iridescentrays

[iridescentrays]

random hc's

c/w: they're either stupid or weird. mostly brainrotted. i made this half past 2 in the morning so it's not proofread.

a/n: im taking a bit of a break from angst to write this cause i can't keep being depressing 🥀

pairing(s): bokuto, hanamaki, nishinoya, lev, suna, matsukawa, atsumu x !gn reader

bokuto

- type of guy who has burping contests out in public and loses

- he'd swoop in to kiss your cheek but trick you into letting him lick you instead

- randomly recites brainrot while doing a simple task (ex: *washing the dishes* "..tung tung tung.. sahur.....")

hanamaki

- "are you deaduzz 🥀" while making the most obscure and soul-grippen shocked face ever

- istead of complimenting you like a normal person, he'd hit the 👅 emote like crazy

- his ringtone is unity by thefatrat

nishinoya

- would dutch oven you, no hesitation

- if you asked him if he did something he wasn't supposed to do he'd go, "whaaat? that's crazy, my 6'7 self would never do such a thing!"

- if he'd fake calling in sick to class, he'd have some fuckass reason (ex: "absent. reason: has ligma.")

lev

- he laughed super hard one time and farted on accident and proceeded to hit the choking emote out of embarrassment

- type of guy to say 'ow' at anything whether it hurt or not

- if he has cold hands, he'd place them under your shirt and onto your waist to giggle at you when you shriek

suna

- everytime he compliments you, he'd talk to an invisible camera (ex: "chat, was that W rizz?" "chat, don't clip that" "chat, was i nonchalant about it?" "complimenting the huzz at [insert time] challenge, gone right")

- ragebaits kids on roblox

- used to make sad bart simpsons edits back in the day

matsukawa

- "oh, so you hate me?" when you say no

- randomly breaks out into song when he feels like it no matter what (ex: *3 mins in having a conversation* "ain't itttt fuuuuunnnn~?" *continues like nothing happened)

- would annoy you on purpose when he's losing an argument by repeating what you said in a nerdy voice (ex: "[insert sentence] headahh 🤓🤣")

atsumu

- would post about how he hates periods & his collection of feminist literature

- corny tryhard insta captions like, "got me feeling myself like i lost my keys" "call me inertia cos i got dat motion"

- tells osamu "dont pmo" "bruh youre so kevin 💔" "ts so buns" when osamu can't serve for shit

gurt: yo

[iridescentrays]

what I’d do all over again to get you. (1/2)

nagumo x f!reader. 3k wc. canon typical violence, nagumo’s pov, childhood friends, summer, ballet, human trafficking, deception, exploitation, angst, hurt/comfort, maybe ooc.

title is a lyric from the song by suki waterhouse, to get you.

Nagumo wakes up from a dream, panting and sweating profusely despite the coldness of the night. The moonlight streams through the window like a spotlight as he sits on the edge of the bed, his face cradled by his hands, and his mind consumed by you.

He remembers.

It had been a blindingly bright summer afternoon and the air was pleasantly humid, the foliage and flowers were thriving because of it. That day, the gates opened, a visitor drove into the estate. He usually doesn’t care about his parents’ affairs, grown up talk was boring anyway. But something, or rather someone, piqued his interest—a kid roughly the same age as him, tailing behind the woman she noticeably looked nothing alike.

Later on, you would come over, everyday or every other day on your own. In the following days, you would tell him that your family was only here for the summer. A year after that, you would tell him that he shouldn’t eat the pie your mom brought over because it’s awful despite its impossible tastelessness.

He couldn’t remember how he started being friends with you at eight years old. He was aware and was told that he was difficult. That he was a handful as a child. He wishes he remembered how you managed to force your way into his thick skull, or better yet, his life. Yet the feeling, to this day, was as fresh as the ripe mangoes that you used to sink your teeths in as both of you murmured through the sweetness of it all, sitting beside the koi pond until both of your tongues and throats had begun to itch.

Many summers throughout the years, Nagumo and you, two poorly socialized kids, had become each other’s gleamingly colorful days to look forward to. And once he’d seen you again in one of your mother’s routine visits—breaking character from your prim and proper and behaved facade for a split second just to wink at him—it struck him how quickly he’d forgotten all of the tedious and bland and utterly boring private lessons and training that had occupied him for months.

He craved relatability. He craved connection. Something he had barely felt with his parents. They were either absent, or present but were too preoccupied, or only cared about results: “We’re proud of you, son.” “Our golden boy.” “Don’t put all this talent to waste. Do you understand?”

Even the servants, although they all clearly loved and doted on him, were still a little too cautious around him. Always Young Master and never Yoichi.

With you, it had been different. Suddenly, hide and seek wasn’t so lame anymore. Suddenly, he had so much to talk about over card games, board games or sudoku puzzles in the daily newspaper using the glitter gel pens you brought with you. It struck him how talkative he can be and that whatever nonsense he spat out, you were always there, engaging and listening attentively, or laughing until your sides started to hurt. Suddenly, sneaking up on much older servants, or hiding and replacing ingredients around the kitchen, or playing matchmaker between house helpers using fabricated cringey love notes, were now something he found hilarious. And when caught, his heart leaped out of his chest as you both ran around, trying to find the perfect hiding spot among the flower beds, each of you sweaty and dusty and smelled like the sun.

After all, it was summer again and he was falling in love.

But what is friendship without the incessant arguments over the littlest of things? He enjoyed poking fun at you just to get a reaction. And the reaction would be you poking fun at him too. He took immense pleasure in this until one of you starts to become sulky. And although he takes quite some time to come around, you on the other hand, although ill-tempered, were always quick to forgive.

Over time, you had outgrown some of these ways and had found new things to bond over as supervision for him became lax. He was eleven when he suggested the two of you should leave the estate more.

First it was the park which had a smaller basketball court beside it. This was where he learned how remarkably agile you are.

And then there was the stone bridge near your family’s vacation home, connecting his path back to his residence and yours. From there, you pointed toward the window to your room. It crossed his mind how easy it was to climb it yet he never brought it up.

Food streets was something that the two of you could’ve enjoyed yet had only tried once after you had a tummy ache on your way home. You struggled to cover his mouth with anything you could possibly reach each time he brought it up.

The most fun you two had was at the arcade—hunching over coin-op cabinets, scraping your summer allowances clean. The two of you would skitter around from one thing to another. From crane games that both of you hated, “This shit’s rigged.” he’d said. And then OutRun, to House of the Dead, to Dance Dance Revolution (your favorite), to Tekken (his favorite).

There had also been a photo booth—that was apparently faulty—where you had taken a photo together. He never told you this but the booth was working just fine. He swiped the strip to keep it for himself even though you were clearly upset over it.

Nagumo used to do this a lot when he was younger but not to the point where it had become noticeable. To name a few of his loots: A dusty pocket sized Leuchtturm that he had found in his father’s study. His mother’s hair ornament with intricate carvings made out of a tortoise shell. A mechanical pencil owned by his favorite teacher. A servant’s wooden comb with rounded edges, hand painted with cherry blossoms. They were all hidden behind books at the top and farthest corner of the shelf in his bedroom. Later on, he would realize why he had done it and wondered why he ever stopped.

By the time he was twelve, some of his tattoos started to become visible as it branched out of the sleeves of his shirt, decorating his forearms. He’d noticed you looking at them from time to time but you’d said nothing until that one specific evening.

It had been your idea to meet at your usual spot at the stone bridge, but he had something going on earlier that day so both of you’d agreed to meet in the evening around ten o'clock instead.

He had walked on the way there. When he arrived, you had already been waiting. There, under the moonlight, he settled alongside you. He carefully inserted his feet one by one under the red metal railing until it covered his entire abdomen. Underneath the bridge was a few feet drop to a narrow canal that most probably led to the lake near the area. Its low pitched stream and the rhythmic chirping of crickets among the shrubs and trees complimented the silence.

Silence was never an awkward thing between the two of you but something about the quietness made the moment uncharacteristically charged. It had been dark that evening with the moon partially hidden behind soft grey clouds, as you had your gaze fixed on the water streaming below. Because of that, he had the chance to make out the outlines of your face paired with the softness of your stare. He watched quietly, careful not to break the spell. His heart swelled with contentment and belongingness and affection, and the dawning realization of how much he was—before you—starved of all of it the entire time.

Finally, you said, “I’m leaving soon.”

The announcement puzzled him. You had always done so when summer was over, so what was this all about? Before he could form a witty reply, you continued, “My mom’s sending me to a boarding school. She said it’ll help with ballet. Cool, right?”

“Ah, finally. Some peace and quiet.” He sighed in relief. Knowing you quite well, he knew what was coming. As you were about to lift a leg to kick him, he grabbed you by the left ankle. And when you attempted to counter with your right, he grabbed that too, having you thrash around with enough force for him to let you go. After fits of laughter and cussing, Nagumo continued, “I always hate to humble you but you’re not the only one who’s going away.”

“Wow, congratulations! Not so homeschooled now, aren’t we?” you exclaimed, mockingly passing the invisible crown from your head onto his. You then continued, “What school are you attending?”

“Not sure about the details yet,” He lied. You were all warmth and light and laughter to him, and what he was getting into was a stark contrast to that. “But one thing I do know is it’s definitely far far away from you.”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, “Ha ha! As if you hadn’t been excited to see me year after year! Don’t go sulking if you don’t receive any invitation from me in the future.”

He cocked his head, “Invitation? For what?”

“When I finally become a prima ballerina and play lead for Giselle… or Swan Lake.”

Nagumo leaned closer, suddenly curious, “I did see Swan Lake once with my mom. But Giselle… What’s it about?”

“Let me educate you.” you shook your head, “Okay—so it’s about this peasant girl, right? She falls in love with another peasant boy who’s actually of noble birth and is promised to another. Eventually, she finds out the truth…goes completely insane, like mad mad! And guess what?”

“What?”

“She dies of a broken heart.”

Contrary to Nagumo’s entertained smile, he was unimpressed. He asked, “That’s it?”

“Honestly, I forgot everything after that. It’s supposed to be romantic… I think.” you shrugged.

“Romantic? More like depressing. Why didn’t he just show up as himself? That would’ve been so much easier. How stup—”

“Hush! An asshat like you would never understand romance.”

Nagumo raised his eyebrows, “And you do?”

“Hell yeah, I do.” you mimicked his smugness. “Wanna know a secret?”

“It wouldn’t be so much of a secret if you tell me, isn’t it?”

“It’s alright, it’s just you…” you lowered your voice, as if someone might hear you, as if you aren’t the only living breathing beings around. “It’s about my first kiss.”

His throat went dry and tight. “Fine, tell me.”

It seemed that you noticed his lack of enthusiasm, making you turn around, still seated with your back on the railing, “I changed my mind… You have three guesses.”

He rolled his eyes, shook his head, grinning, “Alright. Let’s see… a classmate?”

“You do know I’m as homeschooled as you are, right?”

“What, really? Is that why you say you’re the smartest in the room?” he gasped dramatically, to which you said you could say the same for him. He then placed a hand on his chest, feigning offense, making you both laugh. “Hmm… Quick question, how many teachers do you have?”

You looked at him incredulously, “Why is that important?”

“Nevermind. It’s your stepfather then.” He replied quickly in a matter-of-fact way.

“Huh? You're gross! How did you even come to that conclusion?!” you took one of your sandals off and threw it at him.

“I was joking!” he caught it effortlessly and continued, “Hmm… One of your mom’s friends?”

“You know what, forget it. You’re really stupid for someone who’s supposed to be smart… And you used up all your guesses.” Your shoulders slumped. He then shifted to have him face you as he reached out to put your footwear back on. You continued while watching him do so, “What about you, have you had your first kiss yet?”

“I’ve had plenty.”

“With who?”

He shrugged as a response, a smug expression written all over his face.

“Oh, come on now! With who?” you whined.

“Why does it matter anyway?” He met your gaze.

“Well… I just think it’s important for you to… uhm, practice?” You averted his gaze to look at his arm while you fidgeted, “I’m just worried that… you don’t know how to… Because—you know, I’m sure girls will be all over you in high school…”

He looked down at it as well. He was wondering about your restlessness because you had only done so whenever you’re hiding something. Finally he asked, “You don’t like that?”

“It’s not that I don’t like it. It’s just— Is this your attempt to look less baby-ish?” you asked as you pointed at the tattoo that was barely healed on his forearm.

Nagumo then realized that you had been talking about two completely unrelated things.

He sighed deeply and set his eyes to the dark blue sky above, “Just say you know nothing about art. No need to embarrass yourself.”

“Huh? Don’t make this about art. You’re like—what, twelve? Are those even allowed?” Feigning a serious tone, you continued, “Young master, you’re doing too much.”

“You are doing too much.” he said curtly, trying to keep his voice light, failing miserably.

“Oh… Someone’s butthurt?” A sly smile spread across your lips as you searched for his face and he made sure to look away. You continued, voice quieter, “Sorry, I won’t call you that again.”

It took everything in him to keep still as you shook him relentlessly. And when he didn’t budge, you reached for something else instead. How could he not meet your gaze when you ever so tenderly pressed your soft lips at the back of his hand? You stayed like that for a moment. And it lingered far longer than it was supposed to. It was still there even after you had already left.

You’ll be okay, right, Chi? you’d asked to which he nodded. Why wouldn’t he?

Let’s keep in touch, alright? you’d said before walking away.

Except you hadn’t kept in touch. After that night, he never heard anything from you. It was radio silence. He may have not dwelled in it as much as he ached to do, yet you had crossed his mind during pockets of silence. And in those moments, he would feel as if those days with you had been too good to be true. That it was all made up. No matter how vivid all those memories seemed to him. At some points, he had to convince himself that those were simply products of his imagination; of his loneliness. And for that, at times, he would feel grateful of having been at JCC for making him busy. He was honing his skills and meeting people, making them important to him. It was a new chapter and he was falling in love again. He adored them so much that later on, they’d left a cold hollow space inside him when he was, once again, left on his own.

Random. Unforeseen. Coincidental. This chance was something reminiscent of a throw of a die, he thought.

Finally, Nagumo had seen you again. Finally, he’d known where you were. Finally, he’d watched you perform. Only to remember the crushing weight of why he was there and the disturbing truth hidden behind the place. Thoughts and questions swarmed him like never before. What happened? How did you end up here? Did he miss something? Was this predetermined? Did you ever silently cry for help? Was the answer there all along, hidden among his memories, smiling condescendingly at him the entire time? He racked his brain for answers and couldn’t find any. Suddenly, he came to the realization that he certainly didn’t know anything about you. And even if he did, it may all have been a lie too.

It had been one of those missions abroad wherein he flew solo. It was easier than the typical tasks after all. The target was filthy rich as usual: a face with a permanently disgusted expression paired with a receding hairline, and a protruding belly to top it all off. This particular man had a particular taste and could only be satiated by a particular opera house in which Nagumo was in. Behind the grandeur and ornate aesthetic of the venue, lies behind a high-end brothel with a clientele of mostly aristocrats, politicians, crime bosses and the unimaginably wealthy. They flocked like a wake of vultures all clad in black, perched in the most expensive seats in the house, feasting their eyes on the stage.

Having been living among the dark underbelly of society for most of his life, this was nothing new to Nagumo. Things like these had existed for centuries with intricate systems run by generations of untouchable people and would indefinitely carry on for more years to come.

The venue was open for everyone. The backstage, however, had been a whole different experience itself. Patrons were welcomed only through invites or referrals that thankfully, the JAA had already handled. All Nagumo had to do was to quickly do the hit and leave. If only it was that plain and simple.

Inside, the place was more of a gentlemen’s club with patrons that were far from gentle. This was where the profits mainly came from and not from the stage performances itself. It had been dizzying staying there for a while. Not because of the second hand tobacco smoke filling up his lungs. Not because he was disguised wearing their skin as though he was one of them. Not because of the assortment of people—boys and girls, men and women, some that are too young to be there, distinct races and ethnicities, some had no choice to be there, some snatched from families from all over the globe—being fondled by these disgusting geezers as they further their riches through socializing and networking, treating anyone and anything below them like disposable pawns.

To care about such things and to play the hero would be hypocritical for someone like Nagumo. Still, it nauseated him because he knew, in no time, he’d see you there too.

Later that evening, he got himself a room in the cheapest hotel he could find, where the walls were so thin that you could hear the conversations in the other room that’ll soon turn into moans, the air conditioner making the weirdest noises every now and then, a TV that’s bolted to the wall, and an abnormally loud clock next to it. A place where there were one too many inconveniences to not let himself sink into his thoughts.

Those poor floaters, he mused. A quiet chuckle escaped him as he hopped in the shower, the cold water sending bouts of shivers all over his body. His mind drifted to an hour earlier when he did the hit.

He was such an artist back there, he thought. The car’s interiors were painted red with blotches of flesh. The body was swamped in his own blood, his mangled manhood—that he might’ve been so proud of at some points in his life—shoved in his own mouth like an apple in a pig’s bite. And what’s the use for all this mastery in disguise if he hadn’t made sure that the last thing the man saw before putting an end to his old pathetic life, was the face of the girl he picked for the night?

When he stepped out of the shower, his mind drifted back. It was all set.

He desperately needed to see you again.

[iridescentrays]

Call, NOT SEND A SELFIE! | Y. Nagumo x F!Reader

---

For this pretty over here

---

8.) "I told you to call me if you get badly hurt in a fight again… NOT send a selfie with blood on your nose and a peace sign.”

PROMPTS!!!

---

Warning(s): There is some blood mentioned here and implied violence. Other than that, it's fluffy fluff fluff

---

Your phone buzzed once.

Then again.

And again.

You were brushing your teeth, half-asleep, when you finally glanced at the screen. A message preview flashed up from My Beloved Yoichi (you were never going to tell him that you didn’t change the nickname he set up for himself in your contacts);

[1 Image Attached]

Yoichi: just a scratch Yoichi: still sexy tho right?

You blinked and dropped your toothbrush.

When you opened the message fully, you nearly choked on your own spit.

There he was. Yoichi Nagumo, sitting in what looked like an alleyway, blood dripping from his nose, shirt half-torn, and grinning like an idiot. He was holding up a peace sign. One eye was swelling shut. He had the audacity to throw in an emoji for good measure.

You slammed your phone down, grabbed your keys, and were out the door before you even thought to change clothes.

He was still in that damn alley when you found him.

“Yo,” he chirped, waving with the hand not clutching his ribs. “Took you long enough. You know I was trying to make this a romantic surprise visit to my beautiful woman?”

You marched up to him, yanked a gauze pad out of your bag, and smacked it onto his nose without warning before dragging him by the ear to your car.

“OW!” He pouted at you. “What the hell, babe?! I’m wounded here!”

You glared. “I told you to call me if you get badly hurt in a fight again… NOT send a selfie with blood on your nose and a peace sign.”

He blinked, then gave you a sheepish little grin. “Yeah, okay, but admit it—you smiled a little.”

“I almost threw up.”

Nagumo leaned forward, wincing, and rested his forehead against yours. “But you came for me anyway.”

“You’re lucky I did,” you muttered, carefully checking his side. “One inch to the left and you’d have a collapsed lung. Who the hell were you even fighting?”

“Would you believe me if I said it was just a really aggressive cat?”

You gave him a deadpan look.

“No?”

“Try again.”

He sighed, dramatic as ever. “Okay, okay. It was a hit gone sideways. Some rookie were out of their depth and thought I was an easy target. Joke's on them, I got away. Mostly.”

“Mostly.” You raised an eyebrow. “You look like you got into a street brawl with a blender.”

“You should see them.” He grinned, then winced when you pressed a disinfectant-soaked wipe to his knuckles.

You were quiet for a moment, working on cleaning him up. His eyes, the good one at least, never left your face.

Then he said softly, “Thanks for always coming when I do dumb shit like this.”

You paused. Looked up at him.

“Someone has to keep you alive.”

“You sure you’re not secretly in love with me?” he teased, nudging your shoulder with his.

“Secretly?” you snorted. “Yoichi, I just drove across the city in my pajamas and flip-flops. You think I’d do that for anyone else?”

He blinked again. A rare moment of speechlessness from him.

“So…” he finally said, “does that mean if I break my leg next week, I can get a kiss too, pretty girl?”

You rolled your eyes, but you leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his temple anyway.

“Only if you promise to call next time.”

“Deal,” he whispered, smiling like a kid who just got away with stealing candy.

And then, of course, he ruined the moment by pulling out his phone.

“Wait—this angle’s good. Gosh, you’re beautiful, woman. Let’s do another selfie. First aid and flirtation? How ‘bout Blood, Bandages, and Bae? Too much?”

You groaned. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he said, snapping the photo anyway, “you still love me.”

Damn it. You really did.

---

A/N: HEHE HEHE HEHE HEHE

---

[iridescentrays]

thats so them 😭

[iridescentrays]

warnings: spoilers from the manga! (+ my brainrot form of writing..)

a/n: oh my gyatt thanks for the support for last chap 😭

prev chap ꩜ next chap

It was supposed to be a normal day

The cafeteria was loud, with students and gunshots being heard everywhere in the building. That was the norm of the JCC.

Sakamoto chewed his rice while watching his two (and only) “friends” fight over something stupid.

Again, the usual.

Rion was pulling on Nagumo’s ear, nagging him about what happened yesterday.

“JUST GO DO IT ALREADY”, she tried prying him off his seat.

Sakamoto knew Nagumo was a well rounded person (no matter how hard he tries to deny it).

His skills proved to be valuable in any situation, even helping Sakamoto score an ‘A’ in that one self-defense class last semester (he stills owes him one for that).

His smug personality was born from all those qualities. Unfortunately, Sakamoto has learned (the hard way) Nagumo still hasn’t got an ounce of shame.

That was the standard up until now.

“It’s too scary”, Nagumo laughed and surprisingly held on to the table (that was on the edge of collapsing). ‘well thats nagumo for you…’

But failing to talk a girl was the most abnormal Sakamoto has ever witnessed.

Sakamoto continued eating as Rion kept smacking the former spy’s head, ignoring the two.

“DON’T BE A WIMP! Hey Sakamoto!! Help me out!”

He kept chewing.

“This is why you two are going to die single…”

Nagumo smuggled his way out of Akao’s grasp, “C’mon now! It’s not that big of a deal”, he flashed a smile.

“Shut up you bum. You had a crush on her EVER since last semester. I’m really surprised she hasn’t caught you staring…”

“Hey!”

Sakamoto sighed and sat his chopsticks down, “Shes right over there”, he pointed.

All of them whipped their heads towards you, attempting to get your meal in a mob full of student assassins.

“Nuh uh you guys aren’t going no where”, Rion held them still, as the two of them tried running away. Both of them sighed, but made no move of retaliating.

“Sakamoto, you’re still helping”

‘There goes my normal day….’

‘can they hurry up…’, you groaned.

Honestly, this was not the time to be waiting around for these biggies blocking the way. It was rush hour, with all the students raving about the special item of the day.

It was strawberry cheesecake, one of your favorites.

Obviously, you didn’t bother getting it. The hassle was too much, and all the other guys who wanted it might beat you up!

Expecially those guys from yesterday…

You shivered, just thinking about them made you more wary.

Usually, you paid no mind to Nagumo’s gang when they were coincidentally in the cafeteria with you. But ever since yesterday, you started to feel more “bloodlust” emitted from them.

You took note of their position, and which they were still staring. ‘man, what did i do….’, you sighed.

Quickly maneuvering your way to the front, you tried grabbing your tray. Unfortunately for you, no one in the vicinity seemed to have any spacial awareness. You yelped as you stumbled backwards, praying for some miracle to save your food.

“Woah there, you almost fell!”

Lo and behold, the worst possible person caught you at that exact moment.

As you scrambled back up (and dusting away the likely chance of his stalkerish germs), his boyish grin sent shock waves through you.

‘he’s definitely gonna kill me…or!! maybe make me do something for him since he had to catch me—’

“Hey, are you okay?”

No you were not.

“Yes! I’m fine, uhm..thanks for saving my food…”, you awkwardly chuckled.

Nagumo smiled in response (the smirk of the devil one may say). “Here’s your tray! I’ll be there to catch you next time you fall!”

What.

Was that a warning? Nagumo waved goodbye, after he plopped your tray of food into your arms. He pridefully marched his way towards his friends who just stopped hiding around the corner. They both held their thumbs up as he arrived.

‘Definitely a threat’

This school was absolutely horrible. You huffed and walked away.

Literally what have you done to be picked on? You just wanted to be left alone and finish this stupid assassin school quietly. ‘Does this school even have a policy against bullying..?’

Finally escaping outside, there was the refreshing sound of silence. Sighing in relief, you looked at your food…only to find most of it crushed.

‘I’m not surprised…’ you groaned.

The napkin was crinkled up, the rice was now cold and mushy, and the cheesecake—

‘Strawberry cheesecake? How did that get there…’

It was wrapped up cutely like someone had specially ordered it for you. The cake itself remianed unscathed, with none of the frosting or strawberries touching the packaging.

“What a nice gift!”

Life recently was just too much. It was nice having an award after all what happened. Maybe you should even thank the mystery person who gifted you this!

After taking a bite of the dessert, you remembered how stressful yesterday and today was due to that Nagumo crew…

wait was this from him?

You stopped mid-chew. Was this planted? How did he know? Does it have poison?!

You immediately spat out the cake and threw it away. No one was gonna kill you today! Those people think they’re soo smart trying to poison you with sweets, but they’re just amateur assassins!

Wait, this all started since Nagumo couldn’t stop staring at you in class. Eventually, his friends picked on and started ganging up on you as well! Maybe if you would just evade the source, they would leave you alone!

And so, the mission began:

Avoid Nagumo at all costs.

“I think she likes me already!”

“Maybe you should be more bold…to take her attention away”, Rion hummed.

“I still don’t think she likes you…”

“How mean! Sakamoto, you’re just a hater!!”

The man sighed, not wanting to deal with Nagumo. They were lounging on the roof, watching over where you were sitting at (in support of Nagumo’s one-sided crush)

“Wait, look she’s gonna take a bite!”, Rion pointed out. Nagumo rushed over, “accidentally” pushing away his other two comrades in the process.

They stood in silence, watching everything.

“uh..”

“Nagumo…you sure she likes cheesecake—”

“Sakamoto, it’s probably not best to talk to him while he’s mourning…”, Rion sighed.

MISSION STAUS : UNSUCCESSFUL

[iridescentrays]

⋮ 𝙨𝙖𝙠𝙖𝙢𝙤𝙩𝙤 𝙙𝙖𝙮𝙨!

♯ 𝘯𝘢𝘨𝘶𝘮𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘩𝘪

OPERATION : get the girl!

mission 1: staring problem

mission 2: sugar attack

mission 3: escape the school obby

tbc…..

[iridescentrays]

warning: possible spoilers from manga

masterlist ꩜ next chap

Now this was weird.

You were a diligent student at the JCC. You never tried pulling attention to yourself, and only the teachers really knew who you were. Being aware of your surroundings especially helped in lowering your profile to others. It gives you the high ground to know who was plotting, where they were, etc etc…

So why the hell was Nagumo staring at you?

He was one of the most popular guys at school (along with Akao and Sakamoto of course). Mostly infamous screwing off with his friends’ shenanigans, he was at the center of attention.

Something you would like to avoid.

It didn’t help that you somehow keep running into him everyday. His pretty face was too overbearing, and trying to avoid the spotlight was getting near to impossible.

Especially during this class, Nagumo’s eyes bore into the side of your head, oblivious to the fact you can tell he’s staring.

It was like you were a prick, an eyesore, a stain on a brand new t-shirt…you couldn’t tell!!! His poise revealed nothing besides the fact he was attentively staring at you instead of the teacher’s review for the final.

It was not like you could call him out, without letting everyone in the room know you existed.

“Uhh… you in the back”

The teacher called out you for the question on the board. ‘Something about poisons…’

The only redeemable factor of this class was that it was easy.

Ignoring all the weirdos in the room, and yes thats including Nagumo and his gang, the subject was straightforward and you just plug the missing factors into the formula (which flew over the heads of some).

Getting up and writing the answer on the board, the teacher praised you, using you as an example on what he expects in a star student.

In the corner of your eye, Rion who sat to Nagumo kept nudging him. She whispered something into his ear, which he glared and looked away, returning his focus on you.

‘How long does he plan to stare…’

The way Rion was snickering in your direction, Sakamoto covering his face in shame, and of course the way Nagumo’s eyes never left you, made you anxious.

‘What happens if they’re plotting for a way to kill me??!!’

They definitely seem like the bully type. Maybe it’ll be those high school cliches where they would stuff the nerd into the trashcan if they didn’t give them the answers! But it’s not that’s gonna happen right? right!!?

Suppressing your worries flopped the minute you felt the whole group stare at you and whispered. It didn’t help that Sakamoto pointed at you with Rion joining in…and the fact the Nagumo was getting out of his seat right now…walking towards you?

oh hell no

“Hey! I was wonde—“

The bell rang, signaling the time for the next class. You used the momentarily shock of Nagumo to rush out of the classroom and probably plan for safety gear for tomorrow.

Thanks to your great perception, you escaped being a victim of bullying!

However, what you failed to notice was the faint blush on Nagumo’s cheeks every time he looked at you.

“HAHAHAH SHE TOTALLY LEFT YOUR ASS”

Nagumo groaned in frustration, “Its because you kept distracting me…”

“Maybe she just doesn’t like you”. Rion laughed and slung her arm around Sakamoto’s neck. “YUP! looks like you won’t be getting your study girlfriend anytime soon!!”

“I hate you guys”

MISSION STATUS: UNSUCCESSFUL

[iridescentrays]

an assassin and his healer

nagumo yoichi x doctor!reader

── ⟢

+ having graduated with an assassination-medical major, a very small sub-department in the JCC where only the skilled in human science are found, you're technically a licensed doctor for any regular citizen who wants a simple check-up. you have a job in the clinic near sakamoto's store during the day, but during your assassination hours, you deal with injuries ranging from critical to a scratch. you took four years of apprenticeship under granny miya, so you tend to follow her ideology of 'the patient can be healed as long as they're not dead'.

+ your graduation was a special case. the JCC considered scrapping your department due to the lack of applications, but you excelled in combining the assets of poisons and weapons, making equipment like a portable bandaid or even discovering the smallest of pressure points that could enhance someone's strength, which floored their views. after witnessing a presentation of your projects, they decided to keep it up and running just to see what you were capable of, and thank god they did, otherwise, you would've had nowhere to go.

+ you met the famous trio during their prime when you were all 16, and you were fully aware of the fact that if they had no interest in someone, it would be drastically clear. you thought this was the case for you too since no one really appreciated your work because it wasn't 'strong' like the assassination majors, but when you received a personal congrats from them, it took you by surprse.

+ hell, when you saw them enter your lab without a word, you quirked your brows, pausing from pulling the trigger of your flamethrower. upon request from your weapons department friends, you were in the middle of melting a large batch of energy-fuelling pills. you slowly put the flamethrower down on your desk. "if i knew i was having such esteemed guests, i would've cleaned the place up a bit. to what do i owe the pleasure?"

+ but before they could answer, the three of them were hovering over your pile of books, empty beakers and box of surgical equipment. rion plucked a grey glass bottle from your top shelf, which you reserved for your most expensive creations, before popping the lid off.

+ she sniffed the top of it and gave a "hm!" of approval before taking a swig. "wow, this is actually pretty good," rion said, smacking her lips together and offering some to sakamoto, who only took the bottle from her hands, "what's this one for? my stomach feels like it's doing backflips."

+ you folded your arms. "that's because it's for serious internal bleeding. you're only really meant to take it when, you know, you're only puking an alarming amount of blood." rion nodded in acknowledgement and dangled the empty bottle with a grin. "ah, gotcha. no internal bleeding for me now!"

+ "mmm, i prefer this flavour." your eyes flit over to nagumo yoichi, the insufferable student that had all the girls swooning in seconds, swiping four potions from your shelf and stuffing them in his pocket. "i'll come back again to try more!"

+ "wait, you just came here to take my stuff?" you asked, stopping the three in their tracks. sure, it's . . . fine that they stole your things without permission, but your lab was usually off-limits for those who didn't belong in your department. well, now that you think about it, when did these three ever follow rules?

+ rion waved her hand. "we'd love to talk, babes, but we gotta dash. will use these potions well, though!"

+ and nagumo added with a more enthusiastic wave, "keep a separate shelf just for me!"

+ and they left, leaving you to finish your work of delivering pills to the weapons department. they were a funny bunch, you always thought as you sometimes passed by them in the hallway. rion would always strike a conversation whenever you bumped into each other. she was always so sweet to you. sakamoto occasionally asked how your projects were going since it was a season of missions being carried out more often than ever, so you were ever-so-busy with surgeries. nagumo had the biggest grin on his face as he bombarded you with requests like a strawberry and lemon flavoured potion for his fatigue. they were strange but fun all the same.

+ since then, they made a common appearance, sometimes it was just rion who wanted to have a chat. you got along well, getting to know her likes and dislikes, laughing along when she verbally tore sakamoto and nagumo apart like they were shreds of paper. other times, it was nagumo alone and when it was just him, it was like a spitfire of insults after insults.

+ when nagumo is fiddling with one of your brain-relaxing equipments that you made just a week ago, he realises that you're a lot quieter when it's just him, when rion and sakamoto aren't present. "hm? why is it when akao and sakamoto are here, you have so much to say, but you're silent when it's me?" and honestly, it felt like a big slap to the face because wow, it was true.

+ ". . . shut up," you said, earning a chuckle from him. "the whole building will be able to hear you yapping."

+ today, a few years after their first intrusion in your lab, nagumo is taller and different at the age of 19. he wasn't more mature per se, but he definitely carried a more confident wittier aura that you didn't recognise from before. you, at 19 were renowned for your fantastic creations. one of your best moments was when you received a commission from an order member albeit a small one. your efforts were so well-recognised that applications for your department were growing much to your pleasure. rion congratulated you a lot, sakamoto actually used your creations and nagumo had never broken his streak of making sure to visit you almost everyday.

+ and you don't know when you started to feel this way, but whenever nagumo entered the room, time seemed to go painfully slower as though he was staying in your lab for longer than you thought. your equations for perfecting brain damage potions seemed harder than normal and you just couldn't seem to find that one blueprint that was always in its same place. even nagumo went, "it's this one, no? it was right under your hands" much to your embarrassment. your brain was scattered whenever he was near you and you really hated it.

+ and what was worse is that he noticed all this and was enjoying it.

+ "is my (name) . . . a little distracted?"

+ yes, yes. infuriatingly so, you think as you watch nagumo bounce over to where you stand in the far corner of your lab. he has that mischevious grin, the one that you want to melt off his annoyingly-handsome face. did it never occur to him that you couldn't work at your best whenever his talkative ass was in the room? is he really that stupid that you have to say, "nagumo, i need to do my work," then deal with those big eyes of his begging to stay? if he was a little less insufferable, maybe you would've─

+ you freeze. wait, he said 'my?'

+ and nagumo, his face creased with laughter, sees the cogs whir in your brain as you finally realise that he really just indirectly labelled you as his.

+ "don't tell me you've been ignoring me for that long."

+ and much to your dismay, it hits you that yeah, he's always been there. "wow! my (name) seems to like today's lunch! i don't see you here that often!" he once commented when you sat with him at the cafeteria. "the food's not always so great, but today seems ok."

+ or the other time when you had a first-year student schedule an appointment with you because he wanted advice for his weapons. nagumo saw him waiting outside your lab. "hmm, my (name) is a bit busy today! why don't you come back later?" he said while he was opening the door to waltz in, "ah! my (name) i've come to bother you!" he sang before slamming the door. you didn't manage to see the poor kid because nagumo took up your entire evening.

+ and you really did find yourself making a separate cabinet just for nagumo. even to this day, at the ripe age of 27, you made soothing creams for burns, motion sickness pills and gums for him to chew on for whenever osaragi would drive. his placement as an order member made him busier but never enough to keep him away from you. whenever you're at the clinic for your day-job, nagumo made frequent appearances. he'd lean on the front desk and request for his usual "lovely, lovely and beautifully perfected doctor," even when you're literally standing there, typing away at the computer. "yoichi, you're really doing this on my shift." it would never stop him. "i am your shift!"

+ he's surprisingly romantic for someone with little dating history. he's had a few girlfriends in the past but because of his occupation, they obviously don't last long. with you though? though not a fully-fledged assassin yourself, you're part of that world, his world, so you understand the burden and pressure that comes with it. just like nagumo is tasked with completing his missions with no mistakes, you're equally expected to never fail a surgery, always finish on time and come up with new ideas. it's a cycle where you both have each other backs.

+ like, as much as he jokes, he's very proud of your achievements. as an order member himself, he'd probably commission you a lot and if anyone needs surgical assistance or high-tech weapons, he'd be quick to mention your name. of course, he hesitates just a little because he doesn't want to share, but for the better of your work, he puts your name out there.

+ he doesn't get heavily injured because he's scarily skilled. his 'gold assassin's license' that he boasts about keeps him protected, but just to rile you up, he'd limp in through your clinic or house, crying for the kiss of the doctor that he's come to adore. if you're at the clinic, you need to appear more professional because you have people you see everyday watching you care for this grown ass man wailing his guts out. if you're at home, you're much more relaxed and honestly, so's nagumo as he leans into your delicate touch.

+ generally, he's so proud and whipped about the fact that you're a doctor and are so capable of doing what you do. he has extensive knowledge on poisons, so he tries to add his recommendations from time to time and he's grateful whenever you take it. on the rare case that you don't, he acts hurt, "oh . . . my (name) doesn't like my idea," and he'd jokingly mope until you kiss his ego better. anything can solve this man's problems if you silence him with a kiss.

+ sakamoto's like ". . . please tell me you did not get with nagumo," and nagumo finds this hilarious. he's like, "i have an idea! let's go on double dates with you, me, aoi and (name)!" to which sakamoto rejects. he doesn't mind the idea of you being friends with his wife, of course, but he doesn't want to take nagumo anywhere.

+ sometimes, he'd disguise himself as you and nonchalantly act as if he's doing chores in your house until you come back home. so when he sees you, he points and goes, "an imposter!" and at this point, you play along, "there's my doppelganger. can you give me back my boyfriend, please." and as soon as you say that, he transforms back and grabs you.

+ life with this mf is a wild ride, but honestly, you signed up for it, so good luck. once his eyes are set on someone, he goes all in and is not about to give it up. especially when he knows how serious you are about him and he is for you. a match made in heaven!

[iridescentrays]

ᨳ♡₊➳ jujutsu kaisen x reader

ᨳ♡₊➳ crack with plot

"You hate your job. The pay is bad, your manager is worse, and customers are somehow both entitled and clueless. Just as you finish contemplating whether unpaid breaks are a human rights violation, weird new people keep showing up to the café. They all seem to know each other. Sometimes they talk in cryptic phrases. What the hell is this domain and why do they want to expand it? One time, a man with stitches on his forehead walked in, made prolonged eye contact with you, and then left without ordering anything. You’re pretty sure he was a serial killer. Another time, the one with white hair and sunglasses indoors mentioned a "higher mission", and you’re 90% sure this is how cult documentaries start. One of your regulars only speaks in weird food-related phrases. You assume he has some kind of medical condition, but no one explains anything to you. But you are not about to ask questions, because ignorance is bliss and also job security. And unfortunately, they are all weird and they seem very interested in coming back."

₊⊹. ꒰ masterlist ꒱ ₊⊹. ꒰ previous ꒱ ₊⊹. ꒰ next ꒱

ᨳ♡₊➳ or read on archive of our own!

ᨳ♡₊➳ a/n: thank you all so, so much for the wonderful feedback last chapter!! 🥹🫶 they give me so much motivation and inspiration and i'm just so glad to know that ppl are actually enjoying this silly little story lmfao also sidenote: idk if this needs to be said but there's really no canon deaths in this fic, everyone is alive and well and is somehow existing all at the same time lol just don't question it, this fic is purely for comedic purposes 🙏

You had long since accepted that this café was cursed. Not in the supernatural sense—though, given the customers that kept wandering in lately, you wouldn’t be surprised—but in the way that bad things just kept happening at an alarming frequency.

Like how the espresso machine sounded like a demon trying to claw its way out of the underworld every time you turned it on. Or how Greg the Manager had somehow avoided doing actual work for six consecutive months without getting fired. Or how an increasing number of your customers seemed to operate exclusively in cryptic nonsense.  

Speaking of which... There were a few ways a customer could make their mark on this café. Some did it by being aggressively particular about their orders. Others did it by pulling off bizarre stunts that left you emotionally exhausted. And some—some absolute menaces—did it simply by existing.

And today, you were about to meet a man who fit all three categories.

You should’ve known something was off the second you walked in and found Greg the Manager attempting to swiffer mop the ceiling.

“Greg,” you said, dropping your bag on the counter. “Why?”

Greg the Manager, still swiffering, turned to you, looking very proud of himself. “Someone said they saw a bug.”

“…And you decided to fight it?”

“It’s about sending a message.”

The only message he ever sent was that he was completely unqualified for this job. But you had more important things to worry about, like the fact that your brain had to prepare for another shift at the Café of the Damned.

The morning rush was a blur of existential regret and bad coffee orders. A man had asked for a “deconstructed macchiato,” which turned out to just be an espresso and a cup of milk that he dramatically mixed together himself. Another lady had taken a single sip of her latte, made a face like you had personally poisoned her, and then ordered the exact same drink again, as if the problem had been reality itself.

As soon as the lull between rushes set in, the door swung open, and in walked the kind of guy that you immediately knew was going to be a problem.  

This man—this absolute unit of a man—was built like he wrestled bears for fun and like an action movie protagonist. He was huge, at least 6’2”, with broad shoulders and the kind of casual arrogance that suggested he had never lost a fight in his life. His black hair was messy in a way that looked effortless, which was infuriating, because if you tried that, you’d just look like you lost a fight with a ceiling fan. He had a noticeable scar near his lip, which did absolutely nothing to soften the fact that he looked like he belonged in a shady back alley, not standing in front of your pastry display.

Instinctively, you knew. This was not a normal man. It was another weirdo. It seemed like it was always a weird customer these days. The normal ones had stopped coming, probably because of the “energy” this place now radiated.

Behind him, a much more normal-sized guy followed, wearing a suit that somehow made him look both professional and like he sold stolen car parts out of a warehouse. He had short black hair, a thin mustache, and the general vibe of someone who both knew too much and cared too little. He had a cigarette tucked behind his ear, which, given the fact that this was an establishment that served food, already put him on your watch list.

He stepped inside, took one look at the first guy, sighed, and then lit a cigarette inside the café.

"Sir," you said flatly. "You can't smoke in here."  

He ignored you, exhaling a long, slow breath like he was about to deliver devastating news.

"Do we really need to be here?" he drawled.

"I need coffee," Tall, Dark, and Intimidating replied.

He took a slow look around the café, expression unreadable, before his eyes landed back on you.

And then—oh no.

He smirked.

A slow, lazy, problematic smirk. The kind that screamed:

I have ruined lives for fun.

I am about to say something that will make you regret clocking in today.

You preemptively braced yourself. You straightened up at the counter, immediately suspicious. “Welcome. What can I get started for you?”

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said smoothly, stepping forward, resting an arm on the counter like this was a bar. He leaned down way too close, peering at you with lazy amusement, like he had already decided you were his new favorite source of entertainment. “What’s good here?”

Oh, you did not have the patience for this today.

You put on your best Customer Service Smile™, the one that masked the sheer amount of suffering you endured on a daily basis.

“Well, if you’re looking for ‘good,’” you said flatly, “I’d suggest going somewhere else.”

Tall, Dark, and Intimidating barked out a laugh, like he wasn’t expecting you to clap back. His smirk widened.

“I like you,” he said, voice deep and amused.

Tragic.

You did not have time for this.

Mustache Man—who had been surveying the café like he was assessing its structural integrity—sighed, stepping up beside him. “We just got here, Toji. Can you at least pretend to be normal for five minutes?”

Toji.

That was the kind of name that belonged to a guy who definitely had punched someone in a Denny’s parking lot before. Or the kind of name you gave to a stray cat that bullied other stray cats.

Toji waved him off lazily. “Relax, Shiu. Just making conversation.” He turned back to you, resting his chin in his palm like this was the most interesting part of his day. “So, you work here every day, or just when I’m lucky?” 

Sir.

You stared at him for a long, unblinking moment. “Is this a bit?”

Toji raised an eyebrow. “A bit?”

“You’re flirting with the barista in a run down café where the espresso machine actively tries to commit crimes against humanity.”

Behind you, the espresso machine let out a horrifying wheeze, as if proving your point.

Toji and Shiu both stared at the espresso machine with odd expressions before turning to eachother with looks that you didn't nor wanted to understand the meaning of.

Shiu grimaced. “That thing needs an exorcism.”

"No shit." Toji scoffed, before turning back to you. “So, how’s the coffee here?”

“It exists,” you deadpanned.

He chuckled. “Alright. I’ll take a black coffee.”

You punched in the order. “You want a name on the cup?”

Toji tilted his head, thinking. Then he smirked. “Yeah. Put ‘Daddy’ on it.”

You stared at him.

He stared back.

Greg the Manager, who had not been paying attention up until this exact moment, chose that exact second to walk by, hear that sentence, and immediately turn back around and walk away like he absolutely was not dealing with this today.

Toji chuckled, clearly very pleased with himself. “Fine, fine. Just put Toji.”

You rang him up, turning expectantly to Shiu. “And you?”

Shiu briefly glanced at the menu behind you. “I’ll just take an Americano under Shiu.”

As you started making his drink, you noticed something—Toji was casually glancing around the café like he was looking for something. His gaze landed on the security cameras, the exits, the windows—

Oh, you did not like that.

His friend, noticing your suspicion, casually leaned against the counter and gave you an apologetic look. “Sorry about him. He’s, uh… got a bad habit of scoping out places.”

Scoping out places?

“...Uh-huh,” you said slowly, making their drinks while keeping a very close eye on Toji. “And why, exactly, does he need to scope out places?”

Toji took the cup when you handed it to him, giving you a very amused look. “Gotta know my surroundings. Never know when something interesting might happen.”

You did not like the way he said that.

Toji and Shiu took their seats, but Toji decided that sitting down like a normal person was too much effort and instead leaned back in his chair on two legs, stretching out way too much, looking way too comfortable for a man in a public café.

At one point, he started idly flipping a knife between his fingers—a real knife—while making casual small talk, like this was a normal thing to do in a café. Shiu did not even react, just exhaled more smoke into the void.

Greg the Manager—who had spent the entire day being useless in the back—walked out, saw the knife, the cigarette, paused, and then just nodded like this was fine.

Greg. Fucking Greg.

Toji and Shiu had been here for an unreasonable amount of time, drinking their coffee like they had nowhere better to be—which, given Toji’s casual knife twirling and Shiu’s refusal to stop smoking inside, was probably true.

You were currently left with a few customers, most of whom had also noticed Toji but were wisely pretending not to. The man radiated "I have buried a body before, and I would do it again." Meanwhile, Shiu exhaled cigarette smoke like a man who had already made peace with whatever sins he had committed in life.

The bell jingled again.

Great. More customers. Because that was exactly what you needed right now—more opportunities for your soul to wither away. But much to your surprise, standing there, eyes locked on Toji like he’d just spotted a rare Pokémon in the wild, was Yuji Itadori. The actual Yuji, thankfully, and not his weird evil persona that he liked cosplaying as every now and then.

You frowned. “You okay, dude?”

Yuji didn’t say anything. He was staring at Toji. No, not just staring—analyzing. Processing. Connecting mental red strings like a conspiracy theorist.

Yuji blinked once. Then twice. Then his expression morphed into something that could only be described as realization.

And then? Then he gasped.

Loudly. Dramatically. So loud that everyone in the café turned to look at him, including Toji.

Toji, completely unbothered, glanced over his shoulder. “...What?”

You, unfortunately, were not paid enough to deal with whatever this was about to be.

Yuji stared.

Toji stared back.

A beat of silence.

And then, Yuji suddenly pointing a trembling finger at Toji like he was a detective revealing the culprit in a murder mystery, and at full volume, shouted:

“YOU OWE CHILD SUPPORT.”

Silence.

Pure. Deafening. Silence.

Toji looked baffled.

Shiu, who had been exhaling a lungful of cigarette smoke, coughed out a lungful of smoke.

You, having absolutely zero context, stood there with the register screen still glowing in front of you, just mentally buffering like an old Windows XP computer.

“…I what?” Toji finally said.

Yuji was not backing down.

“Oh, don’t play dumb, sir,” he snapped, hands on his hips. “I know who you are. Toji Fushiguro. YOU’RE MEGUMI’S DEADBEAT DAD!”

You blinked.

Toji blinked.

Shiu was still coughing.

“…Who the hell is Gummy?” you muttered under your breath, wondering if this was going to be one of those things you’d have to pretend you understood.

Yuji, however, was not pretending to be normal.

Now fueled by the righteous fury of a child who just found out Santa Claus wasn’t real, Yuji stormed over to their table. Toji’s chair came down on all four legs with a loud thunk. Yuji slammed his hands down on the table with the force of someone who had been personally waiting years for this moment. “Oh, you thought you could just waltz in here and get some coffee, huh? Thought you could just live your life, huh? No responsibilities? NO CHILD SUPPORT?”

Toji squinted at him like one would a particularly annoying fly. “Kid, I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.”

Yuji gasped again, clutching his chest like Toji had just personally stabbed him. “OH, YOU DON’T KNOW? YOU DON’T KNOW?”

He turned to you, eyes wild. “Barista. Do you know what’s happening here?”

You stared at him, dead inside. “No. I don’t even know who Gummy is.”

Yuji’s brain short-circuited. “MEGUMI.”

You shrugged. “Still don’t know who that is.”

Yuji made an incoherent noise of frustration before snapping back to Toji. “You—” he jabbed a finger at Toji’s face “—look exactly like him.”

Shiu, still recovering from his near-death experience, let out a pained wheeze. “Holy shit, my lungs."

Toji, looking deeply unbothered, took a slow sip of his coffee. “And?”

Yuji made another noise, like he was trying to restrain himself from physically shaking him.

Then, with full conviction, he declared:

“PAY YOUR CHILD SUPPORT, YOU ABSENTEE BASTARD.”

The café went silent.

Greg the Manager, in the back, paused his game of Candy Crush for once and peeked out with the cautious curiosity of a man who did not want to get involved but also couldn’t resist some workplace drama.

Toji, for his part, looked unimpressed. “That’s rich coming from a kid who looks like he gets an allowance.”

Yuji gasped. “I work for my money, actually!”

“Oh yeah?” Toji drawled, tilting his head with obnoxious amusement. “Doing what? Running errands for your grandma?”

Yuji physically reeled back, offended. “EXCUSE YOU, I AM A RESPONSIBLE TEENAGER—”

“You look like you got lost on the way to summer camp,” Toji said flatly.

“STOP DEFLECTING.”

Toji smirked, lazy and infuriating. “Nah, I like this better.”

Shiu, who had been spectating like this was the funniest thing he had ever seen, let out a low whistle. “Damn, Toji. The kid’s got a point.”

“Shut up, Shiu,” Toji muttered.

“No, don’t shut up, Shiu,” Yuji said dramatically. “Because somebody has to hold this man accountable! I demand financial reparations!”

Toji blinked at him. “…For what?”

“For Megumi! Who, by the way, had to be raised by Gojo because you decided to play the worst game of ‘Take Your Kid to Work Day’ in history!”

Gojo? The Gojo who had created a fake café loyalty program and singlehandedly made your job more difficult? That same Gojo was raising a child?

That was… deeply concerning.

At this point, you had fully leaned against the counter, watching this unfold like it was the best reality show of the year.

Toji took another slow sip of his coffee, eyes gleaming with amusement. “You’re real worked up over something that has nothing to do with you.”  

“Megumi’s my friend!” Yuji shot back. “And friends don’t let their friends’ deadbeat dads get away!”

Greg the Manager, still lurking in the back, tearfully muttered, “Damn, bro. That’s, like, really deep.”

You had to interject.

“Okay, just making sure—” You pointed at Toji. “—you are this Gummy guy’s dad?”

“Megumi,” Yuji corrected, exasperated.

Toji, sipping his coffee, waved a hand lazily. “Biologically, sure.”

Yuji looked personally offended by that answer and gestured wildly. “AND YOU ABANDONED HIM!”

“Yep.”

“You tried to SELL him!”

“Technically, I tried to lease him.”

“THAT DOESN’T MAKE IT BETTER!”

Toji just shrugged, completely unbothered. “Relax, kid. He’s fine.”

Shiu coughed, badly hiding a laugh. "You realize Toji doesn’t have money, right?”

Yuji’s jaw dropped. “What?!”

“I mean, he gets money,” Shiu clarified. “And then he immediately loses it gambling.”

Toji waved a dismissive hand. “It’s called an investment.”

Yuji faltered.

Then he recovered.

“BUT YOU SHOULD STILL FEEL BAD ABOUT IT.”

Toji did not feel bad about it.

“Maybe I’ll just start a GoFundMe for Megumi,” Yuji muttered, arms crossed, shaking his head. “‘Neglected Son of a Deadbeat Assassin, Please Help’—I bet people would donate.”

Uh. Did he just say assassin? You'll just pretend like you didn't hear that.

Shiu sighed, looking like he aged ten years. “Okay, I am done with this.” He turned to you, waving a hand in exhaustion. “Barista, I apologize for the sheer amount of bullshit you’ve had to hear in the last five minutes.”

You nodded solemnly. “Thank you for your concern.”  

Yuji wasn’t done, though.

He was pacing.

Muttering things under his breath like “back pay,” and “retroactive financial penalties,”.

Toji, meanwhile, was completely unfazed. He leaned back in his chair, stretched obnoxiously, and took another slow sip of his coffee before casually standing up like this wasn’t an intervention in a café.

As Toji and Shiu made their way to the door, Yuji called after them. “This isn’t over! You better sleep with one eye open, old man!”

Toji smirked. "Not worried, kid."

With that, he strolled out of the café like he hadn’t just been publicly called out for being a deadbeat father.

Yuji exhaled sharply, turning back to you.

“Can you believe that guy?!”

You just stared at him.

“…I don’t even know what just happened."

₊⊹. tag list: @alpha-mommy69 @luluminati @amortsukii-writes @inthedarkshadows000 @isomehowexist

[iridescentrays]

golden — s . gojo x reader

synopsis — satoru gojo is your bestfriend and you are his. but sometimes, lines between friendship and something more seem to blur.

pairing — bestfriend! satoru x reader

word count — 10.6 k

warnings — making out, somewhat heavy petting, they take off each other's shirts but that's about it LOL, angst (not a sad ending though), reader feels unwanted at times.

Satoru Gojo.

How long have you known him? Your whole life, probably.

Scratch that. Not your whole life, but definitely the majority of it.

It started in preschool.

You were the quiet kid—the one who clung to the edges of the classroom, never quite fitting into the messy, chaotic whirlwind of children who seemed to make friends like it was the easiest thing in the world. You didn’t know how they did it—how they found each other in the noise, how they paired up so effortlessly, how they just knew where they belonged.

You, on the other hand, spent most of your time alone, stacking blocks in the corner, drawing quietly, or waiting for the teacher to tell you what to do next.

And then there was him.

Satoru Gojo, the loudest, brightest, most obnoxiously happy kid you’d ever met. He was the kind of child who ran instead of walked, who laughed at things no one else found funny, who always had a scrape on his knee but never seemed to care. He was larger than life, in a way that made your stomach twist—not quite jealousy, not quite admiration, just… confusion.

So when he plopped down next to you one day, completely uninvited, you weren’t sure what to do.

“Whatcha doin’?” he asked, peering at the tiny house you were building out of wooden blocks.

You shrugged. “Building.”

“Cool,” he said, grinning. “Can I help?”

You hesitated. You didn’t want help. But before you could answer, he was already reaching for the blocks, stacking them in ways that made no sense.

“You’re ruining it,” you mumbled, frowning.

He blinked at you, then back at the house. “Oh.” And then, without missing a beat, he knocked it over entirely.

You gasped, horrified.

He just laughed. “Now we can build it again!”

You decided, in that exact moment, that you hated him.

But Satoru Gojo was persistent.

He started following you around—not in a creepy way, just in an annoying way. Every time you thought you’d shaken him off, he’d pop up again like a bad penny, grinning that ridiculous grin of his.

Eventually, you just… let him.

It was easier than trying to get rid of him.

And somewhere along the way, he became your first real friend.

Your moms met not long after.

It happened at pickup time, when Satoru ran straight past his usual waiting spot to grab your hand instead. “Can I go to their house?” he asked his mom, all wide eyes and uncontainable energy. “Please, please, please?”

Your mom looked vaguely alarmed, having not expected to suddenly be responsible for another child, but Satoru’s mom just laughed.

And that was that.

Your friendship expanded beyond the preschool walls, spilling into weekends and playdates. Satoru’s house became as familiar as your own, with its too-big windows and fancy furniture that he absolutely wasn’t supposed to jump on (but did anyway). In return, he practically lived at your place, showing up unannounced, eating snacks straight from your pantry, making himself at home in a way that should have been irritating but never really was.

By the time middle school rolled around, he was less of a friend and more of a permanent fixture in your life.

“Okay, but listen,” Satoru said one afternoon, sprawled across your bedroom floor, Switch in hand. “If you had to pick one Digimon partner, like one to be stuck with for the rest of your life, who would it be?”

You barely looked up from your homework. “I don’t know. Agumon?”

“Agumon?” he repeated, scandalized. “That’s so basic. It’s like saying your favorite Pokémon is Pikachu.”

You raised an eyebrow. “It’s literally the main character’s Digimon.”

“Exactly!” He threw his hands up. “No originality. None. Zero. I expected better from you.”

“You asked me,” you pointed out, rolling your eyes.

“Yeah, but I thought you’d at least think about it.” He sighed, dramatically flopping onto his back. “I should’ve known. I’m best friends with a casual fan.”

“You should be grateful you have a best friend at all,” you shot back.

Satoru grinned, tilting his head toward you. “Yeah, yeah. I know.”

At some point, he started wearing glasses. Not for fashion, not because he wanted to, but because years of staring at screens in the dark, playing Digimon and Pokémon and whatever else he was obsessed with at the time, had officially caught up to him.

“I’m blind,” he announced the day he got them, pushing them up the bridge of his nose. “Absolutely, totally blind.”

You snorted. “You’re, like, mildly nearsighted.”

“Same thing,” he said, already taking them off to examine them. “Do I look smarter with them?”

You tilted your head, pretending to consider it. “Not really.”

“Rude.” He huffed, sliding them back on. “What about cooler?”

You threw a pillow at his face.

He laughed, catching it easily. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

—

Then came high school.

At first, nothing changed.

Satoru was still Satoru—loud, annoying, always in your space. He still showed up at your house unannounced, still texted you at odd hours about random nonsense, still sat next to you at lunch like it was a law of the universe. He was your best friend. Your person.

And for the first two years, you were inseparable.

There wasn’t a single moment where people saw one of you without the other. Satoru Gojo and you. You and Satoru Gojo. Always a pair. Whether it was cramming for exams together, getting kicked out of the arcade because he got too competitive, or spending Friday nights playing whatever old game he got obsessed with that month, he was your constant.

Until junior year.

It started small.

A casual comment in gym class about how fast he was. A joke from a teacher about how he should try out for the football team. A half-dare from some of the guys he barely knew.

And somehow, against all odds, Satoru Gojo became an athlete.

You didn’t think much of it at first. It was just another one of his phases, right? Like that time he swore he’d master speedrunning or decided he was going to learn five languages at once. But he was good—annoyingly good. Tall, fast, with ridiculous reflexes that made him impossible to catch on the field.

And people noticed.

By mid-season, he wasn’t just some new player—he was the star. The guy everyone knew, the guy who had a crowd around him in the hallways, the guy who got called out over the school speakers for game-winning plays.

The guy who no longer just belonged to you.

The first time you really felt it was when he showed up at your house one evening. That part was normal. He still did that, still made himself at home on your couch, still stole whatever snacks he wanted.

But something was different.

You were sprawled out on your bed, flipping through a book, when you glanced up and noticed.

“Where are your glasses?” you asked.

Satoru blinked, as if he had to think about it. “Oh. Right.” He shrugged, plopping down next to you. “They’re kind of a hazard in football, so I switched to contacts. Figured I’d just stick with them.”

You sat up, frowning. “But you hate contacts.”

He grinned, stretching lazily. “Not anymore.”

And just like that, something in your chest twisted.

It wasn’t just the glasses.

It was the way he stopped rambling about Digimon, the way he never asked if you wanted to rewatch old anime together anymore. It was the way his schedule started filling up with team hangouts and parties you weren’t invited to. It was the way people started looking at you differently when you were with him.

Because Satoru Gojo wasn’t just Satoru Gojo anymore.

He was Gojo.

Senior year was when it really started to hurt.

He still sat with you at lunch, still texted you silly memes at night, still acted like nothing had changed. But everything had.

He would often cancel on your invitations, his responses still typed in that absurd, unmistakable way of his—yet his excuses always seemed to follow a familiar pattern. It was always something urgent, something unavoidable: he had to rush off to practice, or there was a party he couldn’t miss, or someone needed his help and he simply couldn’t bring himself to say no. Each time, it felt like a rehearsed script, as though his priorities were perpetually elsewhere, leaving you to wonder if you’d ever truly make the cut.

Every time he plopped down next to you, people stared. Whispered.

“Why’s he sitting with her?”

“Shouldn't he sit with the rest of the team?”

“Is she, like, his childhood obligation or something?”

You weren’t an idiot. You heard it. You felt it.

And it made you snap.

“You don’t have to sit here, you know,” you muttered one day, keeping your eyes on your tray.

Satoru frowned. “What?”

“I said, you don’t have to sit here,” you repeated, sharper this time. “If you’d rather be with your actual friends—”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?”

You clenched your jaw, hating how defensive he sounded. “Nothing. Forget it.”

He didn’t forget it.

You fought about it. About how he didn’t get it, about how easy everything was for him, about how he could walk into any room and belong while you felt like you had to justify existing.

“You act like I abandoned you,” he snapped, voice low and frustrated. “But I’m right here. I’ve always been here.”

And you hated that he was somewhat right. 

So you patched things up. Not because you fully understood each other, but because you both wanted to. And by the time graduation rolled around, you could almost pretend things had gone back to the way they were.

But then came college.

And somehow, Satoru Gojo managed to be even more himself than ever.

Bigger. Louder. More impossible to ignore.

If high school had turned him into a star, then college made him a supernova.

He was everywhere—at parties, in clubs, on the field. Everyone knew him. Everyone wanted to be around him.

And somehow, despite it all, he still tried to keep you close.

“Come with me tonight,” he’d say, sending you an invite to some massive party. “It’ll be fun.”

You always said no.

At first, he laughed it off. But after a while, he started looking at you differently—like he noticed the way you avoided him now, the way you barely answered his texts, the way you pulled away whenever he tried to meet your eyes.

And one night, when he showed up outside your dorm after another party, half-drunk and grinning, you saw the exact moment that grin faltered.

“Are you mad at me?” he asked, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry. “Why would I be mad at you?” you replied, your tone lighter than you felt, as if you could brush the question aside with a casual shrug.

Satoru studied you intently, his glasses nowhere to be found, his hair disheveled from running his hands through it one too many times. His gaze was sharp, unrelenting. “Because you’re avoiding me,” he said, his voice steady but laced with something you couldn’t quite place—frustration, maybe, or hurt.

You forced a laugh, the sound brittle and unconvincing. “I’m not—”

“Don’t lie to me,” he interrupted, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “Not you.”

The words hit you like a punch to the chest, and your throat tightened. You looked away, unable to hold his gaze. “It’s just—” you began, your voice faltering as you struggled to piece together the thoughts that had been swirling in your mind for weeks. “You don’t need me anymore, Satoru. You have them. All your cool—I don’t know, jock and cheerleader friends, everyone else who likes you. You don’t have time for me now.”

He blinked, his expression shifting from confusion to disbelief. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he asked, his voice rising slightly, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. His hands gestured vaguely, as though trying to grasp the words you’d just thrown at him. “You think I’d just—replace you? Like it’s that easy? No, like seriously fucking explain to me what the absolute hell you mean?” He mutters out angrily, words slightly slurred.

The air between you felt heavy, charged with emotions neither of you had fully acknowledged until now. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat, leaving only silence hanging in the space between you.

You let out a bitter laugh. “It means I’m tired, Satoru. Tired of feeling like a ghost when I’m with you. Tired of pretending I’m okay with being the weird friend you keep around out of habit.”

Satoru opened his mouth, then closed it.

And for the first time in your life, you saw it—hurt. Real, genuine hurt in his stupidly bright eyes.

“You think that’s what this is?” he said, voice quieter now. “Habit?”

You didn’t answer.

Because if you did, you might have to admit that you missed him. That you missed the late-night anime marathons, the dumb inside jokes, the way he used to act like you were the only person in the world that mattered.

But you weren’t sure if that version of him still existed.

And you definitely weren’t sure if you had the courage to find out.

Satoru stared at you for a long time, the weight of your words settling between you like a stone. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, couldn’t decipher the way his lips pressed into a thin line, the way his fingers twitched at his sides like he wanted to reach for something—but wasn’t sure if he should.

Then, after what felt like forever, he exhaled, running a hand through his hair.

“I don’t get it,” he admitted, voice lower now, quieter, like he was afraid too many words would push you further away. “You’re acting like I left you behind, but I’m right here.”

You bit your lip. “You don’t see it.”

“Then make me see it,” he shot back, suddenly frustrated. “Because all I know is that one day we were fine, and the next, you started treating me like a stranger.”

That stung.

Because wasn’t that what he did first?

He wasn’t the one being looked at differently in high school when he sat next to you at lunch. He wasn’t the one feeling like a burden when you tagged along with him to something you thought was just going to be the two of you. He wasn’t the one realizing, little by little, that your best friend was outgrowing you.

But how could you even say that? How could you explain it in a way he’d understand?

“It’s not just one thing, Satoru,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s… everything.”

Satoru exhaled sharply, pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “That’s real specific.”

You rolled your eyes, the exhaustion settling deep into your bones. “You wouldn’t get it.”

“Try me.”

You hesitated. He looked serious, standing there under the dim glow of the dorm hallway lights, arms crossed, gaze steady. But what would it change? Telling him wouldn’t undo the years of growing distance, wouldn’t erase the fact that you felt like you didn’t fit in his world anymore.

Maybe it was better to let it go.

So you shook your head, stepping back toward your door. “It’s late. You should go.”

Satoru let out a quiet, frustrated laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “Fine,” he said, jaw tightening. “Run away, then. You’re good at that.”

That hurt more than it should have.

But you didn’t argue. You just stepped inside, closed the door, and pretended the ache in your chest wasn’t real.

It got worse after that.

You thought maybe that argument would clear the air—that he’d finally see why you had been keeping your distance. But if anything, it only made things weirder.

Satoru still texted you, but not as much. He still invited you to things, but there was something almost hesitant in the way he asked, like he was bracing for rejection. And when you turned him down (because of course you did), his replies became shorter, more clipped.

Then, one night, he stopped asking altogether.

You didn’t realize how much you had come to expect it—his name popping up on your phone, his easy confidence that somehow, eventually, you’d say yes. But when Friday night came and went without a text, something inside you twisted.

Maybe this was what you wanted. Maybe it was easier this way.

So why did it feel so awful?

A week later, you ran into him by accident.

Literally.

You were coming out of the campus library, arms full of books, when someone rounded the corner too fast and nearly tackled you.

“Oh, shit—sorry—”

You looked up, heart dropping to your stomach.

Satoru.

Your hands clenched around the books, pulse stuttering. It had only been a week, but he already looked different—like he’d fully settled into his role as that guy. Loose hoodie, messy hair, the faint scent of cologne and something vaguely alcoholic clinging to him.

You swallowed hard. “Hey.”

His expression flickered—just for a second. “Hey.”

It was awkward. Awkward. When had things ever been awkward between you?

You shifted your grip on your books. “Uh—sorry. Didn’t mean to—”

“Yeah, no, my bad,” he cut in quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

Silence stretched between you. Too long, too tense.

Then, suddenly, his eyes dropped to the stack in your arms. “Of course you’re carrying, like, ten books at once.”

It was such a Satoru thing to say that, for a second, you almost smiled.

Then his gaze flicked up to yours, something softer in his expression, and your breath hitched.

And then—

A voice called his name from across the quad. Some guy you didn’t know, waving him over. Satoru hesitated. Then, with a small exhale, he gave you a lopsided grin. “Guess I’ll see you around.”

He didn’t wait for a response before turning away.

And you stood there, watching him go, feeling like something important had just slipped through your fingers.

Days passed. Then a week. Then two.

And for the first time in years, Satoru Gojo wasn’t part of your life anymore.

No more texts. No more unannounced visits. No more standing at your dorm door at 2 AM, grinning like he belonged there.

You had wanted this, hadn’t you? You had wanted the space, the distance, the freedom to not be caught in his orbit.

But now, without him, everything just felt… quiet. You hated it.

You missed him.

—

It was months before you and Satoru spoke again.

At first, you kept waiting for him to text you, to pop up at your door with some stupid excuse, to send you a meme like nothing had happened. But days passed. Then weeks. Then months. And Satoru Gojo—your best friend since childhood—became just another person you saw in passing.

Sometimes, you spotted him across the quad, surrounded by his usual crowd. Sometimes, you caught glimpses of him at the library, laughing too loudly with friends who barely even acknowledged your existence.

And it hurt.

More than you wanted to admit, it hurt.

But you told yourself this was how things were meant to be. That he had moved on, and you needed to do the same. That whatever had existed between you belonged to another lifetime, one where you weren’t the quiet girl who spent her nights buried in books, and he wasn’t the golden boy who belonged to the whole damn world.

You thought you were doing fine. You thought you were getting used to it.

Until the professor announced lab partners.

The moment your name was called, a small, high-pitched voice cut through the classroom.

“Uh… who?”

Laughter rippled through the room. You felt your face go hot, every muscle in your body locking up as the girl—some blonde from Satoru’s usual group—looked around in exaggerated confusion.

It was humiliating.

Because she wasn’t just some random classmate. She was someone who had spent actual time with Satoru. Who had probably been to his dorm, who had probably sat next to him at parties, who had probably heard him talk about people in his life.

And she had no idea who you were.

You didn’t even dare look at Satoru. Didn’t want to see his reaction. Didn’t want to see whether he’d step in, whether he’d say anything—

But he didn’t.

He didn’t laugh, but he didn’t correct her either.

Didn’t turn to acknowledge you. Didn’t make some joke to brush past it. Didn’t do anything at all.

Just stared at the table like he was somewhere else entirely.

And that, somehow, was worse than anything.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep your expression neutral as you scribbled down the details of the assignment. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t a big deal. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

—

Working with Satoru again was… weird.

Not just because of everything that had happened between you, but because neither of you seemed to know how to be around each other anymore.

Gone were the days of effortless conversation, of teasing remarks and stolen fries and arguments about Digimon evolutions. Now, everything felt stilted, careful, like you were two strangers trying to relearn the language of each other.

Sometimes, it almost felt normal.

Like when you sat across from each other in the library, bent over research notes, and he’d randomly hum the Sailor Moon theme song under his breath. Or when he muttered something stupid under his breath about the professor’s handwriting, and you nearly choked on your water holding back a laugh.

But then, inevitably, the moment would pass.

Because girls from his usual group would come over, acting like you weren’t even there, their voices too sweet as they draped themselves over the back of his chair.

“Satoru, are you coming to the party on Friday?”

“Satoru, when are you free? We should all hang out.”

And he’d always answer them. Always give some noncommittal shrug or a lazy smirk. But you could tell—even if no one else seemed to notice—that he wasn’t really there. That when he looked at them, he wasn’t listening.

And yet, he never told them to leave. Never told them that you were working. Never acknowledged you at all when they were around. So, after a while, you just stopped expecting him to.

And then, one day, you got sick.

Not just a little sick. Not just a sore throat or a cough you could push through. No, you were the kind of sick that made your whole body ache, that sent shivers down your spine no matter how many blankets you curled under.

But it was a project day. And despite everything, you still had responsibilities. So, begrudgingly, you shot Satoru a text.

Come to my dorm. I can’t go out today.

He didn’t reply right away. But twenty minutes later, there was a knock at your door. You barely managed to drag yourself over, your vision swimming slightly as you opened it.

And there he was.

Looking the same as always—messy white hair, sharp blue eyes, hoodie slung over his frame like he’d just rolled out of bed.

The only difference? The way his expression immediately dropped the second he saw you.

“Shit,” he muttered. “You look awful.”

You groaned, stepping aside to let him in. “Thanks for the confidence boost.” He kicked off his shoes, setting his bag down before eyeing you carefully. “Have you been drinking water? Eating enough? D’you eat somethin’ you weren’t meant to eat?”

You rolled your eyes. “How am I supposed to know, I just woke up sick as hell.”

Instead of a snarky remark, Satoru just sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. Then, before you could protest, he was guiding you toward the bed, nudging you to sit.

“You’re not working like this,” he said firmly. “Lie down.”

“I’m fine—”

“Lie down.”

You hesitated.

This wasn’t him. This wasn’t the version of Satoru you had gotten used to in the past year. The one who was always a little distant, a little out of reach. This was… him.

The Satoru you had known since childhood. The one who always knew when you were exhausted, even when you swore you weren’t. The one who used to push his fries onto your plate when you were too stressed to eat.

The one who, for the first time in months, was looking at you like you were still his best friend. So, slowly, you lay back down.

Satoru exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll get you some tea or something. You have any?” You nodded weakly. He moved toward your desk, rummaging through your stash of instant tea packets like he had done it a million times before.

And for the first time in a long time, the silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable.

It was familiar.

Safe.

And even though you felt like death warmed over, for the first time in months, you didn’t feel so alone.

—

From that day on, something shifted.

It wasn’t immediate, and it wasn’t dramatic, but it was there—a quiet, almost imperceptible change in the way things were between you and Satoru. The library, once the default meeting spot for your project sessions, was suddenly off the table. He stopped suggesting it altogether, and at first, you didn’t think much of it. But then, one afternoon, he showed up at your dorm unannounced, arms loaded with snacks and a careless shrug when you stared at him, bewildered.

“Library’s too loud,” he said, brushing past you and stepping inside like he owned the place. “Figured we’d get more done here.”

You didn’t question it. Not then, and not a week later when you found yourself in his dorm instead, sitting cross-legged on his bed while he scrolled through research notes on his laptop. 

“Library’s too crowded,” he explained that time, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

After that, it just became… routine. Your project meetings moved from the library to your dorms, back and forth, as if by some unspoken agreement. The shift was gradual, almost imperceptible, but it was there. You still weren’t quite friends again—not the way you used to be, back when everything was easy and uncomplicated. There was still a careful distance between you, an unspoken awareness of all the time that had been lost, all the moments that had slipped through your fingers. But things weren’t cold anymore. They weren’t distant.

Satoru filled the quiet moments with mindless chatter, the way he always had. He teased you about your typos, stole your pens when you weren’t looking, and groaned dramatically whenever you made him do too much reading. Slowly, bit by bit, the pieces of your friendship started falling back into place. Not completely. Not yet. But enough that sometimes, when the two of you were laughing over something stupid, it almost felt like the past year had never happened.

Then, one day, everything cracked open.

It was late—much later than usual—and the two of you were sitting in his dorm, textbooks and notebooks sprawled across his desk. You were both exhausted, the kind of tired that made your eyes burn and your thoughts sluggish. Satoru was absentmindedly flipping through one of your old notebooks when he suddenly snorted.

“Oh my God.”

You blinked up at him, too tired to muster more than a mumbled, “What?”

He turned the notebook toward you, pointing at a messy doodle in the margin. It was a Digimon—a rough, scribbled outline that barely resembled anything recognizable. But something about it made him grin, leaning back in his chair like he’d just uncovered a hidden treasure.

“Damn,” he said, shaking his head. “Feels like a whole different lifetime ago.”

And then, in a voice so casual, so familiar, he added—

“Remember when we made a whole ass PowerPoint ranking every Digimon evolution?”

That was it.

That was what broke you.

It was so stupid—just a random memory, an offhand remark. But the second he said it, something in your chest twisted violently. You clenched your jaw, swallowing hard, telling yourself not to be dramatic. But then your vision blurred, and suddenly, you were crying.

“Oh—oh shit.”

Satoru’s chair scraped against the floor as he shot up, eyes wide with panic. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

You barely managed to shake your head, your hands gripping your knees as you tried to steady yourself. But the tears kept coming, and then—through the hiccups, through the pathetic, trembling gasps—you broke.

You clenched your jaw, trying to hold it together, but the tears spilled over anyway. Your chest heaved as you choked out the words, “I miss you. I—God, Satoru, I miss you.”

His face went slack, his usual confidence faltering as he stared at you, stunned. For a moment, he didn’t move, didn’t speak, like he was trying to process what you’d just said. Then his voice came out quiet, almost fragile. “What are you talking about? I’m right here.”

You shook your head, your hands gripping your knees so tightly your knuckles turned white. “No, you’re not. Not really. You’ve been… gone. For so long. And I—” Your voice broke, and you hated how weak you sounded, how raw and exposed you felt. “I don’t want to be without you anymore. I don’t—I don’t want you to hate me.”

Satoru’s breath hitched, and for the first time, you saw his composure crack. His eyes glistened, and he blinked rapidly, like he was trying to fight it, but a single tear slipped down his cheek. He wiped it away quickly, his voice trembling as he muttered, “You’re so fucking stupid. How could I ever hate you?”

You let out a shaky laugh, but it came out more like a sob. “I don’t know. You just—you stopped talking to me. You stopped needing me. And I thought… I thought you didn’t care anymore.”

He shook his head, his hands reaching out like he wanted to touch you but wasn’t sure if he should. “I care. I care so much it’s stupid. I just—” He paused, his voice cracking. “I didn’t know how to fix it. I didn’t know how to come back after everything. It felt like you were pushing me away.”

“You could’ve just— I don’t even know what to say,” you hiccuped, your voice barely audible. “You could’ve just… stayed. I don’t know— like yell at me, tell me that you care for me or something. I wish I wasn’t so stubborn about not speaking to you either, but god, maybe I just wanted you to like— tell me how much you needed me. Because it never felt like you did anymore.”

Satoru’s face crumpled, and he let out a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping like the weight of everything had finally caught up to him. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice raw. “I’m so sorry for leaving you behind. I didn’t mean to. I just… I didn’t know how to be around you without feeling like I’d already ruined everything.”

You looked up at him, your vision blurred by tears. “You didn’t ruin anything. I just… I needed you. And you weren’t there. And really, it was my fault too, for not communicating—”

He cuts you off, his own tears falling freely now, though he didn’t seem to care. “I know. But I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you. I just… I didn’t know how to fix it. I— I should’ve been there for you more often because God, life without you is just so horrible, and I’ve been so horrible— ”

“You’re fixing it now,” you said, your voice trembling. “Just… don’t leave me again. Please.”

He let out a choked laugh, his hands finally reaching for you, pulling you into his chest. His arms wrapped around you tightly, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. “I won’t,” he murmured into your hair. “I won’t. I promise.”

You buried your face in his shirt, your hands clutching the fabric as you cried. His body shook against yours, and you realized he was crying too—quietly, almost like he was trying to hide it, but you could feel the way his breath hitched, the way his hands trembled as they held you.

“I missed you too,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Every fucking day. I just didn’t know how to say it.”

You didn’t respond, couldn’t respond, because the weight of everything—the months of silence, the distance, the ache of missing him—was finally crashing down on you. But for the first time in what felt like forever, it wasn’t a bad kind of crash. It was relief. It was the feeling of something broken finally starting to heal.

Satoru’s hand came up to cradle the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair as he held you closer. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said, his voice firm despite the tears. “Not again. Not ever.”

You nodded against his chest, your tears soaking into his shirt. “Okay,” you whispered. “Okay.”

It took a long time for the tears to stop, for the sobs to quiet into shaky breaths. But even when they did, neither of you moved. Satoru kept holding you, his arms tight around you, his chin resting on the top of your head. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt safe. You felt like you were home.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes were red and puffy, but he was smiling—a small, tentative smile that made your chest ache in the best way. “You’re stuck with me now, like y’know, the annoying kid who’d follow you around as kids,” he said, his voice soft. “Just so you know.”

You laughed, the sound watery but genuine. “Good. Because I miss that Satoru, and I’m not letting you go again either.”

He grinned, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Deal.”

And just like that, something shifted. The distance between you closed, the cracks in your friendship slowly mending. It wasn’t perfect—not yet—but it was a start. And for the first time in a long time, you felt like everything was going to be okay.

—

After that night, Satoru made it a point to talk to you during class.

It was weird at first—uncomfortable, even. Because now, whenever he sat beside you, people stared. People whispered. But Satoru didn’t care. And after a while, neither did you.

Then, one day, it happened.

You were in the middle of a conversation when one of the girls from his usual group strolled up, her friends lingering just behind her.

“Dude,” she drawled, arms crossed. “We’re waiting for you.”

Satoru didn’t acknowledge her.

She huffed, looking at you for the first time.

“Who even are you?” she said, wrinkling her nose.

Silence.

Then—calmly, lazily—Satoru turned to her.

“Fuck off.”

Her expression twisted. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he said, resting his chin in his hand. “We’re talking.”

You swore you saw steam coming out of her ears.

She spun on her heel, storming off in a flurry of designer fabric, and Satoru just turned back to you like nothing had happened.

You blinked at him, stunned. “That was… aggressive.”

He shrugged. “Don’t like her.”

You snorted. “You used to hang out with her all the time.”

“Yeah, well.” He gave you a pointed look. “I was an idiot.”

And maybe it was the way he said it. Maybe it was the certainty in his voice, the way he leaned in just a little closer like this—this—was what mattered.

But for the first time in a long time, you felt something settle inside you. Something warm. Something steady. Something that told you, without a doubt—

Satoru Gojo wasn’t leaving you behind again.

—

It happened slowly.

At first, it was just the way things had been before. You and Satoru were best friends again—finally, properly—and you were making up for lost time.

You sat together in lectures. You ate together between classes. You spent hours holed up in each other’s dorms, either working in silence or complaining about whatever god-awful assignment was due next.

And it was good. It was easy.

But then—then—things started to shift.

It was subtle at first.

A hand brushing against yours for just a little too long. The warmth of his body pressed against yours in a too-crowded study session, his breath fanning over your ear as he leaned in, muttering something you could barely focus on.

The way his eyes lingered when he thought you weren’t looking.

The way yours lingered, too.

—

It was a Friday night, and you were at Satoru’s dorm, lying on his bed while he sat at his desk, spinning lazily in his chair.

“I don’t wanna study,” he whined, stretching his arms over his head. “Let’s do something fun.”

You turned a page in your book, unimpressed. “And what exactly do you define as ‘fun’?”

“Dunno,” he mused. “Wanna go for a drive?”

You sighed. “Satoru, it’s almost midnight.”

“And?” He grinned, kicking his feet up onto his desk. “C’mon, live a little.”

You exhaled sharply through your nose. “You just don’t want to do your readings.”

“Obviously.” He snorted. “But also, I feel like getting snacks.”

You hesitated, torn.

Then, finally—

“Fine.”

His eyes lit up. “Knew you’d cave.”

You rolled your eyes, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s go before I change my mind.”

—

It was raining by the time you got to the convenience store.

Not heavily—just a light drizzle, enough to make the streets shimmer under the streetlights.

Satoru grabbed half the store’s supply of junk food while you rolled your eyes, paying for your single bottle of tea. Outside, the air was cool, the pavement slick beneath your feet.

“I’m driving,” you said as he dug through his bag of snacks.

“Nah.” He grinned, tossing a chip into his mouth. “I got this.”

You gave him a look. “You almost crashed last time.”

He scoffed. “That was a red light, not a crash.”

“You ran the red light.”

“Meow.”

You cringe, snatching the keys from his pocket. “Oh my god. Absolutely not.”

Satoru laughed but let you.

And for some reason, that made your stomach flip.

—

Back at your dorm, Satoru made himself at home—because of course he did.

He sprawled across your bed, one arm tucked behind his head, the other mindlessly tossing a snack in the air and catching it with his mouth.

“You should be paying me rent at this point,” you muttered, shutting the door behind you.

“I would,” he said, grinning, “but I’m broke.”

You huffed, settling onto the bed beside him. “What, your trust fund isn’t enough?”

He smirked. “Nah, gotta save that for important things.”

You rolled your eyes. “Right. Like overpriced sunglasses.”

“Exactly.”

You shook your head, reaching for the remote.

And then—a shift.

Satoru turned his head to look at you, and when you met his gaze, something in his expression softened.

“Hey,” he murmured.

You swallowed. “Hey.”

He reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

Your breath hitched.

His fingers lingered at your temple, just for a moment. His touch was warm, featherlight.

You exhaled, heartbeat stuttering.

And then—just as quickly—he pulled back, flopping onto his back with a dramatic groan.

“What should we watch?” he asked, stretching like nothing had happened.

You exhaled.

Your chest felt tight.

“Uh.” You cleared your throat. “Dunno.”

And just like that, the moment passed.

—

But the tension didn’t. If anything, it only got worse.

It was in the way his hand brushed your waist when he reached past you.

The way he sat just a little too close, his knee knocking against yours under the desk.

The way his fingers trailed across your wrist when he grabbed something from you, his touch slow, deliberate.

And—God—it was in the way he looked at you.

Like you were something he couldn’t quite figure out.

Like he was waiting for something.

Like he wanted something.

And maybe—just maybe—so did you.

—

By the time second year rolled around, you weren’t sure what you and Satoru were anymore. Still best friends, technically. Still Satoru and you. But there was something else, too.

Something unspoken.

Something fragile and complicated and new. And neither of you dared to acknowledge it.

 —

The weather had started to change, the air cooler as autumn crept in. You could feel it in your bones—when the days shortened, and the sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows. It made everything seem a little softer, like the world had gone quiet just to give you and Satoru a chance to breathe, to figure things out.

You were both sitting in the small, somewhat neglected corner of the university park, surrounded by towering trees with golden leaves fluttering to the ground. You were both on the grass, sitting close enough that your shoulders brushed whenever you shifted. It was the kind of quiet afternoon you could’ve stayed in forever, and maybe that was why you weren’t quite ready to let it end.

Satoru stretched, his arms reaching high above his head. “Ugh, my back’s killing me. Who knew studying could be so physically demanding?” He rolled his shoulders, groaning dramatically.

You shot him a sidelong glance, your lips curling into a smile despite yourself. “I think that’s just you, Satoru. You’re a professional at making everything harder than it is.”

He shot you a grin, a smug little thing, like he knew you couldn’t resist teasing him back. “Oh, please, I make things look easy. It's a gift.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, yeah, the great Satoru Gojo.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, catching the teasing tone in your voice. “That’s right. You should be honored to sit next to greatness.” He nudged your shoulder with his, the warmth of his body spilling into yours. The touch was light but undeniable. Familiar.

You chuckled, nudging him back. “I don’t know if I’d call you ‘great’ when you still lose to me in Mario Kart every time.”

Satoru gasped dramatically, clutching his chest like you’d just struck a mortal wound. “You—I’m just going easy on you because I don’t want you to feel bad. I’m a gentleman like that.”

You could hear the playful teasing in his voice, but the way he looked at you—his eyes crinkling at the corners with that boyish grin—felt like something deeper.

“I don’t need you to go easy on me,” you teased, leaning in just a bit too much, your voice soft. “I’m pretty good on my own, thanks.”

That was when you noticed it—the way his eyes flickered for a second, his lips curving down ever so slightly before he caught himself. His gaze held yours for a second longer than normal, and for the first time in a while, you both just stayed there. Not a word. No jokes or banter. Just the space between you thick with unspoken things.

Satoru was the first to look away, clearing his throat. “Anyway, want me to go grab us something from that little café over there? You could use some food if you’re gonna keep up with me.”

You hesitated. He’s back to that again. The Satoru who was always making sure you were fed, always thinking ahead for both of you, even when he had to act like nothing was different.

But you didn’t want to ruin the moment, not now. Not when everything felt right.

“No, I’m good,” you said softly, shaking your head. “But... thanks.”

Satoru studied you for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly, before he dropped his shoulders with a sigh. “I swear, you’re impossible.” But even as he said it, his hand reached out—just a quick pat of his large hand atop yours. The briefest of contact, and for a moment, the world paused around you.

The warmth of his hand lingered even after it was gone, and you could feel your chest tightening, your pulse picking up. You didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to.

And for the rest of the afternoon, you stayed like that. Silent. Comfortable in the space between you, letting the quiet be enough. But you both knew it wasn’t just the park that made the air heavy—it was everything unsaid that clung to it.

Eventually, the sun began to dip low on the horizon, casting long shadows that stretched across the grass. You sighed, looking up at Satoru. “We should probably get back soon. It’s getting late.”

He glanced at his phone, then at you, and nodded. “Yeah. You’re right.” He paused. “Hey, you want to walk with me to my dorm? I’m not ready to head back alone yet.”

It wasn’t even a question, not really. But you could feel his eyes on you, like he was waiting for your answer to matter just as much as the offer itself.

You nodded, and the tension between you both lifted just a little as you both stood, stretching out the stiffness in your legs. “Sure, let’s go.”

As you and Satoru walked side by side, the night air crisp and cool against your skin, the silence between you felt heavier than before. It wasn’t uncomfortable—quite the opposite. It was charged, like something waiting to tip over the edge. Every step you took together seemed to draw you closer, and you could feel the warmth of his body beside you, even in the chill of the evening.

You weren’t sure when it happened, but somewhere along the way, his hand brushed against yours again. This time, neither of you pulled away. The tips of his fingers grazed your knuckles—light, tentative. Like he was testing the waters. Like he was waiting for you to stop him.

But you didn’t.

You swallowed, trying to focus on the rhythmic crunch of leaves beneath your feet rather than the way your skin tingled where he touched you. It was such a small thing, barely even a touch, but it sent your heart skittering against your ribs. And when you finally dared to glance up at him, Satoru was already looking at you, his lips curled into something between amusement and something softer, something unreadable.

“What?” you asked, trying to sound casual.

Satoru tilted his head, his silver-white hair catching in the glow of the streetlights. “Nothing.”

A lie.

Because there was something—so much something—wrapped up in the way his eyes flickered over you, lingering for just a second too long on your lips before he looked ahead again.

The air between you felt tight, humming with something unsaid.

You were nearing his dorm now, the pathway growing quieter, fewer students passing by. It was just the two of you, footsteps slowing, the night pressing in close.

Satoru exhaled a slow breath, and then—without thinking, or maybe because he had been thinking about it too much—he reached out again. This time, his fingers laced through yours, not just a brush, not just an accident. A deliberate touch, a quiet declaration.

Your breath caught, and you felt him squeeze—just slightly, just enough.

“You okay?” he murmured, his voice low, like he wasn’t sure he should be asking.

You nodded, your mouth suddenly dry. “Yeah. You?”

His lips twitched, like he wanted to smirk, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Dunno,” he said, squeezing your fingers again. “You’re kind of distracting.”

Your stomach flipped, heat crawling up your neck. “Oh, I’m distracting? That’s rich, coming from you.”

He huffed a laugh, the sound warm, teasing. “No, I mean it.” He stopped walking, tugging you gently by the hand so you turned to face him. “You ever notice how quiet things get when it’s just us?”

You blinked, your throat tightening. “Satoru—”

His free hand lifted, his fingertips barely skimming your jaw. He wasn’t quite touching, just there, like he was still giving you room to pull away. Like he wasn’t sure if he should close the space between you.

And God, you wanted him to.

Your pulse pounded in your ears. It would be so easy. Just one step closer. Just one little push, and—

Satoru exhaled sharply through his nose, his hand falling away, his fingers untangling from yours. He took a step back, running a hand through his hair. “Never mind,” he muttered, laughing under his breath like he was scolding himself. “Forget I said anything.”

Your fingers twitched at your sides, the absence of his touch making your skin feel cold.

“No,” you said, firmer than you expected. “I don’t want to.”

His head snapped up, eyes wide, startled. “You don’t?”

You took a breath, steeling yourself. “No.”

Satoru stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a low chuckle, he shook his head. “You really are impossible.”

And then, before you could overthink it, before you could talk yourself out of it—you stepped forward, pressing your palm against his chest, fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his hoodie. His breath hitched, his body going still under your touch.

The silence stretched again, thick and unyielding.

“Say it,” you whispered.

His hands hovered at your sides, not quite touching, but close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him. “Say what?”

You looked up at him, unflinching. “Whatever it is you’re holding back.”

Satoru exhaled, a sharp, unsteady thing. His hands finally settled on your waist, hesitant at first—then firmer, more certain. His fingers pressed into your hips, grounding himself in the feel of you.

And then, his voice—low, raw, real.

“I don’t want to be just your best friend anymore.”

Your breath caught.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The words hung between you, heavy and dangerous and everything.

Then, Satoru leaned in, his nose just barely brushing yours, his lips hovering so close. His breath was warm, and when he spoke again, it was barely a whisper.

“I want more.”

And then, finally—finally—you closed the space between you.

The kiss wasn’t tentative. It wasn’t shy. It was hungry, desperate, like the both of you had been waiting too long to do this, like neither of you wanted to waste another second. His lips crashed against yours, and you gasped against his mouth as he backed you up against the door of his dorm, hands gripping your waist tighter like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

Your fingers curled into his hoodie, tugging him closer, feeling the heat of him seep into you. His body pressed against yours, and the air between you turned thick with something intoxicating, something impossible to stop now that it had started. The small, breathless noises you made against his mouth only seemed to push him further, his fingers sliding under the hem of your shirt, thumbs brushing over your bare skin, warm and firm and so much.

The door behind you dug into your back, and for a fleeting moment, a thought broke through the haze—what if someone sees us?

As if he could read your mind, Satoru groaned against your lips, impatient, and without breaking the kiss, he reached behind you, fumbling for the handle. The second the door swung open, he practically pulled you inside with him, kicking it shut before his lips were on yours again, urgent, demanding.

You barely had a second to catch your breath before he was guiding you backwards, hands never leaving your body, mouth never straying too far from yours. You stumbled together, his grip firm, his kisses growing deeper, hotter, more insistent as you moved through the dark room.

By the time you reached the bedroom, your pulse was a wild, unsteady thing, your skin burning under his touch.

His mouth was warm and soft against yours, kissing your lips like he was afraid you were gonna disappear. Using his strength to his advantage, he manhandled you into his lap on the bed, while he sat up against the headboard. His tongue prodded into your mouth experimentally, and when you obliged him entry, he swirled it around with yours before licking into the cavern of your mouth, tasting you as if you were one of those sickeningly sweet delicacies he enjoyed.

His hands roamed from your waist to your hips, to your thighs before stopping hesitantly over your ass, to which you dragged them down until he was squeezing and kneading the supple flesh with his hands, mouth slotted against yours.

You pulled back slightly, gasping for air, your chest rising and falling as you tried to catch your breath. But Satoru didn’t let you go far. His hands were firm on your ass, keeping you anchored to him as his lips trailed wet, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw. The sensation sent a shiver down your spine, and you tilted your head to give him better access, your fingers tangling in his hair.

His mouth moved lower, pressing hot, lingering kisses along the column of your neck. Each touch of his lips against your skin felt like fire, and you couldn’t suppress the soft moan that escaped your throat. His hands slid up your sides, his touch firm but gentle, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. One hand came to rest on the small of your back, pulling you closer, while the other cupped the curve of your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

“Satoru,” you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper, but he didn’t respond—not with words, anyway. Instead, he captured your lips again in a desperate, hungry kiss that left you dizzy. His tongue slid against yours, and you melted into him, your hands gripping his shoulders for balance as the world around you seemed to fade away.

His hands roamed your body with a kind of urgency, as if he couldn’t get enough of you. One moment they were in your hair, the next sliding down your back, pulling you even closer until there was no space left between you. You could feel the heat of his body through the thin fabric of his shirt, and you tugged at it impatiently, wanting—needing—to feel his skin against yours.

He broke the kiss long enough to yank his shirt over his head, tossing it aside before his lips were on yours again, more insistent this time. His hands found the hem of your top, and you lifted your arms without hesitation, letting him pull it off and discard it somewhere on the floor. The cool air of the room hit your skin, but it did nothing to quell the heat building inside you.

Satoru’s hands were everywhere—tracing the curve of your waist, skimming over your ribs, brushing the underside of your breast under your bra. You arched into him, chasing the friction, desperate for more.

His mouth found yours again, urgent and unrelenting, his tongue sliding against yours in a slow, deliberate stroke that left you breathless. He kissed you like he wanted to consume you, like he didn’t care about anything else but this—you.

Your fingers tightened in his hair, your breaths mingling, heavy and uneven. Every kiss, every touch, every press of his hands left you dizzy, lost in the haze of heat and want.

And when he pulled back, just enough to look at you, his pupils blown wide and his lips swollen from kissing, you swore you’d never seen him look at anything the way he was looking at you now.

Like you were the only thing that had ever mattered.

Both of your chests were heaving, your own shirt flung on the bed somewhere and Satoru’s completely off and forgotten somewhere on the floor. His hands were still settled on your waist, thumbs tracing slow circles over your heated skin. His head lolled back against the couch, a lazy, satisfied grin stretching across his lips.

“Damn,” he exhaled, voice slightly hoarse. “I think I saw the pearly gates for a second there.”

You scoffed, giving his shoulder a weak shove, while reaching for your shirt. “Dramatic.”

He only laughed, the sound bright and breathless. “I mean it, nerd. Who knew you had it in you?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, fingers curling against his shoulders. “Satoru.”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

His grin widened, but he obeyed—for all of two seconds. Then, with a teasing glint in his eyes, he waggled his brows. “You know, we should really make this a regular thing. Like, for health purposes. I feel like I just did an entire cardio session.”

You smacked his arm. “Oh my god.”

He gasped in mock offense, pressing a hand to his bare chest. “See? That was uncalled for. Here I am, trying to improve my well-being, and you’re—”

“Satoru.” You fixed him with a look, but the corners of your lips twitched. He was impossible.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating under your fingertips. “Okay, okay, I’ll be good.” His grip on your waist tightened slightly, as if to ground himself—or maybe to keep you exactly where you were. “But… just so we’re clear, this isn’t, like, a one-time thing, right?”

You blinked, his sudden shift in tone catching you off guard. His usual playfulness was still there, but there was something else beneath it—something genuine, something careful.

You swallowed. “What do you mean?”

His gaze flickered over your face, searching. “I mean…” He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck before looking at you again. “I was serious, you know. About liking you. More than a friend.”

Your breath hitched. “You were?”

Satoru scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Obviously. You think I just let anyone straddle me and—”

You smacked his chest. “Can you not ruin the moment?”

He caught your wrist before you could pull away, lacing his fingers through yours. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, quieter. “I was serious,” he repeated. “I am serious.” His thumb brushed over your knuckles. “I like you, and I want to do this properly.”

Your heart thudded against your ribs. “Properly?”

He nodded, suddenly looking almost shy. “Like… an actual date. Multiple dates. Boyfriend privileges. All that cute shit.” His lips curled into a lopsided grin. “So, what do you say?”

Your stomach flipped, warmth spreading through your chest. “You’re actually asking me out?”

Satoru huffed a laugh. “Well, yeah. What, you thought I’d just kiss you senseless and leave you hanging?”

You bit your lip, pretending to think. “I dunno. You are kind of a menace.”

His brows shot up. “A menace?”

You giggled, and he groaned, tightening his grip on your waist. “Okay, that’s it, you’re legally required to say yes now.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the smile stretching across your lips. “Yes, Satoru. I’ll go out with you.”

His face lit up, and before you could say anything else, he was kissing you again, arms wrapping fully around your waist. He shifted, rolling you onto the bed so he was hovering over you, his weight pressed deliciously against yours.

“Guess that makes you my girlfriend now,” he murmured against your lips. “Which means—” His fingers trailed down your side, teasing. “—I get unlimited make-out privileges.”

You huffed a laugh. “You’re so weird.”

“Would you like it if I said sex privileges too?”

“I’m gonna seriously hurt you—“

Satoru only smirked before cutting you off with another kiss.

—

A few months into dating Satoru, you realised three things.

One, he had absolutely no concept of personal space. If he was near you, he was touching you—whether it was throwing an arm over your shoulder, draping himself across your lap, or trapping you against a wall just to say hi like a complete menace.

Two, he was shamelessly, overwhelmingly, ridiculously obsessed with you. If he wasn’t texting you, he was calling. If he wasn’t calling, he was physically finding you. And if he couldn’t find you, he’d send a stupidly dramatic voice memo about how he was “perishing” without you.

And three, he was always teasing. Always testing his limits, pushing your buttons, flashing that damn smug grin whenever you got flustered.

Like right now.

“I think you should stay over.”

You blinked up at him from where you were curled up on his bed, wearing one of his hoodies that was way too big for you. “I am staying over.”

Satoru huffed, rolling onto his side and propping himself up on his elbow. “No, I mean, like, actually stay over. Move in.”

You snorted. “Satoru.”

“What? I’m serious.” He nudged your knee with his own. “Just think about it. That trust fund has enough money— actually maybe more— for an apartment near college. We basically live together anyway.”

“Not even close.”

He scoffed. “Oh, please. You leave clothes here, you steal my hoodies—”

“They’re practically dresses on me.”

“—and you’re here more than you’re at your own place.”

“That’s a lie.”

Satoru gasped dramatically. “Oh, so I’m imagining you in my bed every night?”

Your face warmed, but you shot him a glare. “You’re exaggerating.”

He only grinned, scooting closer until your noses nearly brushed. “You love sleeping here,” he drawled. “You love my bed, you love my cuddles, you love this d—”

You smacked a hand over his mouth, but it barely muffled his muffled laughter.

“I swear to God, Satoru—”

Before you could finish, he grabbed your wrist and flipped you onto your back, caging you beneath him in one smooth motion. His weight was just enough to make your breath hitch, his silver lashes casting shadows over sharp blue eyes.

“You love me,” he finished, his voice dipping lower, teasing, smug.

Your stomach flipped.

“…Debatable,” you muttered.

Satoru barked out a laugh. “Debatable?” He leaned down, nuzzling into your neck as his hands slid under his hoodie, warm palms settling against your waist. “You’re literally in my bed wearing my clothes right now.”

Your breath stuttered as he pressed a slow, deliberate kiss just below your ear.

“Admit it,” he murmured. “You’re obsessed with me.”

You sucked in a sharp breath, your fingers gripping his bare shoulders. “Satoru—”

“I mean, I don’t blame you.” He grinned against your skin, pressing another kiss, this one lower. “I am insanely hot.”

You groaned. “You ruin everything.”

Satoru laughed, bright and breathless, before rolling over, pulling you fully on top of him with ease. His hands never left your waist, fingertips dancing over your skin in slow, lazy patterns.

Then he suddenly reached behind him, grabbed something off the nightstand, and slid his glasses onto his face.

You blinked. “I thought you preferred contacts now?”

Satoru hummed, adjusting them slightly as he gazed up at you. “Yeah, but I dunno…” His lips curled into a small, lopsided smile. “You always liked me better in these, didn’t you?”

Your breath hitched slightly. He wasn’t wrong—there was something about the way his glasses framed his face, how they softened him just a little, made him look more like the Satoru you’d known before he became everyone else’s.

“…You’re so full of yourself,” you muttered.

His grin widened. “And yet, you’re still staring.”

You scoffed, reaching up to pluck them off his face, but he caught your wrist, tugging you down until your noses brushed.

“Admit it,” he murmured. “You like me better like this.”

Your heart pounded against your ribs.

“I like you anyway,” you admitted, barely above a whisper.

Something flickered in his eyes—something soft, something warm—before his grin turned teasing again. “Good,” he said, rolling you onto your back in one smooth motion. “Because I was gonna keep you here all night either way.”

You barely managed to mutter, “You’re so weird,” before he cut you off with another kiss.

i don't like this work at ALL lol but tbh i wrote this because i want to be wanted UGH hdhjsdh

[iridescentrays]

Satoru was the guy you had a crush on since middle school, and it stuck with you all through high school. Even after graduation, you still couldn’t stop thinking about him.

He was the guy who teased you endlessly. The one who knew exactly what to say to get you all riled up, just for him. He also knew and appreciated how you always helped him with classwork or homework.

He was the typical football jock that the cheerleaders fawned over, the one they dreamt of wearing his jersey to his games. They’d throw themselves at him at any chance given.

But Satoru, unbeknownst to you, only had eyes for you. And it pained him to see how oblivious you were. Couldn’t you see?

Satoru, who walked you to class every day. He’d wait outside your door and walk you to class, or carry your books or backpack for you—but friends do that, right?

God, everyone saw it but you.

But how could you? When every cheerleader wanted him, and he just couldn’t help being a natural flirt, and every time you saw it, it broke your heart even more.

So when you were moving schools, part of you was relieved.

You didn’t tell him though. Why would you? To make a promise you knew neither of you would keep?

It wasn’t until after high school graduation that you found out he did, in fact, like you. That he was devastated that you left, that he never got to give you his jersey, or take you to prom.

And of course, this ruined you, because oh, how badly did you want all that? You wanted that teen romance, but now, at 20, you found yourself thinking more about your priorities rather than some silly, stupid crush (even though you were crashing out every night thinking about him).

Satoru, who you happened to run into at the local store, made you panic and run to your car, hiding. You couldn’t have left any faster.

Satoru, whose name popped up on your lock screen.

satorugojo has requested to follow

a/n: this was ib one of my friends irl experience.

[iridescentrays]

if you had asked what gojo satoru's favorite color was, he'd passionately say it's pink. you might find yourself a little bit confused-- pink? you've never seen gojo wear pink before, hell, even talk about it. it seems so out of the blue. in fact, you might've assumed it was that very color. and if you were anywhere but inside the enigma that is gojo satoru's mind, you probably would have asked why. he'd give you a half-assed answer, something along the lines of 'pretty pink sunsets along the coast of japan', or perhaps the cherry blossom season in spring.

but if you were to ask him on a deeper level, in that secret little corner of his heart he keeps hidden from the world, he'd tell you that pink is his favorite color because it's the shade your cheeks turn when he's nearby. when he holds your hand, or gently rests his head on your shoulder, your cheeks bloom with a soft, tender pink—a color so delicate and beautiful that he's fallen completely in love with it. it's a shade he cherishes more than anything else, and if you told him there was a prettier hue he'd simply refuse to believe you.

and so maybe, just maybe, on the extra bad days where he feels like everything is completely worthless, he'll find his arms slinking around your waist and burying his head in the safety of your neck, just to feel your heartbeat quicken and your face turn that color he admires most in this world. and maybe it makes his everything hurt a little less.

perhaps one day he'll tell you why he loves pink so much. but for now, he keeps that little secret to himself, holding it close to his heart, a precious thing for him to cherish alone.

© SUNTORU 2022-2024. do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works on any platform.

[iridescentrays]

— 𝒾𝒸𝑒 𝒸𝑜𝓁𝒹 ౨ৎ

itoshi rin x reader. 2k wc. ﾉ fluff ﾉ college au ﾉ reader wears a skirt ﾉ mentions of an injury + a little blood

you aren’t one to believe in silly superlatives, but the last few months have helped you understand why itoshi rin is regarded as the most unapproachable student on campus.

he works alone and during the moments when he’s required to collaborate, the man is incredibly blunt. outside of class, you rarely see him accompanied by anyone other than his team and even then he never seems thrilled to be around them. the aloof expression he constantly wears only solidifies everyone’s perception of him—everyone’s but yours.

you’re a firm believer that people are more than they let on and rin is no different. beneath his frigid exterior, there’s something more. at least, that’s what you’ve been telling yourself for the last several weeks. if you weren’t convinced, how else would you explain your efforts of getting close to him?

you’re on a mission, one to see if you can chip away, thaw, the icy exterior that encases itoshi rin.

“rin!” you shout, but your call doesn’t elicit any sort of response—he doesn’t pause, doesn’t turn his head, just keeps walking as though your voice is nothing more than a gust of wind. his disregard fails to deter you as you pick up your pace to catch up with rin’s long strides. it takes a bit but when you finally do, you smile and link your arm with his. you look up at him before asking, “hey, didn’t you hear me calling your name?”

“i did. i was just ignoring you.” his teal eyes finally spare you a short glance before he’s shaking you off, pulling his arm out of your hold and stuffing his hand in the pocket of his long, beige coat. it’s you again, he thinks.

you remind him of something—a gnat, that’s it. small and bothersome but easy to swat away. though, just like them, you always seem to make your way back. he’s grown used to your repeated appearances, even if he finds them slightly inconvenient.

“this is why you don’t have any friends, you know.” you sigh, the stream of air that leaves your mouth visible as a foggy cloud in front of you. you peer up at him through your eyelashes. “you’re so cold.”

he’s silent in response to your statement and you expected as much. still, you send him a smile and continue talking. “i’m willing to look past that, though. what are you doing now?”

“going home.” rin hopes his answer is enough to dispel whatever thought is brewing in your head.

“perfect! so you���re free.” he turns to you with a frown. what part of “going home” gave you the impression that he had nothing else to do? “wanna go get sushi? it’s on campus so we wouldn’t have to go far.”

“no thanks.” he looks away to finalize his answer.

“aw, come on, rin.” if you’re going to get anywhere, you can’t keep letting him brush you off. “it doesn’t have to be sushi,” you try to bargain, but he doesn’t budge, only continues toward his destination.

maybe you should just drop it, try again another time, but your body has other ideas. you take a few quick steps forward so you’re standing in front of rin. you’re walking partially backward as your next words come out. “we can get whatever you w-”

the ground beneath your feet doesn’t feel as stable as it did a moment ago, it’s slippery now, enough to make you lose your balance. you slide forward on a patch of ice before the concrete is back under you. the bottoms of your shoes catch on the roughness of the ground, launching your forward. your knees and the heels of your palms skim the sidewalk, drawing a pained gasp from your lungs.

“shit, are you okay?” rin’s voice cuts through the air, and it’s closer than it was when you were upright. you turn your head to find his face right beside yours. his eyes are zoned in on your hands and you swear you can see a glint of concern pass over them.

“i’m fine,” you tell him, sitting back on your knees and painting on a smile to cover up the pain. you shake your hands at the wrist but the cool air only bites at your open wounds. “it just stings a little.”

you’re a lousy liar, rin thinks. did you think he wouldn’t notice the breath of air you sucked in just now? blue-green irises scan over your hands and knees. the fall was enough to tear your tights and break the skin. there’s blood slowly pooling from the surface of each scratch.

“come on,” rin sighs, straightening up and shrugging his coat off his shoulders. you stare up at him with lips parted in confusion. he jerks his head in a silent gesture for you to stand up.

“where are we going?” you ask, carefully boosting yourself up from off the ground.

“to my apartment.” he glances at your outfit before holding out his coat to you. “put this on.”

you want to ask him why but you figure your constant questioning will put him off. you keep your lips sealed as you accept his coat, slinging it over your much thinner zip-up. your eyes dart back to where he’s standing—or where he was standing. he’s not there anymore but it only takes a tilt of your head to find him. he’s bent at the knee in front of you and his arm reaches over his shoulder to pat his back. “get on.”

your eyes widen in a mixture of surprise and triumph. the gesture itself catches you off guard—before now, it was hard to ever picture rin being so… helpful, chivalrous. on the other hand, this is the first of what you hope becomes many wins in your pursuit of melting away what you think is his frosty façade.

a quiet laugh pushes past your lips as you bend down to wrap your arms around rin’s neck. he hooks his hands under your knees, a low grunt rumbling in his chest as he rises up from his position.

you can’t help but think it would be a lot colder if you weren’t wearing rin’s coat. maybe you should have taken a look at the weather before you decided to put a skirt on this morning. it’s only then that it strikes you—he didn’t give you the jacket to keep you warm, he gave it to you to keep you covered. if the length of the outerwear wasn’t draped over your legs, this piggyback ride would be a lot more compromising.

your cheeks and the tips of your ears are flaming hot compared to the nip of the cold air. you aren’t sure if you’re flustered because of the close call or the fact that rin was attentive and considerate enough to protect your decency. he’s a lot more thoughtful than he puts on.

despite your fall being entirely unintentional, you have to say, the timing couldn’t have been better. the walk to rin’s apartment isn’t far at all and if you hadn’t found a way to stop him, you wouldn’t have gotten through to him today.

with you still on his back, rin fishes out his keys from his pocket, sticking one into the keyhole and twisting until a click signals that the front door is unlocked. you can’t see far into the apartment over his shoulder, but the kitchen and the little glimpse of the living room are exactly what you expected—neat. there are no dirty dishes littered about the counters and the blanket hanging over the back of the couch is tidily folded.

the bathroom is directly to the right of the entrance and rin nudges the door open with his foot to allow the both of you in. he kneels in front of the toilet, setting you down on the closed lid. you survey the scratches on your palms as rin washes his hands and grabs the first-aid kit he keeps under the sink. he kneels down in front of you to start treating the scrapes on your knees.

the process is a silent one, rin’s focus solely on cleaning your wounds. the silence makes you want to squirm but the thought of being reprimanded by rin keeps you glued to your spot. his presence is always overwhelming but much less so when it’s accompanied by conversation. so, you speak, “this is your fault, you know.”

he stills for a split second before continuing, but you don’t miss the way his eyebrows knit together. “how is you slipping my fault?”

you bite your lip to hold back a laugh. the empty statement was merely a poor attempt at filling the silence, but you’re beginning to think that you can use this to your advantage. “i was just trying to be nice and invite you out. if you agreed to lunch with me, this all would have been avoidable.”

rin clicks his tongue. he knows what you’re doing; you’re trying to guilt trip him, make him feel bad. and he does, he recognizes—but not for the reasons you think. he’s never been particularly benevolent but something drove him to act today, something he can’t quite put his finger on. all he can say for sure is that he wouldn’t be doing this for just anyone.

“don’t worry, though.” your voice brings rin back to reality from his thoughts. his teal gaze lands on your face and you smile. it’s pretty, the thinks, but there’s a gleam in your eyes that isn’t as sweet. “i know how you can make it up to me.”

“am i not doing that now?” he asks as he finishes bandaging your second knee.

you ignore his question, holding your palms up at rin’s nod toward them. “i’ll forgive you if you take me up on my offer. going out for lunch, i mean.”

a gnat. persistent and pesky.

“what makes you think i want your forgiveness?” his words, the bluntness of them, starkly contrasts his touch. the lithe finger applying antibiotic ointment to your torn skin is gentle, tender even.

“maybe you don’t,” you hum curiously. you were sure he would have given in by now but his resolve was starting to seem unbreakable. there’s one strategy you have left, one you were hoping you wouldn’t have to turn to. although, you suppose you could always go back on your word. and rin didn’t have to know that.

you clear your throat resolutely in hopes that your next statement comes out smoothly. “i’ll leave you alone if you humor me this once.”

rin almost snorts. he highly doubts that will be the case with your track record and all. despite his skepticism, he doesn’t immediately jump to rejecting you and the lack of a prompt “no” surprises you both.

rin sticks the last square band-aid to your hand while he contemplates your proposal. something about this unplanned interaction has surfaced unfamiliar feelings from the depths of his heart. he still doesn’t understand why he decided to lend you a helping hand, but he figures there must have been a reason—one that he’ll come closer to finding out if he swallows his pride and agrees to your outing.

“fine.” he sits back on his heels, letting his hands rest on his thighs.

you blink at the one-word answer. “fine?”

“that’s what i said.” rin stands up from his place on the floor and starts toward the door. he looks over his shoulder to see you still seated. “come on before i change my mind.”

it would be dumb of you to miss this opportunity—the one that you had sacrificed your physical well-being and a pair of cute tights for—all because you’re awestruck. so you quickly stand and scurry over to rin with a satisfied grin.

you can feel him tense beside you when you loop your arm through his once more. “i knew you’d warm up to me.”

thanks for reading! if u enjoyed, please consider reblogging or commenting ❤︎

[iridescentrays]

love locket!

keeping you in his locket when he can’t keep you with him by his hand

itoshi rin x reader: fluff, drabble, comfort, longing, established rs, not proofread + likes and reblogs are appreciated!

rin remembers the first time you clicked the chain around his neck, a cold metallic string stinging his skin with its low temperature in contrast to his burning and red neck from the lack of distance between the two of you, hands fiddling with the heart locket at the front, looking up at the glittering heart underneath the low lights of your bedroom.

rin has never been too much of an accessory person, it’s a trouble he thinks, removing it before games and whatnot - discarded watches by his water bottle that gets left in the dust of his bedroom stand, hair pins requested by his teachers that get lost in the mess of his bag that are long forgotten by the time he steps on field, glasses that he finds little use for that he leaves in his case in a random drawer when he already has you. but rin supposes, it wont be too much - when he looks at your pleading face and lets the necklace hang around his neck, almost as though your icy hands are wrapping around his neck as you always do from the back. and he’s not too surprised when you open the locket cheekily and place that mini polaroid of you and him into the small heart locket: its characteristic of you, doing things like this. and its certainly no trouble when he thinks of the assosciation, that youre always with him in the little necklace he’s sure he’ll wear every second of his life, that you’re never too far in contrast to everyone who feels like they’re a million kilometers away, that youre his heart that keeps him breathing.

he likes it. strangely enough. rin likes the way the silver heart locket looks in contrast to his black uniform, black hair, and black shoes as though youre right on him, he likes the way it feels comforting when he holds it as though he’s holding you that warms his fragile heart, he likes the way it clicks open easily for him to glance at you and him whenever you can’t be with him: different classes, different clubs, different release time and what not. and rin thinks he learns something too: he learns that he likes your face a little too much that it resembles an art piece to him with the way his fingers traces softly along your features, something that he knows he’s too flustered to do in real life, he learns that this might be his new lucky charm with the way he kisses both the polaroid inside and the heart locket before each game and wins whenever he does so, he learns too that he’s strangely protective over it, using his hand to protect it and holding onto the back click of it whenever he feels it weaken a little and eventually fixing it in his bedroom late at night despite his strict schedule set for himself.

a simple gesture of love turns out to be his saving grace. rin’s never being that clingy he thinks - ignoring the way he practically clings to you like a koala bear and drools in his sleep whenever he naps with you after school before football club starts, ignoring the way he interlocks your hands and his whenever youre outside with him whether on an actual date or just walking home with him, ignoring the way he can’t stop refreshing your social media pages and messages for a hint of you. but yet, when he’s stuck here all alone in the blue lock, he’s never been more grateful for this little locket that keeps him sane. like a prayer, rin looks at that photo of you, memorising the smile lines on your face that he thinks resemble the finest museum pieces, the crescent shaped eyes that closes whenever you beam this bright like the sun of his universe, as though feeling that same arm in the picture that wraps around the him in the photo in real life too — when he goes to bed in pure darkness with only his ipad brightness underneath the blankets and wake up inconspicuously away from his roommates prying eyes, before, with nerves all jittery underneath the facade he shows with water drank still dripping down his mouth that he’s so used to you wiping away and after each match in the locker room, sweat dripping down his face and neck, his head dizzy with adrenaline still pumping through him as he shakily opens the locket and unconsciously smiles at your face, before and after he eats as though grateful for you to providing him food. rin wonders if you’re doing the same - looking through the piles of photos you hogged as though a squirrel before winter of him: candid photos, 0.5x zoom photos, couple photos, refreshing his chats waiting for him desperately to reply like a lovesick fool too, fiddling with that identical matching heart locket featuring the exact same photo.

rin wonders too: in the future, would it still be the same? when he’s overseas playing, will he too do the same? treating this heart locket like a secret treasure, opening it day and night and having to find someone to eventually fix it when the heart disconnects from the chain with the amount of times he opens it as though he’s a lonely maiden waiting for you to come home from war in the past history, treating his heart locket as another extension of oyu with the way he caresses it with his fingers, kissing the photo delicately and wiping carefully any stains that lingers on the metal: things that he’s too shy he thinks to do, treating his heart locket as you practically, whispering unsaid confessions and words at night while holding the heart locket right to his heart as though swearing an oath.

you and him are still young: rin knows this. yet, he can’t help but feel helpless this way. insecurities — whilst youre out with your friends from school during this holiday going to malls, beaches, sleepovers and whatnot, he’s trapped in this facility that feels more and more claustrophobic each day. will you forget him one day? will he one day be forced to choose between you and his passion? and hes back to opening that love locket for reassurance: that you gave this to him because you love him, because you don’t want him to miss you too much over this break, because you want him to remember you the way he needs you to remember him. if anything, he still feels like the teenager in love with you: it was just yesterday to rin that he confessed to you right in your bedroom that hes been in since he was a little kid as though a second room for him lying right beside you, not even fully understanding the word yet, it was just yesterday to rin when he cried for the first time in his life right outside your doorstep as he felt your arms wrapped around him as snow falls on both of you: and he swears you were his angel that night, and it was just yesterday that you sent him off to this blue lock facility for one chance in succeeding in this shared dream of you and rin.

and when your hands finally wrapped around him, for the first time, rin lets down his pride and whatever that’s left of him after that humiliating defeat by yoichi, and throws himself on you, wrapping his arms uncharacteristically around you. he doesn’t hesitate either this time, his hands lingering and tracing your arms, and then your face as he leans in: studying and comparing your new changes in contrast to that polaroid in his heart locket: your cheeks have gotten chubbier, your hair has grown a little longer and curlier during the break, and you’ve gotten a new pair of coat in contrast to the usual white coat you sport. and things he doesn’t do: pressing a kiss on your lips and melting right into it just as he did when he kisses your polaroid before and after each match, melting into the way your still cold hands wraps around his very being just like how it was right in that polaroid, looking at you with the same amount of lovesickness in his eyes the same way it was captured in that polaroid. right now, youre real: youre not just a polaroid in his heart locket, and he prefers that.

rin doesn’t mind being embarrassing or cringe: he just wants you. no heart locket could replace you, he thinks. you’ve changed so much just in a few months, and he loathes the fact that he didn’t see it happen: when you first learnt how to curl your hair, when you first bought your new coat, when you first started playing that game you text him about. and he knows it’ll be all he feels: when he leaves japan to pursue his dreams: he’ll miss your graduation possibly with games going on the same time as then, he’ll miss you turning eighteen too and same with you when he turns eighteen in a locker room preparing for another match, nd he’ll miss anniversaries physically, only calling you and buying you gifts from afar. and he hates that, he hates it like a little kid, he hates this yearning and longing and burning in his heart.

and he thinks, a love locket isn’t enough. hes always too much: as a kid when he destroys his and others toys in the playground and at home, as a teen when no one else caught up to his instinct on field, as a teen with too much baggage and personality for his peers to get to know beneath the surface. its selfish: rin wants to grow old with you: he wants this to last an eternity — hell, he doesn’t mind tying the knot now, make a paper ring the same ways he did right in class unknowing of this love burning in his chest, and maybe on impulse to give up his whole career and aspiration just for him to be able to stay.

but for now, he’ll smile and kiss you right as the polaroid goes off: tucking the paper right in his now slightly rusted love locket.

[iridescentrays]

you and satoru decide pretty quickly that you want your daughter’s ears pierced.

she’s a gorgeous baby; bright blue eyes and soft white hair just like her father. her nose and lips are your genetic touch, and satoru insists that it’s your features that make her look so adorable.

you’d asked your husband what he thought about getting her ears pierced so young, and obviously he thought it was a great idea - his two favourite girls should match earrings.

and so, once she’s old enough, the two of you bring her to a store to get her ears done.

satoru has her sat on his lap, entertaining her as you spoke with the piercer about the placing and colour of the earrings. he talks to her like he can understand her baby babble; no one understands his daughter better than he does.

eventually, the time comes, and the piercer lines up the piercing gun with your daughter’s ear after marking the spot with temporary ink. she’s giggling gleefully, trying to grab hold of the piercer’s hair.

satou’s anxiety is on high, he doesn’t want his daughter to flinch and cause an injury that no one wants. the peircer seems nice enough though, and her friendly smile coupled with your hand on his shoulder and his baby’s laughter settles his nerves marginally.

but he speaks too soon.

the minute the metal pierces her skin, your daughter instantly breaks into tears, twisting her small body toward her daddy as she lets out dramatic screeches of pain. satoru’s heart sinks immediately, large hands gently trying to soothe his daughter - her tiny ones fist his shirt like a lifeline.

she cries and cries like she’s dying, and satoru feels his soul bleed.

“daddy’s sorry, baby,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to her forehead, “it’ll go away soon. i wish i could help you, sweets.”

but she’s having none of it, crying harder when he tries to put her back into position. he feels his own eyes sting; his heart aches from being unable to take away his precious daughter’s pain.

his eyes snap up to your face, hoping you’ll have some insight on how to help her. you’re smiling fondly, softly pinching her cheeks in effort to distract her from the pain.

“don’t be dramatic,” you scold sweetly, dropping into a crouch to press sloppy kisses to her chubby cheeks.

she hiccups, letting her father’s shirt go in favour of trying to grab your nose instead. her cries turn into wet giggles within a few seconds and satoru feels relief fill his veins.

you look up at him with a raised eyebrow, “i mean you, mister.”

it takes him a full second to realize that there are tears rolling down his face, and he quickly wipes his eyes in embarrassment. he hears the piercer giggle; may the ground open up and swallow him whole.

“you’re such a baby,” you say, but your heart felt so full - your husband just cried at his daughter getting her ears pierced? you were never going to let him live that down.

satoru doesn’t say anything, obediently allowing you to tilt his head back to meet you in a kiss. through the salty taste of his tears and your fingers holding his throat he doesn’t even notice when the piercer approaches again, quietly lining up with the other dot.

she looks to you for consent, and you give a subtle nod as you continue to distract your husband with kisses. he breaks it in surprise when he feels your daughter flinch, though this time there’s no wails.

he looks down. her face is scrunched up in effort not to cry, cheeks puffed up as she looks up at her father proudly as if to say: look, daddy, i didn’t cry that time!

he feels his eyes fill up again. his head drops to rest on his daughter, kissing her all over her face and eliciting a series of giggles.

“that’s my girl,” he boasts proudly, grinning wide while bouncing her on his knee, “i knew you could do it!”

he hears you laugh from the counter, “you cried the most, satoru.”

he scoffs, picking the baby up and nuzzling his face against hers, “i don’t know how you didn’t! her cries broke my heart!”

[iridescentrays]

gojo satoru who’s barely home because of his busy missions

gojo satoru who feels bad because he leaves you alone at home frequently because of missions

gojo satoru who one day got the idea of getting you a pet to cure your boredom whenever he’s not there

gojo satoru who think it’s a good idea to get you a fluffy white ragdoll cat with the brightest bluest eye although he is a dog person

gojo satoru who told you “in case you miss me so much just look and cuddle the cat” because of its striking resemblance to him

gojo satoru who lets you name the cat however you want

gojo satoru who’s heart melt at the sight of the feline laying near your feet at night as if it’s on guard and trying to protect you — he says that that’s his smart little cat

gojo satoru who makes puns about the little feline calling it meowjo catoru or making it cosplay him by putting sunglasses on the cat

gojo satoru who on his day-offs spends time with you and your now best feline friend — usually it’s him messing with your cat and trying to teach it tricks

gojo satoru who acts like a proud dad when his cat hissed and tried to attack a low leveled curse that’s getting too close to you while going on a walk with you and him

gojo satoru who’s all in all very joyous about the additional family member — he calls the cat his baby

a/n: this is for every catoru lovers because im smitten with catoru! also i haven’t been updating much lately because my sleep schedule is kinda messed up

[iridescentrays]

Starting an internship at the company Satoru’s father owns but you don’t know who he is just yet.

He’s annoying. He always comes back from lunch late, lets his phone ring at his desk (that’s conveniently placed next to yours) past the three ring policy, writes emails with silly and immature sign-offs, cracks jokes during meetings, and somehow, despite always finishing his paperwork late, he never manages to lose his damn job.

You try to mind your own business. But you can’t help but feel him slowly grate at your nerves as he acts so unprofessional and for some weird reason, not one person seems to care.

He seems pretty intrigued with you, too, if matters couldn’t get worse.

“Hey,” he grins. You try to ignore the tilt of his lips in amusement as you just barely fight off rolling your eyes.

“Can I help you with something?” You sigh, “I’m currently in the middle of something that requires my full attention, but maybe we could—”

“You really love your office jargon,” he hums, cutting you off with a wider grin, “so dedicated.”

“Oh, my apologies,” you smile tightly. He seems to straighten a little, some sick, twisted form of excitement rushing through his system at the way he seems to get under your skin. “Allow me to use simpler language for you to understand: go away, I’m busy.”

Someone has to stand up to this prick, you think. He puts in half the effort, and somehow, you’re pretty sure your boss has a soft spot for him. You don’t understand it, and quite frankly, you’ll be damned if a lazy, lackluster man snags a promotion before your hardworking self.

“Oh wow,” he snorts, “breaking your strictly professional streak, are you? You must be really occupied. I guess I’ll borrow your stapler later.”

Gritting your teeth, you give him yet another tight lipped smile before grabbing the stapler off your desk and handing it to him. (A small part of you resists the urge to throw it square at his face. Maybe the image of him on the floor with a bloodied nose would make your day a little easier, but then you’re sure you’d be jobless).

“Here you go,” you say with as much kindness as you can muster. (It’s not a lot). “Please do bring it back when you’re done. Some of us actually complete paper work, so the stapler is a necessity.”

“Oh yeah?” He tilts his head, eyes sparkling with mischief, “don’t worry, I won’t hold your stapler hostage for too long. I wouldn’t want to disrupt the flow of your productivity.”

You watch with wary eyes as he walks back to his desk, stapling some small, tiny note of sorts before walking right back, handing the paper and the stapler to you.

“What’s this?” You raise a brow.

“Some paper work for you to fill out,” he grins, the vagueness of his answer making a vein all but pop in your forehead.

Before you even have a chance to tell him that you most certainly will not be entertaining whatever silly prank he’s playing, he walks right off, sagging into his chair as he does an obnoxious little spin and goes back to typing at his computer. Probably yet another email with a ridiculous ending, you think to yourself.

Against your better judgement, you stare at the note, eyeing the small flap he’s stapled over an index card. You lift it up, quickly scanning over his scribbled writing.

Want to grab coffee during lunch? Check your answer:

▢ yes! ▢ absolutely! ▢ most definitely!

Your eye twitches.

Grabbing a pen, you quickly add a box underneath his (very confident) options, checking it off and writing in neat, pristine handwriting:

▣ not a chance!

You stand, walking over to his desk and ignoring his perked up, excited little smile as you drop the note back on the table and head back to your own desk. A tiny wave of satisfaction weaves through your body when you notice him read over your response and deflate, a small pout forming over his lips.

Regretfully, a small part of you can’t help but acknowledge that he’s actually…kind of cute when his lips are curled like that. But a larger part of you shakes that thought away and cringes internally. It’s a shame his personality ruins the genetic blessings he seems to have been bestowed with.

And you think that’s the end of it—but of course, with someone like Satoru in the office, there’s never the end of anything.

You watch as an email pops up on your screen, opening it only to stare blankly at his name and roll your eyes at the subject line:

────────────────────────

Follow-Up on Submitted Paperwork

Greetings office neighbor,

Thank you for submitting the paperwork. Unfortunately, I couldn’t help but notice that it does not fully align with the outlined guidelines. Could you please provide clarification or revise the submission accordingly?

Thanks a million,

Gojo Satoru :)

────────────────────────

And there he goes again with those obnoxious sign-offs, you think bitterly. Instantly, you’re clicking away at your keyboard as you type back an agitated response. Of course, you really shouldn’t entertain his ridiculous schemes, but something about him gets under your skin enough that you simply can’t help yourself.

You huff in approval at your response as you read it over before hitting send.

Instantly, as if he was waiting, you see his hand reach for his mouse and click on his screen to open your email as his eyes scan over your reply:

────────────────────────

Thank you for reaching out,

Unfortunately, I was unable to fully adhere to the outlined guidelines, as they are not viable in this situation. To address this, I adjusted the submission to align more effectively with a more practical outcome.

Hope that helps!

Your office neighbor :)

────────────────────────

Just when you think he’s given up, he rolls his chair over to your desk, causing a couple of annoyed heads to tilt up and glare at him for the noise before turning their attention back to their work. You pinch your nose as his chair rolls to a stop in front of your desk.

“Yes?” You grit through your teeth.

“Hey, office neighbor,” he hums, “just wanted to clarify your most recent email with you. I’m a bit confused.”

“Which part confused you?” You bat your lashes in faux charm, sarcastically smiling at him as he hums, grabbing a piece of candy from your little bowl of sweets at your desk and helping himself.

Your eye twitches a little at the gesture. Those are for you to enjoy throughout a miserable work day.

“Um…” he trails off as he pretends to think, “I’d say all of it.”

“I see,” you nod slowly, fighting every bone in your body not to snap at him with a colorful choice of words. “Essentially, the options in your original document did not highlight a plausible set of deliverables, so I corrected them for you with a more realistic one. Make sense?”

“Not really,” he sighs dramatically, pretending to scratch his head in confusion. You want nothing more than to grab those snowy locks and slam his face into your paper shredder. “Could you go over it one more time? I’m still lost.”

You’re just about to lose your patience with him when suddenly, the entire office seems to collectively take in a sharp breath, everyone scrambling to look as productive as possible while a tall, older looking man with suspiciously familiar white hair and blue eyes walks through the office. Something in your brain sets off alarm bells, but you can’t quite completely piece it together what it is about him seems so….recognizable.

“Who’s that?” You frown, scrunching your nose in confusion as everyone straightens up.

“That would be the final boss,” he snorts. You roll your eyes at his word choice before blinking and straightening up yourself.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, voice a panicked whisper as you ask, “you mean the owner of this company?”

“Yeah,” he drawls, raising a brow at you in amusement. “Never seen him before?”

“No,” you hiss, “I’m just the intern! Now go back to your desk before he thinks we’re goofing off, I’d like to keep my job, please.”

“I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” he hums.

You send him a nasty glare, just about at your wits end as you whisper-yell, “I am going to throw my stapler right at your—”

“Satoru, I need you in my office,” comes a stern, deep voice, interrupting you as you quickly shut your mouth.

“You got it, old man,” he salutes in mock seriousness. Suddenly, your spine goes rigid and your eyes widen. The man walks off with a firm nod as Satoru stands, giving you an innocent smile.

Suddenly, it dawns on you just why he looked so strikingly familiar.

“Did you just call him old man?” You blink, mouth agape.

“Yup,” he winks, walking backwards as his eyes stay trained on you while he heads for the elevator. “I’ll put in a good word for you when he’s in a better mood at home tonight. I think we can discuss the specifics over coffee during our lunch hour, yeah?”