moment, just one, you thought he might actually let you close the distance. Thought he might let his shoulders drop, let you see him without all the fire and sharp edges.

But then he stepped back.

Not far. Just enough. Just enough to tell you what he couldn’t say out loud.

His head tilted slightly, like he was trying to keep his expression blank, but his voice betrayed him.

“I do have to.”

Your chest tightened. “Why?”

Touya’s jaw clenched, eyes darting away. “Because if I don’t—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “It’ll hurt more when you finally realize I’m not worth it.”

Something in you cracked.

You wanted to scream. Shake him. Make him understand.

Instead, you just let out a slow breath. “That’s not gonna happen.”

He huffed, a small, tired smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah, well. We’ll see.”

The worst part was he truly believed that. He thought it was only a matter of time. That you’d come to your senses, see him for what he thought he was, and leave him behind before he could stop you.

And you could tell, deep down, that he was already bracing for it.

You hesitated for half a second before reaching out slowly, carefully and letting your fingers brush against his wrist. Just enough to feel the warmth of his skin, the faint, uneven texture of his scars.

His breath hitched.

Not a flinch. Not quite.

But he didn’t pull away.

Didn’t look at you either, though. Just stared at the ground, breathing unsteady, like he was trying to decide whether or not to bolt.

You squeezed, just slightly. “I’m still here.”

A pause.

Then, softer than anything you’d ever heard from him—

“…For now.”

And that? That was the closest he’d come to asking you to stay.

—

Dabi never liked to stick around after fights. He was a hit and run kind of guy burn what he wanted, say something snarky, and disappear before anyone could pin him down. But for some reason, he had been lingering more and more after your encounters. especially after how tense the last encounter everything had been weird. Yes you had found out he was Touya but he had also found out his current chase has been cozy with the thing he missed the most.

You weren’t sure why. You weren’t working together, you weren’t allies, but somehow, you kept running into each other. And somehow, neither of you had killed the other yet.

Tonight was another one of those nights.

You had spent the last half hour chasing him through an abandoned district, dodging fire and insults in equal measure. Eventually, it turned into a weird kind of truce he had gotten bored, you had gotten tired, and now you were sitting on a crumbling rooftop, catching your breath while he lit a cigarette.

He exhaled, watching the smoke curl into the night air. “You’re getting slower.”

You shot him a glare, still panting. “Or you’re getting faster.”

He snorted. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that.”

You leaned back on your hands, staring up at the stars. “Y’know, for a guy who’s so dedicated to burning society to the ground, you sure do waste a lot of time chatting with me.”

Dabi hummed, tapping ash off the side of the building. “Maybe I like watching you get pissed off.”

“Oh, yeah, that definitely tracks.” You rolled your eyes, glancing at him. “So? What’s the next step in your grand villain plan?”

He smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

You shrugged. “Eh. If it’s anything like your usual, I’m guessing ‘fire, explosions, and traumatizing civilians.’”

Dabi let out a low chuckle. “Not a bad guess.”

There was a beat of silence. Then, casually, you spoke.

“Had dinner with your sister again.”

You hadn’t looked at him when you said it, but you felt the way he tensed beside you.

It was subtle. So subtle that most people wouldn’t have noticed. But you had been around him enough now to catch the small things. The way his fingers twitched slightly against the cigarette, the brief pause in his breathing.

His voice was even when he responded, but there was an edge to it. “Oh yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah. She made this crazy good teriyaki chicken. Even got Hawks to shut up for a full five minutes.”

Dabi scoffed, taking another drag. “Miracle worker.”

“Right?” You smirked. “Shoto was there too. And Endeavor.”

Dabi’s expression immediately darkened at the name, his grip on the cigarette tightening. “Sounds like a real fun time.”

You ignored the bitterness in his tone. “It was something, that’s for sure.” You leaned forward slightly, resting your arms on your knees. “Y’know… she still talks about you.”

Dabi went completely still.

You kept your gaze ahead, pretending not to notice. “Not all the time. Just little things. The way you used to joke around when you were kids. How you’d always eat the last piece of tempura when nobody was looking.”

Dabi let out a short, humorless laugh. “She remembers that?”

“She remembers a lot,” you said, softer this time.

Another silence. Dabi stared at the horizon, jaw clenched. His cigarette burned between his fingers, the embers crackling in the quiet.

You watched him carefully. For all his arrogance, all his cruelty, there were cracks in the walls he had built. Moments like this, when you could almost see past the fire and spite when the boy he used to be bled through, just for a second.

But just as quickly, he shoved it down.

He flicked his cigarette away, standing up. “This was fun, hero. Let’s do it again sometime.”

You frowned, watching him. “That’s it? No snarky remark?”

Dabi gave you a grin, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t worry. I’ll make up for it next time.”

And before you could say anything else, he disappeared into the night.

But as you sat there, watching the last of the smoke fade into the sky, you couldn’t shake the feeling that for just a moment. he had hesitated.

—

You both sit there in the car, letting the last wisps of cigarette smoke curl out the windows. It’s quiet, save for the occasional rustling in the nearby bushes, which based on the location could either be a raccoon or someone plotting a murder. Either way, not your problem.

Touya exhales sharply, flicking his cigarette out the window. “So, what now?”

You glance at him. “What do you mean ‘what now’?”

“I mean, what the hell are we doing? You kidnapped me from rehab, bought me food, let me pollute my lungs in peace feels like there should be a next step in this weird-ass bonding experience.”

“You want a scrapbook?” You lean back against the seat, stretching. “Maybe a trophy? ‘Congratulations, you survived rehab and only complained about it 47 times!’”

Touya scoffs, side eyeing you. “That’s lowballing it. I complained at least 93 times.”

“Yeah, I stopped listening after the first 50.”

He shakes his head, muttering something under his breath before running a hand through his already messy hair. “Whatever. This whole thing is pointless.”

“Oh, my bad, I didn’t realize I was supposed to plan a grand Welcome Back to Society party,” you say, deadpan. “Should I have rented a clown? Gotten one of those shitty banners that say ‘You Did It!’ in Comic Sans?”

Touya huffs a laugh but quickly wipes it off his face, like he refuses to let you win even a little. “Yeah, I’d rather set myself on fire again than be subjected to that.”

You smirk. “Damn, next time I’ll actually do it, then.”

Another silence stretches between you, but it’s not comfortable. You can tell he’s restless, fidgety, like he’s trying to swallow down some actual feelings and it’s making him physically ill.

And sure enough—

“…I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do now.”

There it is. The actual problem.

You tap your fingers against the steering wheel. “What do you want to do?”

He gives you an exhausted look. “If I knew that, don’t you think I’d be doing it?”

“Hey, some people like being miserable. You’re one of them.”

“Fuck you.”

You grin. “There it is.”

He rolls his eyes and slouches further into his seat. “I’m serious, dumbass. Like… what now? What the hell am I supposed to do? Get some boring-ass job? Become a ‘functioning member of society’ or whatever bullshit they kept telling me in rehab? What if I just don’t?”

You shrug. “Then don’t.”

Touya blinks. “That’s it?”

“Yeah.” You throw him a look. “Did you want me to give you a whole therapy monologue? ‘You got this, king! Chase your dreams! Live, laugh, love!’”

He gags. “Absolutely fucking not.”

“There you go, then.”

He mutters something about you being insufferable under his breath before rubbing his face with both hands. “Ugh. Whatever. This whole thing sucks.”

“Yeah, well, welcome to being alive.” You stretch again, popping your back. “Anyway. Let’s go.”

Touya frowns. “Where?”

“I dunno. But if you’re gonna sit there having a melodramatic crisis about your future, we might as well do it while driving.”

He stares at you. “You’re so fucking stupid.”

“You’re so fucking mean,” you shoot back, starting the car. “Buckle up, jackass.”

He groans but does it anyway, muttering complaints the entire time.

And with that, you pull out of the parking lot, heading absolutely nowhere by just you, a moody ex-arsonist, and a whole lot of sarcastic insults to get you through the night.

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Welcome to my Blog >;p

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⭑.ᐟ SIRXAIBS ⭑.ᐟ She/Her ⭑.ᐟ 19 ⭑.ᐟ

I’ll write for virtually any things that I adore, so be prepared

I like to write things! I hope to show you my efforts and to show off how I take care of different interests that I have!!

PLEASE SEND IN REQUESTS I WANT TO WRITE MORE SO BAD

RECENT WORKS

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Gojo Satoru x Reader | Geto Suguru x Reader

what do i have for you?

My Hero Academia | DC Comics | VideoGames

Anime |

Keigo Takami / Hawks X Reader (eventually various X reader but that’s if I decide to continue with the burst of inspiration)

If this isn’t that meaty for you…. THEY JUST MET LET THEM COOK

Summary: Small light banter for a first meeting between freshly debuted Hawks and an Isekai’d reader.

Basically after reading copious amounts of amazingly talented stories by amazingly talented writers. “DEPOLLUTE ME, GENTLE ANGEL” by @fallen-w1ngs and Changing History by SummerBlack on Quotev. With “depollute me” the author humanizes the pro hero from being just a symbol. Meanwhile with “Changing History” the author introduces an emotion more attuned to feeling real and how life isn’t just a cycle that is predetermined. So my dynamic of choice was you as the reader have already been thrown in this world for the first 18 years of your life. If you were put in this world why not do the expected? Become a hero. But if all things are fake why take anything seriously?

If you couldn’t gather from that, the reader and hawks will grow and learn that they have the ability to matter and deserve to feel like they belong. I don’t have a very serious style of writing but I do try! Maybe not my best but key emphasis on try! Today we delve into YOU! YOUR CHARACTER!

This was all made on my notes app while on vacation 😺

Word count: 4280 ish, (idk through editing I added some things)

A blur of red and gold emerged first, feathers catching the sunlight just before their owner stepped forward with an easy, lopsided grin. Hawks, the newly minted Pro, looked entirely unbothered by the attention, despite the sudden chorus of excited shouts.

“Hawks! Can you sign this?”

“Dude, your debut fight was insane!”

“Picture, please?”

He laughed, ruffling his windswept hair as he glanced over the eager faces.

“Man, you guys really know how to make a guy feel welcome,” he said, grabbing the nearest pen. “Alright, line up nice and neat, yeah? I’ve got places to be, but I can’t just leave my awesome fans hanging.”

As he signed posters, notebooks, and even the occasional wing-shaped keychain, Hawks kept that signature smirk in place. He’d always known he’d make it this far—but seeing the real, tangible proof of it in the form of starstruck faces and excited voices?

Yeah, this was pretty damn cool.

As the crowd died down, Originally just going to walk away you thought about when would even be the next time you’d see him. Unfortunately since being thrown into this world, the whole concept of canon magnets for main characters was not even a concept in your life.

“You know, if you’re acting like this right out of the gate, I can’t even imagine how inflated your ego will get once you’re officially ranked among the top heroes.”

“Sorry, sweetheart, but I have no idea where you’re getting that impression.” You almost felt bad for taking away his moment. The disheveled blonde looked like he might’ve been having a sincere, heartfelt moment.

“It’s always the pretty boys with the massive egos,” you sighed dramatically, looking away. Seeing Hawks in all his glory had to come with a little entertainment, right?

He took a step back, eyeing your UA uniform as if sizing you up.

“Maybe the hostility’s coming from jealousy?”

“It’s the Icarus trope for me” you mutter

“Sorry?”

You laughed lightly, rolling your eyes. “Oh nothing! You sure would think that.”

To be honest, you hadn’t meant to bump into him. You were just on your way home from school, with nothing more in mind than a nice nap. Being a third-year at UA in the most boring era of this universe really didn’t leave you with much to look forward to.

“I mean, looks like we’re heading in the same direction,” he said, curiosity creeping into his tone as he took another sip from his drink.

“You’re not wrong, but the flashy vibe you’re giving off? It’s almost alarming.”

He gave you a distraught look.

“Imagine this, I’m getting saved by—wait, what’s your name again?” Oh, it wouldn’t be impossible for actually knowing him. Sure, he had only debuted a few months ago and the crowd that just left that chanted his name every two seconds would be a sign for his name, but you couldn’t help it. In your past life, the sheer amount of content of the show you consumed meant you had to know him but better safe than sorry.

“Hawks,” he replied, deadpan, amusement flickering in his eyes.

You couldn’t help but chuckle. In response he raised his brow

It probably looked like you were laughing at him, which, in a way, you kind of were. You remembered the draft photos of when his character was first being developed—back when they considered giving him an actual hawk head. The thought alone made you smile.

“Pro hero Hawks saves me, and the sheer massiveness of his ego completely blindsides me. I’m struck by how conventionally hot he is, and then I die in your arms. Yeah, not a good look for you.”

You sighed inwardly. All in all, you were probably born in the worst generation in the My Hero universe. You couldn’t even be part of the middle generation where you could’ve had the chance to work as a teacher with Aizawa and the rest of the crew. It was a possibility, sure, but it felt so far out of reach. And the idea of being around Present Mic—preferably with his hair down and you age-appropriate for him? That would’ve been a dream.

But here you were, a few years older than the main cast. Actually, you were the same age as Keigo. As much as you loved his character, he didn’t really become important until the fifth season. Which meant you had little to no relevance to the plot or any of the major characters. You couldn’t help but feel like you were stuck in some lame generation, unable to make an impact.

Why couldn’t any isekai story go right? You really felt like you’d lost the genetic lottery over and over again. You couldn’t have been born just a few years younger, so you could’ve at least had the chance to be around your other favorite sunshine-blonde character, Mirio. Not being his age had probably made you feel like you’d lost years of your life unknowingly.

“Maamaa, we just met, and you’ve already got a grudge against me?” He teased, giving you a playful frown.

Immediately it springs in your head that you’ve probably come off as a total asshole. Screw the curse of having an outside point of view. The fact of knowing none of this was real maybe gave a bad look on the outside.

You suddenly felt a wave of regret hit you, realizing how your words had come across. His playful tone, the teasing frown—everything made it clear he wasn’t offended, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you had crossed a line. You opened your mouth, but your thoughts were tangled, and it took a moment to collect your words.

“Ah, look, I—” You hesitated, eyes darting away, feeling heat rising in your cheeks. “I didn’t mean to sound like that. It’s just… I don’t know, sometimes I get carried away, and—” You mentally cursed yourself for being so awkward. You hated how easily you could go from sarcastic to genuinely sorry in a second.

Hawks gave you an odd look, the smirk still there, though softer. “Hey, no worries. I get it.” He shrugged, as if it wasn’t a big deal, but you could tell something about his tone had changed slightly. Maybe he was trying to lighten the mood too, like you were.

“No, I’m serious,” you quickly added, glancing up at him, feeling the need to apologize properly. “It’s just… I don’t know. I’ve been here long enough to see how people get caught up in all the… hero stuff. And I didn’t want to be another person acting all starry-eyed over you just because you’re a pro hero, you know?” God you sounded pathetic. Maybe if you prayed to all might really hard it would go away.

Hawks studied you for a second, then nodded slowly, his expression unreadable for a moment. “I get it. You don’t want to be one of those people who just worship the ground we fly on, huh?”

You sighed, relieved that he understood, but still uneasy. “Yeah... fly on. It’s just… this world, this universe… It’s all so… strange. I mean, I know you’re a big deal, and I respect that. But sometimes it’s hard to take things seriously when everything feels like it’s set in stone. To be so ‘MUCH’ all the time. Anyways I’m literally doing exactly what yours doing for a career so don’t take my words to heart. Heroes are kind of just people that help people and I’m like one or those people and by no means-” You paused, biting your lip.

There was an odd moment of silence before Hawks chuckled, and for a moment, you thought you might’ve said something ridiculous.

“You’re fine.” His tone was soft, genuine this time, as he took another step back, giving you space. “You’re not the first person to think I’m all ‘ego and feathers,’ but not everyone’s as honest about it as you are. So, props for that, I guess.” He tilted his head, his usual cocky grin returning, though it seemed more self-aware now. “But hey, if it helps, I do my best to keep my ego in check. It’s not as big as it looks.”

You blinked, unsure how to respond, but the words that came out were almost reflexive. “Well, you’re doing a pretty good job of hiding it, I guess. You’re going to be one of the top ten. I know it.”

Hawks laughed softly, the sound surprisingly genuine, and you found yourself relaxing a little. Maybe you hadn’t totally messed everything up. “You’re so sure about that? Well then fair enough. Just don’t expect me to give up my flashy style anytime soon. It’s a package deal.” He says that as if he doesn’t get In the top ten within a few months.

You could tell he wasn’t taking offense anymore, but you still felt like you needed to clear the air. “I mean, you’re doing your thing. I just—” You faltered, trying to find the right words, feeling like you were digging yourself into a hole. “I just didn’t want to be some random person making snide comments. You’re a pro hero, and I respect that.”

His eyes softened again, and there was an odd sincerity in his gaze. “Thanks. That means more than you know. You look about the same age as me so as you’re a pro as well, wouldn’t you know it you’ll be up there at the top, maybe we’ll have a hero rivalry” he smirks

“Ah yes the trials and tribulations of endeavour and all might persist in the bodies of 18 year old aspiring heroes” you pause for a moment thinking about it. You know that’s not too far from the original source material

“Well I’m not exactly a pro just yet, give me a few months and I’ll be there”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the awkwardness between you two slowly evaporating. It was strange, how you’d gone from a sarcastic comment to a brief but genuine moment of understanding. And yet, in a world where everything seemed so scripted, the fact that this had played out in such a way felt a little… surreal.

After a beat, Hawks stretched, giving you a wink. “Well, I should probably get going. Hero stuff, you know?” He shrugged, turning on his heel. “But hey, if you ever need a hand or just wanna throw some more sarcastic remarks my way, I’m not hard to find.”

You managed a small, half-smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He flashed you one last grin before taking off, his wings spreading wide as he took to the sky, disappearing into the distance. You watched him go, still feeling that odd mixture of guilt and amusement bubbling in your chest.

Shaking your head, you turned and continued on your way home, feeling slightly lighter, despite the awkwardness. At least you hadn’t ruined everything completely. But, then again, in a world like this, there was always something new to look forward to. Maybe you’d even see Hawks again and maybe next time, you’d be a little better at handling it.

Or, you’d at least try to be.

In this world, reports of people with superpowers started popping up everywhere. No one really knew what was causing these Quirks. And before long, the supernatural became the new normal. Dreams became reality, and the world turned into a superhuman society, with 80% of the population possessing some sort of strange ability.

Blah, blah, blah. The world might sound impressive at first, but being dropped into a world where you know everyone’s futures? That kind of ruins the excitement. Save the fun stuff for when Izuku is supposed to take over

You’d think living in a world of superheroes would be a dream come true, but it felt more like playing a life simulator with a DLC attached.

‘Actually if any one had heard that thought, please smite me dead on the spot’

Maybe when you finally met Shigaraki, you two could bond over how lame your lives were.

————

The moment Hawks took off, disappearing into the sky with all the grace and flair of a man who knew exactly how cool he was, you were left standing there, alone in the middle of a busy street. You blinked a few times, processing the bizarre encounter, like a glitch in the matrix where you’d just met one of the to be top heroes, and somehow managed to be the awkward, sarcastic mess you were known for.

Oh god, you thought, did I just make myself look like an idiot?

The awkwardness of the moment hit you all at once, like a ton of bricks. Your brain replayed every word you’d said, every overly dramatic sigh, and every time you’d made some weird comment about his ego. I probably just ruined any chance of ever having a normal conversation with him ever again, you thought with a groan.

But, hey, at least you’d gotten one thing right: you had no idea how to not embarrass yourself in front of a pro hero. Progress, right?

Your feet shuffled along the sidewalk, your eyes fixed on the ground, just in case anyone noticed how ridiculously flustered you were. You didn’t even know where you were going at this point, your legs had basically decided to take you home, but your brain was still stuck on the fact that you’d just made a snide remark to one of the most famous people in the world. That was bound to come back to haunt you, right?

In the midst of your spiraling, a thought hit you like a slap to the face: What if he tells people?

No, no, no, no. Hawks wasn’t the type to hold grudges. He’d probably just chuckle about it with his equally cool friends and forget about it. Right?

… what if he tells Mirko. All you feel is dread

But still, the mental image of him, sitting around with his hero buddies, casually telling them about the weird girl who got all awkward and snarky when she met him, was enough to make you want to curl up in a hole and disappear for the next decade. I’m never leaving my house again, you thought, hands buried in your pockets. It’s safer this way.

As you trudged home, you passed by the same old buildings, the same street vendors, the same couple having a heated debate about the proper way to cook curry (which, honestly, you were kind of invested in now). It was the same old world. But now, you couldn’t help but feel like you were living in some kind of sitcom where you were the awkward side character. This is what I get for getting tossed into this universe, you thought, rolling your eyes at the universe itself. And why am I still here? Shouldn’t I be a sidekick by now?

You eventually reached your apartment building, doing your best to ignore the fact that you’d just been face-to-face with Hawks and didn’t manage to do anything remotely cool or competent. The elevator ride felt longer than it should’ve. It was like the universe itself was giving you a moment to reflect on your life choices. By the time you reached your door, you felt like you needed to apologize to the doorframe for even existing.

With a dramatic sigh, you kicked off your shoes and collapsed onto the couch. You stared at the ceiling, wondering if you should’ve just said something normal like, “Hey, cool wings.” That’s it. Cool wings… nope absolutely not, move on, but no, you had to act like a nervous wreck who couldn’t even handle basic social interaction. Congratulations, you’re a disaster.

But as your mind started spiraling into self-loathing, you couldn’t help but chuckle a little. The whole situation had been so ridiculous, so out of place, that it was actually kind of funny. You’d just had a conversation with Hawks granted, it was a weird, awkward, almost cringeworthy conversation but still, a conversation! That was more than most people could say.

“Maybe I should just call it a day. Hide under the covers and pretend nothing happened.”

You threw your arms dramatically across your face as if the weight of your shame was too much to bear, but in the back of your mind, a tiny thought crept in: Hey, if I run into him again, maybe I won’t make a fool of myself next time.

Then again, you thought with a grin, Probably not.

At least tomorrow’s a new day, right? You could try to be normal then probably. Or at the very least, you could give yourself a good pep talk, like, “You got this, champ. Try not to make an idiot of yourself this time.”

As you lay there, wallowing in your embarrassment, you couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. Because, in the end, this was just another bizarre chapter in your weird, barely-coherent life in the world of heroes. Maybe next time, you’d at least try to make a good first impression. Or maybe, just maybe, you’d accidentally land on your feet and make it out of another embarrassing moment unscathed.

Who knew? Anything was possible in this crazy universe. Well, except you being smooth. That was clearly out of the question.

————

The bell rang, signaling the end of class, and as your classmates hurriedly packed their bags and ran out the door, you sat there, contemplating your life choices. Graduation was right around the corner, and while everyone else was excited about the future, you were just kind of… existing.

You were in your third year at UA, the very school that trained the next generation of Pro Heroes. But here you were, staring at your desk like it owed you money, with no idea what you were supposed to do next.

Let’s be real, everyone else had a purpose. Izuku? He was going to be the greatest hero of all time. All Might? He was the symbol of peace, the beacon of hope, and probably the only guy who could do a cartwheel and not look like a dad on a trampoline. Even Bakugo had a clear goal in mind: to be the best, which, considering his attitude, was more like a “do it or I’ll yell at you until you cry” kind of vibe.

But you? You were just here. You weren’t supposed to be in this world. Seriously, how did you even get here? One minute you were living your normal life, and the next you’re dropped into the middle of a world full of heroes, quirks, and crazy villains, but there’s no manual for how to fit in. It was like being cast in the world’s weirdest TV show and being told, “Yeah, just figure it out, you’ll be fine.”

And you were so fine. So fine, in fact, that you didn’t even know what the point of it all was. You had no grand dreams of becoming the next All Might or Deku. You weren’t even sure what your quirk was half the time, maybe you had an ability to be totally average? If so, congratulations, you were really nailing it.

“Look, you’re fine, you’re fine,” you muttered to yourself, giving the window a dramatic look. “You’ll graduate, become a hero, maybe stand by the snacks table at hero events, get a cool costume, the usual.”

You sighed, staring at the city below. Your classmates had their lives all planned out, while you had absolutely no clue what was happening. “Like, how do you even become a hero if you’re not, like, destined for greatness?” You asked, though you were fully aware the universe wasn’t going to answer. Or if it did, it would probably just laugh and say, “Sorry, you’re just here for filler content.”

You turned to the empty classroom, contemplating your entire existence for a moment. “Man, is this what it’s like to be a side character? ’Cause I really didn’t sign up for this. I was just trying to live my best life, and suddenly I’m here, trying to figure out if I should be saving kittens from trees or passing out flyers for charity events.”

A laugh bubbled out of you. “Who knows, maybe I’ll be that hero, the one who’s really good at handing out pamphlets at superhero conventions. You know, hero stuff. The job that’s always available but no one really talks about.”

You let out a half-hearted groan. “Ugh, I’m like a glorified intern in the superhero world. ‘Oh, sorry, your quirk is literally just being chill? Guess you’ll be a sidekick to the sidekicks!’”

But then it hit you: maybe that’s fine. Not every hero needs to be the big shot. Maybe your purpose was to just… exist. No huge fanfare, no dramatic showdowns with villains, just a random person who shows up at the right time to, like, hand out snacks or prevent a minor inconvenience. You could totally be that person! There’s a whole squad of heroes out there who are doing important stuff without anyone caring about them.

You snapped your fingers. “Wait a minute. Maybe this is my calling! I’ll be ‘The Human Buffer’. I’ll help all the heroes hand out protein bars, hold their coats while they go into battle, be that one person who’s just there to make sure they look good in their hero pose. Yeah, I could be that hero!”

You stood up, grabbed your bag, and strutted out of the classroom with newfound confidence. You might not have a big, world-saving destiny, but you would be the hero who was always there with the perfect snack after a long day of saving people. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was a role that needed to be filled, and by golly, you were going to do it.

“Alright, world,” you said dramatically as you walked down the hallway. “You don’t need me to save the day, but I’ll be here when you need someone to tell you where the bathroom is during a fight. Hero work!”

As you passed your classmates, all talking about their big future plans, you couldn’t help but laugh. Maybe you weren’t meant to be the hero everyone else was, but you were still going to make your mark. Whether they needed an emotional support snack or someone to bring them a towel after they worked up a sweat, you’d be there.

And hey, you’d probably get a cool title too: The Most Average, Most Helpful Hero.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like the idea of being a hero. Who wouldn’t want to swoop in and save the day, right? But the thing was, you didn’t belong here. You didn’t have that spark that made someone destined to be a hero. You weren’t meant to exist in this world. You were more like an accidental extra, someone who wasn’t supposed to show up on the hero timeline but somehow did. And now you were just… waiting for your scene to end.

It wasn’t that you didn’t respect heroes, of course, you did! But watching everyone around you with their grand dreams and bright futures made you feel a bit like the odd one out. Even if you’re living in a year with just side characters. They had their roles, their destinies. Meanwhile, you were stuck in a universe where things were already set in stone. It was like showing up to a concert that was already halfway over and realizing you’re just gonna have to sit in the nosebleeds for the rest of the show.

Keigo had mentioned once that it was important for heroes to ease the worries of the people. Isn’t it paradoxical that his future words are the ones giving you a path. That they had to be more than just strong, they had to make people feel safe. And you’d never had any doubts about that philosophy. But how could you be that person when you didn’t even feel like you were supposed to be here in the first place? It felt like playing a game you didn’t know the rules to, in a world that wasn’t yours.

Sure, you were about to graduate from UA and technically become a Pro Hero, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were sort of stepping into a role that didn’t really have anything to do with you. You had no grand dreams of fighting side-by-side with All Might in his final battle. There were so any many risks and what if a simple butterfly effect made the villains win by you being here. Honestly, you’d probably end up being the hero who handed out flyers for charity events or stood at the front of the line for photos to be safe. Was that the kind of hero you wanted to be?

“Well, I guess I’ll be a hero of some kind,” you muttered, though it was more out of obligation than excitement. “But what does it even mean if I don’t have some grand purpose in all this?”

A little chuckle escaped your lips. This was ridiculous. Here you were, stressing over your place in a world that was literally made up. You were a character in a story that already had its plot laid out, and yet you were still acting like you had to be a main character. It was all just so absurd.

But you didn’t want to be that person someone who just complained about fate and waited for something to happen. You could still make a difference in small ways, right? Maybe not as the next All Might or Deku, but as someone who showed up when it mattered, who helped out in their own way. The world was full of side characters doing small but important things, why couldn’t you be one of them?

With a grin, you stood up and grabbed your bag, heading out of the classroom to join the rest of your classmates. Maybe you weren’t the protagonist of this story, but hey, you could still make your mark on it. A little self-awareness never hurt anyone, right? Besides, in a world full of heroes, sometimes it was enough just to be one even if you were doing it a little differently than everyone else.

ok so this fic has inspired me to want to write delving into this dynamic 😼

'' DEPOLLUTE ME , GENTLE ANGEL ,,

|| pairings: hawks x reader / keigo takami x reader

|| warning: a little suggestive, but it stops, other than that its comfort <3 listen to the song "We'll Never Have Sex" and you'll understand. reverse comfort

|| word count: 0.8k

Hawks. Number two hero in all of Japan. Fastest hero in all the country, youngest too, only age 22 and he was number two. Everyone seemed to want a piece of him, woman, man, anyone. It made sense, of course, he was attractive. He acted carefree, always with a boyish grin on his face and everything he did seemed so effortless. Perhaps that was apart of the problem.

No matter what he did, everyone made their assumptions. Made their ideas, believing him to be a playboy or some sex-driven man. He hated it. Keigo was told to just let it happen, it was good publicity. Especially with how much his fans ate it up, he complied. He let it happen.

That all changed when he met you. Who's hands were never quick, never yearning in a way to get his clothes off. Your hands were soft, gentle. Always caring, never forcing. Keigo didn't understand it, why weren't you trying anything? Why weren't you trying to make him apart of a fantasy?

Your soft lips against his as you sat in his laps, but it wasn't quick. Not 'hot and bothered' as some may speculate, no, it was slow and careful. His hands placed on the small of your back as the two of you kissed. It was a comfort, it was wonderful. Something Keigo always yearns after he finishes a hard day of a hero, to come home where you'd swing by. Watch a movie, make some food, just be together. Sweet kisses exchanged, tonight was no different. The only small change was that those small kisses turned to a small make-out.

You, who'd move your hands just a bit down, down Keigo's chest. He didn't want it to stop, but at the same time it felt like too much. Something he wasn't ready for, not yet at least. The vermillion feathers ruffled behind him as he forced himself to let this happen. You, on the other hand? You stopped and pulled away, cupping his face in your hands as you pressed a gentle kiss on Keigo's scarred cheek.

"Why'd you stop?" Your boyfriends question was barely above a whisper as he held you close. He didn't understand, was he not kissing you well enough? Not being good enough for you?

"Because you wanted to stop," You ran a hand through his messy blonde hair. One that's been kissed by the winds that he flew through during the day. Before he could try to fight back you continued. "I could tell your hesitation, love."

"Dove, we can keep going-"

"When you're ready."

Keigo stared at you with his golden eyes, staring up at you as you mindlessly brushed through his hair with your fingers. Untangling any mess that had happened from the day, taking out any small pieces of dirt or debris from the day. He didn't understand. No, he wasn't a virgin, why were you acting like he was? He held you tighter as he pushed his face into the plush of your neck.

Taking a deep inhale of your scent as he relaxed under your touch.

"Thank you."

You knew how the media treated him, as some sort of sex symbol. Always putting him on a pedestal as the number two hero, fastest hero in all of Japan. It killed you everytime you'd see an article of some made up scandal Keigo was supposedly apart of. You'd compare that article to your boyfriend. The man who'd come home, dragging his feet against the wooden floor. Eyebags under his eyes once he wiped the make up he used to conceal it. He was exhausted, overworked. Yet all the media saw was some one-dimensional man.

With a small hum, you shook your head and pushed a small kiss to your winged boyfriends forehead. Lingering there for a few moments before pulling away. A small smile on your face as you kept your gaze on him.

"You don't need to thank me, Keigs."

"But I should, you-"

You pushed your finger against his lips, a small smirk danced on your lips as you huffed.

"I don't wanna do anything you're not comfortable with. We don't have to do anything soon," With a small sigh, not of disappointment, you pressed your forehead against his. Fluttering your eyes closed as you kept speaking softly. "I kiss you just to kiss you, Keigo. If you don't wanna go too far, we don't have to. I'll be as patient as you need."

Your words hit a chord somewhere in Keigo. He always felt so pressured to do.. Well, anything. Hero work, the Commission, friends, enemies. He had so many things he had to do. But with you? He could go his pace for once. Not Hawks'. Not the man he presented to be, not the fastest hero in Japan. Just Keigo. He could go as slow as he needed, and you'd be there to support him.

"I love you," He whispered softly, his voice trembling just the smallest bit as he kept his emotions in check. Trying not to cry.

"I love you too, my darling."

"I love you," He repeated again. And again. And again. He kept whispering it as he kissed your neck softly, not a tease, not to lead up to something else. But because he could, because he wanted to.

"My gentle angel."

|| GUYS. GUYS. IM CHDBSIUBSIBVIDBLDVSAA i love keigo oml. i love how complex he is, he means sm to me OOOMMMLLLLLL :(( TO BE CLEAR!! im not anti-sex or smth, i js find it interesting to see the difference between hawks and keigo. i can make a whole essay on this

You and Hawks are both pro heroes and you approach him like:

You: “Did you hear that people have been shipping us?”

Hawks: “Really? That’s so weird.”

Hawks a week earlier, posting on a fake account: “HAS ANYONE EVER CONSIDERED HAWKS X Y/N?!”

i genuinely think one of the things that contributed to the rise of anti-intellectualism is when leftists started conflating characters in a book being sexist, racist etc. with the book itself, or the author, being sexist or racist or possessing any other type of prejudice that they wrote into the book. and then one step further, accusing anyone who reads such a book of having those opinions as well lol. toddler-level media criticism

you hook up with izuku drunkenly at someone’s birthday party and it’s not even that you regret it in the morning it’s just that your post nut clarity hits that you slept with the boy you’ve known since pre-k all because of a couple of drinks and when he wakes up you’re still freaking out and you make him pinky promise that this won’t mess with your friendship, “izuku do you hear me? we are NOT going to be that pair of sad best friends that fucks everything up just because of sex. sex is nothing. we’re never gonna do it again, so we’ll be fine right?” and the whole time he’s nodding along with wide, glassy eyes not listening to a goddamn thing you’re saying because he’s been in love with you since middle school, and last night you said you loved him, too. granted he was inside of you, and he said it first, but you said it back, and by that point it was well after one in the morning so the only thing you two were drunk on were each other. it’s probably why the very next day he is at your doorstep with a notebook in hand and a grin on his face that’s something right in between cocky and sweet when he says “i think we should sleep together again. and before you say no, i made a list about why 😁 number one: we’re really good at it. number two—”

"stop calling him babygirl, that is a grown man" TELL THE ARTISTS THAT, THEN

FIVE TIMES NANAMI WANTED TO PROPOSE BUT DIDN'T - NANAMI KENTO

✴︎ summary: nanami wanted to propose to you so many times - but it was never the right time, and then, there was no time left. ✴︎ contents: 18+ only, swearing, ANGST (major spoilers for jjk 120 (probably next week's episode, character death, exploration of grief, if you wish to avoid the major angst: stop reading after part 5), SMUT (fingering (f! receiving), oral (f! + m! receiving), panty sniffing, semi public sex, nipple play, creampie, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms), pet names (love, sweetheart), happy ending (sort of?) ✴︎ wc: 10,121 (i have a problem) ✴︎ song: the archer - taylor swift (blame laney for this)

ONE.

The first time Kento Nanami wanted to propose to you shouldn’t count. 

And it won’t because it was when he first met you — enrolled into Jujutsu Tech along with the other first years, he first laid his eyes on you at a welcome party that the soon to be menace to his sanity, Satoru Gojo, had organized. Well, he could thank Gojo for one thing it was introducing you to the room — because he may have had to find the words to ask you himself. And he didn’t know if that was possible with his tongue in knots. 

But he managed to talk to you — mostly with Haibara leading the conversation. You were reserved, at first, but he saw the spark in your eyes whenever you spoke about something you were passionate about — reading was one, one thing you both shared a love for. 

“Yeah hauling my books to Jujutsu Tech wasn’t an easy feat, I had to ask Geto-senpai to have some of his cursed spirits help me haul it up to my dorm,” 

“By the way, you still owe me lunch for that,” Geto smirks as he slips past, and the flush that settles on your cheeks is one Nanami wanted to see — again and again. 

“Aren’t the upperclassmen supposed to buy lunch?” You grumble, pouting as Gojo interjected himself, resting himself on your shoulder with his arm, making you jump. 

“Not here, here the kouhais earn their keep,” he grins, tilting his glasses down, “can you?” 

And Nanami opens his mouth to reply, irritation creeping over his senses, before you brush Gojo off, “I’ll buy you lunch, but next time, if that’s what it’s gonna cost me, I’m going to have you two haul my books by hand up those steps,” You stick out your tongue, before your arms curl around his and Haibara, “let’s have cake,” you smile at both of them, gaze lingering on Nanami, “and we can exchange book recommendations?” 

That was the moment he wanted to propose — could see himself living in a home with you, filled with both of your books lining the walls of a personal library, but your living room as well. He could see himself falling asleep beside you as you read to him, your fingers carding through his hair. 

But no, no, it was irrational, he chided himself, as he talked to you, his lips curled in a smile that had damned him from the moment he saw it. He just had met you — he had barely been ever moved by another person, much less fallen in love. And it shouldn’t happen this quickly — it only happened this quickly in books — not in real life. 

But you — he watched you and Haibara chat and laugh — you were someone that might just be the thing of books.  

~~~~ 

TWO.

The second time he wanted to propose, he didn’t care to remember. 

And he barely did. 

He remembers the facts of the mission. It was supposed to be simple — exorcise a grade 2 curse, simple enough for him and Haibara to handle by themselves. Not that they had a choice. Jujutsu Tech’s resources were already far too spread thin — Gojo himself being sent all over Japan and even overseas to handle things himself that no one should be able to. But their mission? It should have been simple — dangerous still, but simple. 

But nothing was simple when it came to curses. 

He remembers sensing the curse — the manifestation had frozen him and Haibara for a moment — their bodies taut with fear and adrenaline — but they couldn’t move. Even as the cursed spirit screeched before them, he couldn’t articulate what was happening — it was supposed to be a grade 2, it was supposed to be a grade 2, but no — this was a grade 1. 

And then it struck — Kento barely had enough time to react, but he did, pushing Haibara out of the way when it did. 

He didn’t remember much after that. 

He remembered the squelch of Haibara’s flesh, the blood seeping through his clothes, the way his body crumpled on the ground, and he remembered the next moment was the first time he landed a black flash — stunning the curse enough for him to grab Haibara and escape. 

But not enough to save him. 

Haibara had made him promise if anything had ever happened to him — he would make sure his sister wasn’t recruited to Jujutsu Tech. And he had to make the call to his family — he couldn’t bear the thought of some higher up taking advantage of their grief to manipulate another into their clutches. 

No, he couldn’t let that happen. 

And now he sat in the morgue with his body, towel covering his eyes — Geto had come and went — and now he sat waiting for the body to be examined and taken away to be burned. Burned to ash with nothing left — that was the way all sorcerers bodies were disposed of. It was if they never existed in the first place - pawns in a never ending war that would have them piled like corpses on a sacrificial pyre. 

What was the point? 

Haibara had always told him — if there was something only he could do, he would do it. And for him it was jujutsu — but wasn’t there something else? Something else for him to do that didn’t let him up like this? A body on a metal slab waiting to be incinerated. What was the point? 

Was there even a point? People lived and people died. He had lived and Haibara died, but he didn’t know why. Why or how do people live one day and disappear the next? He had seen death before but not of someone so close — someone so precious to him. And the chaos was too much for him. To be killed by another’s twisted feelings manifested into a monster — it was almost poetic if it wasn’t so fucking tragic. 

“Nanami?” And he pulls the towel from his eyes, and sees you — your eyes glassy and red tinged — tear streaks you didn’t hide well left on your face, “Nanami—“ and you don’t know what to do with yourself — as you come to him, hesitating, “can I—“ 

But he’s the one pulling you into his arms, nearly into his lap as his fingers dig into the fabric of your jacket, “I’m sorry — I’m so sorry I wasn’t there—“ your voice breaks, and it’s enough to break him — he hadn’t really cried, not around another person, but tears well at your words, as your fingers card through his hair. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for — I’m the one—“ and his voice breaks in turn, as the words stuck in his mind going round and round, until they were nearly had shattered his sanity and skull along with it, “I’m the one who couldn’t save him,” 

And you pull back to look at him with tear stained cheeks, “that’s not your fault, Nanami—“ 

“How is it not?” His words are laced with more venom that he wishes them to be, a little more bite than he wished to chew, and the hurt in your eyes was enough to make him regret speaking altogether, “I’m so—“ 

“No, it’s not your fault, Kento,” and his eyes find yours, your lips twisted in a frown, and your gaze unwavering, “I know a part of you knows that — knows that…Haibara’s death is nothing but a function of this shitty system we’ve been funneled into. Nothing more. Nothing less. And you know,” your voice grows softer, “you know Haibara wouldn’t want you blaming yourself for this. You know what he’d say?” You almost chuckle, “he’d tell you not to sweat it. To keep going. That you got it, right?” 

He gives a terse chuckle in return, shaking his head, as his head tilts into your chest again, “How do we—“ 

“I don’t know,” you murmur, you don’t need him to say more, “I don’t know how we do this without him, but we have to. We have to for him,” and your hand cups his face, tilting his chin up so he looks up at you, “together?”

And he wants to ask you then — ask you to marry him. He doesn’t know when he would get a chance. You were the only thing that made his life make sense — the only thing that made him feel okay, feel safe, for once. He was so tired of never feeling that way. And he had just lost the one other person who made him feel that way. 

He knew you wouldn’t say yes. You couldn’t. You were both so young still, still reeling from Haibara, still stuck in this system that could kill either of you at any time. But still…wasn’t that all the more reason to do it? 

But as you pulled him into another tight hug, he knew he wouldn’t last much longer in the Jujutsu world. He couldn’t — he couldn’t take another loss like this. He didn’t know if he could bear it. But as his tears wet your jacket, surrounded by you — your scent, your soft breath, your warm presence — he would try. 

He would try for you. And his eyes slid to Haibara’s body covered by a sheet — and for him. 

~~~

THREE.

“After graduation, I’m leaving,” it was a late night, a couple days before graduation that he told you. The soft pitter-patter of rain was the only thing heard from int the silence before he spoke. You laid on the foot of his bed, reading a book, while he sat cross legged at the head of it, his eyes fixed on you. 

Your gaze lifts from your book, brow furrowed in confusion, “Leaving?” 

“I can’t be a jujutsu sorcerer,” his words are as plain as always, “I can’t do it. I’m going to go to college and pursue some other line of study—“ 

And you sit up slowly, putting your book aside, and he expects protests, expects you to convince him otherwise, expects you to try and stop him, but all you ask is one question, “are you sure?” 

It catches him by surprise — as you always seemed to. He could anticipate enemy attacks, analyze their next moves five steps ahead, plan three routes of escape, and even predict what garbage will come out of Satoru Gojo’s obscene mouth, but you — you always could surprise him. 

“I am,” he finally answers softly, “this society is shit, you know that. And these past few years have shown me that the difference I make isn’t worth the toll it’s taking, especially when I’m not changing anything,” 

“Kento, you do make a difference,” your fingers find his, intertwining with ease, such ease he can’t help but think that’s what it was meant for, “you do — even if you can’t see it, I just want you to know, you do. For the people you help, even if you don’t see them, for the other sorcerers you inspire, and for me,” 

And he chuckles, “even you?” And you roll your eyes, pouting — the same pout that makes him want to lean over and kiss you until your lips are utterly ruined. 

“Even me,” you toss a pillow at him, and he catches it with ease, and you scowl playfully, “y’know i’m gonna miss you, but I’m not gonna miss that,” 

“What? My quick reflex—“ and you smack him with another pillow and giggle, the noise making his lips quirk into a smile even as you laughed at him, hands covering your lips. 

“What was that, Mr. Ratio? Your quick—“ and he’s tossing a pillow right back smacking you in the face, making his lips curl in a rare grin (though not so rare when he was with you—“ 

And you pull the pillow off, your face grim, “Oh, it’s so on—“ you’re tossing a pillow, but it’s only a diversion as you lunge for him, assumedly to mess up his hair, but he’s caught you by the wrist, his other hand around your waist as he’s gotten you pinned to the bed. 

Time stops. 

He’s breathing heavily, and you are too — from the rise and fall of your chest, but he can hardly hear anything over the blood rushing in his ears. Your lips part as you look up at him — you’re dressed in your sleep clothes, a thin tank top and shorts — and it would be so easy to lean down, let his palm slide under his shirt. He sees your eyes flicker down his body the same — climbing back up before pausing at his lips. 

It wasn’t a good idea. He was leaving. You both were graduating. Who knows when he would see you again — yet, he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. Not when this is what he wanted for so long, when he wanted you for so long. But maybe he should — maybe it would be easier, he couldn’t ask you to leave Jujutsu Tech. Just as you couldn’t ask him to stay. He knew you would stay to honor Haibara’s memory, to carry on his legacy — the one thing sorcerers could do for their fallen comrades. 

Sometimes the only thing. 

And sometimes it was the only thing they couldn’t do.  

“Kento—“ your voice pulls him from his reverie, as your fingers brush against his cheek, “are you going to hover over me forever, let me go, or…” and your teeth graze your lip, “are you going to kiss me?” 

And he’s blinking, cheeks most assuredly flushing, as your fingers graze the back of his neck, and his mouth is dry, as he looks down on you. 

But he doesn’t need to asked twice, as he leans even closer, delighting in how your breath catches, looming over him, “do you want me to kiss you?” And the telltale quirk of his lips makes you gape at him, drawing a laugh from him. 

“I hate you,” you murmur, as his lips finally brush yours, swallowing those playfully bitter words with them — and your lips are even softer than he imagined, your fingers settling themselves on the back of his neck, brushing the hair that rested there. 

And when he pulls away; his heart squeezes at the sight of your kiss ruined lips parted as you pant slightly, eyes fluttering open to look up at him as if to ask why did you stop? And he can’t help but smile. 

“It’s too bad because I love you—“ the words slip from his mouth — but he doesn’t regret it. How can he? When he might not get another chance. 

And he thinks his heart will stop at your silence again, the pitter-patter of raindrops ringing in his ears again, before your lips finally curl. 

“You love me, huh?” You’re leaning up and kissing him, lips finding his again and again — and how is it that he’s already addicted? You taste like honey, and sunshine, and something headier — sending heat warmer than liquor throughout his body that only made him crave more of you, and you finally pull away, and you’re smiling, “good thing I love you too,” 

And he can’t believe his ears, he can’t believe you love him too — all these years he thought it was one-sided, that he was deluding himself with all the times your fingers found his, your eyes met across a classroom with a smile, and the times he found himself falling asleep next to you all those nights neither of you wanted to be asleep, your arm curled around his.  

But you did. You loved him. And he loved you. 

And as your lips met again, he knew, he knew he still couldn’t ask you. Couldn’t ask you because he knew you maybe wouldn’t say no — and he couldn’t ask that of you. Not when it wasn’t what you wanted. Not when he knew you could do the good he couldn’t bring himself to do. And you would — because you were the best person he knows. 

He loves you. And therefore he had to let you go. 

But — as he lingered over you on his bed, his body hovering over his as he dragged his thumb over your red, puffy lips, before leaning down for another kiss — 

He didn’t have to let you go this second. 

~~~~

FOUR.

It’s years before he sees you again. 

It wasn’t purposeful. Not exactly anyway. 

It was just easier. Easier not to have to think of you still at the place he once was. Still fighting the same curses he would have been fighting with you. Still risking your life day in and day out. While he…he only had money to worry about. To think about. To obsess about. 

Money. Money. Money. Money. 

How was this somehow shittier than what the jujutsu world? He had considered going into a more humanitarian profession, but when his goal was to retire early, why waste time? If he wanted to help people…he glances at his phone — the one vice he allowed himself,  a picture of you that you had sent him when you got promoted to Grade 1 saved as his screensaver — he could have stayed by your side. 

No, he wanted to retire. Find himself a nice place to retire to — he hadn’t decided the exact location yet. Somewhere peaceful. With nothing but beaches and sky and sand and books for him to read, to reclaim his life page by page. But to get there — he had to slop through this shit work — making the rich richer. 

The same in the jujutsu world, and the same here as well. 

And it was one day after he had exorcised a curse from his favorite bakery’s worker, he had felt anything good — anything remotely good — in far too long. Your words rang in his ears — you make a difference. 

Was he making a difference by lining the pockets of the rich? Maybe his sorcery wouldn’t change  the world, move minds or hearts, pivot the course of history — but maybe he could have his own impact. And not feel like complete shit when he woke up every morning. 

And he wouldn’t — he knew he wouldn’t — if he could just see you smile again. Even if he could just see you again. He pulls out his phone, staring at your picture. And maybe…maybe even more. 

“Hello, Gojo? I’d like to return to Jujutsu Tech,” and he hears laughter on the other end, “why are you laughing?” 

“Kento?” You drop the pen you’re holding, as he steps into your office. And your lips are parted in surprise, your eyes fixed on his, “what are you—“ 

“I’m coming back, to Jujutsu Tech, I’m going to be a sorcerer again,” and he knows what you’ll ask, he knows you’re going to ask why — you’re going to ask him if he’s sure. And he doesn’t know how to tell you except by saying it’s because of you. 

But you don’t say anything, your chair screeches back as you get up, clattering backwards and suddenly as you’re running into his arms. Your face is buried in his chest, and he can feel the tears against his shirt, and his arms curl around you, fingers running through your hair, “I missed you so much,” you murmur, and then you look up at him, fingers tracing his cheeks, gingerly moving his glasses away, “you look tired,” 

“I am, but I’m better now,” he’s murmuring — and how is it that you send him right back to where he started, right back to where you always send him. It doesn’t even take a touch — only a glance, a whiff, a second — “I missed you too,” he adds, “a lot,” 

And you push him playfully, pouting up at him, “Could have fooled me. You barely ever called or texted me all these years. You talked more to Gojo than you did me,” 

“That’s only because that flippant idiot won’t stop calling until I pick up,” he grumbles — Gojo was the last thing he wanted to talk about in his moment — his fingers caress your cheek, tracing the line of your cheekbone, “I wanted to talk to you — I did, I just, I knew if I talked to you, I might say something I’d regret,” 

“And what would you regret saying to me?” You raise an eyebrow, and his eyes are sliding away from him. 

Asking you to come see him, asking you to leave Jujutsu Tech for him, asking you to be with him — every question that he wanted to ask, but never could. 

“It’s not important—” and your hand cups his cheek guiding his eyes back to yours, and he knew you weren’t going to let this go, “If I talked to you, I knew it would end one of three ways — one, I’d ask you to leave Jujutsu Tech; two, I’d come back to Jujutsu Tech; or three, you’d ask me one of these yourself — but I knew I couldn’t do that,” 

And your brows knit together, “Why not?” 

“Because it had to be our own decision — I couldn’t leave and you couldn’t leave, just because the other asked,” he murmurs, his gaze softening, “it wouldn’t be fair to either of us — or the other — to feel like the only reason we’re together was because of guilt or want for the other, not for ourselves,” 

You consider his words for a moment, “I would have left if you asked me,” 

“I know, and I would have come back if you had,” 

“But we didn’t,” and your fingers cup his face, “you remember what I said to you that night that we kissed?” 

And he swallows the lump in his throat, his heart rattling against his chest, “You said, you didn’t want to go further because it would only hurt more when we had to go our separate ways,” and your hand slides up his chest slowly, the other already resting against his neck, and his find their way to you — one hand holding your waist and the other cupping your cheek, “but we’re not separate anymore, are we?”  

“I hope the wait was worth it,” you smile, as both close the gap, lips meeting again and again — and you taste the same, but even better somehow — and he’s only pulling you closer, lips curled in a smile so wide that he hadn’t felt in so long, so long.

“Always, when it's you,” he murmurs against your lips, before his lips begin to trail kisses down your jaw and then your neck, his teeth brushing against your pulse, pulling a gasp from your lips, “good girl,” And he feels your knees buckle against his and he’s walking you backwards into the edge of your desk, “is anyone left on campus?” and you’re shaking your head, your eyes flitting to the door, as he makes you sit on your desk, thighs parted for him to settle between. 

“The door—” 

“Locked,” he replies, drawing back only a moment to take in the image before him — your lips red and ruined, chest rising and falling as you look disheveled at best, sexed at worst, and your eyes — your eyes swirled with lust, half lidded and desperate for his touch— “didn’t want any interruptions,” 

Just as he was. 

His fingers draw up a strand of your hair and kisses it, and your lips part, “Kento, please—” 

“Please, what, my love?” his voice is low and teasing, as his fingers peel back your jacket, pulling it off your shoulders, “you’re going to have to be more specific,” his lips find your neck, soft, wet kisses that has your body leaning into his, “I’m not a mind reader,” 

“But you are a tease,” you pout, and he only smiles, leaning down to do the thing he always wanted to — he kisses the pout off your lips, moaning lightly when your lips part for his tongue, his hands dragging down your sides, as your fingers loosen his tie, “I think you will be doing overtime with me today, Nanami-Sensei,” 

And he grunts, as your fingers free him of his tie, joining your jacket on the floor, “I’m not going to be a teacher, just a sorcerer,” his teeth graze right under your chin, nibbling, “so you’re the only sensei here — are you going to teach me what you’ve learned the last few years?” 

And you toy with the top button of his blue button-up, “Oh, I’ll teach you, Kento,” and you’re starting to undo his buttons, as he busies himself undoing yours, “the question is whether you can handle it,” 

“Beautiful,” he murmurs in reverence, and his fingers finally undo the buttons, sliding your shirt off your shoulders, eyes raking over your chest — sharp blue gaze lingering on the erect nipples poking through the fabric for your bra, “You’ve always been the one thing I can’t handle,” his mouth leans down, closing around one clothed nipple, while he teased the other with his fingers, and he delights in your gasp, the noise sending heat right down to his already aching cock, “but I’m willing to try, my love,” 

“You still love me?” You murmur, as he shrugs off his own shirt, perfect abs teasing into a v-line, all this muscle hidden under his business attire — and you knew he still must work out, and he did. He did in case he ever needed to come back — come back for you. 

“Who says I ever stopped?” His nose buried in the nape of your neck now, as his fingers teasingly snap the strap of your bra, “you smell so good, so perfect,” and his fingers undo your bra and it joins the pile of clothes growing on the floor, “there wasn’t a day I didn’t think about you — a night that i didn’t dream of you, that I didn’t want you,” 

“Kento—“ you whimper, as he tugs at your skirt, a quick glance for your nod, and he slides it down your legs, bunching at your ankles until you kick it off. Your cheeks burn as he’s kissing your way down your body, his mouth teasing the other nipple he had neglected, trailing hot kisses down your stomach, until he reaches the fabric of your panties, “I need—“ 

“Been wanting to taste this for so long,” and he’s kneeling between your parted thighs, still calloused fingers parting your plush flesh, tongue flicking over his dry lips at the sight of the dark wet patch at the crotch of your underwear. And you look down at him, eyes glazed over with unadulterated lust that is almost enough to have him cumming in his pants, “so sweet,” he’s murmuring as he noses your clothes cunt, and you jerk, as he pulls the crotch aside, “wonder if you taste as sweet as you smell,” 

“Kento—“ and his tongue drags over the length of your dripping cunt, nose bumping against your clit, as your thighs curl around him, pulling him closer, closer — “fuck—“ 

“Such a filthy mouth,” he tuts, smiling against your cunt as his tongue teases your folds, “almost as filthy as you are down here,” and his finger begins to part your walls, making your thighs shake and quake, his lips close around your clit, sucking. 

You’re a mess of moans and pants, hips grinding against his touch, as one hand tries to muffle your moans, the other is curled in his blonde locks, “taste even better than I imagined — just f’me, only for me,” You’re so close, as he parts your folds with another finger, sinking knuckle deep, as his fingers brush against that one spot that has you parting your lips in a silent moan, head thrown back — and the heat deep in your stomach is going to snap. 

KNOCK KNOCK. 

You both freeze, your cunt jerking around his fingers, as you bite your lip — maybe if you’re silent, they’ll go away— but Kento clicks his tongue, a smile on his glossy  cum covered lips, mouthing, “Speak,” and you gape at him, chest still heaving, as you shake your head, before he’s curling his fingers just right. 

Fucker. 

You hear Gojo’s voice, calling your name, “You in there?” 

You swallow thickly, meeting Kento’s gaze — he’s not backing down, “Yeah, sorry I’m in the middle of something — do you need something?” 

“I was just wondering if you heard from a certain salaryman, or should I say, ex-salaryman?” the very one that was burying his face back in your still sensitive pussy, slurping and licking, despite Gojo being right outside. 

You have to bite back your moans, swallowing them as you speak, “You mean Nana—ah—mi?” And you feel the very same sorcerer smirk against your abused cunt, a third finger finding its way inside you, “ha-haven’t heard from him, and what do mean ‘ex?’” 

You do your best at acting, but it’s hard when his mouth closes around your clit, sucking hard, as your fingers curl in his hair, biting your lip so hard, as he fucks your pussy in earnest with his fingers — how can Gojo not hear the nasty squelch of your cunt? 

“He left his job. He’s coming back to Jujutsu Tech,” and he takes a beat, “I’ll take my leave,” and he chuckles, “have fun you two, and Nanami?” You feel your face flush, “don’t be too rough with her — we need our best teacher available to teach tomorrow,” 

You hear his laugh all the way down the hall, and you’re covering your face — those fucking six eyes — but Kento’s tugging your hands away, “Pay attention to the one who’s filling you, love,” and he’s burying his face in your cunt, fucking you even harder — hitting that spot over and over, until you cum, back arching, as he’s pulling his fingers out to lap up the slick dripping from you, “delicious,” he murmurs, kissing your still sensitive clit, before he’s looking up at you — all fucked out, your chest rising and falling with every pant, your lips kiss ruined red — “and so beautiful,” 

His licks his lips clean of your cum, wiping the rest with the back of his hand, as he rises to your feet, “Kento, please,” you’re murmuring, his hands slide over your body, squeezing your hips, “I need you,” 

“What do you need—“ and his words are cut off by your fingers reaching for his buckle, the clink of the metal as you undid it, along with the button, tugging his pants and boxers down.

He hisses as his too sensitive dick slaps his stomach, your lips parting, eyes in a trance, “So pretty, Kento,” your fingers traces one of his veins to his already leaking tip, “and so fucking big,” you murmur, teasing the bead of precum on his slit, making him groan, “can’t wait to have this inside me — been waiting ten years,” 

And he’s sliding your hand away, pressing his hips flush to yours, as your legs wrap around his waist, “That long huh?” And his lips find yours again, letting you taste yourself, “and I thought I was the only one pining,” 

“So you admit you were pining for me?” And he laughs, as you smile up at him — like all the times he had hoped you would — “I had a crush from almost the moment I met you,” 

“You could have fooled me,” he presses kisses up and down your jaw, drawing a moan from both of you as he teases your puffy clit with his aching tip, “I thought you had a crush on Geto,” and you scoff. 

“Geto? So you were jealous of him — that’s why you always had that sour look whenever I studied with him,” you grin even wider, “well you had nothing to worry about - I had a crush on very gloomy boy and no one else ever caught my eye,” 

And he softly smiles, and it seems to ebb away the years — the trauma and the tiredness — and left only him, your Kento. 

“Is that right?” He asks before kissing you again, his fingers finding the back of your neck to deepen the kiss, as you moaned, muffled by his mouth, “I want—“ 

“I know, me too, please — don’t keep me waiting any longer,” and how could he refuse a request like that? 

He’s sinking into you, thick cock parting your dripping folds until he hilts himself fully in you, his fingers digging your hips — and you’re so full, too full. And you’re perfect — perfect walls wrapped around him, so warm and so tight — it’s enough for him to neatly blow his load then and there. 

But he can’t, can’t when he’s waited this long to do this. You’re whimpering, “S’good, Kento, too good,” your walls flutter around him as his hips shift lightly, “please, please move—“ his hands find your legs, lifting them higher to find a better angle, fingers digging into your soft thighs. 

And his hips slowly thrust into you, edging you with his shallow thrusts, and you’re whining, “Kento—“ 

“Look at the mess you’re making all over your desk,” he’s guiding your gaze with two fingers on your chin, making you watch where his cock is sunk into you, “taking me so well, practically swallowing me, good fuckin’ girl,” he grunts, “want it harder? Want me to fuck you?”

Your desk is already creaking under your weights and the movements, you’re nodding wordlessly, lips parted, “Kento, please, I need—“ and you watched his cock pull out only to slam back in. Your head falls back, moaning his name again and again. 

The squelch of your cunt rang in his ears over and over, as he grunts, barely keeping himself from cumming, especially when you begin to roll your hips into him, “You’re so pretty, and all mine — just mine,” and his lips find yours again, just as your walls flutter at his words, “like that? Like it when I claim you, love with my cock fucking you?” And his vulgar words only makes you tighter, and he grunts, “‘m close, sweetheart,” 

“Me too—g’nna cum—“ and his dick reaches that spot right as his thumb bears down on your clit, teasing it in circles, until you’re moaning his name as you cum. Your walls clamp down, soaking his cock, a white ring of cum around his base as he fucks you through your orgasm. 

His eyes meet yours as you do, watching your high overcome you, twitching and moaning — and he doesn’t last much longer. His hips stutter against you in shallow thrusts until he’s notching himself deep inside, groaning as he cums, hot seed painting your walls white. 

“So perfect,” he murmurs, as he kisses your sweat slicked forehead, “so good,” and he’s grunting as he pulls out, watching your mixed releases trickle out, leaking all over your desk and onto the floor. He drags his cock over your weeping cunt, watching it flutter around nothing. 

“Kento,” you murmur, gazing up at him, utterly blissed out as your lips curl, your legs slipping off his waist as he settles down on your desk, “I love you,” 

And his heart squeezes — is he dreaming? He must be dreaming — because nothing in his life has ever been so good. So wonderful. So perfect. It didn’t happen for him — it never happened for him. 

“I love you too,” he murmurs reverently, his fingers trailing over your jaw, “so much — you don’t know how much, darling,” 

“Think you can quantify it for me, Mr. Salaryman?” And he snorts, burying his face in the crook of your neck. 

“Don’t call me that,” he kisses your neck — you smelled so good, were you real? 

“Then what should I call you?” 

And he wanted to ask you then — ask you to call him your husband, to marry you, to buy that ring he had looked at from time to time when he thought about marrying you. But you just found your way back to each other — hell, he had just slept with you in your office, not even a bed. It was too soon, but — his lips curled — he was closer than he had ever been before. And he wouldn’t wait, he wouldn’t hesitate, not when it was you. He wouldn’t let you slip through his fingers. 

He smiles, “Just call me yours.” 

~~~~ 

FIVE.

Today was the day. 

He was finally going to ask. That’s what he thought when he looked at you, still in bed, bathed in the dappled sunlight let in by his parted curtains. You were still fast asleep beside him, body curled up so your body was pressed against him. He ran his fingers through your hair gently not to wake you, “I love you,” he murmurs, as opens his bedside drawer, pulling a ring box and notecard from it — and he stares at it. 

He’d ask you. He would ask you to marry him — finally take you on that vacation to Malaysia you both had talked about for too long, read all the books you both had put off, and lounge on the beach — and do much more in your hotel room. And then maybe, maybe he could ask you to retire from jujutsu. 

He had always promised himself, promised that he wouldn’t be a sorcerer when he got married. He couldn’t bear the thought of leaving a family behind to mourn him — but even more than that, he couldn’t bear the thought to lose you, to call you his wife, call you his soulmate — and have you fall away from him. 

He would rather be the one to die. 

But this way — he rises, grabbing his clothes for the day, and slipping the ring and the note into his coat pocket — neither of you would have to worry about losing the other. At least to a curse. 

“Where are we going?” You giggle as he drags you along the street, packed with people, more than usual. He keeps you close, an arm wrapped around you, especially for a Wednesday evening. What date was it? He had seemingly lost track of everything he had planned. 

“It’s Halloween,” you remind him without him asking the question, “explains all costumed people and the packed streets — we should definitely avoid Shibuya — the crowds there would be insane,” 

“How’d you know—“ and you tap his forehead with a smile. 

“I could see your gears grinding, Kento,” you smile, resting your head against his shoulder, “and it’s just like you to forget it’s Halloween,” 

“Is it?” he chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “well good thing I have you to remind me,”

“Very good thing, and I have you to remind me about everything else,” and he nods, and you elbow him, “you don’t have to remind me of that much!”

“You were leaving the house yesterday and you forgot your wallet, keys, and purse — you almost forgot to put on shoes—“ and you’re covering his mouth his your hand. 

“How about you remind me about where we’re going?” And he smiles against your hand, before kissing it gently, pulling it from his lips and kissing the back of your hand as well, making you flush. 

“Why ruin the surprise—” and then both of your phones ring — the two of you share a dark look, glancing at your phones and seeing the same message — Emergency: veil has fallen over certain areas of Shibuya. All available sorcerers report. 

“I guess we are going to Shibuya,” you sigh, running your fingers through your hair, “we should—” 

“We should stop by the apartment — we both left all our equipment there and I need to change,” and you nod, as his fingers toy with the ring box in his pocket, a sigh stuck in his throat. When will he ever get the chance to do this right? Finally, he had worked up the nerve and this—this had to happen. 

“Hey,” you cup his cheek, a soft smile on your face, “I’m sorry our plans are falling through, and just when I was going to make you give up this secret surprise,” 

His lips curl, as his arm pulls you even closer,  “I don’t recall agreeing to give up any secrets,” and you lean up and kiss him, soft and sweet quickly turning heady — neither of you were ones for public displays — but for some reason, it just felt right. And you part, breath warming his lips with a wide grin. 

“Oh, you would have,” and he laughs, squeezing your hips, as he rests his forehead against yours, “We’ll pick this up right after we deal with this problem.” 

He nodded, leaning down to kiss you again and again, his fingers still toying with the box in his pocket. And he wanted to ask right then, just drop to his knee in the middle of this packed street full of costumed weirdos and freaks, mission be damned, jujutsu be damned — but he didn’t want to do it like this. 

He wanted it to be a time where both of you were safe, where you could celebrate without the fear of danger beating down your necks, where he could talk to you, hold you, kiss you — without fear it would be the last. Because he always wondered when it would be the last. But it wouldn’t be — he’d do anything to make it back, to finally take that step with you, the one he’d been waiting for over ten years to take. Take that vacation you both wanted with his ring on your finger, and retirement from Jujutsu around the corner. 

And he squeezes your hand, “Promise?” and you lean into him, pulling him along the street back to your shared apartment. 

“Promise.” 

~~~ 

He wouldn’t be able to keep his promise. 

That’s what kept repeating in his mind with every step he took. He couldn’t really feel much — not anymore. That special grade curse had burned him — burned half of his body to a crisp, he could barely smell the burning flesh anymore. All he could do was keep moving. Moving. Moving. Moving. 

But he didn’t want to move anymore — he was tired. So tired. He couldn’t feel much, but he could feel the weight of having to keep going, even if he didn’t want to. 

And now, he stands before a swarm of…curses? Transfigured humans? He didn’t know — he could barely see at this point out of his one remaining eye — he could barely keep it open, still drooping even as the monsters loomed before him. 

“Malaysia…Yeah, Malaysia…Kuantan would have been nice,” the recommendation he had gotten from Mei Mei when trying to decide on a vacation for you and him to take — who better to ask than the woman with all the time and money in the world, a little brother who’d take her anywhere she wished. You both had settled on Malaysia, still panning out the details of when, but he had planned to surprise you with open ended tickets for the both of you — paid extra for them, in case something came up. 

He almost chuckles. Something always came up. 

Maybe if you both had liked it enough, he’d have a private home built for the two of you — with the little library nook you always dreamed of having, finally getting around to reading the countless books you both had bought and never read, go through page by page and take back the time you both have lost. 

But right now each step felt like an eternity as he walked. 

Where was he going again? Oh yes, to help Fushiguro. And what about Naobito and Maki? What had happened to them? There wasn’t much he could do about that. 

Tired. He was so tired. I’ve done enough, haven’t I? 

Hadn’t he done enough? He thought he had done enough when he left — left it all behind like a nightmare he didn’t care to revisit. Left the loss, the pain, the anger — the curses really — all behind him, in exchange for another set — greed, money, power. What was really the best option? Had he made the right choice? 

But then he thought about you. 

Your smiles, your touch, your kisses, your laughs — all the times he spent with you — slow mornings spent reading the paper together over coffee and toast from the bakery you always went out of your way to buy his favorites from; lazy evenings spent watching movies or reading, your legs intertwined as you did, his arm around your shoulders, until you plucked the book from his fingers made it so you were only thing his eyes were on; and sleepless but perfect nights spent in each other’s arms. The many times he wanted to ask you — the one question he never got to ask you still burned on the tip of his tongue like a curse unspoken, and he knew if he spoke it now, it would be one. 

And so he did what he did best, he dispatched the curses, quick and easy. And his lips curled despite himself — at the thought of you. He could almost feel your lips on his still from earlier, the sweet scent of you instead of the smell of blood or burning flesh, he could almost see you too. 

A hand rested on his chest, stopping him in his tracks. 

Mahito stared back at him. 

Oh. Oh. 

It was over. 

I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry I can’t keep my promise. I’m sorry I can’t propose. I’m sorry I can’t marry you. I’m sorry I can’t have the life we wanted. I’m sorry I came back only to leave you with the worst curse of them all. 

“I didn’t know you were here,” Nanami says, staring back at the curse — and it reminds of that time — that time Mahito had him in his domain, he truly had resigned himself to death. Resigned himself to die — and then Itadori had come crashing in, crashing in as he did his life, saving him. Saving him by not only by his very existence as Sukuna’s vessel, but by just his sheer strength. 

That kid had really grown on him — he didn’t want him to. Not when he had the same positivity, the same smile, the same kindness…as Haibara. It was illogical. He wasn’t Haibara — he was Sukuna’s vessel, and he wouldn’t acknowledge him, he wouldn’t until he proved himself. But he’d protect him, and he would do what he could. Because being a child isn’t a sin — but perhaps, being a jujutsu sorcerer is one. 

“Yup. The whole time,” Mahito replies, lips upturned in a slight smile, “Wanna chat? We go way back, after all,” 

Nanami’s eyes shift to the floor, the muddied and bloodied tiles underneath his feet — he didn’t care to divulge his deepest feelings to a curse. There were only two people he could talk to about this — and one of them, he supposed, was now closer to his being than the other. 

Haibara, what the hell was I trying to do? He asks in his mind, not even daring to say the words aloud, I ran. Even though I ran away, I came back with the vague reason of finding the work worthwhile. 

And then he sees him. Haibara appears in front of him, patented smile on his lips, as he points south — points right at— 

“Itadori,” Mahito says, his eyes narrowing. 

“Nanamin!” his eyes wide as he takes in his state — oh, he had hoped no one would see him like this, much less Yuji. He had already been through so much, so young — hell, he had already died once. He didn’t deserve to see this. He didn’t deserve to grow up like this — to have his youth ripped away. But, did any of them deserve it? 

It was a marathon, a marathon that they found themselves in that headed only towards a pile of corpses — but each time, they had to pass the baton before they stopped. 

Could he finally stop? 

He had dropped his baton so long ago, dropped and left the track, but he knew it would be picked up by another and another and another — but it was his baton, his baton that Haibara had handed him before he died in his arms. 

No, Haibara. That’s not right. I can’t say that to him. It’ll just end up becoming a curse for him. 

But it’s a curse every jujutsu sorcerer had to bear — made to bear until there were either no curses or no sorcerers left. 

But he couldn’t regret it now. 

“Itadori,” his lips curl, smiling for the last time, “you’ve got it from here.” 

He couldn’t keep his promise to you — but he kept his one to Haibara. 

And you’d pay the price. 

~~~

This wasn’t real. Was it? 

You stood outside your shared apartment with Kento. Finally a stop to the fighting for a month for everyone to train — enough time for you to retrieve some cursed weapons you had left behind — not knowing the fight would drag on for this long. You had considering sending someone — maybe not Ijichi but someone else to retrieve them, but right now, you couldn’t bear the thought of someone else rifling through Kento’s things. Moving the things that he had placed just so — the last remnants of his life, the marks he left that proved he was there, that he lived — that he had lived. 

Lived. Past tense. And now you were still living — living in a world without him. 

You inserted your key and turned the lock, opening the door. And it did, just like it had every day. Each day you’d open it — sometimes before Kento, other days after — but each time, there was always a meal Kento had prepped or bought waiting for you. 

And this was the first time that there wasn’t. 

Not only a meal — there was no one waiting for you. Not here. 

You closed the door behind you — no longer a home, just an apartment. You needed to remember the things you needed, your mind was nowhere to be found, and fled the country when you had heard the news. You didn’t cry. Not at first. 

Yuji was the one to tell you. He shouldn’t have been the one to see it. You knew it haunted his dreams, you knew he blamed himself, you knew — because Kento had done the same. So you hugged him, let him cry silently into your shirt, comforted him the best you could — because you knew that’s what Kento would have wanted. 

He loved Yuji — he loved Ino too, and the other students all held a special place for him, but Yuji — Yuji was a special case. You knew that from the moment he had spoken about him. 

“Gojo wants me to mentor Sukuna’s vessel,” he told you one night in bed, having returned from a mission and having a drink with Gojo — not a real drink, Kento had clarified, since it had no alcohol in it — but a drink nonetheless. 

“He has a name, Kento. Itadori. He’s sweet,” you smile, you had met him and all the other first years from teaching, “he’s a good kid — very new to all of this, but he has a good heart and some good skills under his belt.” 

“A vessel for the ticking time bomb has a good heart? Glad to hear it,” he sighs, running his hands through his hair, “I don’t know — he was a normal kid two minutes ago, and now he’s running around with Gojo feeding him Sukuna’s fingers every second,” he leans back against the headrest, “what am I supposed to make of this? I’m not even a teacher,” 

“And what have you been doing with Ino?” you raise an eyebrow, “that kid is constantly after you, dogging your every step — he looks up to you. “And I know a lot of the other students do too, the ones that know you,” 

“It’s—” 

“You should do this. It would be good for you,” and he’s hesitating, “Yuji needs a sorcerer to guide him — teach him the basics that Gojo has neglected to do, and show him how a proper jujutsu sorcerer who isn’t…a special case like Gojo, operates.” 

Kento’s lips curl, “You know you can call him a moron,” 

“Why call him that when I have you to call him that for me?” you snort, “now what do you say?” 

And he eventually agreed — and it was the best decision for him. It gave him more purpose, more drive — he seemed even more fulfilled — the most you had seen him professionally fulfilled in quite some time. 

“You got it from here.” 

His last words to Yuji. You almost have to scoff at the poeticness of it all — the same words Haibara had told him. The ones he hadn’t told you for nearly a decade, until one night he had told you what he said. 

“And why didn’t you leave any words for me, Kento?” you ask the empty apartment before you, “for so long, we didn’t have each other — we couldn’t. And we finally find our way back, we finally do all the things we said we would — you’re gone, again,” your voice breaks, “I wish, I wish you were here. I wish I could see you. I wish—” and you break off. 

There’s no point for wishing for things that can’t happen. You had things to do, and little time to waste. You needed to get stronger too. You needed to be useful. You needed to fight. You couldn’t tarnish Kento’s memory, or — you look at a picture that you had taken of him and Yuji a few days before outside a convenience store you had stopped by after a mission — his legacy. 

You searched for the things you needed, placing them in cloth bags and then paper bags for easy and inconspicuous transport, but you needed to label them. You searched your apartment for a pen — but apparently you had misplaced every single one that you had — where the hell were all the pens? A question you’d usually ask Kento and he’d produce one from thin air. No matter what you lost or what you needed — he had it. 

He always had it. 

If he did always have what you needed, then maybe…you walk into the bedroom, over to his nightstand — he often kept a notebook for thoughts and notes in his bedside table so maybe—-

And there it was — a pen, but it wasn’t the pen that made you pause — it was the two things beside it. 

A notecard and a ring box. 

A ring box. 

Your hands shake, and you almost want to close the drawer. Forget you say anything. Continue with the work you’re doing. It would hurt less. 

But you can’t. You can’t. 

You reach for the notecard first, fingers shaking as you gingerly pick it up — and you can tell this wasn’t the first he had written on. You could see the indentations from his pen, this card underneath the others as he had wrote. But his handwriting was neat, yet messy at the same time — his patented half print, half cursive scrawl that he hadn’t left. 

Your legs buckle and you sit down on the edge of the bed — the side he used to sleep on, his arm wrapped around your waist, face buried in your back, his lips brushing against your skin when he finally stirred. And now it was empty. 

My love, you don’t know how long I’ve wanted to ask you this. I’ve thought of ways to ask for years — I had to write it down just so I didn’t mince my words or ramble — you know I’m not one to drag out conversations. I love you. I’ve always loved you from the moment I met you — I know you’d tease me for pining for you, but I did pine for you and I’ve pined for you every second we’re apart. The other times I’ve wanted to ask you, the timing never worked out. But we have the time now, don’t we? Will you do me the honor of being your husband? I’ll spend every second making you happy, because that’s what you deserve, sweetheart. Only the best. 

And your tears splatter against the corner of the card, before you put it down, as you let your sobs overcome you, screams you didn’t know you were capable of making— you didn’t even realize it was you, until your throat began to ache. 

Why? Why? Why? 

It wasn’t real, this wasn’t happening. 

And your fingers reach for the ring box now, opening it only to feel more tears well — it was the ring you had showed him. One you had showed him one late night when it had showed up somewhere or another — you hadn’t even thought about the ring again. Until now. 

You can’t bear to touch it. You can’t. Not when he wasn’t there to pull it from its box and slip it onto your finger. And he never would be. Not until you saw him again — one way or another. 

You snap the box closed, tears slipping down your cheeks as you placed the box and card back into the drawer — noticing something else underneath — a printout? And you pull the papers out, scanning it. 

You almost sob. A trip to Kuantan, Malaysia. The trip you two had talked about for months, but never had gone on. The trip was more for Kento than it was for you — and it was for you, in a way, because what you wanted the most was to just be with him. Time was all you wished for with him — all you wanted — but you knew you could have spent every moment with him for the last ten years and it wouldn’t have been enough. 

It would never have been enough. 

“I miss you,” you speak to the ghosts that fill your mind and haunt your dreams — Kento and Yu, “I hope you’re at peace. I hope you’re lying on a beach somewhere, reading the books you wanted to read, drinking an expensive drink, and eating the bread you love — I promise, I’ll find my way to you, someday,” 

And you place the things back in the drawer, and shut it. 

For now, you had other things to do. Other people to protect, other curses to exorcise. But — you stare at the picture of the two of you on your nightstand — his love was the one curse you could never give up. 

~~

Many months later. 

You take that vacation he wanted. Packing the books he always wanted to read. Pocketing the ring he wanted to propose to you with. You’d pack a few shirts of his to wear on the beach, and maybe he would be lying beside you in spirit. You would find that beach he wanted to take you to — the one he had written down and had looked up several times while booking your trip. 

You kept the seat beside you on the plane empty but you ordered a glass of wine and a sandwich for him regardless. You know you would have ended up ordering because he likely would have fallen asleep — old man he always was. And if you didn’t know better, you’d think he was sitting in the seat beside you. 

He wasn’t dead. Not really, you think as you sit in the beach in one of his deep blue button ups thrown over your swimsuit, reading one of his books page by page, taking back the time that was stolen from him with your own — minutes and hours and days you’d wish you could take off your own and give to him. 

He was alive, he was alive as long as you were, as long as the people who he was important to were alive. And he was alive — alive in your head and your heart and your very soul. 

You read his proposal aloud as the sun sets, tears slipping down your face as you slip his ring onto your finger. And there it would stay. 

Stayed all the seconds, minutes, hours, days, and years you lived -- lived in the house you built in Malaysia when all was said and done for you in the jujutsu world, just as Kento had wanted. Stayed until you finally saw him again. Saw him standing beside Haibara, softly smiling behind him, as your eyes fluttered open as he greeted you. Lips curled in that same smile that damned you from the moment you saw it. 

“Don’t keep me waiting, love,” he smiles, the same words you had said to him, “we’ve both waited long enough, haven’t we?” 

But neither of you had to wait anymore — as you run into his arms, warm and made of flesh and blood and real, so real — you had forever now. 

✴︎ a/n: first, i'm so sorry lol. i don't know how the spirit of gege possessed me but i decided to inflict some pain. i have to thank @laneysmusings for proofing this for me and having to endure this pain. I also want to credit @/tempenensis for their post on haibara / jjk 120 that helped inspire/inform the third to last scene (but they don't like self-insert so i am not gonna tag them, but you should check out their tumblr!

✴︎ taglist: @your-local-simplol, @renawithane, @grooveandshit, @aemondseyesocket, @nitskilanara, @yunchans, @ackermanbby, @luminouslateralup, @multi-fandom3, @idktbhloley, @minteaful, @malleusmybelovedd, @lighttism, @lemonpoppy-seed, @nitskilanara, @wshwshi, @rreborn, @reyy-chanx, @kiradoki, @uroldall, @madam-milf, @elusivemoon

A Not-So-Disastrous Romance

Saiki Kusuo x Non-Binary! Reader

Book 1

Follows the events of Season One

Prologue: Troublesome "Friends"

Chapter One: Girl Problems and Beach Woes

Chapter Two: Ghosts and Guardians

Chapter Three: Sports Festival

Chapter Four: Safety Drills and Clairvoyants

Chapter Five: Ramen Shops

Chapter Six: Christmas Eve

Chapter Seven: New Year's Day

Chapter Eight: Valentine’s Day Chaos and Movie Night Misunderstandings

Chapter Nine: Mothers and Meetups

Chapter Ten: Traveling to Okinawa

Chapter Eleven: Accidents and Reveals

Chapter Twelve: Insecurities and Sweets

Chapter Thirteen: Punk Transfer

Chapter Fourteen: Festival Display

Chapter Fifteen: Festival Problems

Chapter Sixteen: Taking Teruhashi Out (on a Not-Date)

Chapter Seventeen: Delinquent Run-In and Teruhashi’s Home-Visit

Chapter Eighteen: Karaoke Party

Chapter Nineteen: Toritsuka’s Possessions and Club

Chapter Twenty: Crepes and Breaks

Chapter Twenty-One: Adventures in London

Chapter Twenty-Two: Summer Break Days

Chapter Twenty-Three: Rich Transfer Trouble

Chapter Twenty-Four: Celebrations

Book 2:

Follows the Events of Season Two

Prologue: Relationships

Chapter One: Cafes and Clothes

Chapter Two: Saiko's Mansion

Chapter Three: Cold Days and Warm Hearts

Chapter Four: Cute Girls and Ghost Girls

Chapter Five: Competition and Curses

Chapter Six: Seasick

Chapter Seven: Stranded

Chapter Eight: Raft

Chapter Nine: Misinformation and Memories

Chapter Ten: Fortune-Telling Transfer

Chapter Eleven: Mark of Death

Chapter Twelve: Family

Chapter Thirteen: Festival Competition

Chapter Fourteen: Elderly Project

Chapter Fifteen: Dates and Judo

Chapter Sixteen: Teruhashi's Tears and Rifuta's Crush

Chapter Seventeen: Occult Love versus Sweet Loves

Chapter Eighteen: Evil Spirits and Pranks

Chapter Nineteen: Insecurity and Talkative Transfer

Chapter Twenty: Investigative Transfer

Chapter Twenty-One: Culture Festival

Chapter Twenty-Two: Festival Play

Chapter Twenty-Three: New Year's Premonition and Valentine's Day Gift

Chapter Twenty-Four: Clone Trouble

Chapter Twenty-Five: Confessions

Specials:

Pride Specials: 2024

Halloween Specials: 2024

Taglist:

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so tired of having to cook and trying to figure out wtf to eat, can I just have like. Specialized human dog food or something, like some vegetable and protein biscuits and a special drink so that I only have to think about maybe cooking something once a day instead.