crazyyluvr

[crazyyluvr]

woah why am i crying! I WANT TO SOBBB THIS IS SO SWEET AND FLUFFY GOODBYE

Silent echoes ~ T.I.

Pairing: Toge Inumaki x deaf!Reader

Summary: transferring schools on your second years is never easy when you’re deaf, even less if you’re a sorcerer but maybe a quiet white haired boy makes it just a bit easier.

CW (content warning): deaf reader, this is the first time I’m writing a reader with a disability so I hope I made it justice (if there’s something that you find inaccurate or want to correct me please feel free to do so, I’d love to learn more), text in bold is sign language, purely fluff, maybe some light cursing.

AN: Hi guys! I’ve been out for a few days but now I’m back, I still have a few exams left but I have a few half-written works that I think I’ll be able to post these days until I get back to the requests 🤍 English isn’t my first language so I’m sorry if there’re any mistakes. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! :)

Requests are open so feel free to send yours! (you can check the list of characters I write for on my pinned post)

Masterlist

You weren’t expecting the front gate of the Tokyo school to creak like that, the sound vibrating under your fingertips as you slowly pushed it open.

It groaned like an old man getting out of a deep chair, slow and reluctant. You adjusted the strap of your duffel bag on your shoulder and stepped inside the grounds, boots crunching over gravel. The ancient stone paths seemed too peaceful for a place that trained sorcerers to fight curses.

This wasn’t your first jujutsu school, but it felt like it might be your last. A second-year transfer wasn’t exactly common. But you weren’t exactly common either. If this wasn’t your place you were almost ready to give up.

A cursed technique that was strong enough to draw attention. A talent for barrier crafting. A deaf sorcerer.

You glanced at the buildings ahead, tall and traditional, backed by thick forest and quiet sky. It looked like a shrine crossed with a private academy. Peaceful, at first glance. But you could feel it. The pressure in the air. Subtle. Ancient. Like the whole school was breathing quietly, waiting to see if you’d fit in.

You adjusted your hearing aids out of habit. They were mostly useless, but familiar. Your own quiet ritual.

A tall girl with green hair neatly tied in a high ponytail and glasses leaned against one of the pillars by the entry, arms crossed. She noticed you before you noticed her. She had a wooden staff slung over her shoulder and an eyebrow raised like she wasn’t sure if she liked you yet.

Next to her, a… panda? You blinked, utterly confused.

Yes. That was definitely a panda. Waving enthusiastically as he stood beside two other people that were also looking in your direction.

And off to the side, standing under a sakura tree, was a boy with soft white hair, a high collar that reached his nose, and a slouch that said "I’m either incredibly tired or terminally over it."

He was watching you. As if he was analysing your every move.

You stopped at the top of the steps. Three students. All second-years, like you. This was your class.

The tall girl pushed off the wall and approached with confident strides.

“Are you the new student?” She asked, blunt but not unfriendly. Her mouth moved clearly. Thankfully, she didn’t mumble.

You nodded quickly in response.

She pointed to herself. “Maki Zenin. Staff specialist. I’m the one who’ll be beating you up in training.”

You gave her a nervous look and signed. “Can’t wait.”* Then mouthed: “Nice to meet you.”

Maki raised an eyebrow. “Huh. You’re deaf?”

You nodded again, slow and deliberate. You were used to this part. It usually went one of two ways: awkward curiosity or weird overcompensation. But Maki just tilted her head, thoughtful.

“Huh. That’s kinda cool.” She said, like you’d just told her your hobby was blacksmithing. “You read lips?”

You gave her a thumbs-up.

“Nice. Hope you can read ‘ow’ too.” She added with a smirk. “Panda! Get over here!”

The panda in question, still surreal if they asked you, came bounding up the stairs like a golden retriever in a martial arts gi.

“I’m Panda!” He declared proudly.

You signed. “Fitting name.” A shy smile playing on your lips.

He tilted his head, then tapped his chin and signed back with surprising clarity. “You sign?”

Your eyebrows lifted. “You do?”

“Of course.” Panda said, puffing out his chest. “I’m a modern beast. Accessibility matters.”

You laughed. Not out loud, just the air in your chest catching and releasing in a way you hadn’t felt all morning.

Then you felt it again. Eyes on you.

The white-haired boy hadn’t moved from his spot under the tree. He stood still, hands in his pockets, collar obscuring the bottom half of his face.

Maki followed your gaze. “That’s Toge Inumaki. He doesn’t talk much.”

You looked between the two of them. “Shy?”

“No.” Maki said, grinning like she was in on the best joke in the world. “Dangerous.”

Toge gave a small wave from under the cherry blossoms. His fingers move. He was clumsily fingerspelling. “Nice to meet you.”

It was slow, a little clumsy. You caught the hesitation in his gestures, like he wasn’t used to signing but had tried to learn anyway.

“Nice to meet you too.” You signed back, smiling. “Are you learning?”

He nodded and quickly picked up a small notebook from his gym bag. Quickly writing something on it.

“I’m trying to. Just know a few basics now.”

You tilted your head and offered a thumbs-up. His eyes crinkled slightly above his collar, it looked like he was smiling. He pulled his collar down slightly, just enough so you could see his lips.

“Salmon.”

You blinked. Then looked at Maki.

“He does that.” She said, unbothered. “Cursed speech. Every word he says has power, so he mostly sticks to food names. Don’t worry, you’ll learn his weird code eventually.”

“So he can’t speak?” You asked.

“He can. Just shouldn’t.” Panda chimed in. “If he says ‘stop,’ you stop. If he says ‘explode,’ well…” He shrugged. “You get it.”

You watched Toge again. There was something fascinating about him, he was silent by choice, unlike you. You wondered what it felt like to have your words come with that much power.

And if that power made him lonely.

Maki slung an arm around your shoulder. “C’mon, new kid. We’ve got a combat assessment in fifteen, and I need a warm-up target.”

You smirked. “You’re assuming you’ll land a hit.”

She grinned wider. “I like you already.”

You turned back to glance at Toge once more, but he was already walking behind you, a respectful distance away, hands tucked in his pockets, calm and unreadable.

The silent one.

You adjusted your duffel bag and stepped further into your new life.

——————————————————————————

Combat training at Tokyo Jujutsu High was nothing like your old school.

For one, there was a talking panda throwing trees. For another, Maki hit like a semi truck.

You’d barely finished stretching when she took the first swing. It was fast, precise, and clearly not meant to hurt you, just to test your reflexes.

You dodged. Barely.

“Nice.” Maki said, adjusting her grip on her staff. “You’re not just cosplay.”

You responded with a sharp jab of your own, crafting a minor barrier to redirect her staff mid-swing. She blinked as her weapon ricocheted off your technique, harmless.

“Oh.” She said, grinning. “You’re one of those.”

The sparring continued, and though Maki landed most of the hits, you managed to keep her on her toes. She liked that. You could tell by the way she started calling out playful insults mid-fight. You read her lips well enough, though a few curse words were new to your mental vocabulary.

Meanwhile, Panda stood on the sidelines clapping like a proud dad at a T-ball game.

But it was Toge you kept catching in your peripheral vision.

He sat cross-legged by the edge of the mat, notebook on his lap, watching you fight like he was studying a language. Quiet, observant, unreadable. But his eyes followed every movement, especially yours.

After the session, while you and Maki flopped onto the cool grass, sweaty and bruised, Toge stood and made his way over.

He held out a small carton of strawberry milk.

You blinked. Accepted it and signed. “Thank you.”

He nodded, crouched beside you, and opened his notebook. He flipped to a page that had a few messy attempts at fingerspelling drawn across it. Underneath, in neat block letters, were the words.

“You’re strong. Good reflexes.”

You signed, “You write compliments in advance?”

He shrugged, a little sheepishly. Then signed slowly, “Practice.”

Maki leaned over, squinting at the page. “He’s been practicing for weeks. Since Gojo told us you were coming.”

That caught you off guard.

Toge glanced sideways at her, then down again, pretending to brush dirt off his page.

“For me?” You signed, eyebrows raised.

He hesitated… then nodded.

Your cheeks flushed faintly. You quickly looked down and opened your milk carton. “You didn’t have to,” you mouthed, but you weren’t sure he caught it.

Panda wandered over, plopped down on the grass, and threw an arm over Toge’s shoulder like an oversized teddy bear. “He was worried you wouldn’t like him and that you would feel lonely here.”

Your gaze flicked to Toge, surprised. He didn't look at you, but his ears were a little pink.

Maki smirked. “He’s a big softie. Doesn’t talk much, but he makes up for it with snacks and overthinking.”

Toge muttered “Mustard leaf” dryly.

Panda gasped. “How dare you.”

You were still trying not to smile as you drained the strawberry milk. The three of them were strange, intense, and chaotic in a way that made your head spin.

But you didn’t feel like an outsider here. Not exactly. You were used to people treating you like someone they had to accommodate. But this was different.

Toge had practiced for you. Weeks in advance. You weren’t sure how to say thank you in a way that really conveyed it.

So instead, you tapped his arm gently and signed, “Want to train with me tomorrow?”

He looked up at you, and for the first time, you saw it. A tiny smile hidden just behind his collar, crinkling the corners of his eyes. He nodded.

Then raised his hand. “Tuna.”

You tilted your head. “That’s a yes?”

Panda nodded sagely. “Tuna is yes. Salmon is neutral. Mustard leaf is no. They vary a bit sometimes but we keep a glossary, don’t worry.”

“Don’t show her the glossary yet.” Maki added with a grin. “Half the fun is guessing.”

——————————————————————————

The next few days fell into a rhythm. Training, meals, group assignments. You got used to the quiet way Toge lingered near you without saying a word. At first, you thought he was shy. But you quickly learned that that wasn’t the case, he was just… intentional.

You taught him a few more signs each day. He was a fast learner, surprisingly expressive once his hands got used to the motion.

In turn, he began slipping you notes during class or mealtimes. They started simple:

“Your barrier work is cool.”

“Nice form during drills today.”

“I think Panda is hiding snacks in the broom closet.”

Eventually, they got bolder:

“Your laugh is pretty.”

“I like sitting next to you.”

“Can I train with you again tomorrow, please?”

The last note had a tiny sketch of his signature rice ball on the corner. You stared at it a little too long before answering yes.

You found yourself waiting for his gaze during class. His quiet attention had stopped feeling like observation, it felt like companionship.

Toge didn’t use his voice often, but when he did, it was in carefully controlled bursts during combat. You’d seen it once, during a joint exercise, when a simulated curse got too close to Maki. Toge whispered, “Sleep” and the thing crumpled in place like a marionette with cut strings.

You felt the shiver of cursed energy run down your spine even from twenty meters away.

And yet, that same person passed you a note the next day that said:

“Do you like horror movies?”

You answered with a drawing of a popcorn bucket and a terrified stick figure under a blanket.

——————————————————————————

By the end of the week, everyone noticed.

Panda teased you both mercilessly. Maki tried not to smirk when she caught you “accidentally” sitting closer to Toge during lunch. You didn’t mind. It felt… safe. Earnest.

You hadn’t expected to make a friend so quickly.

You definitely hadn’t expected the friend to be the quietest boy in school, or that he’d make you feel more heard than anyone else ever had.

——————————————————————————

Your favorite part of the day quickly became the late afternoons.

Not the mornings when Panda was too chipper for someone with paws, or the chaotic training hours when Maki hit you with her staff "in the name of love." No, it was those golden post-mission, post-lunch hours when the world seemed to slow down, when you and Toge found yourselves alone on the school rooftop or beneath the shade of the courtyard trees.

He always brought snacks. Always.

Today it was a small box of taiyaki that was warm, slightly squished fish-shaped pastries stuffed with red bean paste. He handed you one silently, settled down beside you on the bench, and opened his notebook again.

“This one’s my favorite. I hope you like it.”

You took a bite and smiled. “I do.”

He watched you eat for a second, then scribbled something else.

“You always make the same face when you eat something good.”

You blinked. “What face?”

He looked at you with a straight face, then exaggerated the way your eyes softened and your mouth turned up just slightly. He looked more like a confused cat than anything, but you got the idea.

You nudged his shoulder, laughing soundlessly. Then you signed. “You’re observant.”

He tapped his head. “I have to be.”

You nodded slowly. “So do I.”

The breeze picked up, rustling the pages of his notebook and your hair. Neither of you moved to speak or sign for a while. But it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of quiet that felt like sitting inside a favorite book.

You watched a crow land on the fence nearby, tilting its head. It cawed twice, then flapped away. Toge scribbled again.

“If I had to guess your technique, I’d say it’s about control. You’re calm. Measured. Your barriers are precise.”

You read it twice.

“You really do notice a lot more than you let on.” You signed.

He shrugged. “Can’t talk. Have to listen.”

You nodded. Then tapped your chest gently, signing. “Same.”

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t a huge breakthrough. But something in his eyes softened, like he hadn’t realized, until now, just how much you might understand each other.

——————————————————————————

Over the next few weeks, the bond you shared quietly deepened.

Toge stopped using his notebook as much. Instead, he fingerspelled more, started learning compound signs, even mimicked your casual gestures when you were explaining something. You caught him practicing behind buildings sometimes, watching his own hands carefully like they were puzzle pieces.

You started noticing his small habits too. Like how he always handed you the better snack first. How he tilted his head slightly when he was confused, like a curious puppy. Or how he always lingered just long enough to walk beside you, but never too close.

He respected your space. But somehow, he always ended up inside it anyway.

Once, during a weekend spar, you twisted your ankle landing a jump. It wasn’t serious but it did suck. Maki was busy being impressed with her own move, and Panda was trying to replicate it with a broomstick.

Toge crouched beside you immediately. “Hurt?”

You signed back. “A little.”

He hesitated, then tapped his fingers against your shin, just a gentle brush. “Permission?”

You nodded.

He pressed a small ice pack into your hand, then unwrapped a bandage from his jacket pocket and began wrapping your ankle with careful precision.

“You always carry medical supplies?”

He signed back. “You always fall on your face?”

You scowled, and he gave you that slight crinkle-eyed smile again.

Touch wasn’t something you usually allowed from people. But Toge wasn’t pushing. He offered, waited, and moved with a kind of softness that felt rare in your world of curses and chaos.

That night, you found another note tucked into your locker:

“You’re the strongest person I’ve met who doesn’t need to shout about it.”

You stared at it for a long time, folded it carefully, and slipped it into your sketchbook.

——————————————————————————

One evening, after dinner, you found Toge sitting alone under the sakura trees again, legs crossed, notebook unopened in his lap. The blossoms hadn’t bloomed yet, but the air smelled like something was about to begin.

You approached, sat beside him wordlessly. For a while, neither of you signed.

Then you took out a small whiteboard from your backpack. A gift from one of your old teachers. You rarely used it, but today felt different.

You wrote:

“I used to think silence meant loneliness. Now it feels like peace.”

He read it, then took the marker.

“Same.”

You smiled, then added:

“You make it easier.”

He paused. Then signed very slowly, very deliberately. “You make me brave.”

Your heart did a little summersault that you tried very hard to ignore. He was looking straight at you when he said it with his hands, with his eyes, with every careful inch of him.

You wanted to say something equally meaningful.

So, naturally, you signed. “You still owe me more taiyaki.”

He looked at you flatly. Then raised a finger. “Tuna.”

Yes.

——————————————————————————

By the time March rolled in, the cherry trees began blooming and you had developed a rhythm with Toge that was so natural it almost scared you.

He’d sit next to you during study periods and help quiz you with flashcards using only signs. You’d write small jokes or doodles in his notebook when he left it open. You began teasing him more. Light sarcasm, exaggerated gestures, drawing little hearts on his pages just to watch his ears turn pink.

He retaliated by hiding rice balls in your locker.

Somehow, this quiet, slow thing between you felt more real than any rushed conversation you’d had with anyone before.

——————————————————————————

One night, you were both walking back from a short mission. Clearing a minor curse near the outskirts of the city. Nothing dangerous, but it had taken longer than expected. The sky was a soft indigo, painted with stars.

You stopped at a vending machine outside the station. Toge pointed to a can of hot cocoa. You nodded. He got two.

As you waited for the train, sipping quietly side by side, you signed. “Do you ever wish you could talk?”

He was quiet for a long moment. Then replied. “Not around you.” You blinked. He added. “You listen. I don’t need to speak.”

And just like that, your heart did another flip.

——————————————————————————

You didn’t expect to get paired with Toge for your first real joint mission without supervision.

“Low-grade curse.” Maki said, tossing you a file. “Warehouse in Saitama. Should be easy. No fatalities yet, but the locals keep reporting headaches, nausea, and weird dreams.”

Panda leaned over your shoulder and whispered, “Probably just expired miso.”

Toge raised a hand and signed. “Dream curses are unpredictable.”

Yaga nodded. “That’s why I want two of you. You’ll watch each other’s backs.”

You glanced at Toge. He glanced back, then gave a quiet nod. “Tuna.”

The train ride was quiet, just the two of you watching the blur of city lights pass the windows. You didn’t need to fill the silence. Sometimes, just having him there was enough. You passed your time sketching out a barrier formation on your phone while Toge wrote in his notebook.

He tapped your sleeve and held up a page.

“Do you get nervous before missions?”

You hesitated. Then nodded. He nodded back, like he understood more than he could say.

“Me too.”

You smiled. Then signed. “I’m glad it’s you.”

He looked at you for a second longer than necessary, then nodded.

“Me too.”

——————————————————————————

The warehouse was bigger than expected.

It stood like an abandoned skeleton, sagging under the weight of time. Vines crawled up the rusted siding. The inside was dust and shadows, rows of cracked crates and broken forklifts.

You both stepped in carefully, staying close. Toge held a finger to his lips, not that you needed the gesture, but it made you smile anyway.

You could feel it, the cursed energy hanging thick in the air, like damp fog clinging to your skin.

It didn’t take long to find the source.

A spirit, bloated and lopsided, slithered out from behind an old pillar. Its body was stitched together from fragments of nightmares, faces overlapping, eyes blinking from the wrong places. It let out a screech that scraped against your bones.

You moved fast. Barriers snapped into place like instinct, shielding Toge as he darted left. He threw a handful of kunai and signed. “Distract it.”

You nodded and activated your formation, drawing its attention with a flash of cursed light. The creature lunged, teeth bared.

Toge’s voice cracked the air like thunder. “Don’t move.”

The curse’s body locked mid-lunge, frozen. Its limbs twitched, then buckled. You didn’t hesitate, your barrier needles spiraled into its chest, and with one final shriek, it evaporated into smoke.

You were breathing hard when the dust settled, your body humming with the aftermath of adrenaline.

Toge touched your shoulder gently. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, then grinned and signed. “Nice timing.”

He signed back. “Nice aim.”

And for a moment, the warehouse didn’t feel haunted anymore. Just quiet. Just… calm.

——————————————————————————

Back at the school, Toge was quieter than usual, even for him.

You found him the next morning sitting under the sakura trees again, sipping tea from a paper cup. You joined him, tugging your hoodie tighter against the morning chill.

He passed you a folded note before you could sign anything.

“I was scared I might hurt you yesterday.”

You looked at him. He didn’t meet your eyes.

You wrote back on your whiteboard.

“You didn’t. You helped me.”

He finally looked up.

“You always help me.” You added, then signed it again. Slowly. So he could watch your hands.

Toge hesitated, then nodded. His fingers hovered like he wanted to say something more but instead, he reached into his jacket and handed you something wrapped in paper.

You blinked. Unwrapped it.

It was a taiyaki. This one was warm, fresh. Custard this time.

You signed and smiled brightly at him. “Did you make this?”

He nodded. Your heart did that annoying flutter thing again.

You wrote:

“You’re getting dangerous. I might fall for you if you keep feeding me.”

You meant it as a joke.

You didn’t expect his ears to turn pink again. Or the way his hands stilled completely in his lap, unsure.

Then, slowly, he took your whiteboard and wrote:

“Would that be bad?”

You stared.

You stared so long he almost erased it but you covered his hand with yours before he could.

“No” You signed softly. “It don’t think it would be bad.”

——————————————————————————

After that, things shifted.

Not in a dramatic, firework way. But in the little things.

He started sitting closer. You found excuses to brush your fingers against his sleeve. He’d bring two drinks instead of one without asking. You’d start signing jokes during lectures just to see him hide his laughter behind his collar.

You still hadn’t said it. Not really.

But it was there.

One evening, Maki cornered you behind the training grounds. “Just kiss him already.”

You choked on your energy drink. “What?”

“You heard me.” She said, grinning. “You both act like you’re married, but neither of you has the spine to make it official.”

You signed back, half-laughing a bit awkwardly. “He hasn’t said anything.”

“He won’t.” She said bluntly. “Not out loud. That’s your job.”

——————————————————————————

The next week, Toge invited you to the edge of the forest just behind the school. It was quiet, almost dreamlike. The moon spilling silver over moss and stone. You recognized the spot. It was where the third-years used to meditate.

You sat beside him. He passed you a tiny folded paper crane. Inside it was a note.

“You make the silence feel full.”

You looked at him, then signed slowly so he could understand. “You make it feel like someone is always listening.”

He didn’t move.

So you reached over and gently tugged his hand into yours.

He froze. But didn’t pull away.

Instead, he turned to you and signed back. “I want to be near you, even when I can’t speak.”

You answered the only way you could of in that moment.

By leaning your head against his shoulder.

——————————————————————————

The following days were filled with near-misses.

Moments where you almost said it. Almost signed it. Almost reached out and pulled him in by the collar and kissed him until you forgot why you’d waited so long.

But each time, something stopped you. Not fear. Not uncertainty. Just… patience.

Because even if it was unspoken, it wasn’t unsaid. Toge’s feelings were there in every small kindness, every carefully signed question, every quiet second spent at your side even when no one else stayed.

You didn’t need to rush.

But still… your heart itched with wanting.

——————————————————————————

It wasn’t until the school was hit by a freak storm that everything changed.

Thunder cracked overhead like the world was tearing at the seams. Most students had gone home for the weekend, but you’d stayed behind, training, of course. You weren’t surprised to find Toge had stayed too.

By the time the storm reached its peak, the power flickered out.

You stood in the middle of the empty dorm hallway, flashlight in hand, heart skipping with every rumble of thunder.

Then a tap on your shoulder. Toge.

He signed. “You okay?”

You nodded. “You?”

He hesitated. Then tilted his hand side-to-side. “So-so.”

You cocked your head. “You don’t like storms?”

He shook his head.

You signed again, slower this time. “Do you want company?”

He gave you a tiny nod, almost guilty. So you followed him back to his dorm room.

It was smaller than yours, surprisingly clean, the walls almost fully covered in different kinds of posters except for a calendar with rice ball stickers marking random days. He offered you tea, gestured for you to sit on the futon while he fiddled with a battery-powered lamp.

When the soft light filled the room, you saw it clearly for the first time.

The drawings on his desk. You recognized your own hands, signs sketched over and over. Notes with arrows pointing to different positions. Little side comments like “thumb higher”, “eyebrows matter more than you think”, and “she laughs when I mess this one up.”

You didn’t realize how tight your chest felt until you exhaled. Toge followed your gaze, then froze.

He moved quickly, as if to hide them but you caught his hand.

“You practiced this much?” You signed, heart swelling.

He nodded once. Then looked at the floor.

You gently pulled him back toward the futon and made him sit. Then you signed. “You make me feel understood. That’s rare.”

He looked up at you, eyes open and full of something so much deeper than any spoken word.

“You make me feel safe.”

He watched your hands like they were precious.

Then reached for his notebook. You stopped him with a shake of your head.

“No notebook.”

He looked confused. You took a breath, touched your fingertips to your chin, and signed slowly:

“I like you.”

His eyes widened.

Then, tenderly, like the motion had weight, he reached out and mirrored the sign back to you.

“I like you too.”

Your fingers touched, briefly, as the signs faded.

Then he moved, hesitant and gentle, and pressed his forehead to yours.

You closed your eyes, every nerve lit with quiet, aching affection. No rush. No loud declarations. Just presence. Pressure. The soft shared air of something becoming real.

And finally, after all this time, you leaned forward and kissed him.

It was slow. Careful. Not clumsy, just new. His lips were warm. His breath shallow. His hands didn’t grip or pull, they just hovered near your jaw, reverent, steady.

You felt everything he wanted to say in that moment.

And when you pulled back, you were already smiling.

So was he.

You tapped your chest again. Signed. “You’re my favorite quiet.”

He responded, both hands shaking slightly, with something you hadn’t seen him use before.

He signed back. “You’re my voice.”

And that was it. That was everything.

——————————————————————————

Later, you lay side by side under his thin blanket, facing each other in the soft glow of the lamp. You hadn’t meant to stay. But neither of you asked, not wanting to part ways just yet.

He touched your hand lightly under the covers and signed. “Do you think they’ll tease us?”

You smiled. “Panda already suspects everything.”

He laughed softly. “Maki will say, ‘finally.’” Toge chuckled, soundless but clear. You laughed too, your fingers brushing his. He signed slowly again. “I’ve never wanted to say so much… until I met you.”

You touched your thumb to your lips, then placed it over his heart. He placed his hand over yours.

And for the first time, there was no need for a notebook. No need for perfect timing.

Because silence was no longer the absence of words. It was where you both spoke clearest.

Together.

Tags: @noooo-onee @pickledsoda @hawkwithsocks @suna-yoshihara @grignardsreagent

Taglist is open so let me know if you want to be added in future works! :)

[crazyyluvr]

SO CUTEEEE and damn I haven’t heard of the strawberries and cigarettes song in such a long time but i love its theme here 🥹

★ STRAWBERRIES AND CIGARETTES. all the times gojo desperately wants to kiss you, and the one where he finally does.

ft. satoru gojo x reader.

warnings — loser!reader / popular!gojo. smoking, kissing + making out. consumption of alcohol, mentions of sex, lots of cheesy banter. sato is a man down bad ! slow-burn kinda but mostly just very sfw fluff :p

(呪術廻戦) : note — 7k words + in my fluff era again awooga

୨୧ ⌞ act one: strawberry shampoo. ⌝

gojo rarely sees you. not often, truly. in class is different, but even then, it's infrequent.

you always wear a bored, distant look, as if you'd rather be anywhere but here. he suspects you simply don't care. the professor's words wash over you, in one ear and out the other.

most people don't notice your frequent absences. gojo does. he always does. the empty seat at the back of the room never escapes his eye.

it feels emptier, too, despite your quiet nature. he's unsure why. why he's so captivated by you. but when you are present, he stares. trying to be subtle, yet desperate to memorize every detail: the curve of your lashes, the perceived softness of your lips.

perceived softness, he should clarify. gojo isn't a creep. he doesn't spend every waking moment fantasizing about kissing you. (only every other waking moment.)

he knows you know he exists. you've exchanged words a few times, straddling the line between acquaintance and stranger. it's odd, but he finds a strange peace when you converse.

you're funny, kind, caring. a good listener, with a voice like honey he could listen to all day. god, he loves your voice. he wishes you'd speak more. if you did, people would listen. there's a lilt in your voice that makes him.

he's your opposite. you keep to yourself, wired earbuds always in. gojo has friends — many friends. he thrives on company and conversation.

he's got his whole crew: nanami, shoko, geto, haibara, utahime. even toji and sukuna, on a good day.

academically, he's a powerhouse. top of the class, loaded with extracurriculars, tests always returned with a perfect score.

and you? you're number two. he's certain you could be first, but you simply don't care. no ambition to be the best, no need to prove yourself.

you're just… there. you show up, ace your exams, and leave. he'd be threatened by the competition, but you don't seem to want it. he doubts you even realize how close you are to taking his spot.

it's infuriating. so much potential, so little drive.

yet, it's utterly enticing. you're enticing.

it's a shock when he pulls into the gas station in the dead of night, needing kikufuku because geto devoured the last of it, and there you are. perched on the ledge behind the worn building.

he doesn't see your face at first, but he recognizes the leather angel kiss bag you practically live with, adorned with sonny angels and charms.

the grocery bag falls limply in his hand. he takes a few steps, stopping just behind you. he calls your name out, quiet and hesitant, a rare tone for gojo. there's a crinkle of foil from you, and you turn, startled.

"gojo?" you inquire, head tilted.

"uh, hey," he manages a gentle smile. "what're you doing here?"

a small smile touches your lips. "hi. i could ask you the same."

the white-haired boy chuckles. "dickhead roommate ate all my snacks."

your quiet laugh is beautiful, he thinks. "yeah? well, i ran out of cigarettes." you place one between your lips. sliding over on the ledge, you offer a silent invitation, which he accepts.

you're close. the scent of your saccharine strawberry shampoo fills his senses.

"want one?" you offer. he shakes his head. gojo doesn't smoke, rarely drinks. instead, he watches you inhale, then exhale, wispy gray curls dissolving into the dark.

the silence between you is mellow, not awkward. in the dim streetlamp glow, your lips look coated in strawberry-red gloss, leaving a stain on the white of the cigarette.

"sure you don't want a hit?" you ask, sensing his heavy, focused gaze.

and because he'd do anything at the sound of that voice, he nods, changing his mind.

satoru gojo has game, no doubt. one hundred percent. he's smooth with women, but you're not just any woman. you're you, and with you, his game dissolves. all his past charm feels irrelevant, meaningless.

it's just you. you and him. he's not sure how to navigate it, and his attempt only leaves him embarrassed.

his eyes fix on the red smudge. he presses his own lips directly onto that spot. this isn't even a kiss, but an odd euphoria floods him, as if he's never kissed anyone before.

gojo's eyes flutter shut. he takes a quick, deep inhale, lasting only seconds before he's spluttering, coughing. a dry, charcoal-like feeling enters his lungs, leaving his throat dry. "jesus," he winces, handing it back.

you giggle, not teasing, but amused. he echoes the sound, and you both dissolve into laughter.

at two in the morning, everything's funny. your hands brush his as you take the cigarette.

"a— are you okay?" you ask, trying to compose yourself.

"yeah!" he clears his throat. "i mean, yeah. yes. i'm good."

"never smoked?"

"nah. coach would kill me," he chuckles, and you hum. sometimes, he forgets he's that picture-perfect, well-rounded student. in these moments, everything else fades.

"yeah," you say, meeting his gaze. his eyes are already on you.

"yeah," he repeats, smiling.

and then he remembers your closeness. his heart, if it ever slowed, races. should he do it?

should he kiss you?

you're so sweet, so pretty, right there — so close. he leans in, instinctual, like his body is drawn to yours.

and maybe you're leaning in, too?

just like that, gojo doesn't have time to tell, because his phone rings, a bleary call from his confused roommate.

just like that, the moment shatters. gojo pulls back, farther than before. the sweet scent of your shampoo vanishes, the press of his thighs against yours, knees knocking, gone.

you wave goodbye. he waves goodbye.

and just like that, you're back to being the girl in his class. the girl behind the gas station.

୨୧ ⌞ act two: pro-bono deals. ⌝

gojo doesn't see it coming. he knows you're here often enough, a quiet fixture in the library's familiar hum. there's not much he knows about you, not really, but what little he's gathered, he clings to like scripture.

he knows you like to read. that's a given.

he knows the cute thing you do with your nose when you're deep in thought, a slight scrunch, lips pursed just so.

he knows you hate writing in pen. he offered you one once, when you were caught without anything to write with, but you’d asked for a pencil instead. something about being accident-prone, you'd said.

he knows your handwriting is god-awful, an illegible scrawl that makes him abandon any idea of feigning interest in your notes as an excuse to talk. he figures it’s because your brain moves faster than your hands can keep up.

he knows you like flowers, sometimes catching you pausing by the daisies near the fountain on the way to class.

these little things, these quiet quirks you have, he catalogues them meticulously. they're important to him, these small habits you might not even notice yourself.

it's what makes it so real, so tangible. it makes him feel like he knows you, as pathetic as that might sound.

what you don't like is studying. so, when he sees your nose buried deep in the familiar green shade of a physics textbook, he's got every right to be a little lost. for the entire two and a half years he's known you, gojo has never seen you go out of your way to study.

he shifts his weight, from one foot to another. he could let you be, let you work. or, he could… work with you? would that even be okay? after a dreadful moment of hesitation, he slides into the seat beside you.

you’re surprised to see him; it seems like you always are, when it’s him. nonetheless, a smile touches your face, so it’s a pleasant surprise. "gojo, what's up?"

"just… reading through things, studying for finals," he says, watching you close the book. "you don't mind if i sit here, right?"

"no, not at all," you assure him, waving off his mild concern. "i might go crazy reading this dumb thing alone, anyways."

gojo laughs, and your heavy sigh turns into a little chuckle. "don't like physics?"

"don't like science," you correct, slumping in your seat. you click and un-click your pen, groaning, "it's so boring."

"sounds about right coming from a literature major." he hopes you don't focus on how he knows your major. it seems to be alright, though, because you know his.

playfully, you raise your brows. "seriously, i have no idea how you're planning on doing that for the rest of your life."

"you're not bad at it, are you? i mean, based on, like, your scores and… stuff."

"no. i guess not. all my absences are catching up to me, though, and i'm a little behind."

he supposes it makes sense for you to be struggling a little, at least. he's not sure how you do it in the first place, managing to pass at all without any visible effort. sure, gojo's smart, but he's not that smart. he wouldn't say he's envious, but he wishes he had that ability.

the words tumble out of his mouth before he can stop them. "well, i could help you out," he offers. it comes out as more of a question, which he hates himself for. he also wishes he were more confident around you.

your eyes light up. "really? because field theory's kinda killing me." your gaze flickers from your notes to him, a little skeptical. you’re just not sure why he's hanging out with you in the first place, much less willing to, like, tutor you.

"yeah. if you want," his voice is a little less tentative, this time around.

"like… pro-bono?"

gojo chuckles. "sure. if you're up for aiding me in psychoanalyzing othello."

"you know what?" you ask, sticking your hand out. "deal."

he can't help the grin that spreads across his face, and he accepts your handshake. "deal."

your hand feels soft in his, and the mere touch makes him shiver. gojo inhales quietly, his eyes briefly glancing down to your lips.

it's the same strawberry-colored gloss. like a man down bad, all he can wonder is if it tastes like it, too.

୨୧ ⌞ act three: to get or not to get (some). ⌝

"i think we need to get you laid," shoko remarks, rather casually, the words cutting through the bass and chatter of geto's party. it makes gojo choke on his drink, a cheap beer in a red plastic cup, his grip tightening around it.

geto seems entirely too amused by this, a low laugh rumbling in his chest. "shit, sho, look at him, all red."

"shut up," he seethes, an unnatural flush creeping up his neck. he can feel the heat on his cheeks, a testament to his unexpected embarrassment.

she sighs, a faux melancholy. "poor guy. the clenched jaw tells me all i need to know."

"i don't— alright," gojo groans, quickly giving up. it's useless to argue with them when they're like this. "go ahead, abuse me like the great friends you are."

swirling her vodka with a straw, shoko snorts. "we are good friends, trying to save you from your newfound virginism."

"she's right," geto says pointedly, leaning forward. "you're like a male nun."

weakly, gojo repeats himself, "shut up." just as he’s reaching for his phone, a girl walks by. short dress, long legs, a smile that’s less friendly, more predatory, aimed straight at him. at some point, she would’ve been his ideal type, the kind of easy distraction he gravitated toward.

now? now, he doesn't even bat an eye. shoko looks at geto, a silent communication passing between them. geto looks at shoko. gojo glances up from his pocket, catching the sly, knowing looks his friends are giving him.

"or… maybe he's already getting some," geto nods, a mix of betrayal that he wasn't told and grudging impressment in his voice.

"you dog," shoko chuckles, nudging his arm with her elbow. "c'mon, who?"

"it's not— i'm not—"

geto sighs, "i didn't know we'd be around for the 'someone tied him down' era."

"guys—" he tries to interrupt, but then you walk by. his world narrows, the party noise fading to a dull hum. as if on instinct, his eyes get dreamy, following your path. his world stops, along with time itself, and gojo freezes, completely captivated.

they follow his line of sight, their gazes landing onto where he's looking. no, staring.

if he wasn't caught so off guard by shoko's low whistle, a sharp, clear sound in the sudden quiet of his world, he would have had a second to figure out why you were even here. "damn," she laughs, a genuine, unburdened sound. "if you fumble her, i call dibs."

"...didn't expect that. how do you even know her?" geto asks, a note of surprise in his voice.

"uh, she's in humanities with us," he says, a little annoyed that his friend, who shared classes with you, hadn't noticed you. he can’t imagine that possibility, especially not when you’re all gojo can seem to notice.

shoko squints, like she's trying to recall a distant memory. "oh, yeah. i think i've seen her, sometimes. doesn't she ditch, like, a lot?"

gojo shrugs. "i guess."

"i'm with geto. i wouldn't have pegged that, but congrats."

"it's not like that! we're just…" he’s about to say friends, but the word feels foreign, ill-fitting. he’s not even sure if you're that.

"no, no," geto shakes his head, a knowing smirk on his face. "sex is always great, man."

"we're not—"

the brown-haired girl cuts him off, her attention already elsewhere. "speaking of sex, i think i'm gonna have a go," she murmurs, vaguely gesturing to a pretty, curvy redhead across the room. downing the rest of her drink in one gulp, she's off before either of them gets a word in.

and, because god is good, a group of people walk in through the front door, and geto, ever the host, goes to greet them; it is his party, after all.

gojo sighs, weary, the weight of his friends' teasing momentarily forgotten. then he remembers: you're here. he’s practically racing away from the spot he's in, a desperate, though he hopes nonchalant, attempt to find you. had he been hallucinating? was he so crazy about you that he was now seeing you everywhere? oh, god.

gojo doesn't get any further with his worries, because someone runs into his back.

oh. oh, wait. the familiar, faint scent of strawberry shampoo. he turns around, heart already beating faster, a frantic rhythm against his ribs, when he sees you.

"jesus, i'm sorry. i didn't even see you." you look up, your eyes meeting his, and your apologies vanish into thin air, replaced by a soft, surprised expression. "oh, my god, hi."

"hey," he says, his voice a little breathy, holding his breath as if he’s scared to move, worried you'll simply vanish like a mirage.

"isn't it crazy how we keep running into each other?" you giggle, a light, melodic sound, blowing a strand of hair out of your face.

"yeah, um, small world," gojo nods, straining a smile that feels more like a grimace. you give him a funny look, a slight tilt of your head, but thankfully leave it. "i didn't think this was really your scene?"

your shoulders slump, and you sigh, a familiar weariness in the sound. "it's not. my friend dragged me here, and then left to go have trashy sex with a trashy guy."

"oof," he winces, a sympathetic grimace. "that's alright. you can always stick with me, you know." the words tumble out, hopeful and a little desperate.

you put a hand on his arm, a feather-light touch that sends a jolt through him, sighing in relief. "once again, you're my savior. i'm stuck here until she's," you pause, a flicker of distaste on your face, "done."

"ah, well, if it's trashy sex with a trashy guy, it'll probably not be too long." he rubs the back of his head, a nervous habit. "i wouldn't mind if it isn't, though. i like talking to you," he admits, the confession coming out a little sheepish.

"oh," you say, your cheeks flushing so slightly he almost misses it. "thanks. i mean, me, too."

"yeah." there's a beat of comfortable silence between you two, the thumping of bass from downstairs filling the quiet space. "say, uh, wanna go upstairs?"

your eyes go a little wide, a startled deer caught in headlights, and gojo quickly backpedals. "to talk. it's— it's just loud, here."

you nod, a slow, deliberate movement, sighing in either relief or disappointment (he can't tell, but he desperately hopes it's the latter).

his fingers tentatively lace with yours, a hesitant connection, and he pulls you gently past bodies of people swaying to the music. he leads you into a less crowded room, a quieter haven, and shuts the door behind him. the muffled bass is a distant thrum now. "isn't this much nicer?"

"definitely, yeah." you take a seat on the edge of the bed, a quick, almost imperceptible glance around to ensure it's clean. "so… how's your day been?" it sounds awkward, a little stilted, and he's glad that he’s not the only one.

taking a seat beside you, a comfortable, close distance, he smiles, "good. very good. you?" he looks right into your eyes, letting the sincerity of his words reach you.

you return the smile, a soft, hesitant curve of your lips, debating whether or not to scoot closer. "s'okay. better, now."

"i know you don't like parties, but on that scale, how's this one been? be nice, i helped set it up," he warns, a playful glint in his eyes.

"it's good. i appreciate the lukewarm beer."

he holds his hands up, defensive. "see, i told geto to get more coolers. that part's not on me."

"okay, then, what part's on you?" you ask, crossing your arms, a hint of playful challenge in your tone.

"uh, i did the…" he frowns, trying to remember his own contributions to the party prep. "i taste-tested all the snacks. does that count?"

you snort, a small, endearing sound. "did you eat all of them, too? 'cause there weren't any left when i got here."

"i," a pause, a hint of guilt in his voice, "might have had a little more than i was supposed to, but those cookies were really good. so was the kikufuku."

"there was kikufuku?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

"not anymore," he admits, a wry grin on his face. "that, i did finish."

laughing, a genuine, unforced sound, you tilt your head, "what parties have kikufuku?"

"the really, really cool ones."

"is that right?"

"would i ever lie to you?" his voice is teasing, but there's something else there, too.

"hm, maybe not," you hum, making a show of inspecting his features, your gaze lingering on his eyes. "you do have a really honest face."

"you have a really pretty one," he retorts, the words escaping before he can think better of them. it takes you a second to process, a faint blush dusting your cheeks. him, too, because… did he just say that? was that bad? he can't, for the love of god, read your face.

your mouth opens, a soft parting of your lips, but you're robbed of a chance to respond, because a couple barges into the room, their laughter loud and jarring. gojo flinches, startled. huffing, he says, "occupied!"

it's shoko and the redhead. shoko's eyes flit from you to gojo, a silent apology passing between them before she quickly steers the redhead back out of the room, shutting the door. god, out of all his friends,

he wouldn't have expected her to be the cock-block. well, at least someone's getting some.

୨୧ ⌞ act four: nepo-baby v. broke barista.⌝

the gentle chime of the bell above the door echoes through the quiet café, a familiar melody that always brings a sense of calm to satoru.

he pushes the door open, the scent of rich, freshly brewed coffee washing over him, a comforting aroma that instantly eases the tension he hadn’t realized he was carrying. he lets out a small, almost imperceptible sigh of contentment.

this, to him, is the best place to be.

his sunglasses, a constant fixture even indoors and in the dead of winter, are perched precariously on the bridge of his nose. he knows he probably looks a little eccentric, a touch out of place, but he doesn't care.

gojo’s soft, white hair, perpetually threatening to fall into his startling blue eyes, drifts gently across his forehead. with a practiced flick of his wrist, he rakes it back, the cool air a stark contrast to the warmth of the café.

he steps towards the counter, his fingers drumming a silent rhythm against the smooth, polished surface. his order was always the same, a creature of habit in a world that constantly shifts and changes around him, a small anchor of predictability.

“hi,” a soft voice says, breaking him out of his reverie. gojo’s eyes fix on the meticulously arranged cookies in the display case, and he’s caught between the choice of chocolate chip or macadamia nut.

chocolate, duh.

“hey, could i—” his gaze finally shifts up, and he locks eyes with the barista. but, because god really does have favorites, it’s not just any barista, it’s you.

he’s caught off-guard, seeing you, though he really shouldn’t be. not after having run into you unplanned this many times, already. it’s almost comical at this point.

“damn,” he shakes his head, a smile of disbelief slowly spreading across his face. “are you playing a trick on me?”

“god, no,” you laugh, a clear, bright sound. a few stray strands of hair escape from beneath the café’s branded hat, and you brush them out of your face with a practiced motion.

your smile is a little lopsided, charmingly imperfect, and he notices your apron is slightly askew, a testament to what must have been a busy morning.

“i come here all the time. don’t tell me i’ve been missing you… somehow, like, every single time,” he pouts, a playful whine in his voice.

“no, no. don’t worry, i’m new. i started yesterday. apparently, i’m more broke than i realized,” you confess, a wry smile touching your lips.

he nods in understanding, giving you a look of genuine sympathy. “yeah, i get it.”

“oh, do you, rich boy?” you tease, your gaze playfully raking over his expensive sunglasses, then his wrist to his watch, and finally the glint of a gold chain peeking from beneath his shirt. i

t’s not a secret that gojo is loaded, the son of gojo enterprises’ founder. he’s always gone out of his way to be humble about it, part of why he works so hard.

“yeah, yeah,” he waves you off, a dismissive flick of his hand. "speaking of, you gonna mess up my drink, newbie?"

"oh, haha. did you lose your stick? because i think i know where it went." you quip back.

gojo snorts, motioning to the register. “caramel macchiato, please. extra sugar.”

“aw, elitist baby can say please.” you pause, a faint wrinkle forming between your brows. “wait, did you say extra sugar?” you ask, making a face as you reach for a plastic cup and a sharpie. he nods, feeling his face flush under your intense, slightly disgusted gaze. “you know it’s already, like, super sweet, right?”

in return, he nods again, a little sheepish. gojo watches you scribble his name down on the side of the cup, your handwriting the same scrawl it always is. he shuffles to the end of the counter, waiting to receive his order.

your movements are a little clumsy, a novice’s hesitation in your hands, and you have to pause to remember the steps for making the drink. he even sees you gag, just a little, when adding the extra thing he’d gone out of his way to tell you.

“enjoy the, uh, macchiato.” you can't help the slight grimace as you push the cup across the counter. the smell alone was overwhelmingly sweet, amplified tenfold by the extra sugar he’d requested.

“you’re laughing. don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” he grins, a flash of white teeth against his pale skin, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“nah, i think i’ll be knocking,” you giggle, shaking your head, a slight shiver running through you. “but, if that’s what you like, you do you.”

there's a beat of silence, and gojo watches you attention momentarily shift to a spilled sugar packet near the display. "we really should start planning our run-ins," he chuckles, his fingers brushing yours for a fleeting moment as he grabs the cup.

"they wouldn't be run-ins, then," you correct, a sly lilt in your voice.

"i… wouldn't mind that." the words are soft, almost a murmur, but loaded with intent.

the universe has a weird way of pulling people together, doesn't it?

୨୧ ⌞ act five: she loves me, she loves me not.⌝

gojo goes out of his way to plan this. he knows it's not a date, and he probably shouldn't pretend it is one. you had taken him up on his offer to hang out sometime, and he wanted it to be perfect.

you don't deserve anything less than that.

to anyone on the outside, he's sure it does look like a date. it feels like one, at least, if that counts. gojo picked you up, he dressed nice, you dressed nice, and he drove you to the park for a nice picnic. all of it sounds date-like, especially the part where he told you that you looked very cute today.

and, especially the part where he frantically back-pedaled, telling you; wait, you look cute today, but you look cute everyday. he doesn't just mean today.

and, especially, especially, how you'd teased him about it after. so, yeah, forgive him if he's having a hard time differentiating a platonic meetup and a not-so-platonic date.

gojo's picking off the petals on the daisy he's holding, hoping you don't notice how he's mentally playing she loves me, she loves me not. he glances at the small pile of discarded petals, then back at you, a soft smile playing on his lips.

you weave the stem of a flower into another, your brows furrowed in concentration on the crown you're making for him. "how long should i make this? you do have a really big head."

"hey, that's insulting. my head is perfectly normal-sized," he huffs, feigning offense, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. he leans closer, trying to get a better look at your handiwork. "are you sure you know what you're doing over there?"

"positive," you retort, not looking up. you wrap what you've got so far around his head, the cool petals a gentle press against his temple. "yep, definitely needs to be longer. see?"

"okay, rude." he pulls away slightly, inspecting the half-finished crown. "i'm starting to think you're just trying to wound my feelings."

you sigh, a dramatic, mournful sound. "truth hurts, right?" you glance up, your eyes locking with his, a gentle warmth in their depths. "this is really nice, by the way. i'm really glad we're doing this."

"me, too. feels a lot less rushed, compared to just seeing you around. not that i mind seeing you around," he quickly adds, the words tumbling out a little too fast, a faint blush creeping up his neck.

you smile, a soft, genuine curve of your lips. "yeah, i get it. you picked a nice spot. the gardens are so beautiful, i can't believe i've never been here before," you say, looking around at the vibrant roses beside you, your gaze lingering on their soft petals.

"you just wait, then, i've got a whole roster, baby." he means the pet-name as a joke, a casual endearment, but the sudden flicker in your gaze has his breath hitching, a silent question forming in his mind.

"you make me sound like your girlfriend," you laugh, the sound light and airy, a small puff of air escaping your lips.

"i bet you'd like that, huh?" he teases, pushing his luck, and you respond by playfully throwing a torn-off stem at him, which he easily dodges.

rolling your eyes at him, you scoff. "i just meant all this. you're really nice to me." your voice softens towards the end, a subtle shift in tone that he notices.

"well, yeah, we're," he hesitates, the word catching in his throat, "friends." sure, he's glad that you're even that, that you tolerate his presence, but it's still disappointing, only that.

"mm, friends," you repeat, the word echoing his own slight disappointment. he wonders if that's a similar ache he hears in the tone of your voice.

"what? you fallin' for me?" he asks, playing it off as a joke, a lighthearted jab, but, god, he wishes. he so, so desperately prays that a tiny part of it is true.

"oh, shut up," you huff, but the warmth on your cheeks contradicts your words, a tell-tale flush that brings a hopeful flutter to his chest.

he tilts his head at you, intently studying the familiar sparkle in your eyes, the way they crinkle slightly at the corners when you're amused.

taking one of the remaining daisies, he gently tucks it behind your ear, his fingers brushing against the soft skin of your neck. "you should call me satoru."

"yeah? okay, then, shut up, satoru." the corners of your mouth quirk upwards, a small, knowing smile.

he plucks off the last petal. she loves me.

୨୧ ⌞ act six: stay, little valentine, stay.⌝

"i hate valentine's day, you know," you frown, slumping down in the bakery's chair. the place smells sweet, a comforting blend of buttered croissants and something faintly fruity, like berries.

"of course you would. you're single," he remarks, casually, playing with the crinkly wrapping paper of his straw.

"you're single, too, gojo."

he points a finger at you, raising his perfectly sculpted eyebrows. "yeah, but that's different. i'm at peace with it."

shoving his index finger away, you whine, "what, like you aren't sick of seeing love-sick couples sucking each other's faces off, all day?"

well, he won't admit it (to you, at least), but he's mostly just been imagining what it would be like if those love-sick couples were you two.

before he can come up with a lame excuse, an employee, a young guy with a chipped name-tag stops by, checking in to see if you need anything else. "just letting you know, it's all half-off for couples today," they say, their tone far too cheery for your liking.

you say, "oh, no, we're not—" at the exact same time gojo says, "sure. another blueberry muffin, please. two, actually."

"are you crazy?" you whisper harshly at him, leaning across the table, your eyes wide with disbelief. "we're not even a couple." unbothered, he shoves your face away, a playful flick of his wrist.

instead, he smiles brightly at mark, and audaciously winks at you. "a couple of those strawberry tarts, too. my girlfriend here has a real sweet tooth."

your voice is strained, a desperate attempt to salvage the situation. "he's exaggerating. just the muffins, please."

with a click of their pen, they're telling you that you're an adorable couple, then walking off, already distracted by another customer.

"see? adorable. i'm already winning 'em over." gojo leans back in his chair, a smug look on his face.

you shoot him a look, a mix of exasperation and reluctant amusement. "winning who over? the employee? or me, into wanting those things? besides, i didn't even need any."

"first, who said it was for you?" he retorts, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "second, it's half-off. it'd be a shame if we didn't take advantage of it."

"right," you laugh, shaking your head. he might be going crazy, but he's really fond of the idea that at least one person thinks you're dating. and, sure, that doesn't make it real, but it's a step closer.

"you know," he says, taking a sip of his smoothie (your smoothie, he stole it from you and you said nothing, which he considers a victory), "i think we'd make a good couple."

"oh? what makes you so sure?" you challenge, raising an eyebrow.

"think about it. i'm the brains, you're the… well, you're pretty good at complaining. we balance each other out," gojo claims, with a confidence that has you kicking his shin from under the table.

"ow! seriously?" he yelps, rubbing his leg.

"oh, is that your sales pitch? my top quality is complaining? how charming." you deadpan, crossing your arms.

"it's a very enthusiastic quality. plus, you'd never have to open jars again. or reach for things on high shelves. i'm basically a human step-stool with great hair." he gestures to his impeccably styled white locks.

"so, your criteria for a good relationship is purely utilitarian? i'm good for complaining and you're good for opening jars?"

"and looking good. don't forget that. i'm the eye candy. every couple needs eye candy. you can be good at appreciating my eye candy."

you fight the urge to stick a fork in his eyes. "right, because all i do is sit around and appreciate your god-given good looks."

"besides," he continues, ignoring your sarcasm, "that guy bought it. means we look pretty couple-y, right?"

you stare at him, a flat, unimpressed look on your face. "or, it means he's being paid minimum wage, and couldn't care less."

"you would know, broke ass." another swift kick, and he hisses, pouting exaggeratedly.

"excuse me?" you huff. "minimum wage or not, that man is doing his job. unlike you, who's just freeloading off my good reputation."

he nods, as if he's genuinely considering this profound statement. "good reputation? for hating valentine's day? that's quite the legacy."

defensively, you sit up straighter. "it's a very respectable stance! and i'm not broke. i just appreciate a good discount. like you, apparently, considering you just scammed a bakery employee into thinking we're an item."

he choose not to address you, taking a moment to meticulously tear the paper of the straw in half. "on the other hand," gojo says, eyes fixed on his paper dissection, "if you weren't single, you'd be far less grouchy all the time."

"you already said that," you huff, deadpan.

"it still holds true," he nods, finally looking up, a serious expression on his face.

snorting, you tilt your head up, looking at the cracks in the ceiling. "so… you're suggesting i need to get a boyfriend? are you also suggesting the boyfriend is… you? just to not be grouchy? okay, well, what if i prefer to be grouchy? what if that's, like, my thing?"

"not necessarily." he almost says yes, but catches himself. "but you should know, i'd make a gas boyfriend," he insists, puffing out his chest playfully.

"good to know," you hum, snatching your drink back. when you take a sip from exactly where he did, his heart does a little flip in his chest, a secret, happy flutter.

gojo clicks his tongue. "and, also, impossible. no one prefers to be grouchy. you're just… unfulfilled. a boyfriend would bring joy, sunshine, spontaneous acts of adoration. less frowning, more smiling."

"these are high standards to hold to yourself. or, like, this hypothetical boyfriend. also, i like the grouch. i think it's kind of like my core trait." you tap your chest, a definitive statement.

"that is such a sad, sad trait to base yourself off."

"oh, please," you scoff, rolling your eyes. "like the rich daddy's boy thing you have going on is any better."

he holds his hands up, defensive, but a grin splits his face. "well, one of us is paying for lunch, and the other isn't. you know, because she's broke." mildly offended, you kick him. again.

"hey! quit doing that. anyways, my point is, i've got all day to change your mind about valentine's."

"all day? what if i'm busy?" you challenge, a playful glint in your eye.

"nah. you wouldn't be here with me, if you had plans." he says it with absolute certainty.

he doesn't know it yet, but, yeah, even if you did have plans, you'd still ditch them for him.

୨୧ ⌞ act seven: strawberries and cigarettes always taste like you.⌝

gojo's phone died a little while back, and he has no idea what time it is. it doesn't really matter, though, not when he's walking in the dim-lit street with you, not when it feels like this moment will last forever.

he pulls you behind that same, tattered, gray building, the gas station he saw you at just a couple months ago. it looks the same, save for the dumpster that's against the bushes instead of the wall.

"oh, shit," he laughs, the sound a little breathless. "it smells rank back here."

you plop down on the familiar concrete ledge, scrunching your nose in agreement. "don't even start, you're the one who dragged me here. for your stupid matcha cravings."

pulling him down next to you, his shoulder bumps against yours. "wait, wait," you murmur, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of your pocket. holding a flame to the end, you cup your hand to keep the tiny light from going out in the faint breeze.

there's an odd feeling that passes through him, not quite nostalgia, when he sees that identical stain of strawberry-colored gloss on the end your lips are over.

"remember the last time i tried to smoke one?" he asks, a small, knowing grin on his face.

"yeah," you giggle, your shoulders shaking slightly as the smoke hits your lungs. "you almost died."

he's a little flustered, denying it immediately. "i did not almost die."

"close enough, you started choking and everything. wanna try again?" you ask, holding it near him, the lit tip glowing orange in the dim light. he eyes it, then looks back at you, a challenge in his gaze.

"damn, you tryna kill me?" he teases, but his voice is softer than he intends.

you lean closer, a pretty smile on your face that makes his voice catch. "would i get your money, if i did?"

his lips part, a hesitant breath escaping him, and you slip the cigarette between them. he can faintly smell the sweetness of the red. it's barely there, a ghost of a scent, but it's enough.

"relax," you hum, your voice a low, soothing sound. "you don't need to be so tense, it's just me."

but that's the thing — it's just you. just you and him, here again, alone in the quiet hum of the night. you're so close, invading all of his senses, leaving him breathless. how is he even supposed to think straight?

he, hesitant, inhales the smoke. he lasts hardly any longer than last time, turning away and breaking into a coughing fit, his shoulders shaking with the effort.

"oh, my god," you wheeze, patting his back, a mixture of concern and amusement in your touch. "careful. you're not supposed to suck in that much. just a puff, sato." the nickname, soft and intimate, has him blushing, and he has to duck his head, hiding his flushed face.

"one more time, or are you tapped out?" you ask, your voice still laced with laughter.

"one more," he breathes, tilting his head up to take in a smaller stroke. it's easier this time, irritates his throat less. he has to clear his chest, a low rumble, but he doesn't start writhing on the floor, so it's a win.

"oh, look! you did it," you smile, your eyes sparkling, and you gently pat his cheek. he wants to respond, but all he can manage is to lean into your touch. you don't move your hand, but stay cupping his face instead, your thumb stroking his cheekbone.

"hey, pretty," he whispers, his voice thick, feeling his breath mingle with yours in the cool night air.

you scoot closer, virtually pressed flush against him, and the sudden warmth of your body sends a jolt through him. "hi." his heart is beating loudly against his ribcage, a frantic drum, and he's afraid you can hear it.

gojo watches your eyes glaze over, a hazy, soft look, and how your long lashes flutter against your skin. you clutch his shirt, your fingers digging into the fabric, and your noses brush against his. and in a moment of a burst of raw courage, he presses his lips against yours.

it's not patient, but it's still loving, desperate in its urgency. it's clumsy, rather, messy, because both of you have been waiting too long for this to happen. your teeth clash against his, a soft click, as your lips, almost silkenly soft, move against his.

he tastes the faint sweetness of strawberries, a hint of something smoky and intoxicating. his hand, warm and firm, cups the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss.

the other hand fixes on your waist, keeping you there, pressed flush against him, as if he fears you might disappear.

it's awkward at first, tentative, because he's all too focused on the frantic butterflies that loop through his stomach, a dizzying swarm. it's like he's never kissed another person before, like he's forgotten how to. it was like his first one. his right one.

when he pulls away, you're panting little breaths, needing air, foreheads pressed together, your eyes still hazy. gojo presses another gentle kiss to the top of your hair, his nose nuzzled there, inhaling your scent.

you taste like strawberries and cigarettes.

unofficial permanent taglist: @jeonwiixard, @mia-can-yap-too did u guys know this is the longest fic ive ever written i should get head in the gc <33 big thanku to @mia-can-yap-too for beta reading i cannot be trusted to go back and do that myself i will cry also tagging myleslover @shokocide bc ur long fics inspire me + idk how u do it but share the talent !!! gatekeeping is bad incorrect buzzer

[crazyyluvr]

My brother forced me to rewatch Sakamoto Days for the 8th time after I exposed him to the anime 💀

And now I can’t stop thinking about, like, Shin x old assassin partner that supposedly “died” in the line of work when in reality, said partner faked their death to have an easier retirement like Sakamoto

It could be platonic or romantic, whichever you decide to choose ✨😋

Hey, So... I'm Not Dead!

pairing: shin asakura x ex assassin!reader (written with fem in mind but can be read as gn i think!)

wc: 1.8k words

note: the rewatching is so real though, although I have yet to rewatch sakamoto days LMAO. thank you for the request, i had fun with this one!! i hope this meets your standards. enjoy!

Shin swore he was hallucinating.

His eyes kept darting between the cash register and the face of the customer that recently entered the shop. A new face — well, to shop it was, but not to him.

Lu must have spiked his drink with something strong. Or one of Sakamoto's more violent thoughts of killing him had messed with his head.

Because there was no way it was you that was going through the instant ramen isle, perfectly alive and well.

The last Shin had heard of you, it was a death notification.

You had worked for a different organization, but you and Shin had collaborated often on various missions. Shin had grown used to your unorthodox style to the point that it had gotten hard to work with anyone else. You were recklessly calculated, taking risks that made it seem like you didn't expect to make it out alive, but you always did.

Which was why it came as a shock when he saw your face one day on the board his organization put up for hitmen that had been killed in action, almost three years ago.

He didn't exactly know what to feel about it. If Shin was feeling bold enough, he would probably consider you a friend. Well, you were the closest he had to one, but that didn't really mean much. You were the only one who tolerated him enough to invite him to the bar after work, where you yapped about your life (he knew that you were lying about most of it — but he could never really find out the truth. Of all the minds he had ever read, it was hard to understand yours). When Shin was bored in between assignments, he'd find himself texting your number, and you'd talk about the stupidest things.

It didn't take long for his face to start burning every time you smiled at him, or his heart to start racing when his thoughts somehow always end up about you. Of course, he put his feelings aside — being anything other than professional as a hitman was dangerous.

He couldn't really believe that you had died. After everything the both of you had been through together, it almost seemed like your heart just refused to stop beating, but death was a common thing in this line of business. The news had hit him like a freight train, but he knew that dwelling on it would make the grief even worse. All he could do was move on and make sure that he didn't meet the same fate.

That's why he felt like his brain was going to explode at the present moment.

Why was he the only one in the shop? Out of all the times Lu had to go to the bathroom and Mr. Sakamoto stayed outside to eat his ramen and read his newspaper, it had to be now!

Shin locked his eyes to the back of your head, mentally adjusting his psychic ability to try and tune in to the frequency of your thoughts, but he found himself struggling.

No way was it actually you.

It must be a trick of the light. Maybe the customer just coincidentally looked like you and had a difficult mind to read. After all, doppelgangers are a real thing (Shin didn't really believe that, though). Or maybe you looked common. (You most certainly didn't, especially not in Shin's eyes.)

When you — the customer — finally picked out an instant ramen cup to buy, you faced Shin properly, and Shin swore his brain actually froze.

It was you. It had to be you.

Or was he just hallucinating the flash of familiarity in your eyes?

"W-Welcome to Sakamoto's," Shin stuttered out, finally remembering that regardless if it was actually you, he had a job to do. "Is this all you'll be having?"

You — the customer, goddammit — nodded, giving Shin a polite smile that made Shin feel dizzy. "Yes. Thank you."

If it was actually you, why weren't you properly acknowledging him?!

"That'll be 150 yen," he said, blinking furiously to get himself to focus.

By the time he handed you your change and bagged your ramen, Shin still didn't have the confidence to properly talk to you until you were halfway through the sliding doors.

"Wait!"

You paused immediately, looking over your shoulder with a curious look. "Did I forget something?" You asked.

Shin shook his head. "I just wanted to ask, uh- what's your name?"

The customer offered him another smile. He never thought he would see that smile again.

Just when he was actually convinced that it was you, the "stranger" answered his question.

"It's Larry."

Shin blinked once. Then twice.

"Huh?" The surprised sound escaped him before he could stop it.

Your persona fell as you laughed out loud, a sound that shook your entire body as you clutched your stomach. You stepped back inside the shop to let the doors close behind you and you laughed at Shin's misery.

"What's going on?" At this point, Shin didn't really know what to believe anymore.

"I'm — I'm sorry," you gasped, wiping a stray tear from your eye. "For a psychic, you're just — you're still so easy to tease, Shin."

Shin's shoulders dropped, along with his jaw as he stared at you with wide eyes. "It's actually you?" He uttered your name like a prayer.

You gave him a smile, a genuine one this time. "Long time no see, partner. How 'bout we catch up outside over ramen? I already asked Mr. Taro if I could snatch you for the rest of your shift."

Yeah, Shin's brain is probably broken at this point.

—————

Shin still had trouble processing what you just told him. 

“Wait, wait,” Shin put his hands up, as if that could help make understanding easier. “So you’re saying that you faked your death.”

“Yep.”

“For three years.”

“Mhm.”

“So you can live out retirement in peace?”

You shrugged, eating another bite of your ramen. “That’s pretty much it. The assassin life gave a lot of money, but in the long run… it does more harm than good.”

You didn’t have to dive into the specifics for Shin to understand. He knew, better than anyone, the toll that being a hitman can take on a person. It removes the lightness from them, making them see the world in nothing but shadows. 

The haunted look in your eyes was still there, but it was much less apparent now. He could relate; ever since he quit being a hitman to work for Mr. Sakamoto, he’s felt much lighter than he’s ever felt in years. 

However, the psychic still had questions. 

“I thought you were dead for real,” Shin pointed out, a quiet chuckle escaping him, but it wasn’t that humorous. “It was hard to believe, but I eventually got used to the idea that I would never see you again.”

You sighed, slumping back in your chair. It was a familiar sight; you always sat the same way whenever you and Shin would hang out together in your usual seats in a crappy bar. “I wanted to tell you, I really did, but I wanted to detach myself from that life completely.”

“And that included me.” It wasn’t said out loud, but Shin understood the message.

You frowned in slight guilt. “You weren’t part of the bad things during my life as a hitman; quite the opposite, actually. But…”

You looked out onto the setting sun, the light hitting your face and basking you in the last rays of its warmth. “But I knew that if I told you, it would make leaving harder than it had to be.”

Shin stared at you. You, alive and well, the harsh lines of a life of blood and death softened on your face and on the corners of your eyes. 

Although Shin always thought you looked beautiful, he could see that you looked best as an ordinary civilian, whose biggest concerns was not how to eliminate their next target, but something simple, like what they would have for dinner, or what movie to watch tonight. 

Retirement suited you, even if you were a little too young for that. 

"So," you cleared your throat, grabbing your cup to drink the soup. "How about you, how have you been?"

"Uh..." Compared to your life, his wasn't that interesting. You know, except for the fact that he spontaneously decided to retire as well, that Mr. Sakamoto basically adopted him and Lu Shaotang, and that there was an active bounty on his boss' head. "I've... never been better, actually."

You grinned knowingly. "Retirement is much more fun than killing people for a living, right?"

Shin offered you a meek smile. "Yeah, I guess so. I get why you'd go to such lengths to leave it all behind."

"Exactly," you nodded, downing the rest of your soup, and laughing when Shin wrinkled your nose at the food you willingly chose to consume.

"Nonetheless,” you hummed, “I’m glad our paths crossed again. In all honesty, I kinda missed you, partner.”

Shin didn't know how to take that. You, missing him? How... weird.

The thought of being missed by you made his heart jump a little in his chest, but it wasn't an unpleasant feeling at all.

"I... missed you too," Shin replied, mentally cursing at himself for sounding so awkward.

But you didn't comment on it. You just smiled.

"Now," you clapped your hands together, standing up. "It's getting late, and I still got some errands to run, so I should be going. I'll pass by when I'm free."

Shin jolted out of his seat. Had that much time really passed by? It felt like it had only been a few minutes since you had seen each other again, and frankly, he didn't want to part ways so quickly.

"Or," you glanced at him, your smile turning teasing as you tossed your used cup over your shoulder. Without even having to look, it landed inside the trash can behind you. "You could, you know, ask me out this time."

Shin paused, his face suddenly burning up in a bright shade of red. "W- What do you mean 'this time'?!"

You raised your hands up mockingly. "Oh I'm sorry, were you the one who asked to hang out at the bar after every other mission? Or the one who would drag you to the park, or the rooftop of the old organization, or —"

"Okay, okay!" Shin cut you off loudly, laughing. "Fine. Let's meet up for coffee next time. My treat."

You gave him another soft smile, on that made him weak in the knees. "Alright. I'll hold you to it, Asakura. See you then."

You waved goodbye, and Shin didn't go back inside the store until he saw you turn a corner, leaving his sight.

He let out a great sigh, looking up at the few stars that sprinkled the sky.

Coffee next time, huh?

He let out a chuckle, smiling as he went through the sliding doors, Sakamoto telling him through his thoughts that they should close up soon.

I'll look forward to that.

[crazyyluvr]

HAPPY PRIDE MONTH‼️‼️ To celebrate, feel free to send mlm or wlw reqs for the fandoms i write for 😘 I need to practice writing male character x male reader fr

MAY YOU HAVE A COLORFUL JUNE HEHE

[crazyyluvr]

fixing up my profile and hell yeah i got a navigation now >:)) all that's left is a masterlist (i'll get to it soon, i swear, i'm just... too lazy...)

ty for sticking around hehe

[crazyyluvr]

navigation !

welcome to my blog! i'm mar, and i write whenever the motivation strikes me about anything i found interesting. i hope you enjoy your stay <3

requests: open! please remember to follow the guidelines :)

links: ✧ guidelines ✧ masterlist (coming soon!)

current obsession: jjk

artworks used by me aren't owned by me! credits to their owners.

[crazyyluvr]

guidelines !

request guidelines:

will write:

headcanons, oneshots, & drabbles

light angst

hurt/comfort

fluff

platonic & romantic

sfw

au's (as long as it's simple enough and specified in the request)

will not write:

heavy angst

horror

nsfw

yandere themes

incest

please keep in mind that i will not write for all requests, nor will i answer them immediately. if your request does not adhere to the guidelines, or is phrased rudely or discriminately, it will immediately be deleted.

request status: open!

what i write for:

windbreaker

jujutsu kaisen

sakamoto days

solo leveling

blue lock

haikyuu

aot

those listed above are based off of the anime, not their manga. refrain from including manga spoilers in requests. thank you!

[crazyyluvr]

i finished watching sakamoto days last night and I’m obsessed with sakamoto oh my goodness

HE’S LIKE JOHN WICK IF HE HAD THE GENTLENESS OF BAYMAX I CANNOT HE’S SO CUTE

Also I’m taking requests for sakamoto days now! As long as it’s based off of the anime 🙏 TY

[crazyyluvr]

idk if you can tell, but i recently finished watching jjk season 2 (I'm not caught up with everyone else, I know), and I wanna try writing for jjk now.

requests for jjk are now open! pls send, I wanna practice writing for some jjk characters. just, yk, no yandere or smut pls. TY

[crazyyluvr]

THE WRITING IS ACTUALLY PRISTINE WHAT THE FLIP

THE DIALOGUE??? THE DESCRIPTION???? I don't even know what line to quote for this reblog cus all of it is acc so good what the flip

Your Violence Reminded Me of Home :

They send you in after the damage is already done.

You’re not a hero. You’re what comes after.

The body bag. The Suture. The ghost that cleans up after gods.

You were trained to fix what can’t be fixed.

To close wounds that were never meant to be opened.

To make dying quieter.

And that’s when he noticed you.

Not because you were brave.

Not because you were powerful.

But because you never flinched.

Even when he stood over you, soaked in someone else’s blood, smiling like he was born to ruin.

You didn’t look away.

That’s what got under his skin.

That’s what kept him coming back.

-----

You didn’t speak to him with reverence. You spoke to him like someone who'd seen too much to be impressed anymore.

“Move,” you said once, knee-deep in what used to be someone’s liver. “Unless you’re going to help.”

He tilted his head like a dog hearing thunder.

“You’re awfully calm for someone standing in a massacre.”

“It’s Tuesday,” you said.

-----

You were the kind of person the world forgets until it needs you.

Invisible until someone starts bleeding.

And maybe that’s what made him stay.

You never looked at him like he was legend or apocalypse. You looked at him like he was inconvenient.

That kind of irreverence should have made him crush you.

Instead, he lingered.

-----

The first time he watched you lose someone, you didn’t cry.

You didn’t scream. You didn’t pray.

You just pressed your hand to the boy’s cooling chest and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Not to the gods.

To him.

He saw the way your shoulders locked, the way you didn’t breathe for a full minute. Like maybe if you didn’t move, you wouldn’t feel it.

You didn’t notice him watching.

He didn’t speak.

But later, you found the curse responsible strung from a tree, head twisted the wrong way.

It had taken you three hours to get there. Sukuna must’ve gotten there in two.

-----

You weren’t kind to him. That’s not what this is.

You were honest.

He once asked, casually, why you didn’t run like the others.

“Because I’ve spent my whole life cleaning up after men who think violence is the only language worth speaking.”

“You think I’m just another man?” he said, voice sharp.

“No,” you replied. “I think you used to be.”

-----

And that haunted him.

Because he’d burned down whole cities just to forget that—

-----

The first time he touched you, you were bandaging his side. A jagged gash from something that didn’t know better.

You didn’t ask why he didn’t heal it himself.

He didn’t ask why your hands shook a little.

But when your knuckles brushed his ribs, he stilled.

Not because it hurt.

Because it didn’t.

And that scared him more.

You didn’t make him human.

You reminded him he still was.

That was worse.

-----

He started showing up more. Missions you weren’t supposed to survive. Places no one should be. You’d find him in the aftermath, leaning against rubble, watching you with that same expressionless violence in his gaze.

Sometimes he asked questions.

“Do you believe in saving people?”

“Not anymore.”

“Why still try?”

“Because someone has to.”

“You always do things that don’t work?”

“I stayed talking to you, didn’t I?”

He laughed. It sounded like breaking glass.

-----

It was never romantic.

But God, it was intimate.

The kind of intimacy that doesn’t look like love.

It looks like two people who can’t lie to each other anymore.

-----

You started dreaming about him.

Not in soft ways.

In recognition ways.

His voice in the dark. His blood on your hands.

Your name in his mouth like a secret he hates knowing.

It wasn’t love.

It was something older.

Like grief. Like guilt. Like home.

-----

One night, you asked him something you’d never dared to ask anyone.

“Do you think people like us get better?”

He didn’t answer for a long time.

“No,” he said eventually. “But sometimes we get understood.”

You nodded.

You didn’t speak again for hours.

He didn’t leave.

-----

You told yourself it wasn’t connection. Just mutual ruin. Two broken things orbiting the same grave.

But then you got hurt. Badly.

And he lost his mind.

Not loudly. Not with roars.

Just with silence.

The kind that feels like a closing door—

When you woke up in a makeshift shelter, your wounds stitched with unnatural precision, he was already gone.

But outside the door, you saw what he left:

A trail of bodies. Eyes gouged. Faces melted. Blood spelling out a name.

Yours.

-----

You didn’t thank him.

You never did.

But the next time he appeared beside you, you didn’t ask why.

You just said, “You’re late.”

And he replied, “You’re alive.”

-----

You don’t belong together. You know this. You knew it from the start.

He is the myth that devours the world.

And you? You’re the woman who keeps trying to tape it back together.

But sometimes he sits close enough for your knees to touch, and doesn’t flinch.

Sometimes you reach for the same gauze at the same time, and your fingers linger.

Sometimes, you both exist in the same silence.

And it feels like the closest either of you has ever come to peace.

-----

He once told you that your eyes made him feel guilty.

You said, “Good.”

-----

You never tell him you love him.

But once, while half-conscious, he whispered:

“You’re the only thing I’ve ever seen that wasn’t ugly.”

You never bring it up again.

But you remember.

-----

You won’t survive this.

He might.

But not you.

And he knows it.

And that’s the tragedy.

Because for the first time in his life, he doesn’t want to win.

He wants to keep.

And the world doesn’t let men like him keep people like you.

---

But for now—

You sit in the rubble.

He watches you patch another dying sorcerer together with trembling hands and exhausted breath.

And he thinks:

Your violence reminded me of home.

But your silence reminded me of being known.

And he hates you for it.

And he keeps coming back anyway.

-----

[crazyyluvr]

hate ai with a BURNING passion

it may take me a month to put out a chapter but at least im not using ai to write it.

it may take me a month to put out a chapter but at least im not using ai to write it.

it may take me a month to put out a chapter but at least im not using ai to write it.

it may take me a month to put out a chapter but at least im not using ai to write it.

it may take me a month to put out a chapter but at least im not using ai to write it.

IT MAY TAKE ME A MONTH TO PUT OUT A CHAPTER BUT AT LEAST IM NOT USING AI TO WRITE IT

[crazyyluvr]

back in the umemiya x medic!reader roll so have a little drabble i made while procrastinating from all my dues and studying for my exams <3 just a bit of backstory that i had lingering at the back of my mind that i had to get out before i forget it so enjoyy!

wc: 543

original idea/oneshot

i was just thinking about how medic reader and umemiya had been a duo ever since, from middle school all the way to bofurin, to when umemiya became a leader and dragged you up so you could stand beside him at the top of bofurin.

at the beginning, people wondered how the two of you became as close you were, since you were quite different from each other; you were harsh while umemiya was gentle, umemiya was lighthearted while you were serious. you two were like a sun and a shadow, differing, but one cannot exist without the other.

one of the things umemiya was known for was how well he took care of and protected his own people, and you were no exception to it. in fact, it probably tripled when it came to you; every time you both ended up in a fight, he'd be the one doing all the hard work while you just waited for him to finish so you could patch him up.

everyone always wondered why he never let you lift a finger against anyone. it was obvious that you were more than capable of handling yourself despite never proving it, but you never intervened whenever umemiya was fighting, even if he got himself into a sticky situation.

hiragi was the only one who ever got the courage to ask the leader himself about it, when they were alone on the rooftop garden, watching the sun set as you took your turn at tending to the plants, too focused on your task to listen to their conversation.

"don't they know how to fight?" hiragi pointed out, nodding towards you. "why don'tcha let them fight?"

umemiya didn't answer immediately. the hues that the setting sun casted on the clouds was beautiful, an amazing blend of fading blues and vibrant oranges.

but he wasn't looking at that.

he was just looking at you. you, crouched over one of his eggplants, your face focused as you studied the plant.

"the last time i let them fight..." umemiya started, flashes of that day appearing in his brain, "it didn't end well. for either them or the person they were fighting against."

he chose his words carefully; he knew that you didn't want people knowing much about what had happened to you, and why it was enough to make you avoid fighting entirely.

"fighting is a drug," umemiya said, turning away to look at his friend, who was watching him. "those who take it either get numb to its effects or get so addicted to the point where they can't control it."

hiragi glanced at you again, and he seemed to understand.

you used to fight — which was expected, since you were umemiya's right-hand man. something had happened to you, and it affected you enough to cast you aside to the role of a medic permanently.

hiragi didn't ask any more questions after that, opting to just watching the sun fall to make way for the moon.

but he couldn't help but think that the day that he'd see you fight would be a bloody, bloody day indeed.

and he, for some reason, did not want to ever witness that happen, even if it meant bruising his own knuckles to ensure it.

[crazyyluvr]

Hiii i really like tour writing. Can i ask if you write yandere fics. If si can i request yandere wind breaker (umemiya ,suo,sugishita,tomiyama,togame,takiishi) headcanons

If no it's ok thank you so much

thank you for the request, but I don’t write yandere 💔 sorry, it’s a bit too intense for me 😭

[crazyyluvr]

There is a whisper in the wind. In the wind, there it creaks within the roots of old trees older than the gods. The whisper, no, it is not just a whisper, it is a voice that sings. It sings a ballad so gently, wars stop, the crying children sleeps, the sun and moon stop travelling to listen...

The song... An ancient ballad... An ancient tune... It is in a language long dead and forgotten...

But one line, the first, after years of research, the ballad of peace may be sung and listened to once again...

The first line reads...

"La... La... La...

Lava...

Chi- Chi- Chi-

Chicken..."

did i just get lava chickened…

[crazyyluvr]

this is so good i need more jjk x male readers DESPERATELY

𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐒 𝐌𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓, 𝐈 𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐃𝐈𝐄!

Summary: In which you try to avoid the rude, short-tempered and dangerous special grade sorcerer, Sukuna Ryoumen, who happens to also be your senpai. But whatever you do, it seems that he simply never leaves you alone. Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3(WIP)

Pairings: Sorcerer!Sukuna x male!Reader

Content. rivals to lovers, cursing, injury on reader, other warnings on pt.1, m!reader

W.C. 3.7k A.N. so sorry this took so long lovies <3

Sukuna Ryoumen was not a pathetic man. Keyword: was.

Past tense, because he was sure he was pathetic in every single way he acted around you. He was no different from a kicked dog following its master, surely.

And what did you do? You just existed. Loudly. No, not loudly, but you were loud to him. The way his eyes just snapped to you in a room, how your voice always seemed to reach his ears first, loud. He hated loud. So why, pray tell, did he just have to follow you wherever you went?

Sukuna didn’t like to call it stalking. Stalking is a strong word. He was just… keeping an eye on you. That’s it.

He saw that you were strong, a first grade sorcerer who was on a path to be a great special grade but he still used the excuse of protecting you. Making sure you didn’t get ambushed, that you didn’t get hurt because of your stupidity. (He saw you burn your tongue while you were eating once, and that was enough to solidify his latter excuse.

You weren’t careful enough. You trained too late at night. You took missions solo when you shouldn’t. You were reckless, and yeah, fine, maybe that was part of why he liked watching you. You pushed your limits until you bled. Just like he still did.

So what if he stood outside the gym while you trained and watched your form improve over time? So what if he started showing up early to the cafeteria because you always got there late and skipped meals when you were tired?

God, he was pathetic.

And he hated that he liked it. Hated that he remembered how you liked your coffee. Hated that he noticed your stupid mannerisms- the way your eyes squinted slightly when you were lying, or how your fingers twitched when you were holding back a snarky comeback.

Sukuna wasn’t good at feelings. So when he started showing up uninvited, when he started provoking you on purpose, when he started picking fights just to hear you curse him out—he thought that was normal maybe even more than necessary. That was how people like him said hello, I like you.

He liked you, and he was sure it was obvious.

Sukuna hated your existence and everything you stood for, is the one fact you could be 100% sure of. Actually, there was another fact you were 100% sure of, and it was that you hated him just as much.

It was a thought you had solidified in your head just recently, while you were on your way to the vending machines after class. Everything was just another day, until Yaga pulled you aside. 

He had that look on his face. The "this is going to suck, but I’m pretending it won’t" look. So you stood there, arms crossed, already tired, while Yaga fidgeted with his clipboard and cleared his throat like he was announcing your execution.

“You’ll be traveling. Two days out west. Exorcism. Medium-level curse. The area’s been experiencing some strange fluctuations—negative energy spikes, disappearing livestock, minor possessions. Could be a semi-sentient curse nesting in the woods.”

“Sounds manageable,” you said slowly, eyes narrowing. “So who’s my partner?”

“Sukuna Ryoumen.” 

No. No, you must’ve misheard that. There was no way, maybe he just misspoke and meant to say Shoko-  “Who?”

“Sukuna,” Yaga repeated, eyes flitting back to the paper. “He’ll be accompanying you as part of a supervised mission. Think of it as… a learning experience.”

“Is this a punishment?”

"No."

“Are you sure?"

“Yes.”

“Because it feels like one.”

Yaga pinched the bridge of his nose like he was this close to assigning you anger management. “Sukuna requested this mission.”

“What?” Your eyes widened as the furrow between your brows deepened, Sukuna requested you as his partner?

Yaga sighed like he knew this would happen and didn’t care. “Sukuna specifically requested you as a partner. Said he could learn something from you.”

You felt your brain stutter like a car running out of gas. Sukuna? Learn? From you?

Bullshit.

That was the most suspicious thing you’d heard in your entire career at Jujutsu High. Sukuna didn’t “learn” from anyone. He picked fights, broke bones, and called it a day. 

You stormed out of the office, envelope crushed in your fist, heart burning with indignation and more than a little dread. It was one thing to deal with Sukuna in passing—those goddamn hallway encounters, the offhand insults, the unsolicited “advice” he barked like commands—but a mission? Together? Overnight?

You felt a migraine forming just thinking about it.

The next morning, you arrived at the train station early. Too early. You figured if you got there first, you could at least enjoy a few moments of peace before Hurricane Sukuna rolled in.

The station was quiet at this hour, washed in pale morning light that didn’t do much to warm the early spring chill. You adjusted your jacket, sighing, gripping the strap of your bag tightly as you leaned against a cold metal bench. Your fingers tapped an annoyed rhythm against the side of your thigh.

He requested you.

That part wouldn’t stop echoing in your skull like a stubborn curse. Why the hell would he request you?

Was it just to mess with you? Some sick joke to put you on edge the entire trip? Did he think you’d be fun to torture in a confined space for hours? Or maybe this was some elaborate revenge scheme for that time you’d kneed him in the ribs during sparring so hard he spat blood.

Honestly, that one would’ve been fair.

Still, it didn’t add up. Sukuna didn’t go out of his way for people. Not unless there was something in it for him.

You glanced at the time.

7:01 a.m.

The train would leave at 7:30.

And then—like the devil finally clocking into work—you heard it. The low, drawling whistle of a bastard walking with far too much confidence for someone so unreasonably irritating.

You turned your head slowly, like you were bracing for an oncoming car crash.

There he was.

Ryoumen Sukuna. Pink hair as obnoxiously spiked as ever, tattoos curled around his skin like they belonged there, a smug grin tugging at his mouth like he’d just won a bet with God.

He looked directly at you the second he entered the platform. Like he’d known you were there the whole time.

Great. Creepy stalker powers confirmed.

“There’s my favorite little sweetheart,” he drawled.

You didn’t answer. Just let your eyes slowly drag over him with the unimpressed flatness of a particularly judgmental cat.

He strutted over, hands in his pockets, eyes glittering with what you could only describe as malicious amusement. Sukuna sat down beside you uninvited, spreading his legs obnoxiously wide like he owned the entire bench while you were forced to scoot over, pressing yourself against one end of the bench. Jeez, he was massive. “You’re in a mood.”

You scoffed. “Gee, I wonder why.”

He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, and looked at you from the corner of his eye. “What, aren’t you honored to be spending the next 48 hours with me?”

“You could’ve picked literally anyone else.”

“But I didn’t,” he said, tone quiet and sure. You looked at him. For a fleeting second, his expression was unreadable. No smirk, no teasing glint. Just quiet, thoughtful weight behind his gaze. And it pissed you off even more.

“Why?” you asked, genuinely confused.

Sukuna tilted his head slightly, then shrugged. “Thought it’d be fun.”

“Fun,” you repeated, deadpan.

“Yeah. You’re strong. You don’t take shit. You’ve got good instincts. Better than most of the idiots that call themselves sorcerers, if I’m being honest.”

“Oh.” Oh. You blinked at him, stunned for a second. Was that… praise? No. No, no, no. That wasn’t allowed. Not from Sukuna. You looked away after that, finding the floor more fascinating as you muttered a thanks. Nothing was said after that, both of you letting the silence stretch on as you two waited for the train.

The receptionist glanced at her screen and smiled again, that same rehearsed, customer-service kind of smile that was the norm. “Ah, yes, reservation by Jujutsu Tech, correct?” she said sweetly.

“That’s us,” you muttered. Well, mostly you. Sukuna hadn’t said a word yet, hands shoved into his pockets, bored eyes scanning the lobby like he was looking for a fight to pick.

“You’ll be in Room 507,” she chirped. “King bed, as requested.”

Your brain did a record scratch.

“…What?”

She blinked. “Yes, a king-sized bed, one room.”

“Wait, no, there must be a mistake.” you said quickly, trying not to let your voice rise. You threw a pointed glance at Sukuna, who raised an eyebrow as well. "Is there anything else available? Maybe two singles? A futon? A coffin?"

The receptionist flushed, tapping again. "I'm so sorry. It looks like we had a booking error. We're completely full tonight because of the local festival. All the inns nearby are booked too."

You stepped aside and dialed the front desk number on your phone, pacing just a bit away. You weren’t going to be rude. You refused to be that person. But the tightness in your voice gave you away as you spoke with a second staff member, repeating the issue calmly but with a razor’s edge.

No extra rooms. No rollaway beds. Not even a blanket and pillow set to crash on the floor.

"Great," you muttered as you hung up, sliding your phone into your pocket with the grace of a man trying not to explode.

You turned on your heel and began marching toward the elevator without even checking to see if Sukuna followed. Inside the elevator, you didn’t say a word. Neither did he. The silence buzzed louder than the soft elevator music, and you swore you could feel his smug aura from across the small space. It was like standing next to a space heater that also insulted your intelligence every five minutes.

The room itself was… nice. Too nice. The lighting was warm, the sheets crisp, and the bed was offensively luxurious. The kind of bed that looked like it had its own subscription to interior design magazines. And of course, there was only one of them.

He stretched, long limbs shifting under his shirt, and you immediately looked away. Not because he was hot. Absolutely not. It was just—he was warm-blooded and made mostly of muscle and spite, so the shirt clinging to him probably just did that naturally.

“I’ll take the couch,” he offered suddenly.

You blinked. “What?”

“The couch.” He huffed and threw his bag on the couch in question, that was notably way too small for a man his size. “I’ll take it.”

You frowned. It was uncharacteristically considerate of him. Weird. It made you suspicious. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch. I’m not a total bastard.”

You raised a brow, unconvinced.

“…Okay, maybe like eighty percent bastard,” he amended. “But still. I’m not letting you get scoliosis from a night on that thing.”

You stared at the couch, then back at him. “I’ll take it.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. You’re bigger than me, and I’ve survived worse.”

Sukuna looked oddly… conflicted. Like he didn’t want you to suffer for the sake of being polite. Or maybe he was just trying to avoid being indebted to you. But after a moment of silence, you both simultaneously said:

“Let’s just share the bed.”

You froze. He raised a brow.

“…Okay then,” you muttered, walking past him to toss your bag by the wardrobe. “Are you seriously okay with this?” He snorted. “Why wouldn’t I be? You scared I’ll bite?”

You rolled your eyes at that, deciding to keep your mouth shut. You grabbed your gear while Sukuna mindlessly poked around the room, it was late noon and it would probably be late when the two of you would get back from patrolling the area.

The night air was crisp, the faint scent of blooming sakura drifting through the quiet streets of the small village. The mission had been uneventful so far, with only the occasional rustle of leaves breaking the silence.​ Sukuna walked with a kind of heavy presence- shoulders relaxed, but every inch of him coiled like a snake. His hands were in his pockets, but you knew he could be lunging and maiming something in a breath.

“Tch. You’re looking around like a damn scared cat,” he drawled suddenly.

You huffed, relaxing your grip on your katana. “I’m surveying. It’s called being thorough.”

“It’s called overcompensating,” he smirked, not even glancing your way.

You rolled your eyes at that, “Sorry for taking my job seriously.”

His eyes flicked toward you, unreadable. “Yeah, yeah. You’re a real model sorcerer.”

You clicked your tongue, opening your mouth to let out a retort until a chill ran down your spine. The air grew heavy, and the shadows seemed to deepen. Cursed energy, multiple points.

Without warning, a group of curses emerged from the darkness, their grotesque forms twisting and writhing as they lunged towards the both of you.​ 

“Tch,” Sukuna’s fingers curled out of his pocket. “Took long enough.” 

Despite their numbers, they were relatively weak, and you dispatched them with practiced efficiency.

Everything was going fine until one of them—the sneaky little bastard—caught your arm with a swipe of its jagged claw. It wasn’t deep, just a shallow line across your forearm, but it burned like hell. You hissed and ducked back, gut twisting as warm blood soaked into your sleeve.

Sukuna noticed immediately, slicing through the last curse with a flick of his wrist. “You serious?” he barked, “You let that thing scratch you?”

You rolled your eyes, wincing as you felt the fabric of your uniform stick to the wound. “It’s a cut, not a mortal wound.”

“Still pathetic,” he muttered, voice sharp with irritation as he stomped his way in front of you. He glared at the wound, grabbing your wrist and raising it so he had a clear view of the cut. “Hey!”

He ignored you, sneering at the blood starting to seep through your uniform and drip onto the pavement. “You had the angle. You should’ve dodged.”

“I was dodging, dumbass. The curse moved weirdly mid-swing.”

“You’re just slow.”

You looked like you wanted to hit him, and to be fair, you were dangerously close. “Keep talking, Ryoumen. I’ll make you bleed worse just to see how you like it.”

“Bring it,” he snapped, gripping your wrist just a bit tighter. You cringed at the pressure, but didn’t back down. His crimson eyes narrowed, flicking briefly to your wound before he let go of your wrist, huffing and turning away. “Tch. Whatever. Let’s just get back.”

The walk back was quiet. You didn’t talk. He didn’t either. Just that same heavy silence from earlier, now heavier.

You excused yourself to the bathroom the second you got into the hotel room. The sleeve of your uniform was torn, sticky with drying blood. You peeled it away with a wince and grabbed the first aid kit Yaga packed in your bag, fumbling with the gauze and antiseptic. Your fingers were trembling, mostly from leftover adrenaline.

You hissed when the alcohol hit the wound. Tried to wrap it yourself, It wasn’t going well.

“Tch. You’re hopeless.”

You looked up to find Sukuna leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, uniform already discarded with only a dress shirt on him. The buttons were holding on for dear life. He stared at you, expression unreadable, tattoos dark under the light.

You glared. “I’m fine. I can do it myself.”

“Yeah, clearly.” He snatched the bottle and gauze from your hands, stepping in without waiting for permission. “Shut up and sit down.”

You blinked, about to argue, but something in his face made you pause. It wasn’t that usual smugness. He looked… tense.

You sat.

Sukuna knelt in front of you, movements weirdly gentle as he pressed the cloth to your wound. You hissed again and he muttered something that sounded suspiciously like idiot under his breath. His fingers were warm, surprisingly steady as they worked—too steady, actually. You didn’t think someone who punched through skulls could be capable of treating wounds with that kind of care.

“What?” he said, noticing your stare.

“Thanks.”

It was his turn to roll his eyes, eyes flicking back to where he was working on your wound. “Whatever.” He bandaged you efficiently, like he’d done it before. Maybe on himself. Maybe on his brothers.

“Next time,” he muttered, tying the final knot, “don’t get distracted mid-fight.”

You sighed, resisting the urge to lean back against the wall. “I wasn’t distracted. Just unlucky.”

“Bullshit.” His voice was low now, rough. “You’re better than that.”

That caught you off-guard, and it caught Sukuna off-guard too- if the widened eyes looking up at you were anything to go by. It's as if he didn’t even think he’d say those words and to be fair, you didn’t think he would either. You grinned.

“What, no insult this time?” you teased, unable to stop yourself. “Losing your edge?”

He stood up with a snort, tossing the used gauze in the trash. “Nah. You’re still a dumbass.” But he didn’t say it as harshly as usual. Huh.

You watched him walk back into the room, the tension in your chest refusing to ease. Something about this night—about him—felt different. Maybe it was the blood loss. Maybe it was the weird domestic intimacy of him bandaging you up. Maybe it was the fact that, for a moment, Sukuna Ryoumen had looked like he actually gave a damn about you.

You weren’t sure if you liked that.

The hotel room had gone still.

Not quiet, still—the kind of stillness that settles into your bones, where even the hum of the air conditioning feels like a distant echo. The lights were off. The moon spilled in weakly through the slats in the curtain. You were on the far side of the bed, back turned to him, shoulders rising and falling in slow, measured breaths.

Sukuna lay facing the opposite direction. Eyes open. Jaw tight.

He couldn’t sleep.

Not because of the bed. Or the room. Or even the stupid one-bed situation he’d pretended not to care about.

It was you. That stupid, reckless, aggravating you.

The scent of antiseptic still lingered faintly in the air, mingling with the ghost of blood. Your blood.

He should’ve moved on. Should’ve been glad the fight was over and you’d only gotten nicked. Hell, most people would call that a lucky break. But it kept playing in his head on loop—your grunt of pain, the flicker of red across your side, the way you staggered just a little before recovering and pressing forward like it hadn’t happened.

It was a shallow cut. He knew that. You weren’t dying. He’d seen worse—hell, he’d inflicted worse. But that didn’t matter.

Because it had been you.

And that meant his heart had stopped for half a second longer than it should have. Just long enough for rage to take root. Not at the curses. Not really. They were dead now. Torn apart without mercy. No, he was pissed at you.

For not dodging. For letting your guard down. For making him feel something he didn’t want to admit to. He squeezed his eyes shut, scowling into the darkness.

“Idiot,” he whispered under his breath. He wasn’t even sure if he meant you or himself.

One minute you were just another second-year sorcerer, someone competent, someone annoyingly moral, someone with that steady gaze and that sharp tongue that never backed down even when he was inches from your face.

And now?

Now he couldn’t stop remembering the way your breath hitched when the antiseptic touched the cut. The little wince you tried to hide. The way your lashes had lowered when you finally let him bandage you up, too tired to keep up your bravado.

He’d been too harsh. Again. He knew it. Why was he like this? Why couldn’t he hold his tongue, be ‘nice’, be something that you could look at without anger?

How dare you make him care.

He could hear you shift behind him slightly, maybe adjusting your arm or pillow. He bit the inside of his cheek before he could think of your injury again. Maybe he should’ve wrapped it less tighter?

He swallowed, rolling onto his back. His eyes flicked to the ceiling. Blank. Pale. Silent. His thoughts were louder than ever.

He wondered if you knew what you did to him. How your voice lingered in his head when you weren’t around. How your insults hit harder than anyone else’s because he knew you meant them—and because he cared that you did.

He wondered if you realized how close he was to doing something irreversible. Like falling for you completely. Like giving a damn every single time you breathed a little too sharp in a fight, or bit back a wince, or stood too close to danger.

He wondered if you’d ever forgive him for being this bad at showing it.

Because he didn’t know how to be soft. He didn’t know how to say, “I’m glad you’re okay,” without sounding like a jackass. He didn’t know how to admit he was scared without masking it with sarcasm or anger or a snide remark.

All he knew was this: if anything ever happened to you again, and he wasn’t fast enough to stop it—he’d tear the world apart trying to fix it.

He let out a breath and finally, finally turned over again.

You were still facing away, one hand tucked under your pillow, breathing slow and even. He stared at your back, taking in every small detail—the slope of your shoulders, the rise and fall of your ribs, the way your hair was slightly mussed from the pillow.

He wanted to reach out. Just once. Just lightly brush his fingers along your arm to make sure you were really there. That you were okay. 

But he didn’t.

He just stared. Like a coward.

Part 1 || Part 3(WIP) ➠

TAGLIST (open)

@prettorett @rikabby69 @iamlizardgod @cheeselordbones

[crazyyluvr]

needed this academic validation and will be going back to this when exam season arrives (in two weeks)!!

college bf nanami is...annoying.

sometimes you think you're not made for nanami. like at all. you're the complete opposite to the person that he strives to be.

nanami kento is organised, well prepared and clean.

and you?

well that bowl of cereal has been sitting on the counter for at least two days now and you still have that essay to submit which should have been submitted last week. no, you don't hoover your carpet as much as you should and the kitchen counter has biscuit crumbs and sauce stains from last week.

nanami's closet is organised and consists of clothes he wears often. whilst your wardrobe door can't seem to close and there's another dress that you ordered coming later today.

he cooks homemade food 99% of the time whilst food delivering apps dare to make up half of your screen time.

even on days when he feels exhausted, nanami puts in effort to get out of bed and do chores. you bedrot, remaining in the same oversized shirt that you have yet to add to your laundry pile and then complain with anxiety how you've gotten nothing done today. you procrastinate with assignments but knowing nanami he's got it submitted at least a week before the deadline.

yes, you forget to pay rent sometimes. yes, you wake up late and miss lectures sometimes whilst nanami's attendance will always remain at one hundred percent. he's working for internships and you struggle to reach 100 words on your cv.

yes, he's annoying but only annoying in the sense that you drive yourself crazy in wonder of why he's with you.

you pose this thought to him during a movie night. neither of you are paying attention to this shitty romcom. you're sitting on his lap on the couch whilst stuffing buttered popcorn into your mouth.

'i'm....unorganised. I don't know what I'm doing now and I don't know what I'll be doing ten years from now. but you ken...you always know what you're doing.'

he lets out a huff, fighting back a smirk as he looks at you. he can tell how much you've been driving yourself crazy with comparison.

you frown at his smirk. 'don't laugh at me.'

'I'm not laughing honey, I just find you amusing.' you raise a brow at his words. 'In a good way or a bad way?' you tease.

'In a good way...once you find a way to get out of that head of yours.'

you avoid his eye contact, looking down at your bowl of popcorn.

'I'm serious...'

'so am I.' Kento states. 'you're too stuck in that head of yours to realise how well you are doing.'

and this is no lie. Kento's seen your grades, you left the tab open showcasing feedback on your most recent assignment and just from your score he knows you were top of the class. easily.

he knows how much you dedicate to your studies and your extracurricular activities whilst making enough time for your friends and him.

sure, not everything is smooth sailing or perfect. but that's what he loves about you. you're unpredictable and provide a little dis-order to his life that he needs in his very much structured life.

'you're perfect to me.'

[crazyyluvr]

Umemiya x 3rd year medic reader YESSS!

umemiya x medic!reader (no gender is specified, I think)

wc: 3.6k (not proofread but i never proofread anyway)

note: finally back with a oneshot. i wanna watch windbreaker s2 so bad but idk where to watch it huhu. enjoy the oneshot! <33

The three times Sakura has seen you take care of Umemiya, and the one time he returned the favor.

Sakura was one of the densest people in Bofurin. His friends constantly teased him of that fact, and Sakura always denied their assumptions and borderline insults towards his emotional intellect.

His one and only proof that he is not as dense as others say he is was the thing that he can see what others can't for some reason: the chemistry between Bofurin's leader and the resident medic.

He normally doesn't dabble in other people's personal lives, especially their love lives, but this one was just staring at him in the face to the point where he couldn't stop himself from asking his friends about it.

"They don't seem like they like each other," Nirei said, shaking his head when Sakura brought up the idea while they were in Kotoha's café.

"I agree," Suo hummed, leaning back and pushing his plate of biscuits to Sugishita, who quietly accepted them and ate them. "I've known them for a while, and they don't really have any tension between them."

Sakura simply stared at them, mouth agape, before he slammed his hands on their table. "Then all of you are the blind ones! There's no way ya can't see what's going on between those two!"

"Do you have any proof to support your claims?" Suo said.

"I got a ton." Sakura leaned back in his wooden chair, crossing his arms as he began to recount all the moments that he's witnessed between you and Hajime Umemiya.

—————

Incident One: The lingering gazes when tending to wounds.

After the fight Umemiya and Tomiyama officially declared that they would be friends after their fight, you had immediately approached Umemiya and dragged him to the closest theater seat to the stage.

Umemiya didn't even protest, letting you lead him with a hand wrapped around his forearm as he sat down and let you watch over his wounds. It was almost like routine for the both of you, neither of you saying a word as you fell into a familiar rhythm.

Sakura didn't think much of it at the start — you had done the same thing to the rest of them after their own matches, which was why they all had bandages and ointments spread over their faces.

"What's the verdict, doc?" Umemiya asked, eyes transfixed on you standing over him. "Am I gonna live?"

Sakura did a double take when he saw the smile that took place on Umemiya's face. It was different than the ones that he normally offered to everyone else — it had some kind of... mushiness to it that Sakura couldn't quite identify.

Nonetheless, it caught his attention.

"Your wounds aren't that severe, and the bite on your neck didn't pierce anything vital," you had said, a hand behind his head to make him lean back so you could examine the injury properly. "It doesn't need stitches — they're all pretty shallow. I'll just disinfect all of them then bandage."

"Do your worst, doc." Umemiya leaned back in his chair and watched as you dug into your medkit for the things you needed.

You rolled your eyes, face contorted into an expression of annoyance, undoubtedly caused by Umemiya's behavior during his fight.

"Next time, when someone tries to bite your neck, at least push their head away or something," you huffed as you put a white pad of bandage over the wound to clean it. Your angry tone contrasted the gentle hold you had over his body, as if you were afraid that you were going to break the leader of Bofurin even more.

"Aww, are you worrying about me, doc?" Umemiya cooed closing his eyes as he just let you do your thing.

"I'm more worried about my supplies," you countered, wrapping the bandage around his neck. "At this rate, half my materials will be used on wounds that you pointlessly gain from stupid fights."

Umemiya simply flashed you a grin as he looked up at you. He didn't reply, but the heaviness in his gaze said enough.

"Stop looking at me like that, Umemiya."

"Like what?" Umemiya asked, but he already knew what you were talking about. He just wanted to torture you.

"Like you wanna fight me."

Umemiya blinked. He misinterpreted your interpretation. "That's not-"

You let out a snort, finishing up the bandage and pulling away from him. "I was kidding. Don't get so worked up."

You let your eyes linger on his before you walked away, turning towards other members of Shishitoren in order to treat their wounds that were significantly worse than the Bofurin members had attained.

The interaction that was supposed to just be normal was so charged with tension it penetrated even Sakura's dense brain, causing redness to flood his cheeks as he looked away. He felt like he was invading something intimate and private that he wasn't supposed to witness but did anyway.

And apparently he was the only one who witnessed it because he heard no comments about them, even from the smart Nirei who normally noticed almost every small little detail about his "idols" (and you were pretty high up that list).

Despite that, Sakura didn't say anything about this, thinking that he was just imagining things. After all, he didn't really notice these types of things, didn't he? He was probably just making assumptions.

If only that was the only time that happened.

—————

Incident Two: the fussing over the tiniest cuts.

The second time made him feel suspicious.

He had learned quite quickly that raids from gangs was quite common in the town of Makochi. It was up to Bofurin to make sure that these raids never caused any extended damage on the properties of the residents.

He had also learned that despite the size of Bofurin and the wide array of good fighters that can easily help any kind of raid, Umemiya preferred being more hands-on with his leadership approach. He didn't let his status get in the way of doing meager tasks, like helping put up signs that were too high up for elderly store owners, or chasing down the odd purse-snatcher.

So when there was a tiny raid on the liquor store for the second time in two weeks, Sakura's team rushed over there to help, since they were the closest team that was currently patrolling.

They weren't able to see much of the fight, but they could tell that the gang was getting whacked. Out of a dozen members, four were on the ground, unconscious, while the rest were well on their way there, all while Umemiya didn't have a scratch on him. You were sitting on the curb, simply watching him fight with the medkit you always seemed to have with you on your lap, just waiting for him to finish so you could do your job.

It didn't take long for Umemiya to deal with the gang. His experience with fighting alone and his skill in fighting made the issue a breeze for him, despite gaining a cut on his eyebrow from a knife.

Sakura watched the leader of Bofurin in wonder. This was the person he wished to overcome in order to become the strongest. The boy couldn't help but think that he was a long way from that.

His attention on Umemiya caused him to see something that made him double back. As the older boy walked over to you, Sakura saw how his stance changed the closer he got to you. He went from being the strong fighter, the infamous leader of the protectors of Makochi, to a tired boy the moment he sat down in front of you.

Sakura followed Hiragi and the others in cleaning up the street, fixing things that were thrown into disorder due to the fight. This was also an excuse for Sakura to get closer to the two of you to eavesdrop on your conversation.

"How did I do?" Umemiya asked you, watching you as you took out your necessary materials.

You pretended to think for a moment as you dabbed alcohol onto a clean cotton pad. "Decent enough, I guess, but you get minus points for getting nicked."

You raised the cotton pad and patted the wound with it.

Umemiya hissed in pain, flinching away from the sudden contact of alcohol over his open wound. "Jeez, couldn't you have given me a warning first?"

You rolled your eyes. Nirei had pointed out before that you never rolled your eyes at anyone other than Umemiya, and Sakura realized that he was right. "You're such a big baby," you grumbled, but you had become gentler with your dabbing before you placed the bandaid over his eyebrow.

"If you don't want alcohol over your cuts, don't get anymore in the future," you said as Umemiya stood up, holding out his hand towards you.

"But what reason would I have to visit you then?" Umemiya said cheekily as he pulled you to your feet.

You shoved him, and he stumbled forward dramatically, laughing as a smile broke through your angry façade.

"They both seem very comfortable with each other," Sakura mumbled, and Suo overheard him.

"They've always been like that," he said, smiling. "They're very good friends."

Just friends? Sakura thought as he watched Umemiya sling an arm over your shoulders despite your protest, and the way you still didn't push him off.

I can't help but doubt that.

—————

Incident Three: Massages.

As the representative of his class, Sakura found himself visiting the rooftop garden more often than he had anticipated. Umemiya always asked for updates from all the leaders in Bofurin, and Sakura supposed that this was one of the reasons why people looked up to him so much — he cared a lot about the town and his own men.

You spent most of your time in the garden as well, Sakura noticed. Whether you were organizing supplies, chatting with Umemiya, or helping him with his vegetables, you were always doing something there to keep Umemiya company. You never really listened whenever Umemiya would have a briefing with other squad leaders and class reps, but you always seemed to be there.

Patrol for the day had already ended, so Hiragi decided to let Sakura give the report to Umemiya so he could learn how to do it on his own.

Sakura tried not to show it, but he felt slightly intimidated; not by Umemiya, who he now views as a rival that he must surpass, but by you, the reserved, calculated medic that rarely shows a smile despite the gentle treatment you always give.

This time, however, Sakura wasn't sure whether what to feel as he watched what was going on in front of him.

"Sorry about this, Sakura, but it helps with the back pain," Umemiya said, his voice strained as he sent a smile towards the first year while you sat behind him, pressing on his upper back with enough force for Umemiya's grip on the wooden table in front of him to turn his knuckles white.

"He's a stubborn little shit that doesn't know when to stop when his body is already at its limit," you said monotonously, rubbing your thumbs on his shoulder blades. Umemiya hissed, but gestured for Sakura to start his report.

"Uh," Sakura cleared his throat to regain his composure. "The streets were pretty quiet today. Just a couple of pickpockets and the occasional alley beat-up, but it wasn't that eventful. The butcher shop needed a new door, so we helped with the installment. That's basically it."

Umemiya nodded, one eye squeezing shut as your hands moved down to his lower back, pressing against the contours of his muscles to relieve the tension from them. "Alright, thank you Sakura, you can go — shit!"

"Stop flexing your damn muscles, idiot," you muttered. "I won't be able to fix the soreness if your body isn't relaxed."

"Maybe if you were less harsh, it would be easier for me to relax," Umemiya replied, a bit of a whine in his voice as you rolled your eyes. Nonetheless, Sakura noted the way that you seemed to go easier on the other male. Well, his grip on the table was looser now.

It was around this time that Sakura began to realize that witnessing any moment between you and Umemiya would always feel intimate and intrusive, like he wasn't supposed to see whatever was going on between you two despite neither of you being discreet about it.

Am I the only one who sees anything going on between those two? Sakura thought to himself as he left the rooftop while the two of you bickered between yourselves. Maybe this is what people meant by an "outside perspective". People who grew up with the two of you were absolutely blind to whatever spark there was between Umemiya and his medic.

—————

The Final Incident: The (pretty justified?) overprotectiveness.

Bofurin immediately knew something was wrong when Umemiya's usual message broadcasted in the speaker system lacked its usual mirth.

"Team leaders, report to the rooftop immediately. The rest, wait for instructions from your leaders while going on with your usual duties."

Sakura exchanged glances with Suo and Nirei.

"I wonder what happened," Nirei said nervously, brows creasing with concern.

The three had no idea what could have caused Umemiya to be so serious, but they didn't waste time dwelling on it as they rushed to the roof.

As Umemiya ordered, all the leaders of Bofurin were gathered there. Sakura didn't recognize all of them, but he could see that they were strong, maybe even stronger than him.

"Thank you for gathering on such short notice," Umemiya said, stepping out of the small shade that the rooftop offered. His lips were set into a straight line, his eyes downturned and his brows slightly furrowed. "I'm sorry to put more work on everyone's plates, but we need to double patrol this week."

"What happened, Umemiya?" Hiragi asked, his voice projecting the unease that everyone was feeling.

He didn't reply immediately, moving his Furin coat a bit to stuff his hands into his pockets. "There's a gang active in Makochi," He said, voice leveled. "They're targeting students of Furin, especially the non-violent ones."

"They're destroying shops and hurting people," A new voice interjected, laced with pain and barely-concealed struggle as someone hobbled in from beneath the shade, from the part that was hidden from the eyes of those gathered.

Shock rippled through the leaders of Bofurin, gazes unable to leave your limping form.

The best Sakura could describe you was simple: you were in rough shape. Your right eye was swollen shut, with cuts littering your forehead and cheek that transition into bruises around your neck that disappear under your white undershirt that was stained with red in some places. Your face contorted slightly every time you breathed, and your knuckles were messily wrapped with bandages that were already soaked with blood.

Umemiya surged towards you, putting a hand under your bent elbow to offer you more support.

"I told you to rest," he muttered, words quiet but not unheard by Sakura due to their proximity. "Sit down."

You shook your head, the movement making you wince slightly. "My foot was getting numb. I needed to stretch my legs."

"Numbness is quite common with people who have injured their ankle and are subjected to bed rest," Umemiya replied, a bit of his usual snarkiness returning for a bit before leaving just as quickly as it had come.

"Just... let me speak first," you pleaded slightly, looking at your friend. You may be heavily injured, but you had a position as Umemiya's direct right-hand to uphold. You had to show that you were still strong even after the advances that the gang made on you.

Umemiya studied you for a moment, before sighing and helping you reorient yourself so you could face the members properly.

"Did they attack you?" Hiragi demanded with barely restrained anger that Sakura understood. You were also close with him, and you would always check up on him, and now you were hurt. He would be as angry as him if he were in the same position.

You nodded. "Earlier before assembly. Don't worry — the ones involved were handled with accordingly."

A few small smirks appeared in the crowd. They expected nothing less from the second strongest in Bofurin.

You took a deep breath before speaking again.

"They want to challenge Bofurin for control of the town," you said, now addressing the leaders of your beloved gang. "As much as possible, don't entertain this challenge. Umemiya and I will —"

Umemiya cleared his throat loudly from beside you, giving you a pointed look. You rolled your eyes and recorrected your words. "... Umemiya will handle it. Your priority is to protect the townspeople."

"Under no circumstances are any of you or your squad members allowed to include them in the conflict," Umemiya warned, his tone making everyone straighten their spines a bit. "They struck first and injured our medic, an action we cannot overlook. They may be strong, but we're stronger. They step onto our turf with weapons in their hands and evil in their hearts, so you know what to do when they decide to do something with it."

"Purge them with no exception," you finished, keeping your chin held high despite your slouched form. Everyone nodded and responded in unison before dispersing with newfound determination that they would soon spread to their underclassmen as they went out for patrol.

As Sakura went through his normal routes for patrol with his eyes peeled, he thought back to the way you spoke to the crowd of Bofurin members. He admired your display of strength, the way you stood up and talked with authority despite the pain you were in.

Both you and Umemiya were perfect examples of how a leader is supposed to be, and Sakura was sure to take notes. He would need it when he would take over Bofurin, one day in the semi-distant future.

But for now, remembering you and Umemiya and your chemistry together as leaders and... something else, Sakura couldn't help but think that he had a long, long way to go.

—————

Silence enveloped the table before Suo let out a laugh. "I didn't know you had a sense of humor, Sakura-san."

Sakura sputtered, pushing his chair back as he stood up. "I'm not jokin'! There's definitely something going on between them — even I can see that."

Nirei smiled nervously, playing with the pages of his small notebook that he carried everywhere. "I'm sorry Sakura-san, but even with the... proof that you told us, I still don't think they like each other that way."

"You're just saying that because you're used to seeing them act that way with each other!" Sakura argued. "I'm tellin' ya, if they were just friends, there's no way they'd be acting the way they do!"

Kotoha shamelessly eavesdropped on their conversation with a smile on her face. She was having trouble stifling her giggles as she whipped out her phone and clicked on Umemiya's contact to send him a message:

Looks like you lovebirds need to be more discreet. The first years are getting suspicious about you two.

Umemiya cracked an eye open when he felt his phone buzz on his chest, raising it to his eye level from where he laid on your lap on the wooden bench in the rooftop.

He let out a chuckle and nudged your thigh. "Look at this."

You put down your own phone and read the texts from Kotoha, and you let out a small laugh. "I suppose we've been quite bold recently," you hummed, your fingers tangling with Umemiya's hair and massaging his scalp.

Umemiya sighed, eyes fluttering shut as he enjoyed your gentle touch. "Nah, I think it's all 'cause of Sakura's outsider perspective. We've been acting the same as we always have been, but no one's brought it up until now."

"I guess so," you shrugged. "Are we gonna do something about it, Haji?"

He opened his eyes and looked up at you, his blue eyes drifting over every feature of your face, all the beauty and imperfections that he loved to death. "Are you fine with them finding out?" He asked you.

"Yeah," you said without hesitation. "It's not like I'm ashamed of you."

Umemiya grinned, making you flush slightly before hiding your face from him. It wasn't often you were this soft with him, and he enjoyed every moment.

"I knew you loved me," he cooed, and you scoffed, rolling your eyes.

You picked up your phone with a free hand and shot a text to Kotoha before putting it back down to play with his hair again. "Nah, just embarrassed of your lovesick behavior."

"Admit it, you enjoy it!" He sang, and you flicked his forehead, making him whine and hide his face in your stomach. You laughed, eyes crinkling as you basked in the moment with the boy you grew to care for beyond the boundaries of friendship.

Kotoha's phone lit up, and she checked the text you sent her.

Let them be. It's about time people gained vision and actually noticed something.

Kotoha smiled, putting down her phone and prepping another meal for Sakura and his friends.

She was your and Umemiya's number one shipper, and she was so happy that people were noticing both of you more and more. Soon enough, she can yap to someone about how annoying Umemiya gets when he isn't with you, and how you act annoyed when he's overbearing like that, but you still deal with it.

Because no matter what you say, she could tell that you loved her brother just as much as he loved you, and that was enough.