Love Comes In Small Sizes
love comes in small sizes
chapter one : fatherhood dlc unlocked!
pairing – ex situationship gojo x fem reader
summary : you and satoru have always been something—never labeled, never defined. from jujutsu high to stolen rooftop kisses, your dynamic is a mess of healing hands, half-confessions, and his infuriating habit of getting hurt just to keep your attention.
but when the weight of loss and pride tears you apart, you walk away—until fate (and a tiny, pink-backpack-wearing menace) drags you back into his orbit six years later.
tags –> canon divergence au, fluff, angst, humor, hurt/comfort, unlabeled relationship, grovelling satoru, secret child trope, reunions, miscommunications, second chances, happy ending for my own sanity
series masterlist. | other works here. | next.
you and satoru gojo have always been something.
it’s just never been labeled.
from the moment you met at jujutsu high, he’s been a persistent force in your life—loud, overbearing, impossible to ignore. he pokes and prods, worms his way under your skin, grinning all the while like he knows exactly what he’s doing. and maybe he does. because despite your best efforts, despite the way you roll your eyes when he drapes himself over you or tugs at your sleeves like a child craving attention, you never really push him away.
it’s not just him, though.
because when he gets himself banged up on missions—when he returns with blood crusted at the edges of his uniform, bruises forming along his jaw, the scent of battle clinging to his skin—you’re always the first to reach for him. your hands glow with soft, golden light, the warmth of your cursed energy threading into his wounds, coaxing his body to knit itself back together. petals flicker at your fingertips, dissolving into faint sparks of vitality as you work, the remnants of your technique blooming in the air between you.
“you’re reckless!” you snap one evening, pressing your palm firmly against his shoulder where a deep gash is slowly knitting itself back together under your touch. his uniform is torn, the edges stiff with dried blood, and you can feel the way his muscles twitch beneath your fingers, still tense from the battle. “you always do this. you push yourself too far, like you think you’re invincible—”
“well,” satoru interrupts, flashing a toothy grin, his glasses pushed up just enough to reveal the brilliant blue of his eyes, “i kind of am.”
his voice is light, teasing, but you can feel the way he’s watching you—closely, carefully, like he’s waiting for something. the smirk he wears is easy, practiced, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, not when he’s tilting his head just slightly to the side, pressing into your touch like it’s the only thing anchoring him. and you hate that it works, that even now, even with blood still drying against his skin, he makes you want to soften. you press your fingers harder against his wound instead, ignoring the way he winces.
“not funny,” suguru chimes in from across the room, his voice steady, edged with something like exasperation. he’s lounging on the couch, flipping through a magazine like he’s only half-listening, but you know better—he’s watching, just like you are, waiting for satoru to take this seriously. “she’s right, you know. if you keep acting like you can’t get hurt, one day you will.”
“oh, come on,” satoru groans, tilting his head back against your lap dramatically, the weight of him pressing against your legs. his hair, messy from the fight, falls over his forehead in uneven strands, white against the deep red of his uniform. “not you too.”
shoko, sitting cross-legged on the floor, exhales a slow stream of smoke from her cigarette, her eyes lidded with fatigue. “they’re not wrong,” she mutters, flicking her gaze toward you. there’s something knowing in the way she looks at you, something amused. “you’re enabling him, you know.”
you scoff, fingers glowing faintly as the last of his wound seals shut beneath your touch. the golden light of your cursed technique flickers briefly, petals of energy curling along his skin before fading. “i am not enabling him,” you argue, shaking your head. “i’m keeping him alive.”
“see?” satoru grins, nudging your thigh with the back of his hand, the warmth of his skin bleeding through the fabric of your pants. “she cares about me.”
shoko scoffs. “no one’s arguing that.”
suguru finally glances up, closing his magazine with a quiet thud, something unreadable in his expression. “just don’t let him drag you down with him.”
your fingers still against satoru’s skin for just a fraction of a second, your breath catching in your throat before you shake your head, forcing yourself to keep moving. “as if.”
but suguru just hums, unconvinced.
and maybe he has a point.
because this is your dynamic: you take care of satoru, and he lets you. you worry, and he pretends there’s nothing to worry about. he teases, you scold, he grins, you sigh. and beneath it all, something quiet lingers, something neither of you are willing to name.
and if he lets himself get wounded just once, just enough for you to heal him—if he lets a single well-timed hit slip past his defenses, allows an enemy to believe, for the briefest moment, that they’ve bested him—well. that’s his secret.
it’s calculated, precise, a game only he knows he’s playing. he times it perfectly, choosing the kind of wound that won’t alarm you too much, won’t make you furious enough to see through him. a shallow cut here, a bruised rib there—just enough to warrant your hands on him, to feel the warmth of your cursed energy bloom against his skin. because no one touches him like you do. no one else can.
you’re careful with him, always, even when you’re mad—especially when you’re mad. your fingers press firmly against his skin, your lips pressed together in concentration, a deep furrow between your brows that he finds himself staring at more often than he should. your cursed energy hums through him, soothing in a way nothing else ever is, wrapping around him like petals caught in the wind—delicate, fleeting, something he wants to hold in his hands but knows will slip through his fingers if he grips too tightly.
so he watches you, through half-lidded eyes, through lashes that are a little too long and glasses that slip just slightly down the bridge of his nose. he commits the moment to memory—the feel of you, the way you hover so close but never quite meet his gaze, like looking at him too long will make you realize something you don’t want to. he wants you to realize it. he wants you to notice the way his breathing slows under your touch, the way he always finds a reason to lean just a little closer.
but you never do. or maybe you just pretend not to.
so he lets himself get hurt, just enough. lets himself have this, just for a little while longer. because if a single wound is the price for your hands on him, for the way you fuss and scold and heal him all the same, then—well. that’s a price he’s more than willing to pay.
but then, one summer night, something shifts.
it’s late—too late to be sneaking around campus, but that’s never stopped him before. the air is thick with the lingering warmth of the day, cicadas humming lazily in the distance. the two of you are perched on the roof of the dorms, your legs dangling over the edge, the wind stirring your hair as you watch the city lights flicker beyond the trees. it’s peaceful, or at least it should be, but satoru is shifting beside you, too fidgety, too present, like he’s itching to say something but hasn’t quite figured out how.
“so.” he nudges you with his elbow, his sunglasses pushed up into his hair, silver strands catching in the glow of the moon. his eyes, unshielded, are startlingly bright even in the dim light, a vivid cerulean that traps every flicker of movement like a kaleidoscope. “you like anyone?”
you glance at him, raising an eyebrow, unimpressed. “what?”
he grins, but there’s something a little too deliberate about it, the corner of his mouth curling just so. “you know. anyone in particular? anyone special?”
it’s meant to be casual. lighthearted. but there’s something just beneath the surface, something careful and quiet in the way he’s looking at you. his fingers tap idly against his knee, his posture loose, but you can feel the tension coiled just beneath his skin, like he’s holding his breath.
you hum, pretending to think, tilting your head slightly. “maybe.”
his grin widens, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “yeah?”
“yeah.” you tap your fingers against the edge of the rooftop, the faintest flicker of cursed energy sparking at your touch, like an afterthought. the air shifts, charged with something unspoken, something weightier than the teasing banter you’re used to. “he’s a pain in the ass, though.”
“must be a great guy.” his voice is light, but there’s an edge to it, something strained and expectant.
“oh, he is.” you glance at him out of the corner of your eye, watching the way his jaw tenses just slightly. his lips part like he wants to say something, but no words come. “except he never shuts up.”
“rude.” he gasps, pressing a hand to his chest in mock offense, his other hand bracing against the rooftop beside you. he’s closer now, close enough that you can feel the warmth of him, the faint brush of his knee against yours. “i am a fantastic listener.”
you snort. “sure, satoru.”
but he’s still watching you, still leaning just a little too close, his breath feather-light against your skin. the glow of the city lights flickers in his eyes, catching on the sharp angles of his face, softening the usual mischief in his expression into something quieter, something almost careful. his lips part like he wants to say something, but he hesitates, tongue flicking out to wet them before he closes his mouth again. his fingers twitch against the rooftop, curling and uncurling like he’s resisting the urge to reach for you, like the only thing keeping him still is the weight of whatever he’s holding back.
and then, just as you’re about to look away—
“you know,” he says, voice softer now, like he’s testing the weight of his own words, “if you did like me, i wouldn’t mind.”
your breath catches, the warmth of the night suddenly pressing too close, thick and stifling against your skin. cicadas drone in the distance, but the sound barely registers, drowned out by the rushing in your ears, the quickening of your pulse. the wind stirs your hair, cool against the heat creeping up your neck, but it does nothing to ground you when he’s right there, close enough that you can see the way his lashes flutter, the way his throat bobs as he swallows. the moment stretches, fragile and precarious, balanced on the edge of something neither of you can quite name.
he shrugs, tilting his head like it doesn’t mean anything, like he hasn’t just shifted the entire atmosphere between you. “i think we’d be good together.” the words are light, almost offhand, but his fingers betray him again, tightening into fists against his knees before forcing themselves to relax. his lips twitch at the corners, not quite a smile, not quite a smirk—something caught between expectation and defense, bracing himself for whatever comes next. the confidence in his voice doesn’t match the way his body betrays him, and it hits you then—he’s nervous.
your heartbeat quickens, hammering against your ribs, the weight of his words settling into your chest with something sharp and dizzying. you swallow, throat suddenly dry, fingers pressing against the rooftop like you need something to hold onto. “is that so?” your voice is steadier than you expect, but there’s something uncertain about the way it lingers between you, something questioning, something hopeful.
“yeah.” his gaze doesn’t waver, doesn’t drop, doesn’t shift away like he’s waiting for you to call his bluff. he leans in, just barely, just enough for his knee to brush yours, for his breath to ghost against your cheek, for the air between you to thin into nothing. “it is.”
he’s waiting. you could push him away, laugh it off like you always do. you could pretend this is just another one of his games.or—
you let the moment stretch, your fingers tightening in your lap, cursed energy sparking faintly against your skin. the world narrows, the sound of the cicadas fading, the city lights blurring at the edges of your vision. and then, before you can second-guess yourself, before you can let yourself hesitate, you lean in, pressing your lips to his.
he makes a small sound of surprise—quickly swallowed by the way he cups your face, the way he kisses you like he’s been waiting forever. his hand slips to the nape of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair, his touch warm and sure. he leans into you, pressing closer, like he wants to drown in the moment, like he wants to lose himself in you.
and maybe he does.
because the next thing you know, he’s pulling you into his lap, arms wrapping around your waist, his grip possessive in a way that makes your breath hitch. his infinity is off, the faint hum of his technique gone, and it’s only then that you realize—he wants this. wants to feel you, every point of contact, every shiver that runs through you as he presses open-mouthed kisses to your jaw, your throat, your collarbone.
“satoru.” you murmur, fingers curling against his chest.
he exhales a shaky laugh, his forehead resting against yours. “just let me have this.” he whispers, and for once, there’s no teasing lilt to his voice. no cocky bravado. just quiet, aching sincerity.
the night stretches on, the cicadas singing their endless summer song, and somewhere between the tangled sheets and the soft, breathless laughter, you think—maybe he’s been waiting for you, too.
after that night, everything changes.
not all at once—at first, it’s subtle. the way satoru lingers a little too long when he passes you in the hallways, his fingers ghosting against your wrist before he pulls away like it never happened. the way he leans in when you speak, as if he needs to hear every single word, as if your voice is something he can’t go without. the way his gaze finds you in a crowded room, even when you’re not looking back, even when you pretend you don’t feel it burning into your skin.
but then, it happens again.
it happens when he grabs your wrist after training, dragging you away before you can protest, his grip loose but insistent. “come on, let’s go. training is boring, and it’s not like you need it—you already have a god-given talent. or, well, a you-given talent, i guess.” he flashes that insufferable grin, the one that makes it impossible to say no, the one that makes it feel like you’re the only one who matters. his thumb brushes over the inside of your wrist before he lets go, like he’s reluctant to lose the contact. like he’s testing a boundary neither of you are willing to acknowledge.
it happens when he shoves a half-melted ice cream into your hands, his own already half-eaten, a smudge of chocolate at the corner of his mouth. “i got your favorite,” he says, like it’s nothing, like he didn’t memorize the exact flavor you picked out the last time. and when you reach out with your thumb, swiping the chocolate away, his mouth closes over your finger without hesitation—lips warm, tongue flickering against your skin, blue eyes watching your reaction like he’s waiting for you to flinch.
but you don’t.
it happens when you end up pressed against the side of a vending machine, his hands braced on either side of you, his breath warm against your cheek. the fluorescent lights flicker, his sunglasses slipping just low enough for you to see his eyes—half-lidded, unreadable, something unspoken resting just behind them. he tilts his head, his lips brushing against yours, not quite a kiss, but close enough that it feels like one. and when you let out a slow, shaky breath, his fingers skim against your waist, trailing up the fabric of your uniform, just light enough to make you shiver.
it happens when he sneaks into your dorm after curfew, flopping onto your bed like he owns it, his hair messy from the wind, the scent of the night still clinging to his clothes. “move over,” he complains, but he’s already pressing against your side, already hooking his chin over your shoulder, already making himself at home in your space like he belongs there. and when you sigh, when you give in, he grins against your skin, his hand slipping beneath the hem of your shirt like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
and then, it just keeps happening.
but it also happens in other ways.
like when you fall asleep in class, forehead pressed against your arm, and you wake up to find his jacket draped over your shoulders, the faintest trace of his scent lingering in the fabric. you don’t mention it, don’t thank him, but the next time he dozes off, you tug your scarf loose and wrap it around his neck, watching the way his lips twitch in something like satisfaction even in sleep.
or when he holds his umbrella over your head instead of his own when it rains, his hair dripping wet, grinning like an idiot when you call him stupid. “what? i have my own built-in defense system,” he teases, tapping his temple like he’s making a point. but he doesn’t turn infinity on, not once, even when the water beads against his skin, soaking through his shirt. even when you huff and tug him under the umbrella properly, even when he bumps his shoulder against yours and murmurs, “see? you do care.”
or when he shoves a handful of candies into your pocket, grinning when you shoot him a confused look. “i know you like these.” he says, voice light, offhanded, like it isn’t something he noticed just from watching you. later, you find a small sticky note tucked between them, a doodle of himself with his tongue sticking out, with tiny scribbled words beneath: for when you miss me. you will.
it’s not a relationship, not exactly. neither of you say anything about it, neither of you try to define it. but there’s a shift between you now, something thick and heavy in the air, something that settles in the pit of your stomach whenever he looks at you like that.
like he’s waiting for you to stop him.
like he knows you won’t.
and when it happens again—when his lips finally, finally press against yours, when his weight settles over you, pinning you down in a way that makes your breath hitch—there’s no hesitation. there’s no teasing remark, no cocky grin, just the warmth of his hands on your skin, just the quiet hum of satisfaction when you pull him closer. he doesn’t turn infinity on, doesn’t keep any distance between you, lets himself feel you completely, like some lovesick idiot. like he wants to remember exactly how this moment feels, how you feel.
shoko notices first.
it’s not even subtle—the way she leans back against the school’s rooftop railing, cigarette dangling from her lips, eyes half-lidded in amusement as she watches you fuss over satoru’s scraped knuckles. he’s practically melting under your touch, his head tilting slightly as if he’s trying to press more into your palm without making it obvious. you’re focused, brows drawn together, lips pursed in mild annoyance at his carelessness, but your hands are gentle, fingers skimming over his skin with practiced ease. his long legs are stretched out in front of him, his glasses perched low on his nose, letting you see the way his bright blue eyes soften when they flicker up to meet yours.
“so, are you two, like… a thing?” shoko asks, lazily exhaling a puff of smoke, watching the way satoru’s mouth twitches at the question.
“no,” you say immediately, your voice firm, but at the same time, satoru hums, “hmm, maybe?”
your head snaps toward him, brows raising in disbelief, while he merely grins like he expected this reaction. his free hand comes up to push his sunglasses up properly, but the motion is slow, languid, like he’s trying to keep his grin hidden behind his palm. shoko lets out a snort, flicking the ash off the tip of her cigarette, unimpressed.
“yeah, okay.”
suguru is quieter about it, but he doesn’t need to say anything. it’s in the way his gaze lingers when satoru drapes himself over you, in the way his lips twitch like he’s holding back a knowing smile whenever you roll your eyes but don’t push satoru away. when satoru unceremoniously drops himself onto your lap one afternoon, long limbs sprawling across the bench, suguru doesn’t comment. he just looks at you, looks at the way your fingers absently thread through satoru’s hair, the way his lashes flutter at the contact, and he knows.
“you’re really serious about her, huh?” suguru muses one evening, when it’s just the two of them on the rooftop, the sky bleeding into shades of deep purple and burnt orange.
satoru scoffs, stuffing his hands into his pockets, but there’s no real bite to it. “what’s that supposed to mean?”
suguru only shrugs, turning his gaze toward the horizon, the wind ruffling his dark hair. “nothing. just wondering.”
but if there’s one thing about suguru, it’s that he doesn’t wonder about things unless he already knows the answer.
still, life goes on. there are missions, there are late-night walks, there are stupid jokes and stolen glances and moments where the world feels like it’s standing still, like it will always be this way. satoru still rests his chin on your shoulder when he’s bored, still tugs on your sleeve when he wants your attention, still lets his infinity down when you touch him. suguru still watches with quiet amusement, still nudges satoru’s foot under the table when he gets too obvious, still exchanges glances with shoko that say this idiot is hopeless. everything feels steady, like nothing could possibly go wrong.
until it does.
until riko amanai dies. until satoru comes back from that mission looking—different.
his presence is still overwhelming, still too much, but there’s something sharp underneath it now, something cold that wasn’t there before. his shoulders are broader, his stance heavier, his hands looser at his sides, like he’s more aware of their power now. he’s grinning, like always, like nothing’s changed, but it doesn’t reach his eyes—not really. the endless blue of them looks deeper now, like a well with no bottom, like something in him has caved in and been swallowed whole. he’s stronger, untouchable, but suddenly, it feels like he’s farther away than he’s ever been.
and worse than that—suguru is slipping.
you feel it before you fully understand it. the way his voice is quieter, the way his patience wears thinner, the way he sighs more often, rubbing a hand over his face like he’s tired in a way that sleep won’t fix. his words become sharper, his glances more distant, and when you reach for him—when you try to hold onto whatever is still left—he only offers you a fleeting smile, a ghost of what it used to be.
one day, you watch satoru and suguru stand side by side, just like always—just like they always have. satoru is saying something, something cocky and arrogant and so typically him, but suguru doesn’t bite back the way he used to. he just listens, nods absently, something unreadable flickering in his expression. and for the first time, it feels like there’s a canyon between them, a chasm that wasn’t there before, widening with every passing second.
you don’t know it yet, but things will never be the same again.
one year passes.
twelve months, fifty-two weeks, three hundred and sixty-five days—each one dragging by in a haze, dissolving into the next like watercolors bleeding together. sometimes, satoru forgets where he is, what day it is, what he was supposed to be doing before his mind wandered again. everything feels muted, muffled, like he’s watching the world through a fogged-up window. time keeps moving, but nothing feels real.
suguru is gone.
satoru barely blinks when it happens. it should feel like something—something bigger, something louder, something that shakes the world the way it shakes his chest. but all he does is sit there, in the quiet aftermath of his best friend’s defection, listening to yaga’s words like they’re coming from underwater. the room is too small, too tight, pressing against the edges of his skin, and yet he’s weightless, floating in some vast nothingness where things don’t really matter. his fingers twitch, restless, aching for something to crush between them, but what’s the point? if he destroys the walls, the floor, the entire goddamn building, it won’t bring suguru back. it won’t change a thing.
he doesn’t remember leaving the room, but suddenly he’s outside, staring at the sky. it’s clear, painfully so, stars scattered across the darkness like someone thought to mock him with how vast it is. the wind tugs at his uniform, cool against his too-warm skin, and still, he doesn’t feel anything. it doesn’t make sense. none of it does. suguru wouldn’t leave. suguru is—was—his other half, the one who understood him in ways no one else could. he has you, he has shoko—but it’s not the same. it will never be the same. satoru is the strongest. the strongest doesn’t lose things.
except now he has. and no matter how tightly he grips the edges of his own world, everything still slips through his fingers.
you find him there, quiet for once, his head tilted back as he watches the stars. the moonlight catches on his white hair, turning it almost silver, his sunglasses hanging loosely between his fingers. you don’t say anything right away, just stand beside him, close enough that your shoulder almost brushes his. he’s grateful for that, the silent understanding, the way you don’t push him to talk when he doesn’t want to. but it’s you—you—and eventually, your voice cuts through the thick, choking air.
“come inside, satoru.”
he exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “not yet.”
you hesitate, then sigh, your fingers brushing over his sleeve. it’s light, barely there, but he still feels it. you’re real. that’s something, at least.
“you can’t keep doing this.”
he doesn’t know what you mean—staring at the sky? ignoring everything? pretending suguru didn’t leave?—but he just laughs, a short, hollow sound, and grins at you like none of this matters. like he isn’t crumbling under the weight of something he refuses to name. “doing what?”
you don’t smile back.
you don’t say anything at all.
but your fingers tighten against his sleeve, just for a second, just enough for him to feel the warmth of you before you step away.
and he can’t—he won’t—let that happen.
before you can take another step, his fingers close around your wrist, pulling you back toward him. it’s not gentle, but it’s not rough either—just firm, desperate in a way he won’t let himself acknowledge. you stumble slightly, your palm landing against his chest, and he doesn’t let you move away.
“don’t,” he says, barely above a whisper. his voice is raw, frayed at the edges, like he’s holding something back. his fingers tighten, his grip the only thing grounding him. “not yet.”
your eyes search his, looking for something, anything, but he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to give you. he only knows that he needs you to stay.
“satoru…” your voice wavers, and he hates it—hates that you sound like you pity him, hates that you might see him for what he really is. but you don’t pull away.
his free hand lifts to your face, brushing against your cheek, barely there, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he holds too tightly. you don’t. you stay.
and then you’re kissing him. or maybe he’s kissing you. it doesn’t matter—he just knows that your lips are warm, that your hands clutch at his jacket, that he’s losing himself in the way you breathe against his mouth. it’s messy, uncoordinated, more about needing than anything else. he doesn’t care.
he just wants.
it doesn’t take long before he’s pushing you inside, backing you into his room, his grip never loosening. you let him. maybe you need this too. maybe you need something real just as much as he does.
it’s not love. not really. it’s a desperate, clumsy attempt to hold onto something—each other, maybe, or just the pieces of a world that’s slipping through both of your fingers. it’s the press of his body against yours, the way his hands shake against your skin, the way neither of you speak because there’s nothing left to say.
when it’s over, you stay, your fingers tracing idle patterns against his skin. his arms are loose around you, his breathing slow, almost steady. but he’s not asleep. he won’t sleep. not tonight.
his grip tightens just slightly, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go. it’s unhealthy. he knows it. you do too. but neither of you move.
not yet.
a month later, you come to him late at night, standing in his doorway like you’re already bracing for a fight. your arms are crossed tight over your chest, fingers gripping at the fabric of your sleeves, like you need something to hold on to. your weight shifts from one foot to the other, hesitant, uncertain, like you’re not sure if you should even be here. but your eyes—your eyes are worried. tired. heavy with something he can’t quite name yet, but it makes his stomach twist all the same.
“satoru, we need to talk.”
he groans, throwing himself back onto his bed like a petulant child, limbs sprawled carelessly across the sheets. his uniform jacket is crumpled beneath him, the collar tugging awkwardly at his neck, but he doesn’t bother fixing it. instead, he throws an arm over his eyes, sighing dramatically. “ugh, if this is about me skipping out on yaga’s stupid lectures again—”
“it’s not about that.”
your voice is clipped, firm in a way that makes his fingers twitch where they rest against his forehead. something in your tone makes him hesitate, but he doesn’t sit up just yet, doesn’t acknowledge the way his stomach knots at the sharp edge of it. instead, he props himself up on one elbow just enough to grin at you, lopsided and careless, blue eyes glinting in the dim light of his room. “then what? are you finally confessing your undying love for me?”
you exhale sharply through your nose, pressing your lips together so tightly they pale at the edges. your jaw tightens—not in frustration, but in restraint, like you’re biting back words you can’t afford to say. for the first time since you walked in, your gaze flickers away, dipping down toward the floor, then back up again. “satoru.”
his smirk falters.
it’s barely noticeable, the shift so subtle that most people wouldn’t catch it—but you’re not most people, and you always notice. he covers it up with a roll of his shoulders, a quick raking of fingers through his hair, but he can’t stop the way his chest tightens, the way something uneasy coils deep in his gut.
he doesn’t like it.
you take a breath, shoulders rising and falling with it, like you’re steadying yourself. your stance shifts, one foot moving slightly behind the other, like you need an escape route, just in case. “i—”
“’cause i mean, it’s pretty obvious.” he barrels right over whatever you were about to say, voice light, teasing—too quick. he leans back against the pillows, arms crossed behind his head, a lazy grin stretching across his lips. “can’t blame you, really. i am incredibly handsome. the strongest, too—”
“satoru, this is serious.”
your voice cuts through his like a knife.
his grin twitches, faltering at the edges, but he doesn’t let it fall completely. instead, he groans, sitting up in one fluid motion, his frustration bleeding through in the way he rakes a hand through his hair. his bangs fall messily over his forehead, but he doesn’t push them back this time. “yeah, yeah, everything is serious with you lately.” his words come out sharper than he intends, but he doesn’t stop. “you know, you used to be fun. we used to be fun. now all you do is worry, and nag, and—”
you flinch.
it’s small. barely a twitch of your fingers, a quick inhale, a tightening of your shoulders. but he sees it, and the moment he does, regret clenches in his throat.
too late.
your fingers curl in on themselves, your nails pressing into your palms. your expression remains composed, but he sees the cracks forming—the slight tremble in your exhale, the way your shoulders stiffen as if bracing for impact. “satoru, i need to tell you something.”
his pulse kicks up.
it’s barely noticeable, the way his fingers tighten around the fabric of his pants, but you’re not most people, and you always notice. there’s something about the way you say it—something final, something that makes his skin prickle with the kind of unease he can’t shake.
he doesn’t let you.
“what? that i’m reckless? that i’m changing?” he cuts in, sharp and bitter, words laced with something dangerously close to something real. something he doesn’t want to name. “yeah, i’ve heard it all before.”
“satoru—”
“what do you want me to do, huh?” his voice rises, frustration twisting into something uglier, something more desperate. “cry about it?”
a long, heavy pause.
your face shifts—something breaking, something splintering right in front of him, and he hates it. your gaze flickers downward, away from his, away from the conversation entirely. your fingers curl tighter, drifting to your stomach, barely grazing the fabric of your shirt like—
he doesn’t get the chance to figure it out. because whatever it is, whatever you were going to say, it dies before it can even reach him.
you exhale, slow and measured. your fingers curl deeper into your sleeves, knuckles turning white, tension wound so tight in your shoulders that it hurts. there’s something unreadable in your expression, something quiet and distant, and for the first time in a long time, satoru doesn’t know what you’re thinking. the uncertainty makes his skin itch, makes his stomach turn. and then, finally—
“nevermind. i’m leaving.”
he scoffs, an ugly, humorless sound, sharp and bitter in the stillness between you. his lips curl, not in a grin, but in something twisted, something that doesn’t reach his eyes. “yeah, right.”
but you don’t roll your eyes. you don’t laugh. you don’t give him the reaction he’s expecting, the easy back-and-forth that makes it all feel normal. you just look at him—long and quiet and sad, your fingers still trembling where they clutch your sleeves.
“i’m serious.”
his chest feels tight, like he’s breathing in smoke, like his ribs are about to crack under the weight of something he refuses to name. the words don’t settle right in his ears, don’t make sense in his head, don’t belong in your mouth. you don’t leave. not him. not this.
but then you say it—you tell him you can’t do this anymore, that you’re leaving jujutsu society, that you can’t watch him become someone he’s not. your voice is steady, but there’s something fragile in it, something raw at the edges, like you’re trying to convince yourself just as much as him. you say it like a choice, like something you’ve decided on, but all he can hear is that you’re leaving him.
and it makes him panic.
so he does what he always does when he panics—he lashes out.
“fine, go then.” his voice is venomous, cutting, every syllable sharpened into a weapon. he means for it to hurt. he needs it to hurt. “if you really think i’m so hopeless, just leave like he did.”
the second it’s out of his mouth, he wants to take it back.
because you freeze. because something inside you cracks, visible in the way your breath hitches, in the way your fingers curl into your palm like you need to hold something, anything, just to keep yourself together.
your mouth opens—then closes.
whatever words were lingering on your tongue, whatever truth you had been about to give him, they wither before they can take shape. they don’t belong here, not after what he’s said. not when he’s already decided to throw you into the same abyss as him. the realization settles in your chest like something sharp, something splintered, pressing against your ribs.
he doesn’t deserve to know. he doesn’t even want to know. so you just nod, slow and deliberate, as if committing this moment to memory—his face twisted with something between anger and regret, his fingers curled so tightly into the fabric of his pants that his knuckles go white. something hollow settles in your gaze, something distant, something final.
then you turn around.
and you walk away.
but just before you cross the threshold, just before the distance between you stretches into something permanent, you pause. your hand lingers on the doorframe, fingers splayed against the wood, as if you’re waiting—waiting for him to stop you, to say anything that might make this easier, to give you even the smallest reason to stay.
he doesn’t.
so you exhale, steady and soft, and when you finally speak, your voice is barely above a whisper. “i hope it’s worth it, satoru.”
he doesn’t ask what is ‘it’—his pride, his stubbornness, his refusal to let you in—because he knows. he knows. then you leave, and he watches you go, convinced you’ll come back.
(you don’t.)
six years pass him by, and it’s safe to say that it wasn’t worth it.
he never says it out loud—never lets the words leave his lips, never even lets himself think them too long—but the truth lingers, settling deep in his bones like a slow, creeping ache. he feels it in the way silence stretches too long in his apartment, in the way he still catches himself pausing at the door, expecting to hear your voice. it’s in the way his fingers twitch, like they still remember the shape of your wrist in his grasp, the way his bed feels too big now, empty in a way that nothing else quite fills. he tells himself it doesn’t matter. that he doesn’t care.
(he does.)
at first, he’s bitter. you left him. you gave up on him. just like he did.
the thought twists, ugly and sharp, digging into the tender parts of him that he refuses to acknowledge. he doesn’t dwell on it. won’t. he has better things to do, more important things—missions, responsibilities, a world that won’t stop turning just because he wants it to. so he throws himself into work, into being the strongest, into playing the role that everyone expects of him. if he keeps moving, if he keeps winning, maybe—maybe—he won’t have to think about what he lost.
but then the quiet comes.
it always does.
he can hold it off for a while, can drown it out in the noise of battle, the weight of duty, the voices of the students he’s taken under his wing. but eventually, when the dust settles and the world slows, when it’s just him and the empty space where you used to be, the silence seeps in, heavy and suffocating. it presses against his ribs, sits in the hollow of his chest, winds around his throat like something clawing for a home. and in those moments, there’s no ignoring it.
he dreams about you.
sometimes, they’re good. warm. the kind that make him wake up reaching for something that isn’t there. he dreams of your laughter—light and careless, curling around the edges of his mind like something precious. he dreams of your touch—the way you used to smooth your hands over his shoulders when you thought he wasn’t paying attention, the way your fingers would toy with the hem of his uniform absentmindedly, like you didn’t even realize you were doing it. he dreams of the way you used to look at him, with something so soft in your eyes, something he never knew how to name.
but other times, the dreams aren’t good.
sometimes you’re standing at the door, gaze unreadable, voice soft as you whisper, “i hope it’s worth it.” sometimes you’re walking away, and no matter how fast he moves, how desperately he reaches, he can’t catch up. sometimes you turn back, but there’s nothing left in your expression, like you’ve already disappeared, like you were never really there. and sometimes—sometimes, you don’t look back at all.
he thinks about looking for you. about dropping everything and scouring the world until he finds you, because if anyone can, it’s him.
but if you wanted to be found, you wouldn’t have left.
so he lets you go. or at least, he tries to. he tells himself it’s for the best, convinces himself that this—this missing, this hollow ache, this unbearable emptiness—is just another thing he has to live with.
at least he pretends to.
and satoru seeing you again in what supposed to be an another monotone day clearly doesn't help his already pathetic facade.
he wasn't expecting to see you again, he dreamt about it often, that much is true but not like this.
not in the middle of a crowded mall, washed in artificial light, where the air smells faintly of buttered popcorn and overpriced coffee. not with the hum of idle chatter pressing in from all sides, footsteps tapping against the polished tiles, distant laughter ringing from a store playing a song he doesn’t recognize. not standing in front of a shelf filled with pastel notebooks and gel pens, head tilted in quiet contemplation as you skim the label of a glittery-covered planner. not looking so much like you that it knocks the breath from his lungs, like he’s been punched in the gut by the weight of time itself.
six years apart, and yet, seeing you now—nothing has changed.
your fingers still tap absently against the book’s spine, your brow still creases just slightly in thought, your weight still shifts from one foot to the other in that familiar, absentminded sway. it's the same little habits he used to watch from across a classroom, half-listening to you scold him for never taking notes, grinning when you’d huff in exasperation, muttering something about how even if you copied mine, you’d still flunk the test, gojo. it’s muscle memory now, the way he leans forward ever so slightly, the way his lips part to call your name before he even realizes it.
for a split second, he forgets the passage of time, forgets that you aren’t seventeen anymore, that he isn’t either, that the six-year gap between then and now has swallowed whole everything that was once soft between you.
somewhere between one breath and the next, his feet move on their own. he doesn’t remember closing the distance, but suddenly he’s there—standing right beside you, close enough to see the way the artificial lighting catches on the curve of your lashes, close enough that his pulse trips over itself in something stupidly close to nerves.
“woah,” he blurts out before he can stop himself, because he’s never been good at thinking before speaking, never been good at silence. his voice comes out rougher than he means, cracking on something fragile, so he leans into bravado, tilting his head with a grin like this doesn’t feel like the start of something dangerous. “didn’t take you for the cute little stationery type.”
you freeze.
not in an obvious way. it’s a flicker, a split-second hesitation, just the faintest shift in your shoulders, the way your fingers still against the spine of the planner. it’s long enough that something in his chest tightens, long enough that he wonders if you might run.
then, finally, you turn to him.
and satoru, for all his power, for all his foresight, for all his years of learning how to predict and anticipate—he’s completely unprepared.
your face is the same. but not really. the softness he remembers is still there, but refined, tempered into something quieter, something heavier. time has carved something sharper into the delicate lines of your features, something weary, something distant, something closed. and when your eyes meet his, something ugly churns in his gut at how unfamiliar it feels, how your gaze doesn’t hold him the way it used to—how it skims over him like he’s anyone else.
and then you open your mouth.
your lips part, hesitation flickering in your gaze, the faintest shift of your brows betraying something unreadable—something he isn’t sure he wants to name. for a moment, your throat bobs like you might say something else, something more, but then your expression settles into something carefully neutral. practiced. distant.
“gojo.”
not satoru. never satoru.
his stomach twists, and for a brief second, he hates himself for expecting anything different. of course, it would be gojo. of course, you would opt tl say his last name like it belonged to a stranger, disregard his first name like it was just a word, just a title—like you hadn’t once whispered it into his skin, like it hadn’t once meant home.
he exhales sharply, a smirk curling at the edges of his mouth, though it feels stiff, foreign, like it doesn't quite fit on his face anymore. his hands shove into his pockets, his shoulders rolling with a forced ease, but the tension lingers, settling somewhere in his spine.
“so,” he drawls, playing it easy, playing it light, playing it like the years between you never happened, “you a teacher now? or just hoarding sparkly pens?”
there’s a flicker of something—amusement, maybe, or the ghost of it—passing through your expression. fleeting. barely there. but he catches it, latches onto it like a dying man gasping for air, like proof that maybe, just maybe, he isn’t the only one drowning in this moment.
and then you exhale, a quiet huff—not quite a laugh, but close enough that something in his chest clenches, tight and aching.
“it’s not for me.”
not for you.
his fingers twitch before he can stop them, the urge to reach out settling deep in his bones like an instinct he thought he’d long buried. his six eyes, ever-perceptive, drink you in without permission, tracing every minute detail, cataloging every shift in your stance. the way your shoulders hover between tension and ease, the way your weight subtly shifts as if you’re fighting the impulse to move—toward him or away, he can’t tell. but it’s your hands that betray you the most, your thumb brushing absently against your palm, slow and methodical, a grounding habit, a tell he never got the chance to memorize.
and yet, for all the little details his sight clings to, it’s the absence of something that twists like a knife beneath his ribs.
the faint indentation on your finger. a whisper of what once was—or maybe what never came to be. a ring should have been there. but it isn’t.
hope is a sickness, and it spreads fast, coiling through him like wildfire, igniting something reckless, something desperate. before he can stop himself, before he can think—before he can remind himself that hope has never done him any favors—the words slip out, raw and unfiltered as he stepped closer. “then who—”
but you do something he doesn’t expect. you step back. not much. just an inch.
but it’s enough.
enough to silence him, to lodge something cold and sharp in the hollow of his chest. enough to remind him that time is not a wound that can be rewound, that the six years between you are filled with things he was never there to witness. enough to remind him that no matter how tightly he might want to cling to the past, you have already let it go.
your expression doesn’t falter, doesn’t crack, but there’s something in the way your lashes lower just slightly, in the way your lips press together, careful and deliberate. restraint, or maybe consideration—like you’re choosing your words with more care than he deserves.
“it was nice seeing you, gojo.”
was. past tense. final.
his stomach twists, his throat constricts. he hates how easily you say it, how effortlessly you close the door between you.
you turn to leave. his whole body locks up. he should let you go. if he were a better man, he would let you go.
but he’s never been a good man, has he? never been selfless, never been someone who could bear to lose something precious to him—not again, not again, not again—
“wait,” he blurts out, reaching for you—
but in the corner of his vision, something shifts.
small. deliberate.
he doesn’t see it.
doesn’t see the way a tiny figure leans forward from behind a display shelf, chin tilted up in blatant curiosity, eyes sharp and calculating. doesn’t see the way her fingers tighten around the straps of her pink, glittery backpack like she’s bracing herself for something—like she’s trying to piece together the scene before her with the unrelenting scrutiny of someone who refuses to be left out.
she isn’t hesitant. she isn’t uncertain.
she watches.
studies.
eyes flicking between you and him, her expression shifting through something unreadable—thoughtful, shrewd, maybe even the slightest bit unimpressed, like she’s already decided she doesn’t like what she’s seeing.
he doesn’t see her.
doesn’t see the way she plants her feet, stance wide like she’s ready to charge forward and insert herself into the conversation the way only a child with too much confidence can. doesn’t see the way her tiny mouth presses into a firm, stubborn line, the way her nose scrunches in concentration, the way her little fingers drum against her arm as if waiting for the right moment to interrupt.
because right now, for the first time in six years, he finally saw you again. he only sees you.
he can only see you.
satoru doesn’t breathe.
not at first.
not when you disappear from sight, not when the absence of your presence leaves behind something gaping, something cold, something he doesn’t have the words to name. six years. six years of nothing, of static, of moving forward because what else was there to do but move? and now—now you were here, now you were leaving again, and if he doesn’t do something, doesn’t say something—
before he can even take a step, before he can even exhale—a tiny, pointed presence looms at his side.
looming shouldn’t be a word that applies to a child. but here she is. cornering him.
when he finally registers her, she’s already staring up at him, blue eyes sharp, head tilted in deep, almost theatrical thought. her posture is relaxed, but not in the way a child’s should be—no fidgeting, no nervous glances, no uncertainty. instead, there is something deliberate in the way she plants her feet, how she clasps her hands neatly in front of her, how she breathes so evenly it’s like she’s assessing him.
the soft scent of vanilla clings to the air around her, mixed with something delicate, maybe peach-scented lotion. her sneakers—pink and white with sparkly laces—are pristine, barely creasing as she shifts her weight. her cardigan, worn off her shoulders like a fashion statement, matches the ribbons in her hair, and her ruffled socks peek out from beneath the hem of a dress that isn't a princess dress but might as well be with how carefully chosen it looks—pale pink with embroidered flowers, soft and dainty.
but the most striking thing about her, above all, is that she is him. down to the way her lips purse in contemplation.
she blinks. once. twice. assessing.
and then, with all the grace of a tiny, self-proclaimed noble who has just encountered a most peculiar sight, she tilts her chin up and announces—“ugh. you’re taller than i thought.”
satoru blinks down at the little diva frowning up at him, her brows furrowing like he’s already failed some unspoken test.
she is… dazzling.
for all the wrong reasons.
because that is his nose. those are his eyes.
the slope of them, the sharp, fox-like tilt—so much like his own that it knocks the air from his lungs. it’s all there in the way her gaze flickers between calculation and feigned indifference, in the way her lips purse in mild dissatisfaction, in the way she shifts her weight onto one foot, expectant. her presence is something deliberate, something intended, as if she is waiting for him to notice her. but that’s ridiculous, right? right?
his throat bobs, dry. he clears it anyway.
satoru barely catches himself before he lets out a laugh—sharp, surprised, incredulous. instead, he exhales through his nose, slow and careful, before slipping his sunglasses off and hooking them onto his collar. the world is suddenly too bright without them, but he needs to see her properly. he lowers himself to one knee, eye level with the little diva who stands before him, hands on her hips like she owns the entire shopping district.
“uh.” he cocks his head, scanning her face for any sign of hesitation. none. not a single crack in that unshakable confidence. “hey, kiddo? are you, uh… lost?”
the reaction is instantaneous.
she gasps—loud, dramatic, affronted.
both hands fly to her chest as though he’s just accused her of something heinous, scandalized horror flashing across her tiny face. her perfectly arched brows shoot up beneath the sharp cut of her bangs, pink lips parting with the kind of exaggerated disbelief that could only be described as theatrical. she takes a step back, but not like she’s retreating—no, she makes it look intentional, like a leading lady on stage setting up the perfect moment of tension.
“excuuuse me?” she demands, her tiny chin tilting higher, voice dripping with the kind of indignation only the truly self-assured can muster. Her hands, small but precise in their movement, land imperiously on her hips. “do i look like a peasant who gets lost?”
satoru blinks.
for once, his mouth moves faster than his brain, but that doesn’t mean it makes sense. He opens his lips, closes them, then opens them again, fingers twitching slightly at his sides. “uh—”
“i have an impeccable sense of direction,” she continues, not even sparing him a glance as she flicks her hair over her shoulder, her tiny fingers adjusting an imaginary crown. her eyes shut briefly—dramatic, self-important, as if recalling some great tragedy. “unlike mommy, who keeps walking the wrong way even with google maps.”
he startles.
it’s subtle, a twitch in his fingertips, a shift in his stance—so minor most wouldn’t even notice. but he does. he notices everything. the way her voice rounds out just slightly as she says mommy, the sharp, confident edge softening into something softer, something practiced. it’s natural, the way she says it, habitual, like it belongs to her in a way no other word does. there is no hesitation, no awkwardness, no resentment—only warmth.
only fondness.
or maybe he’s imagining things.
he’s still trying to process it when—
“anyway.” she rolls her eyes, slow and deliberate, like she’s giving him the benefit of the doubt and immediately regretting it. her voice is lighter now, offhanded, but the unimpressed arch of her brow makes it clear: he is wasting her time.
“let’s get back to business.”
his brows furrow. “business?”
“yes, business.” she plants a tiny hand on her hip like she’s about to announce the world’s next big fashion trend. her stance is commanding, legs slightly apart, the picture of confidence despite being barely three feet tall. “keep up.”
satoru isn’t sure what to expect, but it definitely isn’t this.
because the way she looks at him—no, studies him—is unnerving. there’s nothing idle about it, nothing remotely innocent. her gaze is razor-sharp as it sweeps from his feet to his head, dissecting every detail like she’s mapping out a blueprint only she understands.
the pristine uniform. the tall frame. the striking, almost unnatural contrast of white hair and blue eyes.
he's been stared at his whole life, but never like this—never like he's the one being judged. the gaze on him is unwavering, sharp, dissecting him piece by piece as if stripping him down to something more raw, more human. then, as if arriving at some profound conclusion, she lifts her tiny chin and flips her bangs with a small, decisive nod.
“you have white hair.”
her lashes lower slightly, a subtle shift in expression that tightens something in his chest.
“you have blue eyes.”
satoru’s pulse stutters.
before he can process the shift in atmosphere, she clasps her hands together, fingers lacing neatly over her chest. the movement is fluid, graceful, too composed for a child so young. it reminds him of a practiced performer, someone who understands the weight of gestures, of theatrics.
then, with the finality of a verdict, she nods again.
“i guess you’ll do.”
…do what now?
he stares, momentarily incapable of thought.
there is something deeply unsettling about being scrutinized by someone who barely reaches his waist. yet, there is an undeniable weight to the moment, a strange sort of gravity pressing against him. he can feel it—his own energy mirrored back at him, sharp and self-assured, too knowing for a child so young.
his lips part, but he isn’t even sure what he wants to ask.
the answer comes before he can find the question.
“so,” she announces, as if stating the obvious, “i need you to pretend to be my dad.”
satoru chokes.
the cough rattles his ribs, sharp and sudden, like his own body is rejecting the reality of what he just heard. he presses the back of his hand against his mouth, shoulders tensing, but it does little to stifle the noise. his throat burns with the effort, and yet, the words still echo in his mind, rearranging themselves into something even more absurd.
he drags his palm down his face. “come again?”
the menace—no, the tiny, immaculately dressed con artist—squints at him.
“are you hard of hearing?” she enunciates, slow and patient, like she’s explaining a simple concept to a particularly dense student. her small hands settle on her hips, fingers tapping in silent judgment, and the stance is so eerily familiar that it sends a ripple of unease down his spine. her chin tilts up, her expression unwavering—like she’s used to being the one in control of conversations, and the thought alone is terrifying. “i said, i need you to pretend to be my dad for a father’s day event at school.”
something in his stomach lurches.
his brain can’t keep up. the words don’t fit, don’t make sense, don’t align with anything logical. she says them with such ease, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, but for him, it’s the equivalent of a meteor crashing into his reality.
his throat is suddenly dry. “that’s… uh…”
“obviously, i don’t have one. and you were talking to mommy earlier, so you must be one of her friends.” she shrugs, breezy, nonchalant, as if she’s discussing the weather.
but it is a big deal.
a very big deal.
his heart is pounding so fast he might actually pass out.
“mommy always comes with me, and i guess she’s cool and all,” she continues, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. the movement is casual, self-assured—the same unconscious confidence he had as a child. satoru watches, helpless, as she flicks the curl over her shoulder with a tiny sigh, her expression morphing into something contemplative. “but i pity her, y’know?”
his throat tightens.
“pity.” he repeats, blankly.
“yeah, like.” she exhales, weight shifting onto one foot, lashes fluttering like she’s the protagonist of a soap opera. “all the other kids have dads, and she’s stuck with me all the time.”
his breath catches.
she sighs again, deeply, dramatically, as if she’s making some grand sacrifice. her lower lip juts out ever so slightly, just enough to look a little more pitiful, like she’s spent time perfecting this exact expression. “so, i figured i’d do something selfless and find a dad for the day.”
satoru swallows, something thick and unnameable clogging his throat. “that’s… very generous of you.”
she preens. “i know, right?”
and then—she leans in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
“but don’t tell mommy,” she warns, expression shifting in an instant. her eyes are dead serious, her tiny fingers curling into the fabric of her dress as if to physically hold the secret in place. “she’d get mad.”
his stomach drops.
the weight of her words slams into him with the force of a truck, hollowing out his insides. his pulse roars in his ears, loud enough to drown out the hum of the store’s overhead music, the chatter of passing customers, the clatter of shopping baskets. he feels it somewhere deep in his chest, a sensation not unlike free-falling—because of all the ways this day could’ve gone, this was never in the realm of possibility.
“mad?” he echoes, voice suddenly hoarse, the word barely scraping past the dryness in his throat.
“mhm.” she nods sagely, lowering her voice even further, like she’s sharing classified information. her tiny fingers tighten around the straps of her pink backpack, knuckles pressing into the glittery fabric as she leans in just a fraction more. her expression is thoughtful, brows furrowing slightly, as if she’s considering something heavier than a child her age should. “i think she still misses my real dad.”
satoru stops breathing.
his chest tightens, a sharp, unbearable squeeze, as if his ribs have turned into a vice, crushing him from the inside out. the world around him dulls, the chatter of passing shoppers fading into static, the fluorescent lights overhead buzzing like a swarm of unseen locusts. the air in his lungs turns thick and heavy, refusing to move—because everything, everything, is falling into place so fast he can barely keep up.
the kid stationeries you were browsing, the set of pastel pens you picked up only to set them back down, like you were debating whether to buy them. the pink, glittery backpack in her hands, the same shade of obnoxious bubblegum pink he once claimed to hate, but now realizes he would buy in a heartbeat, no questions asked. the way she looks just like him—the sharp slant of her nose, the high curve of her cheekbones, the impossibly bright blue eyes that reflect his own like a taunt. even the way she stands, weight shifted slightly to one hip, tiny hands confidently gripping the straps of the backpack—like she already owns the space she stands in, like the world itself is just a little too small for her.
holy shit.
“anyway.” she huffs, as if he’s the one wasting her time, her small mouth curving into a pout of mild exasperation. she adjusts the straps of the backpack in her arms, shifting its weight against her chest, fingers drumming impatiently against the sequined fabric. she tilts her chin up ever so slightly, radiating a confidence that shouldn't belong to someone so tiny. “it’s on friday, 9:00 a.m., at kikyo kindergarten.”
he blinks, the words sluggish as they filter through his brain, like a broken radio signal cutting in and out. “what?”
“the event, duh.” she frowns, unimpressed, tilting her head with all the attitude of someone who cannot believe they have to repeat themselves. her lips press into a thin line, tiny shoulders rising as she takes a slow breath, like she’s summoning every ounce of patience she has to deal with an absolute idiot. “weren’t you listening?”
his mouth opens, then closes, then opens again, but nothing coherent comes out. “uh—”
“you better be there.” she declares, arms crossing over her chest, voice firm and unwavering, the kind of voice that does not take no for an answer. her stance shifts as she leans in closer, an almost imperceptible movement, but one that carries all the weight of an unspoken challenge—daring him to refuse, daring him to disappoint her. there is something unreadable in her gaze, something old and knowing, something far too perceptive for a child her age. “or else.”
his pulse jumps. “…or else?”
she meets his gaze head-on, unflinching, as if she already knows she has him backed into a corner. her small fingers tap against her arm, considering, calculating—then, her lips curl into a smile that is nothing short of mischievous.
“or else, i’ll tell mommy you tried to kidnap me.”
his soul leaves his body. “WHAT—”
“bye now!” she beams, the picture of innocence, her entire face transforming in real time, as if she didn’t just completely dismantle his entire world in the span of a conversation.
in real time, satoru watches his own child scam him.
his tiny daughter—his menace of a child—spins on her heel, dropping the entire conversation like it never happened. she prances away, light on her feet, twirling slightly as she rounds the aisle you disappeared into, her little frame swallowed by the shelves.
her voice, when she speaks, is a melody, high and sweet and utterly deceiving. “mommy! look! this is the backpack i want!”
satoru can only stay there. staring.
his breath is shallow, like his lungs have forgotten how to function, like his entire body is refusing to move, to react, to process what just happened. the world feels too sharp, too clear, yet somehow far away, like he’s watching himself from outside his own skin. the fluorescent lights above hum too loudly, the colors of the store seem too vivid, and the ground beneath his feet feels like it's seconds away from giving out.
his daughter just found him before he ever found her.
his hands feel cold. his mouth is dry. his brain, usually a relentless, unyielding machine, capable of dissecting complex battle strategies in seconds, is blank. utterly, hopelessly blank.
she’s real. she exists. she is his.
and she just walked away like it was nothing. like she didn’t just turn his world upside down. like she didn’t just unknowingly rip open a part of him that he didn’t even realize had been closed off.
satoru exhales, slow and shaky, dragging a hand down his face. it doesn’t help. he blinks rapidly, trying to reboot his system, but all he can hear is the echo of her tiny voice—matter-of-fact, unimpressed, brimming with the confidence of someone who knew exactly what she was doing.
he comes to terms with something horrifying.
his menace of a child just blackmailed him. she didn’t ask. she demanded. she set her terms, delivered her threat, and walked away like a goddamn professional.
the absolute audacity.
the sheer talent.
his chest swells, something warm and bright bubbling beneath the overwhelming shock. his lips twitch, his vision goes a little blurry, and then—a slow, unhinged grin spreads across his face.
he has never been more proud.
“holy shit,” he breathes, blinking rapidly, his pulse still hammering in his ears. then, after a long moment of processing the absolute scam he just walked into, he straightens, grips the nearest shelf for support, and mutters under his breath;
“she so gets that from me.”
a/n: any normal person would be horrified finding out they missed out years in their child's life but he's not any normal person sigh he's so silly
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The songs you grow to like never stick at first (Chapter 6)
Chapter 1 ++ Chapter 2 ++ Chapter 3 ++ Chapter 4 ++ Chapter 5
Falling for your best friend is a blessing and a curse at the same time, especially when it’s painfully obvious that your friend doesn’t feel the same. So what is Yuuji supposed to do? He doesn’t want to lose you but also can’t help wanting to get out of the friendzone. Maybe his other friends can help him. Or he just has to wait because sometimes the songs that become our all-time favorites are the ones that don’t stick at first.
Pairing: Yuuji x Reader (female) Genre: College AU, fluff, smut, my attempt at humor, friends to lovers Word Count: 8.5k Warnings: 18+, smut, a lot of cheesiness, pining, alcohol, masturbation, creampie, sex dreams, also real sex this time because Yuuji finally gets his reward! All characters are of age. The story and my blog contain 18+ content, so minors don't interact.
Chapter 06: Hope this is the last time,'cause I'd never say no to you
Yuuji's mission during the following weeks is to be your source of comfort. And he takes this job very seriously. He knows what you need right now: A best friend. And Itadori Yuuji is the bestest best friend out of all best friends ever!! Especially because he knows a thing or two about heartbreak, so he has a list of things to do:
1. Always keep you busy! Distraction is key. There cannot be a single moment during the day where you even get the chance to think about Zenin Naoya.
2. Always make sure that you have enough comfort food and drinks.
3. Always let you know how amazing and lovable you are.
Yuuji is good at those things. He knows you better than anyone else, after all.
And so he knows which shows to pick that he can binge-watch with you. He knows which cakes to bake for you. He knows that you like to steal his hoodies because they are comfy and warm, and he makes sure to bring a spare one that he can hand to you. He knows which new manga he can lend to you. He knows which songs to put on a cheer-up playlist for you. He knows how you like your coffee and tea and which snacks to get you.
He wants to take care of you, wants to make you smile again, and put the pieces of your broken heart back together. Maybe his love for you can be the glue that works.
During the following weeks, Yuuji can see that you seem to get better, and it fills him with joy. He can see that you visibly relax when he is with you. That his hugs make you sigh and slump against him as if all the tension fades away when Yuuji holds you. He can see the delighted expression on your face when he tells you how sweet and amazing you are. He hears the shy chuckle when he compliments your eyes and tells you, respectfully of course, that yes your ass looks fantastic in that new pair of jeans.
"Are you feeling better?"
"Hmm yes, sometimes. I feel better when I'm with you. Thank you so much for being there for me, Yuu."
Yuuji's heart is beating way too fast at those words. He knows this is just a friendship thing, but he can't help but feel happy and proud that he is the one who can make you feel better.
That's also why Yuuji agrees to a spontaneous sleepover on one of those binge-watching nights. You're sitting next to him on your bed, and when Yuuji mentions that it's getting late, your hand darts out to wrap around his biceps:
"Please, one more episode!"
The message is clear. You don't want to be alone. It makes Yuuji's heart ache for you. And of course, he will do anything to help you. So he smiles and pats your knee.
"Ok, ok, I get it. We can watch as many episodes as you like. After all, there is a whole third season too!"
Your grateful smile is making Yuuji's chest swell with happiness. It feels good to be the source of your comfort.
So when two hours later you snuggle against his side and mumble a sleepy "Can you stay the whole night please?", Yuuji stays and tries to ignore the way his traitorous heart and dick both throb at the invitation.
How many times has he pictured something like this in his fantasies? Staying in your bed overnight. In his dreams, you always end up making out and tearing each other's clothes off.
But Yuuji is here to be a good friend who helps you through a breakup, not to have dirty fantasies about you!
And so he turns onto his side and lets you snuggle against his broad back, hugging him as you slowly drift off to sleep, and he can't help but lie awake for a long time just smiling in the dark and listening to your cute soft snores and feeling the warmth of your body against him.
"Are you a parking ticket? Because you've got FINE written all over you."
Yuuji can't stop himself from chuckling as he presses the send button while waiting in line in the coffee shop to get some iced coffee for you and himself.
He has started to send you the funny pickup lines again. While you were dating Naoya, he felt like he was overstepping and stopped sending them. But now it feels right again. Because even though Yuuji's attempts at flirting didn't work with you, he knows at least that the cheesy pickup lines made you laugh, and so he hopes that they will help cheer you up.
The guy behind Yuuji bumps slightly against his shoulder while staring unashamedly at the phone screen.
"Wow, you're smooth, bro. Bet you get all the girls."
Yuuji turns to him and shakes his head,
"Nah, man, those pickup lines aren't working. But they make for a good laugh, I guess."
The guy nods solemnly and claps Yuuji's back encouragingly,
"Keep your head up. I read somewhere that many chicks go for guys who make them laugh or the ones who can cook."
"Oh! Wow, that's great! I can make her laugh, and I can also cook! Thanks, bro!"
Naturally, Yuuji decides to pay you a visit that evening with a backpack full of ingredients he bought to cook your favorite meal. And he's very pleased to see a smile on your face when you realize what he's doing.
He likes this. He likes cooking for you and sending you funny messages, and watching movies with you. He likes taking care of you. He likes being your best friend and seeing that you feel better when he is around you.
After a few weeks, Yuuji even makes you go clubbing with him and some of your other friends. You try to turn him down at first, but Yuuji knows that once you leave the house, you will love it, and he believes that you deserve a fun night out. Some drinks and dancing and joking around with your friends will surely help you forget about your stupid ex, even if it's just for a few hours!
And so Yuuji shows up at your dorm with Nobara in tow, looking ridiculous wearing sunglasses at night and already slightly tipsy from sharing vodka shots in the back of Fushiguro's car.
You open the door wearing your pj's and gaping at them thunderstruck. But their good mood makes you laugh, and so you let Nobara usher you into your bedroom to pick a hot outfit for you.
Yuuji smiles and leans against your bedroom door, waiting for you to get dressed. He knows it's probably stupid, but he made sure to wear the tight black shirt that you like on him because fuck yes, it feels nice to get complimented by you, and last time he wore it, you kept staring at his chest, and it made Yuuji feel all giddy.
He hears Nobara exclaim loudly:
"Where is that idiot Itadori?! I need more vodka!"
Yuuji answers through the door:
"I'm here! Is everyone decent in there?"
He hears you laugh at his words, followed by a loud:
"Oh, just come inside, Yuuji! I have no problem changing in front of you. It's not like you haven't seen me in a bikini before, so a bit of underwear won't kill you!"
Well, if you only knew what the few times he saw you in a bikini did to him! Yuuji tries to steel himself by taking another gulp out of the vodka bottle before pushing the door open.
The first thing he sees is your cute ass in some lacy black panties, and he has to suppress a groan.
His night will be filled with fantasies about getting on his knees behind you, pulling those sexy little panties to the side, and worshipping that sweet ass and cute pussy with his hands and lips. Fuck! He has to stop!
Luckily Nobara almost tackles him to the floor at that moment and demands more vodka. So Yuuji has something to distract himself, and once his hungry gaze strays back to you, you are already dressed, still looking yummy as fuck in that short dress Nobara picked for you, but at least your ass isn't so much on display anymore.
"Does that look good, Yuu?"
"You look perfect! Sexy and pretty!"
Maybe drinking vodka wasn't the best idea because it makes his tongue even more loose than usual. But you smile broadly at him, obviously happy about the compliment. And it feels so fucking good when you come over to him and place a warm hand on Yuuji's pecs and compliment him back:
"Thank you! You look good too. I like that shirt on you. It shows how much you work out."
"Oh, stop salivating over Itadori's tiddies and come here so I can do your makeup!"
Yuuji's grin grows even bigger, and he knows that this night out was the best idea! He plops down on your desk chair and passes the vodka bottle around while Nobara does your hair and makeup. And once she is finished, Yuuji lets himself get pulled to his feet and throws his arms around his girls as all three of you make your way to Fushiguro's car.
He is happy to see an excited sparkle in your eyes when the three of you sit in the backseat, Yuuji in the middle, and he sings along loudly to all the songs that play in the car, making you laugh anytime he's doing the rap parts. He feels amazing!
The club is brimming with people. Yuuji doesn't waste any time and pulls you and Nobara directly onto the dancefloor while Fushiguro and Maki lean against the bar and share amused glances.
The most beautiful thing is to see you laughing again. You dance with Nobara and Yuuji and sing along to the songs, and the smile on your face is so carefree that it fills Yuuji's chest with warmth.
His hands land on your hips when you grind against him, and here in the middle of the dancefloor, with the dimmed light and the vodka clouding his mind, he can almost make himself believe that you are his girl. Especially when you turn around to wrap your arms around Yuuji's neck, getting on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek and shout into his ear over the loud music:
"Thank you for taking me here! I haven't had this much fun in weeks! You're the best, Yuu!"
He laughs happily and smiles his sunshine smile at you before taking your hand and spinning you around in a circle, making you squeal and laugh loudly when you almost collide with Nobara.
The most peculiar thing of the night happens when the three of you take a break from dancing to get more drinks at the bar. A girl comes up to Yuuji. She looks at him with a big smile, twirling a strand of her hair around her fingers as she blinks up at him through long eyelashes.
"Hey, you are really cute. Can I get your number, maybe?"
Yuuji remembers Junpei claiming that all the girls asking for Yuuji's number actually want to date him, and even he can see it this time because she couldn't be more direct about it. Yuuji gulps hard. He feels bad for the brave girl, but he is simply not interested in her. His heart is already taken, after all!
He scratches his neck a bit embarrassedly, trying to think of a nice way to turn her down. But before he can even say anything, he feels your hand slip into his, interlacing your fingers and stepping between Yuuji and the girl.
"Sorry, but his number isn't available."
Yuuji's eyes widen, but he nods enthusiastically,
"Yeah, she's right! Have a nice evening, though!"
And then you tug him back onto the dancefloor, your hand still holding his tightly, and Yuuji follows you gladly, placing his free hand on your hip to steer you through the crowd.
He thinks his heart will burst. He hasn't been this happy and carefree in a long time! You are single again and here with him! And out of all the people in this club, you only dance with Yuuji and laugh with him and throw your arms around him. You seem to be genuinely happy tonight after all those weeks of heartbreak.
And what was that thing with that girl just now? If he didn't know it any better, Yuuji would think you were jealous.
Reader's POV:
You can proudly say that you're over Naoya. It's been two months since that rainy night when you caught him with that other woman. Two months since your heart shattered into a thousand little pieces.
The first two weeks were the worst. You could barely bring yourself to leave the bed. If it hadn't been for Yuuji playing delivery boy and providing you with a neverending supply of meals and snacks, you don't know what you would have done.
And he didn't leave it at that. He looked at you with his big boyish grin and was like, "Ok, we have snacks, comfy clothes, and warm blankets. Time for a movie night!" The stubborn glint in his eyes told you that he wouldn't accept a no. Yuuji was on a mission to make you feel better, and you knew nothing could stop him. So you let him stay.
And if you were honest, you had to admit that you were very grateful for his insistence. Because Yuuji was good company. He was sweet and caring and funny and knew how to distract you at all times. And he was also big and buff and warm and gave the best hugs when you needed them.
Yuuji made the ache in your heart lessen a bit more every day, and you caught yourself thinking several times that you wished you had never dated Naoya but instead a guy like Yuuji.
But there was no use in dwelling on the what-ifs. Yuuji was your best friend, and you were grateful for that! It was ok that he didn't see you as more than a friend. And after all, he was here to pick up the pieces of your broken heart and glue them together again, and you knew he would always do that. Yuuji was a constant in your life, which was worth a lot.
After those first two weeks, you were able to go about your regular schedule again, even though you still started tearing up when you saw happy couples or something that reminded you of Naoya. Your friends were amazing, though, and did anything they could to make you feel better. Especially Yuuji.
Gradually you felt better again. It became easier to sleep, easier to laugh again, and the more time passed, the less you thought of your ex.
And the ultimate proof that you are finally over Naoya happened this morning when you ran into him on your way to the college cafeteria, on a Monday morning two months after you caught that cheating bastard.
You were looking at your phone, texting Yuuji that your course got canceled and you had a free period now, and suddenly you bumped into someone who was also looking at his phone.
You looked up with an apology, and there he was! Naoya, looking immaculate as always, with perfectly styled hair, a fine suit and shoes, an expensive leather bag, and a sparkling Rolex on his wrist.
To your utter astonishment, you didn't feel sad or angry or anything like that. Instead, all you felt was indifference, and you caught yourself wondering for a moment why you ever thought this arrogant guy was hot.
You could see a slight panic crawl over his features when he realized who he had run into. He was probably worried you'd cause a scene in front of everyone. But all you did was smile politely at him and give him a curt nod,
"Good morning, Mr. Zenin. Have a nice day."
You didn't even bother to wait for a reply but proceeded to make your way down the hallway. The smile on your face grew wider, and by the time you walked into the cafeteria, you were grinning so broadly that Yuuji and Nobara both looked at you questioningly. However, before they could ask, you already slipped into a chair across from them and informed them excitedly:
"Guess what! I ran into Naoya, and I felt nothing at all! Guys, it's official, I am over him!"
Your life is back to normal now. Going to university, meeting your friends, attending the usual college parties on weekends.
Your crush on Yuuji might have returned full force, probably thanks to all the time the two of you spent together during your heartbroken state. But you try to ignore those feelings as much as possible. It's what you've been doing for years.
The turning point comes when you are shopping with Nobara, this time without Yuuji because he has to help Megumi walk their neighbor's dogs.
Nobara fixes you with a stern gaze across the table of the ice cream parlor you are currently taking a break in.
"You have to stop leading Itadori on."
You almost drop the spoon you are holding and blink at Nobara in shock. What?? She continues without giving you a chance to reply.
"It's not fair what you're doing to him. You know full well that he likes you!"
"I...what???"
"Come on, everyone knows! He's so bad at hiding it. His emotions are written all over his face! So don't tell me you don't know! You have to stop flirting with him. Like, what was that sleepover? And why are you touching him all the time now? Or that stunt you pulled at the club when that girl asked for his number? You have to stop, or he will only get his hopes up!"
Finally, you find your voice again, but it's small and shaky as you stare at Nobara with wide eyes.
"What do you mean, Yuuji likes me?"
Nobara scrunches her nose and gives you a look that tells you you are more stupid than she thought.
"Seriously? Are you trying to tell me you don't know?"
You feel so hot all of a sudden. Your pulse is racing, and you're breathing way too fast.
You never thought you had a chance with Yuuji! He's so popular, so sweet and funny and so so handsome! He's collecting phone numbers of girls and also boys all the time. And the most endearing thing is that he is so oblivious to it! He doesn't get that those people are hitting on him.
You don't know what came over you in the club. You had told yourself a long time ago that you couldn't have Yuuji, and so you didn't allow yourself to act on any jealousy. But that night in the club, you had felt it again when that girl had tried to flirt with your Yuuji. Jealousy, icy cold and burning like acid in your veins, and before you could stop yourself, you had intervened.
Afterwards, you had forbidden yourself to think about it or what it could mean. You had just gotten over your ex! You couldn't afford to fall hard for your best friend all over again and end up heartbroken because Yuuji didn't want you that way!
But now things are different, of course.
If Nobara is correct, then that means... It means you can allow those feelings. You can let yourself think about Yuuji in that way.
It's exhilarating, making your heart beat too fast and your head spin with all the possibilities. You can't stop grinning like a madwoman and laugh softly while tears gather in your eyes. It's almost too much. The realization that the person you love the most can actually be yours if you want.
And yes, you absolutely want him! Because this makes sense, Yuuji and you make sense. It's the thing that always made sense from the very frist day you met, and it continued to make sense over the following months and years.
Yuuji is the one who is always there for you. The one who cheers you up on your bad days, the one who makes soup for you when you are sick, the one who always remembers your coffee order, the one who picks you up in the middle of the night and gives you his hoodie to keep you warm.
The boy with the big smile and the pretty honey eyes that always gaze at you with so much love and affection. The one who always makes you laugh and makes you feel like you can be yourself around him, and he likes you exactly the way you are. The one who you can always rely on. The one you know like the back of your hand.
Love was always here, right in front of you. Because Yuuji was here. As your best friend and apparently also secretly in love with you just like you were in love with him.
It's bittersweet to think about it. How long has this been going on? How long has Yuuji liked you as more than friends? How much time did you waste on other people when you could have had Yuuji as your boyfriend?
You curse yourself for giving up on your crush on him ages ago because you always assumed you would never have a chance with him. Hell, when you think back to all the things you said during the last months, you feel sick. It must have broken his heart!
"Shit! I'm so dumb!"
You bury your face in your hands and groan loudly.
Nobara's laughter drifts to your ears, and a moment later, she pulls your hands off your face and makes you look at her.
"You are both dumb. But it's no use dwelling on past mistakes. Get a grip and get your man!! You know he likes you now, and he's a disaster at all of this, so you are the one who has to fix it. Make the first move!"
Her words make you chuckle. Sweet Yuuji. He can really be a bit dense, and it's so cute! But of course, he's standing in his own way with it, so Nobara is probably right. You have to take the initiative!
"Ok! I'll ask him on a date!"
Yuuji's POV:
"Hey Yuu, do you want to go see a movie with me tomorrow night?"
Yuuji lifts his head and blinks at you from across the table in the coffee shop the two of you are currently sitting in.
"You mean as in going to the movie theater?"
You smile at him and nod.
"Yes! We haven't been in a while."
He hates his heart for beating faster at your suggestion. You aren't asking him on a date! This is just a friends thing. And you probably want to invite everyone else too just like the last time.
"Count me in! Who else do you want to ask?"
"No one. I just want to go with you."
You chuckle softly, and your gaze slips down to your iced coffee, fingers toying with the straw. You seem almost nervous. Yuuji thinks it's adorable. He wonders why you seem so shy all of a sudden but immediately chides himself silently to stop getting his hopes up over nothing! This is probably just a little thank you for the last few weeks where Yuuji helped you after your breakup. This isn't a date!
But somehow, the night at the movie theater still feels a bit like a date as much as Yuuji tries to scream at himself to get a grip. You are sharing popcorn, and your hands keep meeting in the bowl on his lap, fingers brushing over each other. Every touch of fingertips against his hand makes Yuuji's dick twitch in interest. Luckily the large bowl of popcorn hides every evidence of it.
But what are Yuuji and his dick supposed to do when you lean against his side and rest your head on his shoulder, sighing happily and turning your face into his neck to whisper:
"Mmmhh, you smell so good, Yuu."
Yuuji is such a confused and nervous mess once again. His dick throbs, his cheeks are burning, and his stomach holds so many butterflies that he surely won't be able to eat any more popcorn. Why does this feel like a movie date? He knows it isn't one!
But how far do best friends go? Is it normal to hold hands on the armrest between your seats? Is it a bestie thing to rest your head on Yuuji's shoulder? Is it normal friendly behavior to feed each other popcorn out of your hands and laugh and squeal when you lick each other's fingers in the process?
Would Yuuji do the same with Fushiguro or Junpei, or Nobara? He tries hard to imagine it, but somehow he is pretty sure Fushiguro would tell him it's stupid to play with food, and Nobara would surely punch him. Junpei maybe... but on the other hand, he would probably feel so awkward about eating out of each other's hand that he'd never go to a movie with Yuuji ever again.
So why does it feel so natural to do this with you?
It's after the movie ends and the two of you walk outside, your hand wrapped around Yuuji's bicep, thumb stroking over his muscles when Yuuji realizes you are staring at him, and he turns his head to look at you, only to get greeted with a somewhat sheepish expression on your pretty face,
"Is everything ok?"
Your eyes widen, and you nod, but you keep staring at him while gnawing your bottom lip and tightening your hold on his arm.
"Yuu... I...um... there's something I... I want to..."
Before you can finish your sentence, you get interrupted by loud cheers of "Tiger of Jujutsu College!"
The guys from the boxing club! Yuuji laughs and lifts a hand in greeting. When they finally leave for the snack stand Yuuji asks you curiously:
"Sorry. What did you want to say?"
"Oh... um... it's nothing. I forgot."
But you seem so flustered somehow, and Yuuji can't help but think that something is going on that he doesn't quite get. A small part of his brain whispers that you wanted to confess your hidden feelings for him. But Yuuji instantly shuts that voice down. It's impossible! He has to stop those fantasies! This is not a rom-com! The two of you are friends, and that's all it will ever be!
The movie night was very confusing! But it is only one of many things that make Yuuji wonder what is going on between the two of you.
Because suddenly, Yuuji is the one who receives text messages with cheesy pickup lines. He yelps loudly the first time it happens, right there in the middle of his movie analysis course. Yuuji stares at the text with big eyes and reaches out to grab Fushiguro's forearm tightly.
"What is it now, Itadori?"
"Look at this!!"
He shoves his phone into his friend's hand, letting him read the message that says clear and bright:
"Are you a broom? Because you've swept me off my feet!"
"(Y/n) sent you this??"
"Yes!! Fushiguro, Inumaki was right!! These things work after all!!"
Junpei is leaning towards them now too, to read the message over Yuuji's shoulder, followed by an encouraging clap on his back.
Their little commotion catches the attention of their professor, and a moment later, he is standing next to Yuuji with a big grin on his face.
"What are you boys yelling about?"
"Oh, sorry, professor Gojo! But I received a flirty message, and I am excited!"
"Oh my god! Let me see!!"
Next to him, Fushiguro groans as if in pain, and Yuuji hands his phone to his professor, who squeals and announces loudly to the whole course:
"That's so cute! Ok, forget today's initial plan. We are going to talk about rom-coms now!! Everybody share your faves!"
Yuuji beams at professor Gojo and nods happily while Fushiguro huffs,
"Please not the rom-coms now. Why do I even bother to do my assignments for this sorry excuse of a movie analysis course?"
But Yuuji is happy, and he knows that Megumi is happy for him too.
After a week of being the receiver of flirty messages, Yuuji can't stop himself from wondering if it could be possible that maybe, just maybe, things have changed, and he might have a chance with you after all?
Because there are all those signs and it's really hard to find "just friends" explanations for them. The two of you do the same things as usual, but it's different.
You always liked to sit on Yuuji's lap when there wasn't any space left. But now, you also choose his lap as your preferred seating even when other seats are available.
And you compliment Yuuji a lot lately, making him grin and blush and bask in the giddy feeling of euphoria when you tell him he smells good and his eyes look so pretty in that lighting and that his hair is so soft and cute and that his muscles look so defined. All the praise makes Yuuji feel so warm, and his heart is beating so fast that he fears he will get a nosebleed.
And all those little affectionate gestures just keep getting more and more.
Just like today, when Yuuji accompanies you on another shopping spree, and you take his hand and never let go of it the whole time you are walking next to each other. He doesn't even have to pretend all that much to imagine that he is your boyfriend.
It makes him grin like an idiot the whole time, and he can't help but caress your hand with this thumb, which makes you turn to him with a warm smile, and before Yuuji knows what's happening, you get on your tip toes and kiss his cheek and whisper in his ear:
"You are so cute, Yuuji."
He wraps his arms around you, pulls you into a tight hug, and leans down to kiss your cheek too, gentle and sweet, with all the love and happiness he feels at that moment.
"Aww, thank you, princess. You are even cuter, though."
He is sure that to everyone around you, the two of you must look like boyfriend and girlfriend.
A strong craving surges through Yuuji at that thought. He wants that. He wants it to be real.
Maybe he should finally tell you about this. What if he lets you know about his wishes, his feelings? What if he tells you that his heart is yours? That he is yours and that he wants you to be his too?
You have ice cream in the cute pastel-colored ice cream parlor near the exit of the shopping mall, and somehow your hand is still in Yuuji's as you sit next to him and lick your ice cream, and his heart is beating so fast that he thinks everyone in a radius of ten meters must hear it.
This feels exactly like what Yuuji wished for. Doing all the things he usually does with you but with the added little things that cross that line between being friends and being girlfriend and boyfriend. Is it really happening? Could you want him as more than a friend too?
"This kinda feels like a date."
His pulse is racing even more after saying those words, but Yuuji feels it's relatively safe to say that because if you start laughing about it, he can just join and act like he meant it as a teasing little joke and nothing more.
But you don't do that. Instead, your eyes sparkle happily as you smile at Yuuji and your hand gives his a gentle squeeze, and your next words make Yuuji's world turn upside down in the best way possible:
"It can be one if you like."
Yuuji forgets to breathe for a moment and stares at you, totally dumbfounded.
All these months of secretly longing to cross that line, and now it seems like you already stepped over that imaginary line without Yuuji noticing. And now you are on the other side, waiting for him to join you with a nervous smile on your face and hope in your eyes.
Yuuji nods wildly, almost stumbling over his words, when he finally manages to blurt out:
"Oh my god! Yes!! Yes, please, I'd like that a lot! I want it to be a date!"
You both grin at each other, and Yuuji feels his head spin when you lean against his side with a soft happy-sounding sigh.
When the two of you leave the shopping mall a short while later, the sun is already setting, bathing everything in pink and orange light, turning the city into a pretty glowing dream.
It looks like a scene in a rom-com. Almost as if someone added a romantic filter to create the perfect scenery. The smell of cherry blossoms is in the air, and all the city noises seem muffled somehow because all Yuuji can focus on is you and the way your silhouette gets illuminated by the light of the sunset, and the way your hand feels in his.
He only tears his gaze away from you when a big fat raindrop hits his nose, and he looks upwards to the sky to see a wall of dark grey clouds gathering over the shopping mall.
"I guess we better run!"
Yuuji tightens his hold on your hand and yanks you with him, smiling when he hears your surprised screech that turns into happy laughter as you let Yuuji drag you along.
And not a second too soon because the rain starts for real now. It begins with a soft drizzle but quickly turns into a big downpour, just like that night when Yuuji drove into the city to pick you up.
The two of you seek shelter under a canopy of a nearby shop window, and Yuuji pulls you against him, so you both can fit under it. But that means you are very close now. So close that Yuuji fears you can really hear his heart beating because it won't stop racing in his chest.
But he can't help it. The two of you are on a date! And you are standing so close to him, and the way you tilt your face up and look at him is so intense that it drives Yuuji crazy!
Are you looking at his mouth? He gulps nervously and licks his lips, and yes, he watches your eyes follow the movement of his tongue, and Yuuji has to blink several times because omg, does that mean what he thinks it means? Do you...do you think about kissing him?
Your hand is suddenly on his chest, and Yuuji thinks he can feel the warmth of your skin seep through his hoodie. Even if you don't hear it, you can definitely feel how fast his heart is beating now.
"Yuu?"
"Hmm?"
"I.. um..."
You chuckle nervously and avert your eyes, and it's so sweet how flustered and shy you seem all of a sudden. You have never acted that way around him. It's so cute and reassuring that Yuuji isn't the only one who is nervous.
It's clear as day to him all of a sudden. You like him. You like him the same way he likes you.
And it didn't start today. It has been going on for several weeks already, right? Because looking back, so many things make so much sense all of a sudden. The movie date, for example! Because yes, looking back at it now, it was a date! And the hand holding and the getting possessive when that girl in the club wanted Yuuji's number. The cheesy pickup lines you initiated!
He remembers that one time you wanted to tell him something but then got interrupted by the guys from the boxing club. You tried to tell him how you feel, but he didn't see it because he was so set on believing that you couldn't be more than friends.
Now it's his turn to do something! It's not fair to let you do all the work! And before his nerves can get the better of him, Yuuji wraps his arms around your waist, looks deeply into your eyes, and asks softly:
"Can I kiss you?"
Your answer is a soft, cute gasp. Your fingers grab the collar of his hoodie, and you get on your tiptoes, nodding and smiling enthusiastically, and then your lips are on Yuuji's, and it's everything he ever wished for.
You kiss him eagerly, lips so soft and sweet against his. And Yuuji tightens his hold on you, pulling your body against his, hugging you and kissing you with newfound confidence, putting all the love and the longing he has been feeling for months into this first kiss.
He hopes you know how much he wanted this, how long he has been dreaming about you and him together like this.
His lips move surely but tenderly against yours, and he feels you relaxing in his arms and tilt your head further to get an even better kissing angle, allowing Yuuji to deepen the kiss when your lips open against his mouth.
He groans softly when your tongues brush against each other for the first time, sending shocks of electricity through his body, which make his skin tingle and the butterflies in his stomach go completely crazy.
It's a gentle but passionate kiss, deep and urgent. Maybe a bit desperate, but that's no wonder after both of you had been waiting so long for this to happen.
It's perfect.
Yuuji sighs into your mouth, his large hands sprawling over the small of your back, holding you tightly, caressing you through your sweater, warm and loving, like the kiss the two of you share.
Your tongue is so soft in his mouth, driving him crazy with those slow, tender licks, and the way your body presses against him feels so good. Like it's meant to be.
His head is spinning as if he's drunk, and that's probably what he is. Love drunk.
It's exciting and new to be this close to you, to cross that line between friendship and lovers. But at the same time, it feels so comfortingly familiar. After all, Yuuji is kissing the person who has been closest to him for years, the person he knows better than anyone else and who knows him better than anyone else too. His best friend and each other's home away from home.
And that's exactly what it is, Yuuji realizes: Kissing you feels like coming home.
He feels another smile tug at his lips. His whole body is filled with warmth and giddiness.
When the two of you pull apart, it is with a soft peck on each other's kiss-swollen lips, both giggling and grinning like idiots, eyes shining with happy tears.
Yuuji's hands remain on your waist, holding you loosely in his arms, and your fingers are still twisted in the soft fabric of his hoodie as your gaze meets his, eyes glittering cheerfully.
"Hey, Yuuji, do you know what your hoodie is made of?"
"Huh? What is it made of?"
"Boyfriend material!"
Yuuji blinks at you, speechless for a whole bunch of seconds, and then he breaks out into loud laughter, which you join immediately. The two of you clutch each other tightly, laughing until you have tears in your eyes, overflowing with serotonin.
"So, do you want to date my hoodie now? This is making me a bit jealous, you know. I thought we had something here..."
He can barely finish the sentence before laughing again, and you squeal and hit his chest playfully.
"Ok, ok, let me spell it out for you! Itadori Yuuji, will you please be my best friend and my boyfriend?"
Yuuji is sure he will burst from happiness. His face is starting to hurt from how big his smile is, and he nods eagerly, leaning closer to you so he can pepper little kisses all over your face while he gives you his answer, voice sounding a bit breathless:
"A"
kiss,
"thousand"
kiss,
"times,"
kiss,
"yes!"
The next kiss lands on your lips, and by the time the two of you pull apart again, the sky is already pitch black, and the stars are twinkling prettily above the city, apparently just as jubilant as Yuuji is.
Being your boyfriend is everything Yuuji dreamed it would be. No, it is even better!
Lying here in bed with you, your naked bodies entangled after several rounds of horny fucking, which gradually turned into slow lovemaking. Your head on Yuuji's chest, leaving sweet soft kisses all over his pecs as you sigh happily and tell him you love him and how cute and sexy he is. His arms wrapped around you, fingers gently trailing up and down your spine, sweet loving caresses for the girl he loves so much.
He loves the intimacy, the warmth and love, and the trust.
That was something that was always missing in his former relationships or hookups. And Yuuji comes to the conclusion that all the pining and waiting was for a good reason.
He thinks the secret to how magical this feels is that the two of you didn't start as a romantic couple immediately. You were friends before that. You shared that closeness and special love that best friends have for each other. And now you added even more love to that. And sex. Mind-blowing, better-than-any-fantasy-ever-could-be-sex.
Yuuji grins happily as he lets one large hand wander down to your butt, grabbing one ass cheek and squeezing it gently. He is rewarded instantly by a soft moan, your warm breath brushing over one of his nipples and making him gasp softly.
"Yuu, I can't go another round. I'm so exhausted."
But your lips find his in a sweet kiss, and those kisses quickly become more intense, and soon you have forgotten your earlier words and are straddling Yuuji's lap, moaning into his mouth eagerly, and Yuuji can feel how wet you already are for him. Again. It drives him crazy anytime he feels it, anytime he feels the evidence of how turned on you are because of him.
Your hand wraps around his throbbing dick, making him moan lewdly as you stroke him to full hardness and guide him to your entrance. Yuuji's eyes roll back, and he hears you gasp when you slowly sink down on his hard length.
This is better than any of his wet dreams ever were. His hands knead your cute ass firmly, his hips snapping upwards, pushing his cock deeper into you, and he feels your velvety walls clench around him and hears you moan his name in that cute horny, and shaky voice that lets him know how much you love Yuuji's cock inside you.
"Let me help you, baby."
He half moans, half whispers, knowing your muscles must be sore from all the fucking the two of you did the whole week. Making up for all the lost time after all.
Yuuji is grateful for his stamina and strength, especially in moments like these when he needs to take care of his girl and help you ride him. He does so by holding your hips in a tight grip, lifting your body up and down on his cock, making you gasp and moan and mutter under your breath how strong and sexy he is.
It feels so fucking good! Yuuji lets his head fall back on the pillow, gazing up at you, forcing himself to keep his eyes open so he can see you. Your pretty fucked out face looking so cute and your perfect tits bouncing so sweetly as you ride him eagerly, your pace becoming wilder every second, needing more of him, always so crazy for him and his cock.
His eyes meet yours, and you both moan at the same time.
"Yuuji...ah! I love you, baby!"
His cock throbs at your tender words.
"Fuck! I love you too...fuck...love you so much, cutie...come here...baby.. ah! Ah fuck, need you..."
And you gasp and moan and lean down, pressing your wonderful body against Yuuji, your tits snug against his chest, hands tangling in his hair. Your lips find his in a sloppy heated kiss while Yuuji wraps his arms tightly around you, holding you as close as possible to him, dick so deep inside you while he rolls his hips and fucks you thoroughly with deep and loving thrusts.
You kiss and moan into each other's mouths during your horny but sweet lovemaking. So crazy for each other, so in love.
You cum with loud cries of pleasure, sobbing against Yuuji's neck as he feels your tight wet pussy clenching around him, and Yuuji is filled with so much pride and love and happiness that he can make you feel so good.
It's your whispered: "I love you, Yuuji, I love you so much. You're really the guy of my dreams, baby." that brings him over the edge.
He is moaning and mewling loudly as his hands tighten on your cute ass, and he arches up, cumming so hard and not letting go of you until he pumps your sweet pussy full with his hot ropes of cum.
His heart is racing wildly in his chest as he slowly comes down from his high, dick still throbbing inside you, your pussy pulsing around him hotly with the aftershocks of your orgasm. The two of you kiss for what feels like hours while you are still pressed tightly against Yuuji, and his cock is still deep inside you, both not wanting to part.
It's always like that, and Yuuji loves it. He loves you and loves the way you love him. He loves the way you are both so crazy for each other and both so full of love.
The thought makes him smile because he knows if he ever really directs his own rom-com, one day in the future, he will surely add a cheesy scene like that.
He looks up at you, happy and sated with a cheeky grin on his face.
"Am I really the guy of your dreams?"
And you laugh a bit shyly, slightly embarrassed by your own cheesiness, which makes Yuuji's chest feel even warmer. He caresses the naked skin of your back gently and adds:
"Because you are the girl of my dreams too. Also, you can take that literally. I dreamed about you for months!"
That makes you chuckle, and your fingers trail teasingly over his pecs when you smile at him.
"Oooh, you should tell me all about those dreams, baby. We can reenact all of them. And yes, I really meant it. You are the guy of my dreams, Yuuji. There could never be a better one for me."
An hour later, the two of you managed to get cleaned up before snuggling back into bed for another movie night. The movie in question is another rom-com, and the story is strangely similar to what you and Yuuji went through.
Yuuji smiles and tightens his arm around you, knowing that the poor protagonist will have to go through a lot until he finally gets his crush to like him back in the end.
"Keep your head up, buddy! She might not love you now, but she will! My girl needed some time too!"
That gets a reaction out of you, but not the one Yuuji expected. You pull away from his shoulder to look at him with a confused frown.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Hm? Well, you didn't like me like that at first. I thought you'd never see me as more than a friend. There was this song playing all the time, and somehow I related to it, and I guess it is right. The songs you grow to like never stick at first. But if you listen to them more often, you will find yourself singing along to them one day out of the blue, and suddenly you realize that they have taken a permanent space in your heart!"
You blink at him, mouth opening and closing as if you can't believe what you hear. Yuuji doesn't understand why you look at him that way, but it's cute, and you look so pretty in his boxing club shirt with that adorable confused expression on your face.
One of your hands reaches out to cup Yuuji's cheek, and you look at him intently while shaking your head:
"No, Yuu, that doesn't apply to us. You are the song I loved from the first moment I listened to it! The song that became my instant fave. The one that I know by heart and that's still stuck in my brain after years. The one song I always want to listen to when I need comfort. The one song that always makes me happy. The one song I never grow tired of and still sing along to every time it comes on. The number one song on my list! That's what you always were and always will be. You are my all-time favorite song."
Yuuji's eyes widen. Now he is the one who stares at you in confusion, heart racing in his chest and tears gathering in his eyes. So that's how you saw him? He never was just a friend? How is that possible?
"But...but...what!? That's how you felt about me all this time?"
"Yes! Since day one kind of...I spent an hour with you, and I was already in so deep. You were so kind and sweet and so hot. I already had such a big crush on you after that first meeting."
"What? But what about those other people you flirted with? And what about Naoya?"
"Yuuji, I thought I didn't have a chance with you! You are so... so perfect. Everybody wants you. You are like the sun, so bright and warm and beautiful, drawing everyone in. I was happy and grateful to be your best friend and never wanted to risk losing you by telling you that I wanted more. So I tried to be with other people instead. If I had known I had a chance with you, I would have never dated Naoya. Or anyone else. It would have only been you for me."
Your voice is tender, and your eyes are shining with tears while you smile happily at Yuuji, fingers caressing his cheek lovingly. And Yuuji blinks at you, totally caught off guard as his mind tries to catch up with what you are confessing to him.
"Whoaaa what?? But that's how I've been feeling about you for a long time too! I thought you didn't want me that way, and I was scared to lose you if I told you how I felt! You're telling me that... that we liked each other like that for months now? Why didn't we get together sooner?"
"Because we are both oblivious idiots, I guess?"
Your eyes sparkle in amusement, and Yuuji bursts out laughing at the exact same moment you do. Both of you are shaking from laughter, wiping away happy tears until Yuuji wraps his arms around you and pulls you against him to press another sweet kiss to your lips.
He can feel you smile into the kiss, making his heart leap with affection. When he pulls away, he still can't stop grinning broadly.
"I'm glad we stopped being oblivious now."
"Me too. So from now on, let's just be idiots together, minus the oblivious, ok?"
You look at him with a matching amused and lovestruck expression on your face as you lift one hand in the air waiting for his answer.
And Yuuji laughs loudly and claps his large hand against yours in a hearty high five before intertwining his fingers with yours, holding hands with you and leaning closer with a broad grin:
"Deal!"
- The end. -
Yayyy Yuuji got his movie-like happy end after all! I am so happy for our sweet boy! But also a bit sad that this series is over now. This College AU was so much fun to write, and I love that the Fall Out Boy theme let me be really cheesy! I laughed so much while working on this story! I hope it could give you good vibes too!
This AU is my personal rom-com. The whole time I saw the scenes playing out like a movie before my mind's eye. I guess it fits that Yuuji studies filmmaking! I'm glad he got his own cheesy rom-com ending!!
The smut scene wasn't planned, but then I suddenly found myself writing it, and you know what? I think it's what Yuuji baby deserves. He was such a good boy throughout this whole fic! He deserves some really good sex :)
Thank you so much to everyone who stayed until the end! Your comments made me so happy and encouraged me to keep writing this story even after putting it on a break for a while. Thank you so much for the love and support! It was such a fun journey to share this story with you!
This last chapter made me so emotional and happy, and I hope you can feel all the love I felt while writing the scenes with Yuuji and reader. What they have really is my perfect relationship! I love the thought of Yuuji being the sweetest and hottest combination of best friend and boyfriend.
Please let me know what you think about the ending and the whole story! Comments and reblogs make me happy!
our beautiful boy ❤️
𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚌𝚎
pairing: hockey player!katsuki x trainer!reader
warnings: cussing, tensions, bakugou kinda being very forward
notes: hockey player katsuki save me 🤤
what started as teasing texts between the star hockey player and the team's trainer turns into late-night tension and feelings neither of you want to name
The Rest of Them
Pairing: Nerd!Gojo x Rich!User
This is a lil teaser…I’m still debating if I want to use Tumblr as my main way of posting fics, but the HTML feature and aesthetics are so cuuuteeee!!!!
Synopsis: Satoru Gojo always stood out at your prestigious university. A prestigious heir, a ridiculously pretty boy. But you were determined to prove that he was just like the rest of them. A spoiled rich boy, weak-minded, who was only interested in one thing.
The air outside the club was cold, the lights from various cars shining in your eyes as they passed. Satoru’s grip on your arm tightening ever so slightly as he drags you out of the door. It wasn’t painful, but it was harsh enough for even your bogged down senses to be aware he wasn’t letting go yet.
It wasn’t fair. You tried again, tilting your head just so. The way that made men fall to their knees in front of you. Your lips curled into a smirk, your lips slightly parting. He could feel the heat of your breath on his face, yet he didn’t waver. There wasn’t a crack in his gaze, as he released your arm.
“Satoru, you wound me.” You say dramatically, words slurred from the alcohol. Please, please. You don’t actually care. Prove it, prove it, PROVE IT. “What, am I not pretty enough for you now?” You ask the question, a tone of confidence. It wasn’t serious, you knew that. As if you weren’t pretty enough for anyone. But underneath that confidence, that arrogance, your eyes seemed to glisten with something pleading. It sparked a small hint of fear coiling in your gut. Could he see right through you?
You wanted him to be like the rest of them. You wanted him to crumble, and beg, and fall over himself for you. You wanted him to want your body, your power, your influence. You wanted him to want anything but you.
There’s a long moment of silence as Satoru seems to just…take in your appearance, the way the alcohol and club had made a thin sheen of sweat appear on your skin, making stray hairs stick to your face. There was a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze, that gave you pause. His hand twitched at his side, almost as if to reach out and touch your reddened cheeks, but it quickly settled back at his side.
So instead, he takes hold of your shoulders and pushes you back just a bit. “You’re drunk.” His voice wasn’t sweet, wasn’t teasing now. “We’re going home.”
He releases you abruptly, the places his touch had been feeling cold and empty. You put on a mask of arrogance and follow him to his car, a smirk on your face. “Hah, wimp.” You mutter, clicking on your seatbelt. The night was dark, the lights of downtown flashing in your face as he drove. It was quiet, other than the soft tones of the radio. Of course he listens to classical music. But the sound of the music, and the car’s soft hum create a peaceful atmosphere, lulling you to sleep. There’d be time to sort out this shitfest later. You were fucking exhausted.
author’s notes: IM SO HAPPY TO PUT THIS OUTTTTT!!! lmk if you wanna be tagged when I actually start posting the novel :p
(im super new to this whole tumblr platform so…any tips r greatly appreciated <3)
IS THERE SOMEONE ELSE! — GOJO SATORU
SYNOPSIS...you and gojo get into a fight after realizing that he’s been hiding something about your relationship the entire time
INFO...gojo x fem!reader, angsty, arguing, breaking up(?), not proofread
OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated
You slam the door to the penthouse, your heels clicking against the mahogany floors with each step. You toss your purse on the couch, hearing Gojo opening the front door and shutting it quickly. “Baby, please just listen to me.” He pleads, following after you.
“I don’t wanna hear your bullshit excuse, Satoru.” You roll your eyes, plopping down on the edge of the bed to relieve your sore feet of the heels you’ve been wearing all night to your boyfriends opening event he’s been planning for months now.
“I’m not trying to make excuses. Please.” He walks over towards you and toss your heel at him. “Stop throwing shit and just talk to me!”
“You don’t get to tell me what to do!” You stand to your feet, glaring daggers at him. “Do you know how embarrassing that was for me? God, you’re a fucking asshole.” You seethe, narrowing your eyes. “I sat there all alone, while you let some woman feel up on you the entire night? Are you out your fucking mind?” You scoff.
“She’s just an old friend, y/n. I swear I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.” He shakes his head at you, grabbing onto your arms tightly.
“Oh, yeah? So I when I came up and introduced myself as your girlfriend none of your friends were looking at me like I was crazy? I know we’ve been only together for a year, Satoru, but that’s fucking low.” You pull away from him. “They didn’t even know who I was. Then you got miss prissy bitch clearly flirting with you in front of me and you didn’t do a damn thing to stop it!” You brush past him, stomping over towards the bathroom.
“Slow down, y/n! Baby—”
“I’m not your fucking ‘baby’, Satoru.” You gather all of your products from the bathroom, from your makeup and skincare to your clothes and shampoo.
“Stop for just one second.” He spins you around so you’re facing him. “Don’t leave. I swear you’re the only girl for me. I know I fucked up, I know I did. I embarrassed you, made you look stupid and I am so fucking sorry. But please do not leave.” He cups your face gently and his touch feels so inviting, but you can’t forgive him that easily. “I only want you. I only need you.”
You look up at him through your lashes, swallowing thickly as you bite the inside of your cheek. “Should’ve thought about that when you let her kiss your cheek and you smiled at her. Right in front of me. Get the fuck off of me.” You push him, rushing to grab your bag from the closet.
Gojo lets out a tired sigh, following you. He wasn’t going to let you go. Not like this. “I shouldn’t have let her near me.”
“Why was she so comfortable with being that close to you, huh?” You question, furrowing your brows as you turn to look at him. “Now that I think about it. Let me guess, you two were more than just friends.” You stand to your feet, snatching your clothes off the hangers and shoving them into your bag. He looks at you, opening his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. And from the look in his eyes, you already knew the truth. A bitter laugh leaves your lips, shaking your head in disappointment.
“It was before you! Before us! We never dated it was just a small thing between me and her!” He tried to explain. “Baby, I swear! Once I met you, everything changed. I cut her off and focused all my attention on you. You’re the only who has my heart.” He grabbed your wrist only for you to pull away.
“Clearly I ain’t the only who who’s got your dick, though.” You slam the closet door shut, turning your back towards him.
“Don’t say that, y/n. That’s the first time I’ve seen her in years!”
“Yeah? Well all your friends sure know about her. She must’ve been great in bed, Satoru. Me? Well, they looked at me like I was a fucking ghost!” You scoff. “Like I was some delusional bitch who came up to you and said I was your girlfriend!” You throw your hands up in disbelief. “You must take me for fucking joke. It must be written on my forehead or something!”
“I don’t take you for a joke! You’re my goddamn girlfriend. You live with me. You have my initial around your fucking neck! I love you and you know that!” He takes a step towards you.
“Do I know that?” You ask aloud, cocking your head to the side.
“What—of course I love you. What the fuck are you saying?” He looked at you with pure confusion.
“You’re a joke. One of your friends, Shoko, pulled me aside and told me the only reason you got with me is because your little fling ended up getting a boyfriend herself around the time we started dating. You’re a piece of shit.” You revealed the truth to him, watching him stare at you blankly, lost for words. “Think I wouldn’t find out?” You ripped off the necklace with his initial, tossing it at him.
“Yes, I was upset that she got a boyfriend but—”
“So you had feelings for her. And just to cover them up, you got with me as a distraction.” You step closer towards him. “Listen to me, Satoru, don’t ever try and contact me again, keep whatever fucking gifts you bought me and return them, sell them, do whatever because I am done,” you spoke through gritted teeth.
“No, no, no, baby. You can’t leave me. Yea I liked her before, but so fucking what? I was never in love with her, not like I am with you. I was too fucking stupid. I still am! Just give me another chance to fix this. I don’t want us to end this way.” He grabs your packed bag from your hands and tosses it on the bed.
“Let me go, Satoru.”
“No,” he shakes his head, “I can’t. You’re everything to me. She’s nothing compared to you.” He sniffles, holding your hands in his. “I love you so much and I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you the truth. I’m sorry I embarrassed you. And I’m sorry for entertaining the idea that she could even come close to you. She can’t.” His hands cupped your face, his heart pounding in anticipation as he waited to hear any words from you.
You reached up, pulling his hands away from your face. “Bye, Satoru.” You walked past him, grabbing your bag off of the bed. As much as it hurt to leave, you knew you had to respect yourself. Time and space was what you needed to think. With each step out the door, you could hear Gojo’s sobs, something you’ve never heard before in the year you’ve been with him. For the strong, flashily and confident man he is, you never once thought you’d see or him break down. Especially not for you.
you and katsuki weren’t dating or anything, but it didn’t seem like the two of you were just friends either. maybe a secret third thing?
now that you think about it, you and katsuki were unusually close. but you’ve always just thought it was casual, right? just friendly things that friends do?
like, he’ll always find a way to touch you. if the two of you are walking through a crowded hallway at school, you’ll feel his hand resting on your back, just to keep you close as the crowd pushes through.
or sometimes, when the class goes on a field trip, he makes sure he gets to sit next to you.
you’ll immediately feel the warmth of his thigh pressing against yours as he plops down in the seat next to you, your shoulder brushing against each others.
“here,” katsuki says, shoving a protein bar into your hands. “i know ya’ didn’t eat anything yet, idiot.”
“thanks katsuki, how’d you know?” you ask him, opening it up.
he shrugs. “‘cause i pay attention. no big deal.”
you hummed in response as you gazed at the two of your legs still touching. katsuki didn’t seem to mind it at all. there was just something so domestic about it all. even when sometimes you’d lay your head on his shoulder, on purpose just to mess with him, it wouldn’t work because he always let you.
you and katsuki were laying on the couch in the common area together, and you suddenly decided to lean back on him, your back to his chest.
you expected for him to at least give you some attitude, since he never lets anyone touch him. you know he hates it. weirdly enough, he didn’t say anything. in fact, you felt him shift closer to you, getting comfortable.
“aw, you’re really not gonna push me away? thought you hated people touching you?”
he snaps, “whatever,” before draping his arm around your shoulder, pulling you even closer.
everyone knows bakugou doesn’t have many people he would consider his friend. maybe except one person.
kirishima had been noticing how different his best friend had been acting, and he just had to bring it up.
“leave me alone, shitty hair”
“dude, you spend almost all of your time with her!”
“your point?”
“you like her.”
katsuki scoffs, “shut the hell up.”
“just saying, man.” kirishima nudges him, “its funny”
katsuki glared at him. “what’s fucking funny?”
kirishima gave him a look. “the way you act like it isn’t a thing.”
“you’re fucking annoying.”
“maybe. but im right, huh?” he teases.
he doesn’t answer right away, instead, he hesitates and scoffs.
“that wasnt a no.” kirishima smiles at him.
“i said, leave me alone.” katsuki says before storming off.
the next day, it was rainy after school, and of course katsuki was waiting for you by the doors with an umbrella so the two of you could walk back to the dorms.
his face softens when he sees you, and he grabs your bag, tossing it over his shoulder like he always does, before opening the umbrella waiting for you to step under it.
“took ya’ long enough,” he says as you two begin walking in the rain. “thought i was gonna be here waitin’ all day”
“you waited for me?”
“duh. knew you wouldn’t have an umbrella.” he shifts closer to you naturally, “and i always walk you back to your dorm don’t i?”
“yeah, but, dunno, it’s just kinda sweet.” you say softly.
he scoffs, “like i was gonna leave your dumbass.”
you nod and feel your heart jump at his words. was this casual? the thought of this possibly being something more had been eating at you all week, and you just had to speak up.
“y’know, people think we’re dating.”
he looks down at you, then grumbles, “so what?”
“what, you dont care? you’re not gonna.. i dunno, deny it?” you ask, gazing at him.
he just kind of pauses and shrugs, and you swear you notice a slight blush on his cheeks. “let ‘em think whatever they want.”
you blinked in surprise. really? was that it? no argument? before you could make any sense of it, or say anything back, he just grabbed your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours, the touch unexpected, but so so familiar.
you didn’t end up saying anything else, and neither did he. the two of you just continued walking, hand in hand.
ᡣ𐭩
- completely inspired by this post!
PT1- PERVY JJK MEN FIC RECS // mdni!
satoru gojo ✮
pervy gojo - @/madamechrissy
dbf perv - @/nanamisonholiday
dbf perv pt.2 - @/nanamisonholiday
gym partners - @/bakugoushotwife
obsessed - @/nanaslutt
pervy lifeguard - @/sugoroo
personal trainer! - @/classyrbf
haunting touch - @/fvsm4x
pervy roommate gojo - @/teddybeartoji
you’re such a perv! - @/rbfclassy (multi)
suguru geto ✮
taking care of you while you’re sick - @/nanaslutt
yoga instructor - @/sugoroo
pervy roommate - @/nanaslutt
obsessed roommate - @/loveanddeepdick
blowing off steam - @/c4toru
I spy with my little eye! - @/classyrbf
pussy so good he broke the couch - @/nanaslutt
pervy doctor - @/sukunasuka
you are just too good - @/bachiras-toaster
dbf geto - @/merakidoll
I DONT OWN ANY OF THESE FICS!! // CREDS TO THE WRITERS!! <3
Yandere!Ranpo x Reader
The clock ticked monotonously in the dim-lit room of the Armed Detective Agency. Edogawa Ranpo sat in his chair, legs crossed, a lollipop hanging lazily from his lips. Outside, the city buzzed with life, but inside, the air was heavy with tension.
You had joined the agency only a few months ago. An average detective at best, you lacked Ranpo’s sharp intuition and quick deductions, but you made up for it with relentless effort and an earnest attitude. Ranpo, however, always seemed to have his eyes on you. At first, you thought it was harmless curiosity. He was, after all, known for his eccentricities. But lately, his gaze lingered a little too long, and his presence loomed a little too close.
It wasn’t until the murder case of a prominent politician landed on your desk that you began to realize just how deep his obsession ran.
The body lay sprawled on the marble floor of a grand estate, a knife protruding from the chest. The politician’s wife sobbed in the corner, surrounded by police officers. You and Ranpo arrived as the agency’s representatives.
While you scrambled to examine the scene, Ranpo remained unbothered, plopping himself down on a nearby chaise lounge.
“Ranpo, aren’t you going to help?” you asked, frustration tinging your voice.
He twirled his lollipop. “Already solved it.”
Your jaw dropped. “You haven’t even looked at the body!”
“I don’t need to,” he said with a grin. “The killer’s obvious. It’s the wife.”
The room fell silent as everyone turned to him. The wife’s sobbing grew louder, her protests more frantic.
“You can’t just accuse someone like that!” you snapped.
Ranpo shrugged, tapping his temple. “Deduction, my dear. Her tears are too perfect. The blood on her sleeve doesn’t match the angle of the wound. It’s staged. She killed him, then called for help to play the grieving widow.”
Despite his confidence, you doubted him. Yet, after a deeper investigation, the evidence confirmed his claims. The wife confessed.
“See?” Ranpo whispered to you as you left the scene. “I’m always right.”
There was something unsettling about the way he said it, as though he reveled in the fact that he was untouchable.
Weeks passed, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching you. Little things started to go missing: your pen, a photo from your desk, even your favorite scarf. You brushed it off as carelessness, but the growing pile of misplaced items gnawed at your nerves.
One evening, you stayed late at the agency, pouring over case files. When you finally stood to leave, you noticed an envelope on your desk.
Curious, you opened it. Inside was a single piece of paper with the words:
“I know you better than you know yourself.”
Your heart raced. Was this a prank? A threat? You glanced around, but the office was empty.
The next day, Ranpo approached you with a smile. “You look tired” he said. “Stayed up late?”
“How did you-” you stopped mid-sentence.
He chuckled. “I know everything about you, silly. Like how you pace when you’re anxious, or how you prefer your coffee black, even though you pretend to like cream and sugar. It’s adorable, really.”
His words sent a chill down your spine. How could he know so much?
It wasn’t until you stumbled upon an abandoned room in the agency’s basement that the pieces began to fall into place. Dust-covered furniture filled the space, but what caught your attention was a bulletin board on the wall.
Your blood ran cold.
Photos of you, some taken at work, others in your own home, were pinned haphazardly. Notes in Ranpo’s distinct handwriting detailed your habits, your favorite places, even your daily routine.
“Looking for something?”
You spun around to see Ranpo standing in the doorway, his usual playful smile replaced with something darker.
“Ranpo… what is this?” you demanded, voice trembling.
He stepped closer, hands in his pockets. “You weren’t supposed to find this yet. But now that you have, I guess there’s no point in hiding it.”
“You’ve been stalking me,” you accused.
“Such an ugly word,” he said, frowning. “I prefer observing. Watching over you, making sure you’re safe.”
“This is insane!” you shouted.
Ranpo tilted his head, his glasses glinting ominously. “Is it? You need me, Y/N. Don’t you see? Without me, you’d still be chasing shadows. I solve your cases, I protect you, I... love you.”
You stepped back, heart pounding. “This isn’t love, Ranpo. This is obsession.”
He sighed, as if disappointed. “Call it what you want, but you’ll realize soon enough. No one else understands you like I do.”
That night, you packed your things and left the city. You couldn’t stay, not with Ranpo’s eyes constantly on you. But no matter how far you ran, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was still watching.
And then, one day, a familiar envelope arrived at your new apartment.
Inside was a single piece of paper.
“You can’t hide from me, Y/N. I’ll always find you.”
In the distance, a figure with glasses and a lollipop stood beneath a streetlamp, smiling.
this is me if u even care
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