mochikoz

[mochikoz]

Summary: After being back to the village, Sasuke finally gathered courage to visit his family graveyard and he takes you with him. Warnings:none Uchiha graveyard

The air was thick with a kind of silence that had weight to it, pressing gently but firmly against your chest as you followed Sasuke through the forgotten pathways of the Uchiha graveyard. It was hidden away, as if the village itself had tried to tuck it out of sight, out of mind. Moss climbed the broken stones, time had chewed at the carvings, but even so, you could still feel the pride in the arrangement, the care that once laid each body to rest. Sasuke said nothing, his steps steady, the only sound the faint whisper of grass brushing against your legs and the distant murmur of the wind weaving through the trees.

You didn’t try to speak. You just walked with him, close enough that your hands could brush if either of you reached. You wanted to respect his space. It was the first time he visited the graveyard since he came back. 

When he stopped walking, before you, there were two headstones that stood a little apart from the others, simple, bearing names that once had been said with love, with reverence, with a child's small, eager voice.

Uchiha Fugaku.

Uchiha Mikoto.

Sasuke looked at them, his dark eyes unreadable. You didn’t know what you had expected from him. Tears? Anger ? A breaking voice? None of it sounded like him yet what could you expect as a reaction from a man who lost their parents at such a young age? 

There was only that same silence, his usual and old silence, stretching out between you like an old friend. 

You knelt first, pulling out the small bundle you had carried with you all morning, tucked safely against your chest. Offerings—nothing extravagant, just things that spoke of life and memory. A small box of sweet dango, a cluster of fresh chrysanthemums tied with simple white ribbon. Things that someone should have brought them years ago.

When you placed them carefully before the graves, you saw Sasuke's hands tremble—only once, so slightly it could have been the wind. His breath hitched, so quietly you only knew because you had been listening for it.

You lit the incense, offering him a stick, and he accepted it with an almost reverent touch, his fingers brushing yours, lingering. The faint smoke curled upward, twisting in the heavy afternoon light, and you both bowed your heads, letting the scent of sandalwood fill the space between the living and the dead.

You turned to him then, voice soft as a sigh, "Do you want to be alone for a while?"

He didn't look at you, but his answer was immediate, firm.

"No."

And so you stayed, sitting down beside him in the grass, your shoulders just barely touching. His gaze stayed locked on the stones, his face still and cold, but when he looked at the small offerings you had brought—those quiet symbols of remembrance, of love he didn’t have to earn—something in him softened. His jaw unclenched; a long and slow exhale left him, one that he had been holding on for years. 

The afternoon drifted on, heavy and golden, the two of you keeping silent watch over the past.

“You can tell me about them…” You said unsure “If you want to” 

After a long while, he shifted, slow and deliberate. His voice came low, rough around the edges from disuse.

"...She used to wait for me by the gate when I came back from the Academy."

He didn't look at you. He spoke to the earth, to the smoke, maybe even to her.

"Every day. No matter how late it was. She'd be there... smiling like it was the best part of her day. I knew something was wrong when I didn't see her at the gate” 

You closed your eyes for a moment, picturing it: a small boy with messy black hair, weighed down by books too big for his arms, running toward a woman whose smile could light up his whole world. You could almost hear her laugh, carried faintly in the breeze.

He was silent again. You were unsure if you should say something or not. You opened your mouth to offer some comfort but his voice broke the silence before your words came. 

"I wish I could introduce you to her."

You blinked, stunned, your throat tightening painfully.

He finally turned to look at you, and there it was—beneath the cool exterior and his guarded mask—there was the boy who used to race home for his mother's hug. The boy who had lost everything. The man who was trying, in halting, clumsy steps, to build something again.Something with you.

"I think..."

He hesitated, his brows drawing together in that faint frown he wore when he wasn't sure how much he could afford to hope.

"I think she would've liked you."

The way he said it made tears sting at the corners of your eyes. You pressed your palm to the grass beside you, grounding yourself, because you didn't want to cry. 

You didn't say anything, not right away.

You just reached over, fingers brushing against his hand in the grass, and laced yours gently with his.

No words were needed. 

He squeezed your hand once, brief but sure.

The breeze shifted, and somewhere between the scent of incense and the lingering warmth of the sun, you could almost swear you heard a woman’s gentle laugh, proud and welcoming, rising up from the earth.

The warmth of his hand in yours felt fragile, like something you had to cradle carefully so it wouldn't slip away. You squeezed it a little tighter, your thumb tracing small, aimless circles over the back of his knuckles. Sasuke didn’t pull away. He just sat there, as if grounding himself in your touch, as if daring to trust it wouldn't vanish like everything else had.

You shifted closer, until your knee brushed his, until you could lean in without forcing him to meet you halfway. You moved slowly—giving him time to stop you if he wanted to—but he didn’t flinch, didn’t stiffen.

When you brought your free hand up, brushing his hair gently back from his forehead, his eyes fluttered closed, lashes kissing his skin like the lightest of sighs.

And then you pressed your lips to his forehead. A vow to stay. To see him—not as a survivor or a warrior or a name whispered in fear—but as a man, as a son, as someone still deserving of love simply because he existed.

"I know I would have loved her too," you whispered against his skin. You pulled back just enough to look at him, cupping his cheek in your palm. His skin was warm beneath your touch. "Because I already love her son.” 

The words filled the heavy space between you like sunlight spilling into a dark room. Sasuke opened his eyes, and for a moment you could swear you saw the tip of his ears getting red. 

“You are so cheesy” He said in a small chuckle 

“And you love it” You said, sticking your tongue out at him. He rolled his eyes but internally he couldn't agree more with you: He loved it. After all, he loved you. 

[mochikoz]

when i search up ‘(character) x reader’ and 90% of the fics are smut

NOT bashing smut writers/readers!! i just wish there were more fluff or angst ffs :(

[mochikoz]

Summary: It's valentine's day and you friends had convinced you to make something for your boyfriend since it was your first year together as a couple. The problem was: your boyfriend was the guy who got chocolate from half the guys and girls at school every single year.

Valentine’s day

Konoha High was pink. Not a soft, pleasant pink, but the kind that stung your eyes. There were balloons tied to chairs, paper hearts fluttering down the halls, and confetti crushed under school shoes like wilted petals. And of course, chocolate. Mountains of it. Piled on desks, stuffed into lockers, ribboned and shiny and perfumed.

And Sasuke Uchiha, as usual, was the eye of the storm.

You watched from the hallway with your heart crawling up your throat as you approached class. His desk was already drowning. Expensive boxes wrapped in silky reds and golds, heart-shaped tins with imported brands, chocolates shaped like roses and other things that felt…not just edible because of how pretty it looked. 

On Valentine's day, his desk was like a shrine made with affection and obsession, which honestly was to be expected. But this year, it was your first year together and Hinata and Ino had convinced you to make something for him. After seeing all that, you started to question if giving him yours would make any difference. 

Naruto groaned dramatically as he kicked his locker shut, taking you out of your thoughts. “One. I got one chocolate. One! And it’s from Iruka-sensei. That doesn’t count!”

You snorted behind your hand, trying to keep the sound quiet as you went back to your table.

Sasuke didn’t even look at the pile. He slid his chair back with a soft screech against the floor and leaned his chin into his hand, eyes turned toward the window, his expression unreadable. 

You reached into your bag, fingers grazing the small, slightly squished box you'd spent the night making. Nothing fancy, just simple heart-shaped chocolates. A little lopsided, if you were being honest…some were overfilled inside the mold. Others had cracks. You’d even smudged one with your thumb, trying to wrap it neatly in wax paper. 

It looked like a bad excuse for the idea you had in mind. 

As you saw all the pristine, perfect chocolates around him, yours suddenly looked…pathetic. Childish, even.

So you slipped it back into your bag kinda embarrassed. 

Okay, very embarrassed. Why did you even try anyway? But maybe you should give it to him? He is your boyfriend after all. What kind of asshole would reject something from their girlfriend? The bell breaks the spiral of overthinking in your head after a while, announcing the lunch. 

“Hey,” you said, walking past his desk and forcing a grin, “what’re you gonna do with all this? Open a candy store?”

He barely glanced at it. “Throw it away. I hate sweets.”

You forced a smile. Great, now there was that too.

“Cold-blooded.”

He shrugged and said something about buying a snack, grabbed your hand and went to the cafeteria. 

Inside, your stomach tightened. If these, these beautiful, expensive things weren’t even worth his attention, then what would he do to your crooked, homemade attempts?

You were quiet most of the day. He didn’t say anything, but he noticed. You didn’t cling to him the way you normally would, didn’t steal his fries at lunch. And now, walking home, your silence trailed behind the two of you like an echo.

He stopped a few steps ahead and turned to look at you. “What happened?”

You blinked. “Huh? Nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me” He said while stroking your knuckles with his thumb. 

You didn’t answer.

He narrowed his eyes and continued, trying to get you to talk. “...Have I done something that made you upset?” 

Your fingers tightened around your bag strap because it isn't his fault. So instead of keeping him guessing, you decided to tell him. 

“…I was gonna give you something too,” you finally murmured. “For Valentine’s.”

He stared at you. “What does this have to do with you being sad all day?” 

You hesitated, then pulled the tiny box out of your bag, cheeks hot with shame. It looked even worse under the streetlights and after spending the whole day inside your bag. A little crumpled. A sticker peeling at the edge.

“I made them last night. They’re…not great,” you said, half-laughing. “They’re kind of ugly, and I know you don’t like sweets, so like, really…” you scoffed annoyed “You don’t have to take it. I get it. I was just being dumb. Plus, it's not even close to the things you got as a gift today.” 

“You thought I wouldn't want yours?” He asked, puzzled. 

You nodded and moved to shove it back into your bag but his hand reached out and stopped yours.

“…Give it to me.”

“…Sasuke, I just said you don’t have to—”

“Give it.” 

You handed it over with trembling fingers, heart pounding against your ribs. He opened it slowly. Looked down at the imperfect pieces of chocolate. Then, without saying anything, he picked one up and popped it into his mouth.

You froze.

“I don't want you to eat out of pity ” You said glaring at him. 

He chewed. Swallowed. Glanced at you again, eyes soft and unreadable in the evening light.

“This is the only one I’m keeping,” he said. 

“…Huh?”

He looked away, like he hated repeating himself. “Out of everything I got. This is the only one I want.”

Your lips parted, but the words never came.

“…It’s not pretty,” you whispered.

“I think it's cute” 

“…It’s kind of messed up.”

“It makes it even better” He said with that stupid grin that made your heart miss a beat. 

A long silence passed, and then, quietly:

“Thank you” 

You stared at him, feeling your face burn, throat tight. The box felt so small in his hand. He leaned over and placed a small kiss on your forehead. 

You hid your face against his neck because that made you want to cry and laugh all at once. Your heart was beating so fast you could hear it in your ears. One of the many effects Sasuke had on you and you hated him for that. 

“Idiot,” you mumbled, trying to smile. “ I hope you get cavities.”

“…Only if you keep giving me chocolate every year,” he said and there goes your heart missing the beats again 

“Then I guess I will,” you whispered.

And under the fading sky, with the scent of melted sugar in the air and the echo of a thousand unopened boxes behind you he kept yours in his pocket and made you taste how sweet your chocolate was on his lips. 

[mochikoz]

Me searching for fanfics after watching a series/film/videogame/reading a book and becoming obsessed with that character:

[mochikoz]

honeymoon phase — gojo satoru

synopsis. the elders have always warned you that men lose interest over time. that they’re bound to find a younger, prettier toy years down into the marriage. you think your day has come. 

contents. hurt/comfort, established relationship, husband!gojo, pining (so much of it), insecurity, miscommunication, mentions of pregnancy, gojo is a freak for his wife, shoko is the voice of reason as always

notes. im back n this is not proofread. what’s new!!! anyways, enjoy yet another self indulgent piece!

You hadn’t meant to eavesdrop.

The walls of the Gojo compound were made of wood and paper, thin enough for you to hear secrets that weren’t made for your ears. You had grown up used to tuning out the constant noise from footsteps on tatami and shuffling robes to muttered curses from sorcerers-in-training. But today, the voices were just close enough, just loud enough for you to hear. 

 “Still no heir after five years?”

 “What a shame. All that potential, and she retires to become a housewife.”

 “They marry young these days, but if a woman can’t carry on the clan, then what’s the point?”

 “She’s not a wife. She’s a waste.”

Your fingers curled around the edge of the screen door. You forced yourself not to make a sound, not to breathe too loudly in fear of revealing your hiding spot. It was foolish to care—foolish to let the words of the elders dig into your skin. You knew better than to let the words cut you, but they did anyway, like each syllable was barbed.

You weren’t stupid. You knew that in the world of jujutsu sorcery, women were rarely praised for their power. They were expected to surrender it and retire gracefully—to raise heirs. Instead of bearing blades, they were expected to bear babies. You’ve seen it through countless of women. Satoru’s mother. Your own. And so many others. It was a quiet, lifelong obligation to the clan’s legacy.

You have been married to Gojo Satoru for five years now. Five long, loving years. And still, there were no children.

To be fair, the two of you had married young—too young, perhaps—but he had insisted. He couldn't wait, he’d said, pulling you to the altar like a man starved. He had kissed you with feverish devotion in front of the shrine, promised you the world, the stars, and everything in between.

But somewhere along the way, you felt like those promises had gone quiet. The talk of children, of anything beyond “next week” or “next mission,” had never come. The topic had never once left his lips.

Maybe he was too busy. Your Satoru wasn’t just yours, after all. He was a teacher. A leader. The head of the Gojo clan. A living symbol of power.

He spent his days shaping the next generation, mentoring students who looked at him like he was invincible. Perhaps he already had too many children who weren’t truly his. Too many young eyes to protect, young graves to prevent.

Or maybe… maybe he just didn’t want them with you.

You stirred the soup with absent hands, the wooden spoon swirling through the broth like it might uncover something at the bottom. The scent of miso filled the kitchen, but it felt hollow. Your expansive kitchen felt too quiet and it was slowly driving you mad.

Satoru was late. Again.

And when you hear the front door finally open, you don’t bother moving. You listened to the familiar sound of shoes slipping off and a coat sliding from his shoulders and landing in a heap by the door. His footsteps were slower these days. Even the great Gojo Satoru—your indestructible, overpowered husband was starting to sound… tired.

Tired of what, you’re not sure.

You, perhaps.

He appeared in the kitchen, the ever-present blindfold slung loosely around his neck. His cerulean eyes looked exhausted.

But he still smiled. Still leaned down and kissed your cheek like you were the one thing anchoring him to the world.

“Smells amazing, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Sorry I’m late.”

And without another word, he dragged himself toward the bedroom and collapsed face-first into the sheets, asleep before you even turned off the stove.

You stood there for a moment, spoon still in hand, watching the soft ripple of the soup.

This had become a pattern. 

He used to be insatiable—always touching you, reaching for you, teasing you like the mere idea of being apart from you made him physically ill. There had been times where he couldn’t keep his hands to himself even in public. Where he used to whisper sweet nothings into your skin that he couldn’t wait to fulfill.

But now he barely looked at you.

He said he was tired. That the curse rate had skyrocketed. That the weight of the world was getting heavier.

You believed him. Of course you did.

But the belief didn’t make the cold side of the bed any warmer. It didn’t make the silent distance between you any less unbearable.

It happened in a moment of weakness.

The bathroom door closed behind him, and the sound of the shower was on. It was one of his regular short, cold showers. You sat on the edge of the bed, glancing at the phone he left on the nightstand.

It was face down and silent, yet all the more inviting.

You hesitated, telling yourself not to look. You try to convince yourself that you trusted the man that you married. The one that had been in love with you far longer than you had even known. That after everything, you had no reason to doubt.

Your fingers moved anyway as if you were a woman possessed. The lock was no match for your memory. His passcode hadn’t changed—it was still your birthday. You’re not sure if that fact made you feel worse for the act that you were committing.

But the messages were right there.

And what you saw made your stomach drop.

Gojo: Shio, I need your help.

Shio: Gojo-kun, I thought we agreed that calling me just “Shio” was improper. It is not right.

Gojo: You know we’re past that stage, Shioooo.

Shio: I should like to have a word with your wife about your behavior.

Gojo: Ha! You and my wife? Over my dead body would I let you two meet. She’d kill me~~~

Shio: That would be a tragedy indeed.

You blinked.

No.

No, no, no.

The bile that rose in your throat was immediate. The evidence was damning: the banter, the flirtation, their familiarity—it was something you had once shared with him.The way he spoke to her mirrored so perfectly the way he used to speak to you. It was the same cadence, the same wry humor, the same intimacy that had once made your heart leap.

You didn’t even know who this woman was. But she had something you no longer did: his attention. 

And it made you sick.

Before you could scroll further, the sound of water stopped. You dropped the phone like it had burned you and threw yourself beneath the covers, forcing your body to still, your breathing to slow.

He came in moments later, humming faintly, smelling like the clean soap he had insisted on the both of you sharing. It is only right that we smell like each other, he had once told you. You wanted to scoff at the memory. Satoru pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head before settling in beside you.

You didn’t move. You don’t end up sleeping that night. You don't even think you let the breath you were holding in for the rest of the night.

Just like clockwork, Satoru was late again.

The table was set. The food that was once warm had grown cold. You sat alone for an hour before you gave up and placed plastic wrap over everything, sliding the dishes into the fridge.

When the door finally opened, he walked in with a bounce in his step. A cloth bag hung from his fingers.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he called out brightly. “I brought dinner!”

You turned slowly, eyeing the contents. You didn’t need to open the bag. One glance told you everything.

It wasn’t takeout. Rather, the meal appeared to be homemade and carefully prepared. It must be a subtle message from his mistress to you. 

Inside was Kyoto-style soup—vegetables simmered in dashi, hints of seaweed and root. You had watched the compound servants make it a hundred times growing up. There was even yamaimo, shredded fine and folded in.

“Where were you?” you asked softly, hoping it would mask the edge in your words.

Satoru grinned.

“Kyoto. Had a mission there. Thought I’d bring something special back.”

Your stomach dropped.

Kyoto. 

Of course it would be there. In the house where you were both born. In the same halls where those whispers about your empty womb had first begun. You imagined him surrounded by a dozen younger women, all wide-eyed and obedient who were excited to please the clanhead. The thought alone made you dizzy.

“I’m not hungry.”

You stood before he could stop you, the chair screeching against the wood.

He looked up, his smile flickering, a confused wrinkle forming between his brows.

But you didn’t look back. You didn’t want him to see your face. If he did, he might see the cracks forming. And you weren’t sure you’d survive long enough to be pieced back together.

“I miss you, [Name]. Come work here,” Shoko says on the phone, her voice in its casual cadence. “You’re an excellent sorceress. You were born for this. Plus, I miss you. Satoru’s been keeping you away for far too long.”

You sit on the edge of the bed, the phone tucked between your cheek and shoulder as your fingers trace a wrinkle in the blanket.

“Yes, but… Satoru and I agreed I’d stay out of the field. I’m retired now, remember?”

“You’d only be teaching,” she replies gently. “Nothing too intense. And besides… Gojo’s an idiot. What does he know?”

You laugh quietly, but it’s thin and brittle.

A silence stretches between you.

Shoko picks up on it. She always does.

“What’s wrong?”

You hesitate. 

Vocalizing the thought seemed so shameful.

When you do summon the courage, it comes out in a hushed whisper: “I think Satoru is cheating on me.”

There’s a pause.

“Is this a joke?”

“No.” Your voice is flat. “I went through his phone.”

Another silence. This one lands heavier.

“[Name]…” Shoko says slowly, “I don’t think that’s possible. I mean—he worships you. He annoys everyone at Jujutsu Tech talking about you like you’re the second coming of the sun. We get it, he married up.”

You close your eyes. You can almost hear his voice echoing in Shoko’s. How you missed that version of your husband.

“He pulled you from the field not because he wanted to chain you down, but because he was terrified. I’ve never seen him scared until you came back bleeding that day. He looked like someone tore the world from under his feet.”

“Shoko… you don’t get it.”

“Have you talked to him?”

“No. Not yet, but—”

“Then you don’t get to spiral like this until you do.”

You sigh and lean back.

 “I just feel so... stuck. I’m tired of this house and how quiet it is all of the time. The growing distance in between us. It used to feel like home, but now it feels like— I don’t even know.”

Her voice softens again. “Consider coming back to Jujutsu Tech. At least for a while. Let yourself breathe again.”

You’re quiet. 

“I’ll consider it. Domestic life’s been… suffocating lately.”

“There she is,” Shoko says warmly. “There’s the [Name] I know.”

You smile, and this time it’s real—even if it is just a little. But it doesn’t last long after the phone call.

The moment you step out of the bedroom you walk directly into a solid chest. You freeze and your heart sinks.

Standing in front of you was your husband. But he looked more like Gojo Satoru than your Satoru. He was home early and he did not look happy. Once bright eyes were now shadowed and unreadable.

“You’re returning to Jujutsu Tech?” he asks, voice calm in the way a man trying to keep his emotions at bay would. “After we decided you were done risking your life?”

You blink, startled.  “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to hear my wife thinks staying home with me is ‘suffocating.’” His jaw tightens. “Is that really what you think?”

Something in you snaps.

“Don’t you dare make this about you.”

He stares, stunned.

“You decided I’d retire, Satoru. You didn’t ask. You didn’t even give me a choice.” You lightly push his chest to make space. He doesn’t move but his hand reaches for yours automatically, gently, like he can’t help but hold onto you even when you’re furious.

You don’t pull away. His grip was firm enough for you to know better.

“I thought it was for my safety,” you whisper. “But now I see it was just to make room for your little affair behind my back.” The words were meant to shame Satoru, but it felt more like a double edged sword with the way your heart ache at the reminder of his infidelity.

He flinches.

“What?”

“I read your messages,” you hiss. “With Shio. You don’t even delete them, Satoru. Are you that arrogant? Or did you just stop caring?”

“[Name], it’s not what you think—”

“Then explain it!”  Your voice breaks.

 “Explain the messages. The dinners. The way you’ve been avoiding me like touching me might burn you alive. I can feel the distance growing every night, Satoru, don’t you?”

You yank your hand back.

“Tell me. Is she prettier? Younger? Is she too naive to see through your bullshit? Does she—” You laugh, but it’s sharp and bitter. “—does she even know you hate bitter vegetables? Or did you choke it down for her anyway when you brought the yamaimo home?”

Gojo looks like he’s been hollowed out.

You see it. The tremble in his fingers. The way his mouth opens and shuts, like he wants to speak but can’t breathe through the guilt.

You step back.

“Forget it,” you whisper. “I want a divorce—"

“Don’t.” His voice is quiet. Desperate. “Don’t finish that sentence. P-please.”

“Why not?” you whisper. “Give me one reason not to walk away when you’ve already left me in every way that matters.”

He shakes his head. “You think I left you? [Name]… I was trying to building a life for us.”

You stare at him, your heart in your throat.

“Shio’s not a mistress. She’s not even close to being my type—unless I suddenly go for women in their late eighties.”

You blink.

“She’s my great-aunt. She’s half-senile with hands like prunes! I—that day, when we visited the compound, she asked me why we didn’t have any kids yet. I told her… I told her I wanted them.” His voice falters. “So badly. With you. Only with you.”

You suck in a breath.

He steps closer, eyes pleading. “I know you’re scared of pregnancy. I know what it means for sorcerers. I’ve seen it, [Name]. So I never brought it up. I didn’t want to pressure you, not ever.”

His hands hover near yours. Not touching. Not yet.

“Shio said she’d help. That she’d cook meals, ones she thought would bring good fortune or increase fertility. The traditional route. And I let her. Because I thought… if I just waited long enough, maybe you’d bring it up on your own.”

You’re frozen. Tears sting your eyes, unspilled.

“I never wanted to lie to you. I just—” He lets out a broken laugh. “I was embarrassed that I wanted a dozen tiny monsters who’d take after you. That I wanted to hold your hand through every contraction and cry harder than the baby when it was born.”

You collapse into his chest, allowing your tears to stain his uniform. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Takes one to marry one.”

“You should’ve just told me.”

“I know.” He holds you up, cupping your face gently now, as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear. “I was trying to protect you from everything. I—I never realized I was hurting you in the process.”

You close your eyes and press your forehead against his.

“I was so scared you didn’t love me anymore.”

He kisses the corner of your mouth. “I love you so much it hurts. It always has.”

You breathe him in, your voice shaky. 

 “So… you want kids?”

“Only if they’re bossy and brilliant like their mother. Every night, I imagine that they’d know at least ten ways to manipulate me by the age of five.”

You snort. “That sounds like a nightmare.”

“That sounds like heaven.”

 He kisses you again, except it is long and slow this time. It’s unlike the desperation from earlier, rather, apologetic and full of everything he’s been too much of a coward to say in the past few months.

When you part, breathless, your voice is softer.

“We’ll take it slow. I’m not saying yes to ten—”

“Nine.”

“—but we’ll talk. We’ll figure it out. Together.”

His grin is smug, but his eyes are misty.

“You mean I’m finally allowed to touch you again without you pretending I’m a curse?”

You smile. “I’ll think about it.”

“Can I bribe the jury?”

“With what?”

“My undying love. And, I’ll do the dishes for a month.”

You lean in close, breath brushing his ear.

“Hmm, two months… and a foot rub every night.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

[mochikoz]

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ telling the jjk men that your pregnant

an: i had the hardest time figuring out how i wanted them to come out, if u don’t like the way one of them is represented just know i tried my best :p

——————

satoru gojo

you hand him a little box, staying silent as he opens it, a tiny onesie that says “the strongests weakness.” he pauses. squints at you. squints back at the onesie. “you’re kidding,” he laughs nervously. you shake your head, tearful but smiling. his lips tremble for half a second before his hands shoot out to cup your cheeks and he kisses you hard. the grateful, shocked, can’t-breathe kind of kiss. “…we’re gonna have a baby?” he whispers against your lips. “mhm.” “like a real baby? the perfect mix of you and me??” you snort and nod once more. “oh my gosh,” he says, holding you like he’ll never let go. “i’m gonna be the hottest dilf ever.”

suguru geto

you slip the test into a book he’s reading, wedged between the pages like a bookmark. he flips the page, pauses, and frowns. “the hell is—” then he sees it. his eyes dart up to you. “you’re kidding.” you shake your head, a nervous smile creeping in. he’s quiet for a second, processing. then he grins—slow and genuine, eyes glassy. “i knew something felt different with you lately. this explains the crying over commercials.” he pulls you into his lap, face buried in your neck. “you’re giving me a second chance at family. you know that, right? so, thank you, pretty girl.” the way he says it—so soft, so unlike the geto most people know—you almost cry again. he won’t stop talking to your stomach for the rest of the night.

kento nanami

you didn’t tell him at first. you showed him—quietly sliding a small, wrapped box across the table during one of your rare slow mornings together. inside: a pair little baby socks. at first, he was confused. then the realization settled in like dawn, slow and inevitable. “…are you—” you nodded. your voice barely above a whisper. “i took three tests.” he was silent. not out of discomfort, but reverence. his hand found yours across the table, firm, warm. “you’re going to be an incredible mother.” and then, almost painfully: “…are you sure you want to do this with me? with everything i’ve seen? everything i’ve done?” you met his eyes and said, “yes. i want this because it’s you.” and for the first time in a long time, something in him softened. he stood and pressed a lingering kiss to your temple, then your stomach. “then i’ll do everything i can in my power to deserve both of you.”

toji fushiguro

you leave the test on the bathroom counter with a note that says “guess you’ve still got it, old man.” he finds it while brushing his teeth. immediately walks out with it dangling between his fingers like a cigarette. “…what the hell is this?” he asks. you just smile. he looks at it again. double takes. “nah. no fuckin way.” for a guy who acts so tough, he goes dead quiet. stares at the wall for a minute. then? grabs you by the waist, hoists you up, and presses his forehead to yours. “…seriously?” he asks, voice small. you nod. “shit,” he whispers, eyes softening. “i’m gonna do right by you two. i swear.”

ryomen sukuna

you didn’t plan to tell him this way. you wanted it to be calm, private—maybe a letter, or a slow reveal. but the nausea hit mid-conversation, and you bolted from the room. he followed, irritation laced in his voice until he saw you, trembling in front of the sink, hand over your mouth. you didn’t have to say anything, he knew and everything stopped.

the silence was heavy. he stared at you, unreadable. you weren’t sure if he’d laugh. if he’d scorn you. if he’d demand it gone.

but instead, he stepped closer. fingers brushed your cheek, then lower—hovering just above your lower abdomen, not quite touching. “mine?” he asked, voice like velvet wrapped around a dagger. you nodded. carefully. and then, the grin. wide. possessive. ancient. “…you’re going to bear my heir.” his thumb pressed to your stomach now. “the world shall kneel for you.”

choso

he sobs when you tell him. immediately. doesn’t even try to hide it. “you’re gonna be a mom?” “and, you’re going to be a dad.” your voice soft as you speak. he holds the test with trembling fingers. “really? i get to be a dad?” eyes big and wet as he pulls you into a hug that nearly crushes you. “thank you. thank you so much.” starts talking about names. already asking what type of birth you’d prefer. he’s done so much research it’s alarming. you find hand-stitched onesies the next week—he made them himself. begins storing keepsakes, every appointment or milestone he adds something small to his collection. you’ve never felt more loved. he whispers, “thank you for giving me a family.” keeps praising you the whole time. kisses your stomach like it’s the most precious thing on earth, because to him, it is.

hiromi higuruma

he came home from court exhausted. you had set a tiny pair of baby shoes with a tiny gavel on the kitchen table, right where you knew he’d place his keys. he didn’t even react for a moment. then his eyes narrowed. “…honey?” he called out while analyzing them both. you came in, anxious and fidgeting, and watched as he slowly sat down, stared at them again, then looked up at you. “…are you scared?” “no,” you whispered. “are you?” a long pause. then he smiled—a real one, rare and quiet. “i was. until you said no.” he stood, walked over, and wrapped his arms around you from behind, hands resting on your stomach. “this… this i can fight for. a future. a reason.” that night, he kissed every inch of your skin like it was the last time, like you were carrying his redemption in your womb. “i never thought… this kind of peace was for people like me.”

[mochikoz]

— Telling Bf Toji that him still having his late wife’s last name makes you uncomfortable. (Angst with comfort)

You were quiet all evening. Toji noticed, of course but he didn’t press you about it. He trusts you’ll talk to him whenever you’re ready so he just let you curl up into his side while he watched the game, his heavy arm wrapped loosely around your waist, absently rubbing small circles over your shirt as a form of comforting you. But your mind wasn’t on the screen. Not even close.

You tried to shake the thought. You really tried.

It was dumb. So dumb. At least that’s what you kept telling yourself—Selfish, too. Why did it even matter? It was just a last name and it wasn’t like he could undo the past. He’d loved her once and that was okay. That wasn’t even what this was about.

But every time someone addressed you both as “Mr. and Ms. Fushiguro,” or when the idea of marriage came up—your marriage—you felt it like a pinch. A cold one, right under your ribs.

And it’s been festering so much lately so now you were in bed besides him, his broad chest rising and falling steadily—already drifting off to sleep but your heart was thudding loudly for a different reason.

You rolled over, pressed your face into his bare shoulder, and whispered, “Toji…?”

He grunted a little, not quite asleep yet but tired. “Mmm? What’s up, baby?”

Your lips tugged down. You hated how tight your throat was.

“I… wanna talk about something. But I don’t want you to think I’m being petty or… selfish”.

He blinked his eyes open slowly, looking up at you with that groggy but alert sort of concern. “You okay?” His voice was thick with sleep, but gentle. “What’s going on?”

You sat up a bit and toyed with the edge of the blanket, picking at a loose thread. “It’s about your last name”.

He raised a brow, sitting up with you. “My last name?”

You nodded slowly. “I know it’s stupid but sometimes I get sad thinking about…how you still have your late wife’s last name”.

Toji stayed quiet, watching you. His gaze never left your face.

“I know it’s not something you just think about every day and I know it’s not meant to hurt. I don’t think you’re doing anything wrong. I just—” you paused, pressing your lips together. “It makes me feel weird. Like… like if we got married, I’d be taking her last name. I don’t want that. I don’t want her name. I want ours”.

You looked down, blinking hard. “It’s so dumb, I know. She passed and it was a long time ago, and I’m not trying to replace her or pretend she didn’t exist or whatever. I just… I don’t want to feel like I’m walking in her shoes. I want my own. I want ours. Together”.

There was a beat of silence. Your chest tightened like you expected him to sigh or say you were being sensitive or even just brush it off.

But instead, Toji reached out and cupped your cheek affectionately, gently guiding your face back to his.

“You listen to me,” he said lowly. “That’s not dumb. Not even a little bit”.

His thumb brushed over your cheek. “I kept the name ‘cause of Megumi. Not her. Not even really for me. When I left the Zenin clan, I didn’t want their name anymore. I didn’t want anything to do with ‘em. Her name was the only thing that felt safe back then. I thought it’d be better for Megumi too, growing up with a clean slate”.

He exhaled, his brow softening. “But that name doesn’t mean shit to me now. You hear me?”

You nodded, biting your lip.

“I love you,” he said fondly. “And when we get married, I’ll change it to your last name, if that’s what you want. I’ll carry it proudly. Hell, I’ll even tattoo it on my damn chest if you want me to”.

You let out a watery laugh and Toji smiled, leaning in to kiss your forehead.

“That name—our name—it’s gonna mean something new. Something we build together. Not what came before. Just me and you”.

You sniffled and buried your face into his chest, clinging onto him with both arms while he wrapped you up tight.

“I love you,” you murmured against his skin.

“I love you too sweetheart. So much—We’ll go down to the courthouse next week and change it together, yeah?”

You nod against his shirt, heart swelling.

He rubs your back. “And when the time comes…I want us to both have the same last name like officially”.

You lift your head. “Like marriage?”

He smirks, brushing your nose with his. “Exactly like that”.

The next day…

Toji didn’t usually hesitate about much but this—it gave him pause.

He watched Megumi from the doorway, the kid sitting on the couch, legs crossed while flipping through some manga like always. The house was quiet, sunlight cutting through the blinds in soft stripes across the floor. You were in the bedroom napping. You’d cried a little earlier, relieved tears mostly but Toji knew it’d meant something big to you. Bigger than you’d let on at first.

So now, here he was. Scratching the back of his neck. Clearing his throat like a damn idiot.

Megumi glanced up. “What?”

Toji stepped in and sat down across from him, arms resting on his knees.

“I wanna talk to you about something”.

Megumi raised an eyebrow but didn’t put the book down. Typical. “Okay…”

“It’s about the last name,” Toji said.

That got his attention. The book closed and Megumi sat up straighter.

“I’ve been thinking about changing it,” Toji said, voice steady but serious. “Not back to Zenin. I meant…a new one”.

Megumi’s brows furrowed slightly, not in confusion but in that thoughtful, sharp way he’d picked up from Toji over the years. “Why?”

Toji leaned back on the couch, arm slung across the backrest. “When I left the clan, I didn’t want anything to do with ‘em. Didn’t want you growing up with that bullshit either. Your mom’s name… it felt like the cleanest choice. Safer—Not perfect, but better”.

Megumi nodded slowly, waiting.

Toji looked toward the hallway, where you were still sleeping. Then back at his son. “But now I’m with someone. Real serious about her, you know. We’ve talked about marriage and it bothers her, the name. Not ‘cause she’s jealous or weird about the past—just ‘cause she wants something that’s ours. Not a name that belongs to someone gone. Not a name that used to belong to a different life”.

Megumi was quiet, still processing what Toji was saying.

Toji rubbed his jaw. “So I told her I’d change it. When we get married, I’ll take her last name and start fresh”.

Megumi’s expression didn’t shift right away, but his shoulders relaxed a bit.

“I get it,” he finally said.

Toji blinked. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Megumi shrugged. “I mean it’s just a name. I know who my mom was. You changing your last name doesn’t erase anything and if it makes her feel like she belongs more—like you guys are really starting something new then why not?”

Toji felt something tight in his chest ease a little. He didn’t say much but he nodded, looking at his son with a little more pride than usual.

“You’re a good kid, Megumi”.

Megumi scoffed, opening his book again with that same grumpy expression like usual. “I know”.

Toji smiled. “You want me to keep it until you’re grown?”

Megumi shook his head. “You can change it. I’ll still be me. You’ll still be my dad. It doesn’t matter what name’s on the mail”.

Toji chuckled, deep and low. “Smartass”.

“Old man”

Toji leaned back, relaxed now. The hardest part was over and when you woke up later, hair messy and eyes still sleepy, Toji would kiss your forehead and tell you: It’s all settled. He understands. We’re gonna make it ours now.

And it’ll feel like the first day of something brand new.

[mochikoz]

You and Toji are both exhausted new parents, constantly up at all hours—day and night with the baby. Toji’s grumpy and sex-deprived, muttering every morning about how he hasn’t been inside you properly in weeks—just humping against you during bottle feedings like a desperate old dog. And you’re just as pent-up, but every time you get a second alone, the baby starts crying.

Enter Megumi.

Grumpy, sleep-deprived, 20-year-old Megumi shows up to visit, stares at the bags under your eyes and the way Toji’s rubbing slow circles over your hip like a horny caveman, and just sighs.

“I’ll take her for an hour. Don’t do anything weird”.

You both freeze and blink at him in disbelief.

“Like… an hour-hour?” you ask with your breath catching, eyes sparkling with hope.

He rolls his eyes, already pulling the baby into his arms. “Yes. An hour-hour. Shower or whatever. Go”.

Except the moment the bedroom door shuts, Toji’s already on you, panting and feeling you up “Strip. Don’t waste the boy’s generosity”.

You’re both so frantic and relieved it’s honestly hilarious—Toji’s pants barely hit the floor before he’s hoisting you up, not even bothering to fully get on the bed. You’re clinging to his neck, giggling through your moans, whispering “We have to be quiet—he’s literally in the living room” while Toji mutters “He’ll live” as he bounces you like it’s his last chance at life.

Cut to poor Megumi who’s sitting stiff on the couch, holding the baby who is cooing softly against his hoodie, completely unaware.

In the background, there’s muffled thumping.

A faint creak.

A breathless “Fuuuck, I missed this pussy”

Megumi just closes his eyes and sighs.

“This is why I shouldn’t have offered”.

[mochikoz]

Gojo Theory? Meh, maybe not.

warring - mentions of pregnancy, sex (censored)

ok, so i came across a tiktok a few days ago about gojo. basically it was this theory that he can use limitless to prevent pregnancy and so not using protection.

i’ve been thinking (because it’s gojo and the only moment i use my brain is when he is involved) about this for… DAYS. like whole days because i’m… weird. whatever…

and in theory? maybe. in practice? i don’t think so.

he will be so into the act and for him to do that would require to have ridiculous precision in a… blissful moment 😏 also, not to mention after 🎇, the… 🦴 would be out and the 👶🤍 would be still in. and so… no, i don’t think it’s possible.

ok now i can live a happy life again because i needed to take this out of my brain and discuss this with someone else. (or not, maybe nobody it’s reading this “pice of art”)

[mochikoz]

18+ virgin!choso fucking your thighs

libido, as choso understood it, had always ranked somewhere beneath the immovable fact of loving and protecting his brothers. sex never held much meaning when your earliest existence was as a cursed object, preserved in a jar and suspended in fluid for over a century. even after he was given form, physical desire remained abstract. he hadn’t imagined anyone wanting him. hadn’t thought it would matter.

but then you happened.

and now, desire is not only present but constant. he thinks about you incessantly. the softness of your body lingers in his memory, along with the way your voice tilts shyly whenever you try to initiate. you always kiss the corner of his mouth first, and sometimes giggle when self-conscious about the ferocity of your own ardor. you want him, and he wants you. what you share is jun’ai—pure love.

the only obstacle is scale. once, you’d reached down, fingertips barely ghosting along the length of him, and whispered, “how’s that supposed to fit inside me?” tone a mixture of awe and dread. he kissed your knee and told you he’d try anything that made you feel good. “you’re gonna have to practice, cho,” you continued, “like… really work me open. or—” you’d hesitated, teeth sinking into your lip, “we could do something else for now.” he agreed. of course choso agreed. you were his love, and he’d rather die than hurt you.

which is how he ends up here, on his knees at the foot of the bed, thick cock gliding between the plushy flesh of your thighs while you lie back, panting, biting your lip to keep from making the kinds of sounds he knows would ruin his resolve. hands stay on your hips, thumbs pressing gently into your skin to dictact the motion. with a look of mild detachment (his resting face) his eyes are locked on where he’s fucking you. the swollen head of his cock drags through the sticky seam between your legs, catching against your folds, smearing precome across your lower belly with every thrust.

“feels good like this too,” he mumbles, “you’re so warm. i could stay here forever.” and part of him means it. this is heaven, in its own way. your thighs slick and plush, pressing tight around him. the heat of your pussy so so close he can feel it pulse when he hits your clit by accident, drawing those sharp little gasps out of you—ones you try so hard to hide. your pretty tits bounce slightly with every thrust, which is a bonus.

now you’re looking up at him now with glassy, fucked-out eyes despite never being touched where needed most.

“next time,” you promise, wetting your lips. his cock twitches between your thighs. “no need to rush. you’re perfect,” he assures, “i can wait as long as you need.”

he’s being a good boy. so fucking good. and you have no idea how much restraint it takes. how badly he wants to line himself with your cunt, and push in until you scream. but he won’t. not until you stop stalling. because one day you will.

and when that day comes, he’ll fuck you the way he wants.

[mochikoz]

ON THE H★USE !!

CHARACTER: bartender!Toji Fushiguro x fem!reader SUMMARY: riding the hot bartender after a break up is the least expected thing you’ll ever think of CONTENT WARNING: alcohol, pet names, foreplay, fingering, teasing, grinding, pre-cum, no protection, creampie, car sex, nipple play, squirting, size difference, big dick toji papa, alpha toji with xxxxxxxxl dick, multiple orgasm, one-sided drunk sex (?), power play, I’m so lazy to do tags, who even reads content warnings tbh WORD COUNT: 4k A/N: If yall know who I am I’m back I ditched my old blog for a rebranding yall (I was in psychosis when I archived my blog n I kinda regret it now but wtv) 😲🧞‍♀️ and yes I’ve reposted a few pieces of my previous writing (including this one hehe) cuz I’m a lazy bitch and refuse to rewrite a shit ton to fill my masterlist pls don’t cancel me for plagiarising my own works 🫩🫩 someone made a call out post on myself and ts stress me out pls don’t do smth like that again ill beat ur ahh till u look like u have a fucked up bbl

“Plus, he literally had to beg me to act like I was cummin’ when he stuck his sorry excuse of a dick in me!” your eyelids hung heavily over your eyes as you exclaimed, brows shooting down in a frown. “Get a load of that guy, am I right?”

“He doesn’t pay for your stuff, and he can’t fuck good?!” Toji teasingly mirrored your tone as he manoeuvre behind the bar, uniform taut from the way he natchly flexed his arms; the bottles clinking as he worked deftly to craft out the beverage you ordered. “What a man.”

It has been 2 hours since you’ve been rambling on about your ex-boyfriend, and the ravenette felt like he’d known this stranger for years—all of his secrets and traits aired into his ears. Albeit, it was getting a bit boring, with the same repeated stories tumbling out of your voluble mouth. But still, he enjoyed chuckling at your adorable insobriety, fuelled by drunken mania. 

“Here you go, princess,” a small tug lifted the ends of his scarred lips when your eyes patently glimmered at the newly served alcohol. “It’s the last I can give you, we’re closing…” Toji’s eyes momentarily flickered to his watch, “in 7 minutes.”

“Oh, okay!” you deliriously yawped, downing the beverage into your liqueur-brimmed system before handing him your card, which you aimlessly threw at him, not even lucid of your motions. “Just swipe it.”

Toji simply brushed it off, taking it towards the other side of the counter. He's used to unintentional antics like yours, as long as the tab was paid off he has no problem with them. 

15,900 yen. 

The digits flashed past his eyes like stars, igniting a luminous glint in his dark emerald orbs. Hell, was it a sum to casually splurge on at some mid-high bar? He’s got a pretty girl with probably an equally pretty amount of personality in her wallet, sprawled on the bar top wailing about her broken heart. 

Oh, how he would love to play saviour. 

“Here, princess. Time to go home,” he tapped your card onto the counter after the successful transaction. His gruff voice was low as you drifted further from your haywired consciousness and towards a delicious drowse. You didn’t move when he neared your face, attempting to marshal up your scattered coherence by calling into your ear. 

Toji sighed as he leaned back onto his feet, and crossed his bulky arms, pondering the ways to get you out of the otherwise empty bar. 

It was 12:58 am and the other inebriated customers had gone out by themselves or with their friends dragging them along. Except for you, softly snoring on the sticky counter. 

His coworker shrugged at him when the ravennette glanced at the shorter male for help. “Just get her out of here. I’ll clean up the rest, and you owe me this one,” always so kind—how Toji wished he could smooch that man right then. 

“Thanks, man,” Toji’s eyes curved in moon crescents, before settling his sight onto your dozed frame. His finger pressed against your temple, and your head lolled to the side in suit of a light push; a trail of drool slipping past your plump lips. You were completely and utterly out of it, huh?

Grasping onto your arm, the male lightly shook you awake, the warmth from his calloused palm stimulating your nerves vivified. “Hey, Mr. Bartender…” you had an uneven smile on your crooked lips, sleepiness bubbling into the air with every laggard blink as you breathily chuckled. “Are you gonna bring me home?”

“I don’t know about that, princess,” his tone was syrupy sweet and it licked the ends of your lips upwards into a velvety grin. “But we gotta go now. Come on,” Toji’s hands came to yours, gently pulling you off of the bar stool. You followed after his guide, slipping your card into your pocket before frisking behind him like a lamb to the door. 

The burly male turned to his wrist after the door swung close in the wake of your exit, checking his watch; it read 1:04 am. The train station is closed and it’s going to kill his conscience if he leaves you by the streets like he always does with intoxicated male customers. He has no idea where you stay anyway—best to call a friend of yours to take you home. 

“(Y/N)?”

A grating, vexatious voice called. The two of you swivelled your gaze to the source to find your cheating, insipid creature of an ex with an arm thrown over some chick’s shoulders, chortling at the unstable mess you were. Your eyes were puffy and tumid from the hours of crying slash ranting session, and you were anything but lucid from the way you looked. 

How fucking lucky.

“What you got going on here? Getting kicked out of a bar?” your ex taunted, nearing his face to yours as you narrowed your eyes at him. 

“Y-You…as—”

“Have the lady some of her space, buddy,” Toji’s authoritative voice prevailed over yours as he pushed the male away, rendering him to helplessly stumble backward into a fall. The woman in his arm hid her giggle with a gasp before helping his fuming ass up, his face beet red from his ignominious tumble. 

“Who are you?” he barked, eyelids flying open to show the hidden whites and teeth bared in belligerence. 

“A man who can make her cum, without begging her to fake it,” the woman burst into a half-concealed snicker when the ravennette broke the air with his unanticipated words. Your face grew to be saturated with ardent red, from both the intoxicant that coursed through your veins and the sentence you thought you had heard.

“I call it bullshit,” your ex spat with his upper lip pulled up in disrelish. There’s a flash of humiliation in his glare—he knew Toji seemed better than him and it killed him to know you’ve got suitors who are way out of his league. 

“It’s true,” you tapped Toji’s metallically stiff chest with a twisted, satisfied smirk on your rat-arsed face. “He toootally didn’t just stick his dick in me and call it a day, y’know?”

“Fucking whore.”

“What d’ya say?!” you screeched, ready to pounce on the asshole. “I sent you to the ER once, and I’ll do it again!”

“Alright, that’s enough, princess,” Toji tenaciously held onto your arm, and you’re stuck by him even without him using much strength. “We don’t want you dirtying your hands, do we?” 

A nasty shove met the male’s chest, knocking the air out of his lungs when he hit the ground. It was merely a fraction of Toji’s force, and it already had the male choking to breathe on the ground. 

“Speak to her like that again, and it’s not going to be just a push,” you could hear the rise of a dour, serrated threat in his tone, and it begot the asshole to cower back in trepidation. 

Pussy, Toji grimace. Albeit he was no saint himself but he absolutely despises the ilk of guys your ex filtered into—boisterous and a bully to women, yet nothing but a trifling mutt in front of men.

A tug of his arm, and your limbs wrapped around his wretched him out of his state of visceral contempt. “Take me home!” you ineptly exclaimed, a gruntled grin on your adorable, roguish face. 

Briefly riveting his baleful gaze onto the splayed male on the bitumen, Toji steered you uphill towards the parking lot as you clumsily tottered aside him. 

The encounter with the small-dick fucker sure rendered him more understanding of your evening of outburst. Plus, for you to be cheated on that piece of work was truly the icing on the cake. “Poor you, huh?”

“Forget ‘bout him! You were so cool I almost cummed right there and then,” you teasingly giggled as you peered at him through your heavy eyelids. 

Fuck—it’s no good for you to be saying that with that look on your face. 

His eyes rest ahead the road as you soon come to near the bright red C8 Corvette the woman he’s estranged with had previously gifted him, the car standing out amongst the parked vehicles like a sore thumb. 

Your eyes scintillated in awe when the car luridly flashed and beeped in the night, “That’s yours?!” you cried aloud, frisking all the way to the car, before stumbling over thin air and nearly jolting forward into a fall. Luckily, Toji was quick enough to catch you by your arm, saving your knee a painful event of bloody excoriation. “Oopsie daisie.”

Cute, Toji chortled. 

Jumping into the vehicle, the potent roar of the engine cut through the midnight air after you’ve settled neatly in the passenger seat, the only thing missing was the safety belt that was supposed to secure your form. Reaching to your side, Toji’s hand briefly brushed over your exposed thigh, the hem of your short dress riding up to merely cover your panty. 

A soft, almost inaudible noise fled your lips, and his eyes laid on your face, the faint, intimate gold beam from the street lamp illuminating your glowing features. Your orbs were luminous through the dark, and it roused an innate lasciviousness that lay dormant in his core. 

The liquor that flowed through your blood vessels had not quelled through the lapse of time, but it did not take away your clarity to feel the tension that electrified the air molecules into sweltering magnetism. And gosh do you want to snatch the constriction in the atmosphere and tear it through your canines. 

“Touch me,” you whispered, so soft and vulnerable Toji could seemingly snap you in half with just a touch. 

“You’re drunk, princess,” he reminded, yet he remained unshifted over your smaller frame, his hand merely a molecule from your tempting flesh that sang for his warmth. 

“No,” you were firm. Something in you purled, bubbling a heavy, demanding need to have him devour you. “I want you,” your breath was hot, scorchingly so; airy and desperate. 

“You want me?” his hand fell to your wrist, grasping your soft skin under his heavy hold, and guiding you over to his seat, straddling his lap. His gaze cut through your eyes, daubing pressure against your jumbled nerves, his intensity threatened to slice through the silky jugular of your vulnerability. And you nearly moaned under his eyes.

You gingerly nodded at him, and you thought the knit between your brows was enough to speak for your neediness. 

His grip on your wrist tightened a fraction before you missed the heat radiating from his palm. “Careful, princess. You might regret this,” he had paved a way out, it’s a leave it or fuck it situation served beneath your fingertip—and all the atoms in your body leaped into the growling blaze in the abyss residing in his essence. 

“Please,” your voice was barely a note above a mumble, yet the weight of your single word mitigated any marshalled resistance in him. 

His hands slid up your thighs, inching under your dress, sending tingles to your throbbing core. The intensity that radiated from him ceased to waver as he leaned against your neck, brushing against your skin as you gulped. Dark, ashen clouds drew above the emerald forest of his before he spoke, almost threateningly against your throat, “I want you to remember every single detail of this in the morning.”

With a breathless nod, you had swung the floodgates of your amenability open to his guttural thirst. The heavy, rapacious waves of your desires crash into superposition. You were the fuel and he was the fire, together the air detonated into space. 

His wet lips met yours in a whim, sucking onto your flesh until it stung, greedily tasting every crook and cranny of your wet cavern with the bumps of his tongue. You moaned into his mouth as your hands flew to clutch onto his head, deepening the kiss to reach his insides while his rough fingers sank into the plump flesh of your ass. 

Your lips burned with his saliva, and his tongue fluttered with yours. The atmosphere felt all-consuming, gripping onto your throat and restricting the air from flushing down your windpipe. Yet, your core pulsed between your thighs, an excited blaze slowly roaring into something bigger than you could handle. 

Your chest rose and fell in a quick tempo when you snatched your lips away from his, grasping as much air as you could within a second before you dove right into him. Albeit your sight was hazy, you caught sight of the luminous flush that panned over his cheeks. 

Pretty, pretty. You chanted in your head as your hands slid down to his clothes, clumsily popping the buttons off of the garment that kept the warmth of his skin away from your touch. You want him, you want him. 

Your fingers nearly melted when they met his hot, sinewy chest, and Toji’s teeth sank a little too hard into your bottom lip when you teased his nipples under your touch, innervating them hard with every flick. The salient bulge in his pants rolled against your folds, merely separated by an annoying piece of your underwear, and your moans jumbled into each other’s mouths

“Fuck, princess. You’re driving me crazy,” Toji breathily groaned when your sloppy lips sundered apart, a hot string of mixed saliva connecting your swollen, red lips together. His large hands lifted your ass up into the air as he palmed them, the warmth from him sending a snuggly sensation through your body. “It’s no fun when only you get to tease.”

Your eyes playfully gleamed, before the light shot out of the crater of your orbs—his finger pressed against your sodden panty, damp with arousal. The tingles shyly reached through your belly as he rubbed your hardening bud, and your body shuddered against his. 

“You’re not playing fair,” he murmured against your jaw, leaving trails of bruised kisses down your jugular. His hand left your heat just as the high came close to your clutch, leaving you with nothing but the lingering cold touches of his. 

With a defeated sigh, you ground your knee against his growing hardness, your finger shyly rubbing against the clothed tip of the constrained mount, the spot slowly growing dark from amativeness. 

Toji sunk deeper into the headrest as you touched him, his exposed chest ceaselessly rising and falling. His breath hitched in his throat when you twirled his sensitive nipple between your fingers; your heated exhales warming the side of his neck as his grip almost painfully firmed onto the fat of your ass. 

You didn’t allow his peaking orgasm to come through, forcing yourself off of his sore, throbbing erection, and your teeth bared into a dirty smile. “I am playing fair.”

“You want to test me, princess?” he chuckled, the bassy timbre of his scratching the knot of an itch inside your ears. A gasp leaped out of your throat as your body jolted forward, his seat clicked backward to its maximum taut, “I’ll make you cry for more.”

You found your back nestled in his stead, your thighs spread open with his calloused hand slipping down your supple flesh. His fingers tapped nearer and nearer to your heat, before slipping off your soiled panty. 

“So fuckin’ wet,” Toji sucked an inhale through his teeth as he leered at your dripping sex—thick, rough thumb fluttering friction on your clit once again. Your eyelids flitted shut as you softly moaned against the air, the smell of your arousal filled the confinement of the car; the scent nearly making him growl when it panged hard against his nostrils. 

You watched as Toji slipped a thick finger into your velvety folds, feeling it trodding past your walls. Your heat snugly enveloped him as he filled your inside with another digit, his two fingers pressing, and running themselves over your slick cunny. “Gotta stretch you good for me, princess.” 

Your back inched into the seat with a contented sigh, enjoying the build-up of ticklish pressure stacking up your tummy. Toji was ridiculously dexterous with his fingers—deftly stroking your cunt, and quick to find the spot in you that innervated your pure senses with a ting. 

“S-Shit—” your body was subservient to his touches; your spine curved into an arch, your toes curled tight and your fingernails dug into the flesh of his arm. “M’feel so good. Toji—fuck,” it was as if his fingers were gilded in Eros’ heavenly blessing, the godly grace spilling into your pleasure. Tears began prickling at the sides of your eyes from how hard you were squeezing them, your flailing legs kicking against the dashboard of his car. 

“So pretty when you cry,” Toji groaned under his breath, his damp restraints painfully throbbing from the way your squelching walls tightened around his fingers—oh, how he fucking wish it was his cock in you right there and then. 

His touches were singing your walls into melting squirts of drool, pearls of arousal weeping between your thighs in the wake of his careful strokes. Never were you touched in such a way, and you felt like balling from how good it felt. “M’ close! M’gonna cum! Oh my gosh—!”

“Come on. Cum for me, princess,” you could hear his smirk in his voice as pleasure kissed your senses, fluttering through your electrified nerves and sending a jolt of tingles all over your body. Your mouth was lax open into an ‘o’, nails marking his skin as they sank deeper into his arm, and your walls tightly spasmed with a wave of rough euphoria cracking your bones weak. You fucking came from his mere fingers. 

Your eyes bat open with your lips sundered from your pants, your face ardently glowing from your subduing high. “Fuck…” your wet thighs quivered from the sheer force of your orgasm, and you blinked in disbelief. 

Over 2 decades of living and it was the first time cumming from a real man, not your fingers nor toys. But the brawny, sex-dripped male slipping your dress off of your spent body. 

You almost fell in love. 

Pushing him down the driver’s seat, you crawled over Toji’s firm thighs, running your finger from his chest to his muscle-packed abdomen, then down to the wristband. You were flickering to take charge, and he sank down to your guidance, rough palms resting on your hips. 

Your dress was off, divulging the bare curves of your body, sweat-glazed skin iridescent under the moonbeam and your sex-flushed features were begging for him. You look so, fucking, perfect that he had to bite down the need to ruin you on the spot. 

His hips impatiently thrust upwards into your sticky cunt, grinding his pack against you, urgency in his essence demanding your heat. “Don’t keep me waiting now,” he purred, with a silent warning tagging behind his words. 

Your fingers tugged the waistband of his pants along with his briefs, a drive in you matching his pacing hastiness. His shaft sprang out of its painful confinement, and your eyes nearly popped out from the sheer look of his cock. 

He was oozing with sticky pre-cum from his angry, red tip, throbbing veins ran from the base of his length to the curved head—the size of him bigger than any you’ve seen. The smell of his masculine essence hit your senses and a new pool of arousal began drawing in your tummy, your pussy walls squeezing in empty neediness.

“There’s no backing out now, princess,” Toji’s fingers firmly gripped onto your ass, lifting you over his cock, hovering.

“Who said I’m backing out?” you gulped, before lowering yourself down, his fat cockhead kissing your pussy lips before your hips greedily sank down his length, oblivious to the crackle of tingles it would send to your nerves.

“Careful there,” he teased with a chuckle as you let out an instinctual gasp from the way his girth stretched past your velvety walls, the slick sound of your arousal-dripped cunt, and his heavy shaft bubbled into the air, and scorched your cheeks red.

“M-My gosh…” you cried as your hazy gaze fell to the bulge jutting from the inside of your tummy, your walls taut with his heavy cock buried inside you. “I’m s’full, Toji.”

“Mhm,” he cooed, brushing his hands over the sides of your smooth thighs. “But you gotta start moving, baby.”

Gingerly, you lift your hips up before slowly inching them down his length. Your walls clenched as your sex rubbed friction, and you could feel every pulsing vein of his just as he could feel your fluttering warmth.

“Feel good, princess?” Toji asked breathily, your head faintly nodded, but there was a hint of a dubious glint in your fallen gaze, your knees lifting and sinking your weight.

“I need your help…” your voice cracked in disappointment as you paused, tears of frustration edging by your eyes. You couldn’t seem to grasp a steady pace no matter how long you painfully rode.

“What d’ya say?”

Your orbs looked as though they were melting off of your sweat-glazed skin, blinks of fervourish plea clawing from your drunken gaze into his. “Please, Toji,” your voice hitched, and you’re humping his pelvis. “Please…I want to feel good.”

Aww. How fucking adorable.

You yelped when you felt yourself being raised and slammed down his cock, your folds burning with every stretch of your walls. And it feels so good. “Y-Yes…” your eyes closed shut, fingers scrambling to grip his locks. “T-Toji—mhaa!”

“You’re so fuckin’ cute screaming my name,” the curve of his tip perfectly kissed your g-spot with each piston of his hips, and every time the twitching head of his meat met your gummy part, it sent a flash of electricity up your spine.

“S-Sho good—” you slurred through your words, weighed head lolling idly to every thrust of his fat cock.

“No one can get you dripping off their cock like this, huh?”

“Mmh—yes!” the space between your brows was crumpled into a tensed frown, your hips bouncing up and down his thick girth with his hands guiding your pace. “I love it! I love your cock!”

Toji let out a low groan when you cried, bucking himself deeper into your sloppy mess of a cunt and kissing the surface of your cervix. “Fuck—I love an honest girl.”

Your muscles nearly melted off of your bones as he continued to fucked himself deeper than you’ve ever felt, reaching the parts you didn’t know could be touched and your features dropped with his touches on your deep intimacy. A fierce sear of heat burned through your tingling womb, and it threatened to consume your body whole. “M’ cummin’! Toji—!”

“I know, I know, let it out f’me. Come on,” he grunted, keeping his grip firm on your arms as he fucked himself hard and deep into you. He could feel your squelching cunny clench, so tight as for the purpose of milking him on the spot. “Keep bouncin’ on my cock, yeah?”

“Nngh—No more!” you squealed. “N-No—” his thumb drew between your shaking thighs and greedily swiped over your blushing clit. Your fingernails sank into your palms as you gripped for dear sanity, his cock continuously violating your fluttering spots until they grew sore.

“I can make you feel better, princess,” he mumbled tinglingly against your neck, sinking his teeth down your flesh to hold back a shaky moan. His pleasure was inching to fly to release, and your tight clutch onto his shaft was nothing but a catalytic lure.

“S’ hurts—please!” your babbles were almost indecipherable as he rammed into your sore cunt, his fingers digging into your soft flesh holding onto you tenaciously; pushing you right to the edge of oblivion as he clung onto his nearing release.

“Cum f’me again, baby?”

“M’can’t! Still sensitive—!” you cried before another orgasm shot through your core. You felt as if you were sent up into the ether, stars teeming through your body as the waves of pleasure sent you on a vertigo ride. Your gasps dragged through your lips, your eyelids hung heavily over your bleary eyes, with tears slipping down your hot cheeks.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—M’close too, baby,” Toji swore through his bared teeth, his cock painfully twitching as thick semen surged through his tip—his hips rolled as your cunt squeezed his remaining sanity, popping them like fireworks before they burst into nothingness.

Your essence squirted out of your tensed cunny, shooting with his mixed cum that dripped down his belly. Your breaths shaky and hot with heightened senses, your sticky sex pulsing in overstimulation.

Exhausted, you fell prostrated on top of his hard muscle-built body, head undulating with the ups and downs of his heaving chest. And slowly, your cognisance drifted back into your mind, the aftermath of everything—the alcohol and the sex, pummelled into you like a heavy truck. Unforgivingly so.

“Toji…I really feel like pukin—”

[mochikoz]

Aisle Four at 2 AM - part 1?

! don’t steal. reblog if it ruins you. - masterlist.

🍡 NARUTO | itachi uchiha x reader 💌 oneshot, female reader, no use of "y/n", modern setting, modern au, university au, fluff, strangers to lovers, sweet, convenience store. 16.6k words (full version) ⚠️ warnings - none. | also posted on ao3, the full verson. you can find it at grimstar.

2 AM | Tokyo, Japan —  Night 1

24-Hour Convenience Store. Aisle Four

The fluorescent lights hum softly, flickering slightly in the corners of the near-empty convenience store. Outside, the streets are quiet, empty sidewalks bathed in the pale glow of streetlights. It’s the kind of silence that only exists at this hour—too late for the night owls, too early for the early risers.

Inside, the faint rustle of plastic wrappers, the low buzz of the refrigerator, and the soft tapping of her fingers against the edge of the snack shelf fill the quiet. A steady rhythm. Absentminded.

But she’s not paying attention to the snacks.

She’s watching him. Same time, same place, same routine.

A few feet away, in aisle four, he stands in front of the protein bars, his posture relaxed yet deliberate, as if even the simplest action—reaching for a snack—demands precision.

She recognizes him. Everyone on campus does. He’s the kind of person people notice, even if he never asks to be noticed. Always calm, always composed. Smart in the way that makes professors pause before challenging him, effortlessly good-looking in a way that feels almost unfair.

People admire him. Respect him. But they don’t talk to him. Not because he’s unapproachable—just because no one wants to risk looking foolish in front of someone like him.

She isn’t sure why she spoke to him the first time.

Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was sleep deprivation.

“Do you ever get tired of eating that?” Her voice breaks the quiet, laced with amusement as she leans casually against the shelf. It’s not the first time she’s asked, and it probably won’t be the last.

He doesn’t startle—he never does—but there’s the faintest pause before he turns his head slightly, meeting her gaze with that steady, unreadable expression of his.

“It has the best nutritional value,” he says, voice calm, even.

She exhales sharply, shaking her head. Of course he would say that. “Right, because taste doesn’t matter at all?” she teases.

“Taste isn’t the point.”

“That’s depressing.”

He doesn’t argue, doesn’t defend his choice. Just watches as she reaches toward the shelf, fingers gliding over the brightly colored packages. She doesn’t rush, deliberately dragging out the moment before selecting a different brand and holding it out to him.

“This one’s better. Trust me.”

A pause.

She expects him to dismiss her suggestion immediately, maybe offer some overly logical argument about why his protein bar is superior.

But he doesn’t. Instead, his gaze flickers to the snack in her hand, thoughtful.

Considering.

For the first time, she wonders if he actually would eat the same thing every night forever if no one stopped him. If it’s just habit, or if he genuinely doesn’t care. The hesitation is brief—just a flicker of a moment. Then, without a word, he takes the protein bar from her hand. His fingers brush against hers as he does, warm, fleeting. It shouldn’t mean anything. It doesn’t mean anything.

But she still feels it.

Her hand lingers in the air for half a second longer than it should before she lets it drop to her side, clearing her throat as she watches him examine the packaging. He doesn’t thank her. But somehow, the way he turns the bar over in his hand, the fact that he hasn’t immediately put it back—it’s something.

Maybe nothing.

But maybe—

She doesn’t finish the thought. Instead, she steps away, heading toward the fridge for a bottle of water. She’s not looking at him, not paying attention—

At least, she thinks she isn’t—

Until she hears the quiet sound of foil crinkling. She glances back, just in time to see him rip open the wrapper and take a bite as he sits on one of the chairs designed for eating in the store.

The sight sends something unexpected through her—a small, ridiculous sense of satisfaction.

He chews, swallows, and finally—he looks at her. “It’s fine,” he says, as if that single phrase is supposed to be some grand verdict.

She stares at him. That’s it?

“That’s all you have to say?” she huffs.

“It’s not bad.”

“Wow. High praise.”

She expects him to move toward the register, to leave without another word, just like always. But instead, he lingers for a second longer, gaze settling on the snack shelf beside her.

“And you?” he asks.

She blinks. “What about me?”

He gestures—just slightly—toward the bag of caramel popcorn she’d thrown into her basket earlier. “That’s what you’re getting?”

“Yeah. What’s wrong with it?”

A pause.

Then—calm, as always—

“You’ll regret it after three bites.”

She gapes at him, half-offended, half-amused. “Excuse you? I have impeccable taste in snacks.”

He doesn’t argue. He just watches as she crosses her arms, studying him.

“You know what? Fine. Let’s make a deal,” she says. “If you’re going to judge my snacks, you have to try them too. That’s the rule.”

He considers her words for a long moment, long enough that she almost thinks he’ll refuse. But then—slowly, without a hint of hesitation—

“Alright.”

She wasn’t expecting that.

She watches as he takes another bite of the protein bar she chose for him, completely unfazed, like this is the most natural agreement in the world.

She doesn’t know why that makes her feel weird.

Or why, as he finally moves toward the register, she finds herself hesitating before leaving—

Waiting.

Just to see if he comes back tomorrow.

2 AM | Tokyo, Japan —  Night 2

24-Hour Convenience Store. Aisle Four

Tokyo is quieter at this hour, but never truly asleep. The faint hum of a vending machine outside breaks the silence, its neon lights casting a dim glow on the empty sidewalk. A lone taxi rolls by, its headlights sweeping across the store’s glass windows before disappearing down the street. The air is thick with the lingering warmth of the day, but inside, the convenience store is cold—unnaturally so, the air-conditioning cranked up too high, making her shiver slightly as she steps in.

The place is nearly empty.

Just as it always is.

Her footsteps are light against the tile, and as she moves past the shelves stacked with neatly arranged snacks, she already knows where to look.

Aisle four. There he is.

Standing in his usual spot, the same relaxed posture, the same quiet presence that somehow makes him seem even more unreachable. He doesn’t seem to notice her—or maybe he does, but simply doesn’t acknowledge it. His attention is fixed elsewhere.

She follows his gaze, and that’s when she sees it. In one hand, his usual protein bar. In the other, the one she suggested last night.

She pauses, tilting her head slightly as she watches him. He’s staring at the two bars like he’s running a full cost-benefit analysis in his head, scanning the labels as if the ingredients are going to reveal some kind of profound truth.

The corner of her mouth twitches.

“It’s not that deep, you know,” she finally says, breaking the silence and walking besides him.

Itachi doesn’t react right away. Just keeps studying the labels, his fingers barely shifting against the wrappers. Then, after a beat—

“It has more sugar.”

Of course, that’s the first thing he notices.

She crosses her arms. “Barely. And it actually tastes good. You know, in case you care about that sort of thing.”

He doesn’t answer, but she can tell he’s still thinking about it. A ridiculous part of her wonders if he’s genuinely considering the difference in macros or if he’s just making this unnecessarily difficult because that’s the kind of person he is.

Then, without a word, he places her protein bar into the basket.

She blinks.

“Wow,” she says, lips curving into a smirk. “Look at you. Living on the edge.”

“Hardly.” His tone is as indifferent as ever, but there’s something about the way Itachi lets the bar drop into the basket that makes her feel strangely triumphant.

He picks up a bottle of water, turning toward the counter like that’s all he came for—as if their conversation is already over.

But she isn’t done yet. “Wait.”

He stops instantly. No sigh, no hesitation. Just… waits.

She takes that as an invitation. Turning back to the shelf, she scans the snack options before grabbing a small pack of honey butter chips. Without hesitation, she drops them into his basket.

Itachi’s gaze flickers downward. Then back at her. “There’s no nutritional value in this,” he states.

“Not everything you eat has to be a protein-infused superfood,” she counters. “Besides, I wanna see if you’ll hate them or not.”

A long silence stretches between them. For a moment, she almost thinks he’ll put them back without another word.

But then—

The student exhales, a quiet, measured thing. There’s something unreadable in his expression, something almost amused. And then, with that same deliberate precision, he places the bag on the counter.

She grins.

Outside, the city hums softly, a few distant headlights slicing through the dark. The faint scent of rain lingers in the air, though the pavement is still dry. She steps out of the store first, the door sliding shut behind her with a muted whoosh.

But—

For the first time, he doesn’t immediately leave.

Usually, Itachi walks off without a second glance, disappearing into the night like a ghost. But tonight, he lingers.

She watches as he unwraps the protein bar with practiced ease, breaking off a small piece before taking a slow, deliberate bite. His expression remains neutral, his gaze steady on the horizon.

She waits.

“Well?” she prompts after a moment.

A pause. Then— 

“It’s tolerable.”

She snorts. “That’s a glowing review.”

He doesn’t respond, but she catches the way his fingers tap once against the wrapper before he takes another bite.

She leans against the metal railing beside the store, opening her own snack. The quiet between them is oddly comfortable—the kind that doesn’t demand to be filled. The city moves on without them, headlights streaking past, the occasional flicker of a streetlamp overhead. 

She doesn’t know why she stays.

She doesn’t know why he stays.

But neither of them leaves.

Not yet.

2 AM | Tokyo, Japan —  Night 3

24-Hour Convenience Store. Aisle Four

Outside, the streets are quiet, washed in a soft glow from the streetlights. The city never truly sleeps, but at this hour, it slows—traffic thinning, voices dimming, leaving only the occasional hum of a passing car or the distant chatter from a late-night ramen shop. A fine mist lingers in the air, remnants of an earlier rain, and the pavement glistens under neon reflections.

Inside, the convenience store is the same as always—sterile white floors, the faint buzz of refrigerators, the rhythmic beeping of the self-checkout machines.

And, as always, Itachi’s already there.

She doesn’t know why she expected anything different.

Standing in his usual spot in aisle four, he browses the shelves with the same calm focus as the nights before. His hand hovers over the familiar protein bars, fingers tracing over the packaging like he’s considering something—though they both know exactly which one he’s going to pick.

She takes her time walking over, footsteps soft against the linoleum.

“So?”

His head tilts slightly, acknowledging her presence before his eyes shift lazily toward hers. He doesn’t seem surprised by her sudden question, doesn’t even blink like a normal person might.

“The chips,” she presses, stepping beside him. “Did you hate them?”

Itachi doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, his gaze moves back to the shelves, scanning the options like he’s deep in thought. Then, finally—

“They were fine.”

She gapes. “Just fine?!” For a second, she wonders if he’s joking. Then she remembers who she’s talking to.

“That’s the best snack in this entire store, and all you have to say is ‘fine’?” 

He takes a measured breath, as if contemplating how much effort this conversation is worth. And then, in the same calm, unreadable tone—

“Too much sodium.”

She gasps, clutching her chest dramatically. “Unbelievable. You have no soul.”

He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t even acknowledge her theatrics. Just reaches for his usual protein bar like their conversation is already over.

The girl narrows her eyes, watching him, before turning toward the shelf herself. If he’s going to be that way about her snacks, then she’s going to double down.

She scans the options before plucking out a chocolate-covered custard cake, peeling the wrapper open right then and there. She barely has time to take a bite before he speaks again.

“That’s worse.”

Her head snaps up. “Excuse me?”

Still not looking at her, Itachi casually places his protein bar into his basket. “Too much sugar. No real nutrients. You’ll crash in an hour.”

She stares at him, unimpressed. “Yeah, but I’ll enjoy it.”

To prove her point, she takes a slow, exaggerated bite, making a show of how good it is. She even hums a little, just for effect. “Mmm. Tastes like happiness.”

The boy doesn’t react.

Doesn’t roll his eyes.

Doesn’t scoff or shake his head at her antics.

Instead, to her absolute horror, he reaches out—completely unbothered—and takes the other half of the snack straight from her hand.

Her brain malfunctions.

“Did you just—” she stares at him, eyes wide. “Did you just steal my snack?”

He chews, thoughtful. Then—

“It’s acceptable.”

Her jaw drops. “Acceptable?!” The boy says nothing. Just neatly tosses the wrapper into the small trash bin near the counter. Like he does this all the time. Like this isn’t a crime.

She glares at him.

And shoves his arm.

Not that it makes much of a difference—he barely moves, his stance steady, expression still unreadable. “You have issues.”

“So you’ve mentioned.”

She huffs, staring at him in disbelief as he grabs a bottle of water and heads toward the counter, completely unfazed. She watches him, still processing what just happened. Because here’s the thing—he didn’t have to take it. If he really wanted to try it, he could’ve just grabbed one for himself.

But he didn’t. Itachi took hers.

A tiny, ridiculous part of her wonders if that means something.

But she doesn’t say anything.

Instead, she snatches another custard cake from the shelf, stuffing it into her basket. If he wants another bite, he can get his own.

2 AM | Tokyo, Japan —  Night 4

24-Hour Convenience Store. Aisle Four

The doors slide open with a quiet chime, spilling a sliver of fluorescent light onto the empty sidewalk. She steps inside, the cool air brushing against her skin, carrying the faint scent of instant ramen and floor cleaner. The store is quiet—too quiet. Just the soft hum of the refrigerators, the occasional rustle of plastic from the cashier restocking shelves, and the buzz of the overhead lights.

And him.

She doesn’t have to look to know Itachi’s there. Aisle four. Same as always.

Still, she looks anyway.

Itachi stands exactly where she expects him to—one hand in his hoodie pocket, the other reaching for his usual protein bar. His posture is relaxed, effortless, like he belongs in the stillness of this moment. The world outside moves fast, but here, at 2 AM, time slows.

It’s strange how easily she’s grown used to this.

She steps forward, weaving through the aisles until she reaches his side. His presence is steady, grounding in a way she doesn’t fully understand. She lets her gaze drop to his basket. Protein bar, water, and—

Her brow furrows.

“An energy drink?”

The student doesn’t even glance at her, simply picks up a second protein bar as he replies, “You stayed in the library until 1:47 AM.”

She blinks. “How did you—”

“You passed by the window. Twice.”

She stares at him, caught between suspicion and amusement.

“So what, you just knew I’d come here after?”

Finally, he turns his head, eyes meeting hers with that same unreadable calm. “You always do.”

Something about the way he says it makes her pause. Not a question. Not an assumption. Just a quiet certainty, like he’s memorized the pattern of her late-night footsteps without meaning to. The realization settles over her, slow and quiet.

She does always come here. And so does he.

It’s an unspoken thing—this routine of theirs. Neither of them planned it, and yet it feels… constant. Something that just is.

Her grip tightens slightly on the strap of her bag, but she shakes the thought away before it lingers too long. Instead, she reaches into her own basket, fingers brushing over a familiar yellow bag. Before she can second-guess herself, she grabs an extra bag of honey butter chips and drops it into his basket.

A soft crinkle.

Itachi exhales, the sound almost like a laugh. Not quite, but close. 

His eyes flicker to the snack, then back to her. “I thought you said I had no soul.”

She shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “I’m testing to see if you can grow one.”

For a moment, he just looks at her. And then—just barely—the corner of his lips twitches. It’s not a full smile, but it’s the closest she’s seen.

She doesn’t say anything about it. Just watches as he turns toward the counter, basket in hand, moving with the same quiet ease as always. She follows a few steps behind, feeling an odd warmth settle in her chest.

Tomorrow, she knows, she’ll be here again.

And she already knows—

So will he.

2 AM | Tokyo, Japan —  Night 5

24-Hour Convenience Store. Aisle Four

By now, she’s stopped questioning whether she’ll see him here.

It’s not a coincidence. It’s not just a habit.

It’s something unspoken—something neither of them have acknowledged but both continue to follow.

Still, she isn’t expecting this.

The moment she steps into the store, she spots him standing in front of the instant ramen section. His posture is the same as always—calm, composed, unhurried—but his gaze is fixed on the shelves, his fingers lightly gripping two different flavors, one in each hand.

The girl slows her steps, watching.

Itachi isn’t the type to hesitate. Everything about him—his movements, his decisions, even the way he speaks—is precise. Calculated. Yet here he is, standing motionless in the fluorescent glow of the store, contemplating something as simple as cup noodles.

Her curiosity gets the best of her.

“Didn’t peg you as a ramen guy,” she says, stepping up beside him.

The student doesn’t startle, doesn’t even glance her way. If he’s surprised by her presence, he doesn’t show it.

“I’m not.”

She raises an eyebrow, looking between him and the shelves. “Then why are you staring at them like they hold the secrets of the universe?”

He remains silent for a moment, still focused on the labels, his sharp eyes scanning the ingredient lists as if he’s solving an equation. Then, without looking away—

“You bought one last night.”

She blinks. “So?”

“You chose this one.” He lifts the spicy seafood cup. “But you hesitated before picking it.”

The girl stares at him. Wait.

Did he seriously—?

“Did you just analyze my snack decision-making process?”

Finally, Itachi looks at her. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something about his gaze—steady, knowing—that makes her feel like he’s already five steps ahead of the conversation.

“You make impulsive choices but second-guess yourself when presented with too many options,” he says simply, like he’s stating a fact. “I was curious whether this was the correct choice or if you were settling.”

She gapes at him.

“Oh my God. You’re a psychopath.”

He exhales, unimpressed. “That’s dramatic.”

“No, you’re dramatic!” She gestures at the ramen in his hands. “Normal people don’t overanalyze other people’s instant noodle choices!”

“I wasn’t overanalyzing. I was gathering data.”

She stares at him for a long second. Then—

“Same thing!”

“It isn’t.”

She groans, running a hand through her hair before reaching toward the shelf. Without thinking, she grabs a different cup and shoves it into his hands.

“Here. This one’s better. Less artificial aftertaste.”

Itachi studies the one she handed him, turning it over in his hands before glancing back at her. “You hesitated again.”

“Because I didn’t expect to be psychologically profiled in the noodle aisle!”

For a second, silence.

And then—something shifts.

It’s barely noticeable, but she catches it—the smallest twitch at the corner of his lips, the faintest flicker of something in Itachi’s dark eyes.

Amusement.

Her stomach flips. She made him react.

It shouldn’t be a big deal. He’s always composed, always unreadable. But right now, she feels like she’s caught a glimpse of something behind that stoic exterior—something subtle, something real.

“Less artificial aftertaste?” he repeats, finally looking back at the ramen.

She nods, arms crossing over her chest. “Less artificial aftertaste.”

He hums, considering it for another second. And then—wordlessly—he drops it into his basket.

A small, inexplicable sense of victory settles in her chest.

She doesn’t say anything as they move toward the drink section, but she can’t quite wipe the smirk off her face. She watches as he reaches for a bottle of water, his movements as precise as always, like he already knew exactly what he was going to get.

And then, for the first time, Itachi hesitates.

Just slightly.

Just enough for her to notice.

She tilts her head. “What now?”

He exhales, glancing at the selection. “You drink this every night.”

She frowns, following his gaze. He’s looking at the row of iced coffees—the same one she always grabs. “Uh. Yeah?”

“You don’t like bitter coffee, but you never choose anything sweeter than this.”

She freezes.

It’s not just that he’s been paying attention. It’s that Itachi remembers.

A strange warmth unfurls in her chest, something unexpected and slightly unnerving. He says it so casually, like it’s just an observation, but it lingers in the space between them.

“It’s… balanced,” she says after a moment, voice quieter than before. “Not too sweet, not too strong.”

He hums again, glancing at the options. “Acceptable reasoning.”

“Thanks? I think?” She shakes off the weird feeling creeping up on her and grabs a second can. For a second, she contemplates throwing it at him.

By the time they reach the counter, the air between them has settled back into something comfortable. Familiar. She doesn’t think twice before grabbing another small bag of honey butter chips and tossing it into his basket.

Itachi exhales through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “I thought you said I had no soul.”

She shrugs. “I’m testing to see if you can grow one.”

And there it is again. That almost-smile. Not quite there, not quite absent. Just something in between.

She doesn’t mention it.

But she notices.

2 AM | Tokyo, Japan —  Night 7

24-Hour Convenience Store. Aisle Four

It’s unusually quiet tonight.

The hum of the refrigerators is the only sound filling the empty aisles. Even the usual flicker of the fluorescent lights feels slower, more subdued. There’s no one at the register, no footsteps from passing customers, no faint murmur of distant conversation. Just the low buzz of electricity and the soft rustling of plastic packaging.

And, of course—him.

She spots him the second she walks in.

Itachi stands exactly where she expects, in the middle of Aisle Four, scanning the shelves like there’s even a chance he’ll pick something different tonight. But she knows better. Knows that in a few seconds, he’ll reach for the same protein bar he always does, tuck it into his basket without hesitation, and walk toward the counter like this whole thing is just routine.

Because it is routine. Their 2 AM convenience store encounters. Their unspoken rhythm.

The realization makes her pause for a second before she steps forward, hands tucked casually into the pockets of her hoodie.

“Why do you even come here?” she asks, her voice cutting through the quiet.

He glances at her, unfazed. “For this.” Itachi lifts the protein bar slightly, as if that’s a perfectly reasonable answer.

She huffs, rolling her eyes. “No, I mean at 2 AM. Don’t you ever just—I don’t know—sleep?”

“Don’t you?”

She opens her mouth to argue, but—

Fair.

Instead, she just grins. 

He doesn’t say anything else, just watches as she moves toward the snack shelves. The girl pretends to study the options, even though she already knows what she’s going to get. Her fingers skim over the brightly colored packaging, pushing aside a few bags before she finally pulls out a pack of sour gummy worms.

The moment she picks it up, he speaks. 

“Those are awful.”

She gasps, clutching the bag to her chest like he just insulted her entire family. “Excuse you?”

“Excessively sweet. Artificial flavoring. No nutritional value whatsoever.”

“Oh my God, will you stop with the nutrition thing?” She tears the bag open, pulling out a red-and-yellow gummy worm before popping it into her mouth. “Not everything has to be about protein intake and vitamin content.”

“It should be.”

She groans, chewing pointedly before holding another gummy worm out toward him. “Try it.”

Itachi doesn’t move. Doesn’t reach for it. Just stares at the candy like it’s personally offended him. “No.”

She pouts dramatically. “Oh, come on. Don’t be boring.”

“I’m not boring.”

“You literally eat the same thing every night and act like sugar is your mortal enemy.”

There’s a pause. A slow inhale. And then—

Before she can react—he leans in.

Her breath catches.

It’s a small movement, a simple tilt forward, but he doesn’t take the candy from her hand—he takes it from her fingers. His lips graze them for the briefest second, the warmth of his skin lingering longer than it should.

Her heartbeat stumbles.

The moment is gone just as quickly as it came. Itachi leans back, chewing thoughtfully, his expression as unreadable as ever.

She stares at him, still processing what just happened.

“It’s tolerable,” he finally says.

She blinks. “That’s it? That’s all I get?”

“Would you rather I lie?”

“I’d rather you admit that it’s the best candy in existence.”

“It isn’t.”

She groans, dramatically stuffing another gummy in her mouth. “Unbelievable.”

Itachi doesn’t argue this time. Just watches as she eats, his gaze steady, thoughtful. Almost like he’s studying something more than just the snack.

She looks away.

They make their way to the register a minute later, walking in unspoken sync. He moves ahead of her, places his usual items on the counter, and she half-listens as the cashier scans them, distracted by the lingering awareness of his earlier touch.

She shakes it off.

But then—just as he picks up his bag—she catches it.

A second bag of sour gummy worms, sitting quietly among his things.

Itachi doesn’t look at her as he picks it up. Doesn’t acknowledge it.

And she doesn’t say anything.

But she notices.

And she smiles.

2 AM | Tokyo, Japan —  Night 10

24-Hour Convenience Store. Aisle Four

It’s raining.

Not a light drizzle, not a soft mist, but a full downpour—the kind that turns sidewalks into rivers, that makes umbrellas almost useless, that soaks through clothes within seconds and leaves everything clinging uncomfortably to skin. She had underestimated it. Badly.

She shivers as she steps into the store, the cold from the rain still biting at her skin despite the warmth of the indoor heating. The automatic door hums as it slides shut behind her, sealing her in with the familiar scent of instant food and cheap coffee.

The fluorescent lights cast a slightly too-bright glow over everything, reflecting off the wet patches on her hoodie. She tugs at the fabric uselessly, trying to shake some of the dampness off as she exhales, blowing a stray raindrop off her cheek.

And then—

“You’re wet.” She looks up.

Itachi’s already there.

Standing in the usual aisle, fingers lightly curled around the same protein bar he always buys, watching her with that same unreadable expression—calm, steady, like he knew she’d be here. Like it wasn’t even a question.

Her mouth twists slightly, half a smile, half exasperation. “Uh. Yeah. That’s how rain works.”

He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he shifts his bag off his shoulder, reaching inside with the same quiet precision he does everything with. And before she can process what’s happening, he pulls something out.

A neatly folded towel. She stares at it.

“Did you just—have that on you?”

“Yes.”

She blinks, still not reaching for it. “Why?”

“For situations like this.” The words are simple, logical, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. But that’s what makes it so weird.

She narrows her eyes, crossing her arms. “Okay, but—did you bring this just in case someone got caught in the rain, or did you specifically think I would?”

“Both.”

Her mouth falls open.

“Excuse me?”

“It was likely you’d be here, and you don’t check the weather.”

She sputters, feeling vaguely attacked. “Oh my God. Did you actually predict my incompetence?”

“It’s not predicting if it’s consistent behavior.”

She groans, but she takes the towel anyway, her fingers brushing against the fabric as she hesitantly unfolds it. It’s warm. Like it had just been taken out of a dryer before he put it in his bag. The scent of fabric softener lingers faintly—clean, fresh, strangely comforting.

She doesn’t comment on that.

Instead, she presses the towel against her damp hair, rubbing at the strands in an attempt to absorb the worst of the water. A few droplets roll down the side of her face, clinging to her lashes, and she blinks them away, vaguely aware of the way he’s still watching her.

Not in an intrusive way. Not like he’s waiting for anything. Just… observing. Like she’s something to be studied. Which, considering the fact that he somehow analyzed her likelihood of getting rained on, is actually a possibility.

She huffs, shaking her head slightly as she hands the towel back. “You’re weird.”

“So you’ve said.” She watches as the student folds the towel again with the same effortless precision, tucking it back into his bag like he hadn’t just handed it to her without hesitation.

It’s strange how easily this has become routine. The way they meet here. The way they speak. The way he does things like this—quiet, steady, practical gestures, never offering explanations beyond what’s necessary.

She glances at his basket, eyes catching on the single protein bar inside. Without thinking, she reaches into her own basket, grabs a second bag of honey butter chips, and drops it in.

The boy exhales through his nose, the closest thing she’s ever heard to an amused sigh. “I thought you said I had no soul.”

She shrugs, shoving her hands into her hoodie pocket. “I’m testing to see if you can grow one.”

And for the first time—

Something shifts.

His lips don’t quite move, but there’s something at the edges of them. Not a full smile, not even close, but a flicker of something. Barely there, almost imperceptible.

But there.

She doesn’t say anything about it. She just watches as he heads to the counter, a quiet warmth settling in her chest.

Tomorrow, she thinks, she’ll be here again.

And she already knows—

So will he.

2 AM | Tokyo, Japan —  Night 12

24-Hour Convenience Store. Aisle Four

The air inside the store is cold, sharper than the warmth of the night rain she left behind. The fluorescent lights cast a sterile glow over the aisles, their low hum blending with the faint rustling of plastic wrappers and the occasional beep from the register.

She stands in front of the coffee section, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, staring at two nearly identical jars of instant coffee.

One boasts a “richer aroma.” The other claims to be “smoother and less acidic.”

She exhales, dragging a hand down her face. Why is this so difficult? It’s just coffee. Just overpriced granules she’ll chug half-asleep tomorrow morning without thinking twice.

And yet—

A sound catches her attention. Subtle. A quiet, unmistakable crinkle.

Her head lifts.

A few feet away, standing in the adjacent aisle, Itachi’s placing something into his basket. His usual protein bar is in one hand, fingers curled around it with his usual absentminded ease. The picture of routine.

Except—

She glances down. Nestled between the neatly arranged items in his basket is something that doesn’t belong.

A pack of dango skewers.

Her brows lift. Huh. “Is that—”

“No.”

She blinks, caught off guard by how fast the boy shuts her down.

“I didn’t even say anything yet.” His response is immediate. Too immediate. He exhales, slow and measured, and places the protein bar into the basket, subtly shifting it—casual, unassuming. But she sees it for what it is. A deliberate attempt to cover the dango.

Her lips curl into a grin.

“You have a sweet tooth, don’t you?”

“No.”

“Liar.” She steps closer, peering shamelessly into his basket. The bag is glossy, a deep red with white lettering, the skewers inside neatly lined up. “Dango, huh? You into traditional sweets?”

“They’re not for me.”

“Oh? Who are they for then?” A beat. A pause just a little too long. Then—

“My brother.”

She squints. “You have a brother?”

“Yes.”

“And he specifically asked for convenience store dango?” Another pause.

”…Yes.”

She tilts her head, watching him closely. He doesn’t fidget—he never does—but there’s something in the way his fingers subtly adjust on the basket handle. A slight, near-imperceptible shift.

She narrows her eyes.

“Wow. So convincing.” The student says nothing.

And then—so subtly she almost misses it—he nudges the basket just a little further away from her line of sight.

Her mouth falls open.“You totally bought those for yourself!”

“You’re being loud.”

“You’re being suspicious!”

“Lower your voice.”

“Admit it.”

“No.” His expression is perfectly neutral, but she swears she catches the tiniest flicker of something in his eyes. Exasperation? Amusement? She isn’t sure.

But it only makes her grin wider.

She watches as Itachi turns away, moving toward the register, intent on escaping before she can interrogate him further. His movements are composed, steady, like none of this is affecting him in the slightest.

But she knows better now. She sees the tiny shifts—the slight adjustment of his grip on the basket, the way his eyes flick to the side, the way his jaw tightens ever so slightly when she catches onto something.

It’s rare, but it’s there. And it’s endlessly entertaining.

She follows him to the counter, watching as he places his items down in that same precise manner—everything lined up, organized, calculated. The cashier barely glances up, scanning them through with the same detached efficiency they always have.

And just as he reaches for his wallet—

She wordlessly reaches over and drops a bar of white chocolate onto the counter. The movement is swift, effortless, like she’d planned it in advance. Itachi freezes, just for a fraction of a second, before turning his head to look at her.

Expression unreadable. But she knows him well enough now to recognize the question in his gaze.

“Just thought you’d like it,” she says, all innocence.

His eyes flicker to the chocolate, then back to her. He doesn’t move to take it away. Doesn’t push it aside, doesn’t argue, doesn’t roll his eyes at her antics. He simply watches as the cashier scans it, silent as the beep cuts through the quiet store.

And then—without a word—the boy pays for it along with everything else.

She doesn’t say anything as he takes the bag, fingers tightening briefly around the handle before he turns toward the door. But as he steps outside, disappearing into the night, she wonders—

Tomorrow, when she sees him again—

Will there be another one in his basket?

2 AM | Tokyo, Japan —  Night 15

24-Hour Convenience Store. Aisle Four

The store is as quiet as always, save for the distant hum of the refrigerator units and the faint rustle of plastic bags near the counter. The scent of warm bread drifts from the bakery section, mixing with the sharper notes of freshly brewed coffee from the self-serve machine.

She stands in front of the row of bottled drinks, absently running a finger along the chilled glass, contemplating her choices. Coffee? Tea? Something carbonated?

She’s still deciding when she hears footsteps approaching. Slow, unhurried, familiar. She looks up just as he stops beside her, his usual convenience store bag hanging loosely from one hand.

Then—without preamble—

“I brought something.”

She blinks. Itachi holds out a small plastic container. She stares at it, then at him.

“Huh?” He doesn’t repeat himself, just waits, arm extended, gaze steady as ever. She hesitates, then takes the container carefully, feeling the weight of it in her palms.

Through the clear lid, she sees them—two pieces of castella cake, soft and golden, neatly cut into perfect rectangles. She looks back up at him, incredulous.

“You… made this?”

“Yes.”

“You bake?”

“Sometimes.” Her mouth falls open slightly.

“So, let me get this straight—you critique my snack choices every night, but the whole time, you were secretly making desserts in your spare time?”

Itachi doesn’t answer, but the look he gives her says enough.

She exhales, shaking her head, before carefully peeling the lid off. The scent is warm and familiar—sweet, but not overly so. She hesitates for only a second before breaking off a small piece, pressing it between her fingers before popping it into her mouth.

The moment it touches her tongue, she stops. The texture is impossibly soft, the sweetness subtle but rich, melting in a way that store-bought snacks never could. It’s warm, comforting, the kind of taste that lingers.

She swallows. “Holy crap.”

The student watches her, unreadable. “Is it bad?”

She stares at him like he’s insane. “Bad? No, this is—” She takes another bite. Then another. “This is dangerously good. Like, ‘I’d sell my soul for another piece’ good.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “What else can you make?”

He exhales, but there’s something just barely amused at the corner of his mouth. “I’m not giving you my entire recipe list.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’d abuse it.”

She gasps, pressing a hand to her chest. “I would cherish it.”

“You’d demand something new every night.”

“So?”

“So, you eat too much sugar as it is.”

She groans, dragging a hand down her face as she finishes the cake with exaggerated slowness, as if savoring every last bite. 

“You’re the worst.” She licks a stray crumb from her thumb, still glaring at him when he reaches into his bag again—

And hands her another container. She freezes.

Stares at it. Then at Itachi.

“I thought you said—”

“I made extra.”

For a moment, she doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. Because this—this tiny thing, this quiet, unspoken consideration—is something else entirely.

Itachi doesn’t react to her staring, just turns toward the shelves, expression as neutral as ever, like this is nothing. Like he didn’t just single-handedly ruin every convenience store snack for her by introducing something better.

She watches him for a long moment.

And then—slowly, quietly—she smiles.

2 AM | Tokyo, Japan —  Night 18

24-Hour Convenience Store. Aisle Four

The usual warmth of the store wraps around her as she steps inside, the sound of the automatic door sliding closed behind her, and the faint buzz of the overhead lights accompanying the soft hum of the fridge units.

Her gaze scans the aisles instinctively, already looking for him—her eyes narrowing slightly as she spots the familiar figure in his usual place, standing in front of the snack aisle. His back is straight, posture as precise and controlled as ever, his expression calm, unreadable.

It’s becoming more routine now, these late-night meetings, and she’s starting to realize she’s not quite sure how she feels about it anymore.

Tonight, though, there’s a difference. A quiet, subtle shift in her chest that she hasn’t fully understood yet.

She grips the small paper bag in her hand a little tighter, the soft rustling of it a reminder of her purpose. She’s prepared tonight, and she’s not just here to be swept up in the silence that often settles between them. Tonight, she’s going to make him see that she can play this game too.

Without a word, she steps toward him, moving with an easy confidence that contrasts the subtle butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

His eyes flicker in her direction as she approaches, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t acknowledge her right away. Instead, his attention stays focused on the snacks before him, hands absentmindedly trailing along the edge of the shelves as if contemplating his options.

Then—before he can even turn to face her—she thrusts the paper bag into his hands.

“What’s this?” Itachi asks, his voice low, as steady as ever.

“Payment.”

He pauses, lifting an eyebrow in silent questioning. “For?”

“For the cake, obviously. I refuse to be in your debt.”

The boy exhales through his nose, clearly amused, but doesn’t question it further. Instead, he opens the bag, eyes scanning the contents with an unreadable expression. Inside is a neatly wrapped slice of cheesecake, its creamy surface glistening under the store’s fluorescent lights.

His gaze flickers back to her, and she can’t quite place the look in his eyes. “You made this?”

“No, I stole it from a five-star bakery.” She rolls her eyes. “Yes, I made it.”

Itachi doesn’t respond immediately, and for a brief moment, the silence between them feels different. He’s not critiquing her, not offering some terse remark about her snack choices. Instead, his eyes linger on the slice of cheesecake in his hands, considering it with the same thoughtful scrutiny he applies to everything.

Finally, Itachi picks up the small plastic fork she included and takes a bite, his expression still as impassive as ever. She watches him, her heart thumping louder in her chest with each passing second.

For a while, nothing changes. And then—there it is.

A subtle shift in his features. So subtle, in fact, that if she weren’t looking for it, she might’ve missed it entirely. His gaze flickers momentarily, a quick glance of something soft that she’s not quite sure how to define.

Satisfaction.

She feels a grin tugging at the corners of her lips, but she holds it back.

“Good, right?” she asks, keeping her voice light, teasing.

He swallows, his usual calm demeanor still intact, but there’s something different in his eyes. “It’s…” He hesitates, as if searching for the right words. Then, after a brief pause, he simply says, “Acceptable.”

Her grin falters for a second. ”‘Acceptable’?! That’s all I get?”

He looks down at the slice, as if evaluating it further, before his gaze meets hers once again. “You’re new to baking. Your technique needs work.”

She blinks. “Excuse me? You think you’re some kind of expert just because you made one cake?”

“Yes.”

She glares at him, crossing her arms over her chest, momentarily flustered by the audacity of his words. “Okay, you know what? Fine. Next time, I’ll make something so good you’ll have no choice but to admit defeat.”

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t show the slightest hint of concern. Instead, Itachi simply takes another bite of the cheesecake, chewing slowly this time, as if savoring it.

She watches him, trying to ignore the warm feeling that spreads in her chest at the sight of him enjoying something she made. But she doesn’t point it out.

She doesn’t mention how his usual expression of blank indifference has softened just slightly, how the way he chews, the slight furrow of his brow, tells her more than his words ever could.

Instead, she focuses on the way his eyes flicker to hers for the briefest moment, and how—after a beat—he turns away again, nonchalant as ever. But there’s something in the way he takes another bite, slower this time, like he’s savoring it just a little more than the first.

She notices. And she feels that familiar smile tugging at her lips once again, though she doesn’t let him see it.

Tomorrow, she’ll bring him something else. Something even better.

He’ll be waiting.

2 AM | Tokyo, Japan —  Night 20

24-Hour Convenience Store. Aisle Four

The familiar buzz of the convenience store is comforting in the dead of night. She’s already used to the soft lighting that bathes the shelves in yellow hues, the quiet air that feels almost too still for a place meant to be bustling.

But tonight, there’s something different about the way the aisles seem to stretch farther than usual. Her thoughts, like the snacks before her, are disjointed, and her gaze keeps flitting from one package to another, undecided.

She’s been here countless times, stood in this same spot so many times before, but tonight—tonight, the decision is harder. What will he say this time? Will it be the same critique? Will he even acknowledge her snack at all?

The girl’s fingers drum lightly against the edge of the shelf, impatient. She pulls a bag of chips out, then puts it back, then grabs a small box of cookies only to change her mind again. Snack selection is a delicate process, after all.

A small sigh escapes her lips as she glances up, ready to scan the aisles for him.

And there he is.

As if he’s always been there, waiting, watching. His usual calm posture, the slightly tilted head, the steady, almost predatory gaze that never quite seems to shift from whatever he’s focused on.

She frowns. “You still haven’t bought anything.”

She snaps out of her thoughts, blinking. He’s standing in the aisle, as if he’s been observing her this entire time—silent, patient, as always.

“I’m thinking.” she mutters, a little defensive, and her eyes shift back to the rows of snacks before her.

“You’ve been ‘thinking’ for ten minutes.” Itachi’s voice is quiet but pointed, enough to make her feel like he’s judging every second of indecision.

She huffs. “Snack selection is a delicate process.”

His gaze shifts slightly, scanning her face before returning to the shelves, disinterested but attentive. “You’ll end up picking something terrible.”

She narrows her eyes at him, feeling the need to defend her honor. “Excuse you. I have excellent taste.”

His lips twitch, but he doesn’t smile. Instead, Itachi raises a brow, challenging her. “Last time you bought those artificial peach rings.”

Her eyes widened. “And?” she retorts, feeling the need to defend her snack choice from a few nights ago.

“They were barely edible.”

“How dare you. They were delicious.” She presses a hand to her chest in mock indignation.

His gaze remains calm, like a calm lake, unruffled by her theatrics. “They tasted like soap.”

She laughs, throwing her head back. “That’s the flavor profile!” she exclaims, trying to make light of the situation.

The boy gives her a blank stare. “You’re impossible.”

She grins, feeling the familiar tension break, and as usual, she moves in for the kill.

Her hand reaches out quickly, grabbing a bag of matcha-flavored chocolate bars from the shelf. They’re bold. They’re different. They’re daring. She can already feel the surge of satisfaction in picking something that might throw him off balance for once.

“Okay, snack critic.” She tosses the bag of chocolate bars into his basket with a flick of her wrist before he can protest. “Try these.”

His eyes narrow just a fraction as he looks at the bag, but he doesn’t say anything immediately. Instead, Itachi lifts his gaze to meet hers, as if silently daring her to say something more.

“And if I don’t like them?” he asks, his tone calm, the question a mere formality.

She meets his gaze head-on. “Then you have terrible taste, and I’ll never respect you again.”

For a moment, he doesn’t react, doesn’t even flinch, as though he’s accustomed to her hyperbole.

She watches as he continues his casual perusal of the aisle, unaffected by her words, his fingers brushing against the labels of various snack bags without much interest. He seems unbothered, but she knows that his attention is always sharper than most people realize.

Finally, the sound of the register’s scanner cuts through the quiet air, signaling the end of the night’s routine.

She watches closely as Itachi places his items on the counter, and when the cashier scans the matcha chocolate bars, he doesn’t remove them from the basket.

Her eyes linger on him for a moment longer as she watches him pay, the weight of his indifference hanging in the air. She can’t help but feel a sense of triumph, but she doesn’t voice it.

When the boy walks out of the store, she’s left standing there for a few seconds longer than usual, the words from their exchange still hanging in her thoughts.

Tomorrow, she thinks. She’ll find something even better. Something he’ll have no choice but to admit is superior.

As the door closes behind her, she feels an unspoken understanding between them—something deeper than their usual playful banter.

2 AM | Tokyo, Japan —  Night 21

24-Hour Convenience Store. Aisle Four

She steps into the store, the familiar chime of the door ringing softly behind her. Tonight feels a little different, more charged than usual, and she’s not sure why. Maybe it’s the fact that the rain has just started to drizzle outside, or maybe it’s because she’s carrying something new—something more daring this time.

She’s scanning the aisles when she hears the familiar, quiet voice.

“You were right.”

She freezes, mid-step, blinking in surprise as she turns toward Itachi. There he is, standing in his usual spot, calm as ever, but there’s something different about the way he holds himself tonight. In his hand is the now crumpled wrapper of the matcha chocolate bars she gave him the night before. He holds it out toward her, a silent challenge in his eyes.

She stares at the wrapper for a long moment, trying to process. “…Is this supposed to mean something?” she asks, voice laced with a mix of confusion and curiosity.

His expression remains stoic, but his words are almost reluctant. “You were right.”

The world feels like it pauses for a beat, and then the words hit her like a sudden gust of wind. “Wait—seriously?” she says, unable to keep the surprise from her voice. She takes a half-step toward him, eyes widening. “You liked them?”

For a second, Itachi looks like he might change his mind, but then he shrugs, the corner of his lips barely twitching in something resembling an attempt at nonchalance. “Yes.”

Her heart skips a beat, and she can’t help but break into a grin that spreads like wildfire across her face. “I knew it! I knew you had a sweet tooth!” The words tumble out of her before she can stop them. It feels almost too easy, the victory too sweet.

He raises an eyebrow, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—maybe it’s a mix of resignation and amusement. “Don’t start.”

She can barely contain her joy as she takes a step closer to him, now fully leaning into her victory. “Oh, I will start. This is a life-changing revelation, you know. You, with your stoic face and your ‘I don’t like sweets’ routine—turns out you’re secretly a sugar addict.”

His sigh is long and dramatic, the kind of sigh you give when you’ve already accepted defeat but still wish for an escape. He pinches the bridge of his nose, his usual calm demeanor slightly cracked. “You’re overreacting.”

But she doesn’t let it slide. She takes in the moment, savoring it as she always does when she’s right about something. “Nope. I will never let this go,” she declares with a little too much enthusiasm, unable to keep the sparkle in her eyes from showing. “I knew you had a weakness for sugar. I just knew it. It was there, hiding behind all your protein bars and ‘I don’t need snacks’ talk.”

Itachi’s gaze is sharp, but there’s a hint of something else—maybe amusement, maybe exhaustion. Either way, he doesn’t respond immediately, and instead, he shifts his attention back to the shelves, his fingers grazing the edges of a snack bag without any real focus.

For her part, she can’t help but watch him for a few seconds, as if to make sure the moment is real. The quiet satisfaction of being right about him, about this, about how much he’s actually paying attention, feels like an unexpected but delightful little victory.

He sighs again, more heavily this time, his eyes narrowing slightly as he seems to reconsider his entire existence. “I’ll never hear the end of this, will I?”

Her grin widens, and she shakes her head. “Nope. Not a chance. I’m telling everyone I know. You’re a closet sweet tooth enthusiast. And nothing can erase that now.”

The boy looks at her for a long moment, and for the first time in their routine, there’s a subtle shift in his expression. It’s so small—just a faint flicker of something softer, less guarded. It’s gone before she can say anything, but it’s there.

Finally, he looks back at the snack shelves. “I’m getting another protein bar,” he says, his tone returning to its usual clipped, no-nonsense quality. It’s like he’s trying to return to normalcy, but they both know something has shifted between them.

She watches him, amused, her heart still buzzing from the small victory. But then, without thinking too much about it, she reaches for something.

“Tomorrow, I’m bringing you a whole bag of sweets,” she says, barely giving him time to respond before she grabs a couple of items from the shelf and walks toward the register, leaving him to catch up.

As she turns to head to the counter, she can’t help but wonder if, maybe, he’ll actually be excited to try them.

TO BE CONTINUED...

[mochikoz]

not on my list to cry today 😞 also the art is just *chef’s kiss*

in the end, all he wished for was more time with him

[mochikoz]

previews? that’s cute.

"don’t scroll like you earned something."

attack on titan

✧ none yet. don’t cry.

black clover

✧ manifesting chaos soon.

haikyuu!!

✧ flirting with the idea of writing…

jujutsu kaisen

✧ this section has sharp edges.

love and deepspace

✧ it’s not love. it’s worse.

naruto

✧ don’t ask who. i know who i write for.

more coming. or not. depends.

[mochikoz]

hi. i write what i want, when i want. if it’s good, stay. if it’s great, reblog. 🍒 fanfiction. soft chaos. a little damage. updates? maybe. mostly anime.

✶ masterlist ✶