You had to hold your own breath to stop yourself from laughing, watching your boyfriend gojo satoru halt his entire self. He was peacefully preparing some food in the kitchen, before pausing at your question. Knife mid chop, body stiff like a statue. You swear that he even stopped breathing for duration of time.
A few beats pass, and Satoru puts down everything in his hands. He's still facing away from you, but you can only imagine his face right now. Your boyfriend steadily turns his head to your spot in the living room, which reminds you of how owls slowly turn their heads. He finally breaks the silence.
"I.. w-what?"
He. fucking. stammered.
Somehow by the strength of God alone, you maintain a straight face.
"You know, have you ever imagined having some extra inches in height?"
Your gaze meets his, and his sharp blue eyes are absolutely unreadable. In less than a second, Satoru strides to stand right in front of you. While you may not necessarily be the shortest or tallest, Satoru always towered over you.
Your boyfriend, and his six foot three/190 cm tall person, towering over your own figure.
"Baby..." he speaks, voice low and steady, "what, and I mean, the absolute fuck do you mean by 'do I wish I was taller'???"
Screwing with him was too easy, it almost makes you feel bad.
Almost.
"I dunno, I was just thinking what if you were a bit taller? Like maybe if you were as tall as Nanami?" You smirk fully knowing that Nanami was just short of Satoru's height.
All hell breaks loose.
"WhAT??! No, no no no! First off, I AM tall. I don't need to be 'taller'. Also, the fuck? Nanami is shorter than me. SHORTER.THAN.ME. Here, look at this picture of us. See, he's shorter. Look see-"
The gates holding back your amusement breaks, and you let out the most boisterous laugh. Full on cry laughing. In between your feats of laughter, you manage out some broken words of "I was joking" "you make it so easy" "you don't need any more height to you".
Satoru is watching you lose it, before realizing that you had just successfully baited him.
Well, two can play that game.
Before you can process, Satoru picks you up, throwing you over his shoulder. You flail and kick your legs in his hold, before he lands a nasty smack! on your ass.
"'Toru- where are we- why are we going to our room???"
You can't see, but Satoru has the meanest smirk on his face.
"Hmm? I might not be taller, but I'll show you where those extra inches went too."
You really should rage bait Satoru more often.
a/n : inspired by me rage baiting my guy friends about their height (I have 5'1 ft /155 cm
@deserteddreamscape 2025 - do not copy or translate
“babe,” your boyfriend slurs, voice carrying over the music. “tell me why i can’t raw you right here, right now? like, hypothetically. nobody would notice if i just bent you over the table… right?”
the people sitting at the table behind you go dead silent. you choke on your drink, before slamming the glass down.
“oh my god, satoru—”
“what?!” he reels back, genuinely affronted, eyes glassy but still piercing in that glacial blue. “what, i can’t admire my own girlfriend in public now? society’s gone to shit.” one hand drifts down your thigh, his idea of subtlety. it isn’t. especially when he adds, sotto voce, “fuck, you’re hot. i’m so har-”
that’s when the bartender leans in, grim.
“miss… is this man harassing you?”
you drag a hand over your face. “…no. he’s my boyfriend.”
to make matters infinitely worse, said boyfriend points at you with righteous conviction, beaming with tipsy pride.
“boyfriend!” he hollers to the room. “can you believe this angel-” he gestures so wildly he nearly knocks over his drink, “is dating me? me! do you guys understand how mind-blowing—”
“satoru gojo. behave.”
he nearly topples off the stool, then promptly buries his face against your neck, mumbling hotly, “’m gonna put a fat ring on your finger. how’s that sound? me as your sexy, super-powerful husband—” already trying to sneak his hand back up your thigh.
and despite your mortification, you can’t even bring yourself to be truly mad. because really, he’s just that: a man in love.
you're going to ibiza for a girls holiday. gojo is NOT okay.
satoru thinks heartbreak should be illegal. specifically, this heartbreak- the one where his girlfriend is about to board a flight to ibiza with shoko and the rest of her friends while he stays home to rot like yesterday’s milk.
you’re attempting to cram your sunglasses into an already overstuffed carry on when he flops onto your bed behind you with the grace of a man who’s just been shot. he doesn’t just flop, he bounces twice, then rolls over dramatically until his face is buried in your blanket.
"whyyyyy are you doing this to meeeeee," he mumbles, voice muffled in your pillow. "what did i do. name one war crime i committed to deserve this." you flick him on the forehead. he doesn’t even flinch, just cracks one icy blue eye open to watch you wrestle with your zipper.
"stop being so dramatic," you say, fighting a smile. "it's a weekend, satoru. three days."
"three days is seventy two hours," he corrects you, flinging an arm out for maximum tragedy. "do you know how many minutes that is? do you know how many times we'll need to facetime just so i can stay alive?"
at this point in your relationship, he's long past pretending not to be clingy. right now, his hair’s a mess, his shirt is half untucked from where he’s been crawling around your floor in protest, and you’d bet good money that if you tried to actually drag your suitcase out the door, he’d just cling to the handle and let himself be wheeled along like luggage extension.
outside, shoko honks the car horn. three short threatening beeps. she's been ready for twenty minutes.
"satoru!" she yells through the window. "get off her!"
he ignores her completely- too busy rolling onto his stomach so he can grab you around the hips, chin digging into your thigh like he’s anchoring you to the floor.
"you're gonna meet some european dj with a man bun then you’re gonna come back saying stuff like ‘babe, the ocean changed me.’ and then i'll have to join a monastery." he whines dramatically.
you snort, patting his head like a sulky cat. "you'd get kicked out of a monastery in two minutes."
outside, shoko honks again. you glance at your phone- four unread texts from her that say i'm leaving you here if he tries to climb in my trunk.
when you finally manage to zip your bag and drag it toward the door, he scrambles after you on his knees. before you can even slip your shoes on, he’s wrapped himself entirely around your legs from behind, arms locked like a vice around your thighs, cheek smushed against your lower back.
"satoru-" you try, exasperated. you tug forward an inch. he drags with you like a six foot weighted blanket, feet sliding across the floorboards.
"try leaving now," he says, voice muffled, clinging tighter. "try it. see what happens. i'm part of the outfit now."
"are you done?"
"never."
eventually, you have to bribe him off with three kisses, a promise to text him when you land, and the threat of shoko physically dragging him out of the doorway by the hair.
when you finally manage to peel him off you long enough to escape to the door, he stumbles after you in his socks, hair sticking up everywhere. he dramatically plants himself in the hallway like a guard dog who failed obedience school.
"i'm gonna spam you," he threatens, pointing a finger at you like you’ve committed a crime. "you're gonna regret this. i'm gonna send you so many sad selfies you’ll have to turn your phone off. you did this to yourself."
"can't wait," you laugh, leaning in to kiss him just to shut him up.
and when you land in ibiza, your phone connects to the airport wi-fi before the wheels even finish taxiing, and immediately you’re hit with a barrage of notifications that make shoko side eye you over her sunglasses.
38 unread messages 9 missed calls 4 instagram stories tagged with your handle
you open them in order of damage control. the first story is a dramatic black and white close up of gojo’s face, half buried in your pillow, captioned, when your reason for living leaves you for a european man bun 🕊️💔
the next is even worse. he’s lying on your side of his bed, dramatically clutching the shirt you forgot to pack. the caption reads, i put on her perfume to remember what happiness smelled like.
you snort so hard you nearly drop your phone on the moving walkway. shoko just flicks your arm. "i'm confiscating your phone if you laugh at him again. he's training you to enable this."
you ignore her. the third story is the worst. gojo in full grayscale filter, standing in your apartment wearing your fuzzy pink slippers. marvins room playing in the background.
he zooms in on the slippers with the caption, stepping into her role since she stepped out of my life.
you cover your face with one hand. "he's so stupid. should i just block him?"
shoko hums, pulling her suitcase along. "no. let him suffer. it's free entertainment."
you try to pocket your phone. a mistake. another ping. he's texted you forty more times since you opened the app.
toru: have you landed??? toru: did you get kidnapped by ibiza pirates??? toru: i’m outside the airport toru: JK but i would be if nanami didn’t physically tackle me toru: you know what toru: i’m buying a ticket right now toru: you think i won’t? toru: you think i won’t show up in a speedo and ruin a girls trip??? toru: i would look so good in a speedo toru: send feet pics toru: ok JK but for real call me when you see this toru: ૮(˶ㅠ︿ㅠ)ა toru: that’s the face i’m making rn
you can practically see him pacing around your apartment, wearing your slippers and sniffing your hoodie like a love struck puppy with abandonment issues.
you facetime him while you wait for your bags. it rings once. once. he picks up like he’s been standing there, phone in hand, ready to pounce.
"BABY!" he's way too loud- the echo of your empty apartment behind him, your pillow in his arms like a hostage. "did you land? are you safe? are the ibiza men uglier than me?"
you roll your eyes. "yes, yes, and yes."
he gasps. "you didn’t even look yet. you can’t know that for sure-"
"i know," you say sweetly. "nobody’s prettier than you, toru."
he beams like you just handed him the winning lottery ticket. "ughhh. say it again." shoko rips the phone out of your damn hand.
"satoru. shut up. she’ll text you later." she hangs up before he can protest, then tosses your phone back at you like it’s infected.
sure enough, by the time you’re in the hotel lobby, his stories have doubled. one's a video of him sitting at nanami's desk wearing sunglasses inside, captioned the sun doesn’t shine when she’s gone. another is just his hand dramatically pressed against the window with thinking about her.
when you finally text him that you miss him too, he replies in half a second.
toru: I KNEW IT toru: you love me more toru: i’m making a powerpoint about it toru: sending u slides later toru: enjoy ur trip baby 🩷🩷🩷
three days later, you come home with salt in your hair and a mild sunburn on the bridge of your nose, dragging your suitcase through arrivals while shoko threatens to abandon you at baggage claim if you don’t buy her a coffee first. you’re halfway through customs when your phone lights up again.
toru: where are you😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭
you don’t even bother replying, because the moment you clear the sliding doors into the arrivals hall, you spot him instantly. there’s no not spotting him. he’s tall enough to block out the overhead sign, standing dead center with his sunglasses on.
but he’s not alone. flanking him like two deeply uncomfortable bodyguards are yuji and megumi, each gripping one corner of the same massive piece of torn cardboard scrawled in permanent marker.
'WELCOME HOME BABY (no ibiza djs allowed)'
there's even a sad doodle of a little crying stick figure labeled 'me' with a huge speech bubble that says 'DON’T LEAVE AGAIN.'
yuji’s beaming at every passerby like this is the highlight of his week. megumi is staring at the floor like he wants it to open up and swallow him entirely. and you? you stop in your tracks. shoko wheezes behind you, chokes on her iced coffee, and mutters, "no way. no. he's your problem now," before speed walking off to the taxi stand.
satoru spots you immediately. like a guard dog with perfect senses and no shame. he nearly drops the sign in his rush to get to you, barking an order over his shoulder- "hold it up straight, yuji- megumi, c’mon-" slipping through the sea of families and luggage carts until he’s practically skidding to a stop in front of you.
"you’re here,"!he breathes, like you didn’t just spend the whole weekend texting him hourly updates and proof of life selfies.
you try-try-to keep a straight face. "what's with the sign?"
yuji yells, "it was his idea!" at the same time megumi mutters, "can we go home?"
gojo pouts like you kicked a puppy. "you abandoned me. it's my legal right to embarrass you at least once." then he throws his arms around you so hard he nearly knocks you backward over your suitcase- picks you up a few inches off the grimy airport floor like you’re a carry on bag he plans to personally smuggle home.
he's warm, expensive aftershave and the faint cling of your own shampoo from his mourning routine.
"i missed you so much." he says into your hair. "i was so brave while you were gone. so strong. so stoic."
"you spammed me fifty memes about dying alone," you mumble into his jacket.
"stoic," he corrects, and when he sets you down, he cups your face like he needs to confirm you’re real. thumb brushing the sunburn on your nose, grin so wide it’s blinding.
"you're never leaving again," he says, so sweet you almost don’t notice the tiny edge underneath. "next trip? i'm coming too. i'll pack my speedo."
you flick his forehead. he pretends it hurts as you both giggle.
behind him, yuji's still dutifully holding the sign high for everyone to see and megumi's giving you a deeply apologetic look.
and as gojo drags your suitcase toward the exit for you, cardboard sign tucked proudly under yuji's arm now like a trophy, you catch a glimpse of what he scribbled on the back.
'IBIZA MEN, IF YOU’RE READING THIS: STAY AWAY FROM MY GIRLFRIEND.- LOVE, HER BOYFRIEND. 6’3. LIMITLESS CURSE ENERGY.'
you can mix together the jjk and bnha men for this one, i’m interested in seeing both ^^
could you maybe do one where reader randomly asks if their s/o still loves them? like they had a nightmare that said otherwise and they’re just making sure
love your writing by the way!!
idc if this is ooc sometimes you need your favs saying ily 😔 i tried to stay short and cute for this 🖤
why is the eren jeager tag full of smut it’s legit so damn BORING 😭 i’m going on looking for quality content and dick/pussy is SHOVED INTO MY FACE. ffs do you not want to just hold the poor dude? idk man. DONT EVEN GET ME STARTED ON THE SHITTY MODERN AU ISTG
↠ synopsis: the three ways you find megumi pretty and the three ways you find out you like him and he likes you. (OR reader just staring at megumi’s eyelashes, hands, and mouth 🥹 and megumi going from 😐 to 😵💫🤭🫤)
↠ tags: fluff, v fluff, friends to lovers, mutual pining, slight crack at end
↠ a/n: (1) this fic is just me going on about how pretty megumi is sorry not sorry (2) i haven't written in a while/consistently hopefully this is coherent
fushiguro megumi is pretty.
pretty, pretty, pretty.
he is pretty in many and in all ways to you, but he is prettiest in three.
i. his hands are pretty.
the breeze that stirs the grass feels almost as light as your feet on the ground as you twist and turn to avoid being hit.
megumi is relentless with his attacks, and it is all you can do to avoid his shikigami. nue erupts into shadow just as you jump to attack it, and you land at megumi’s feet gracelessly, chin a millimeter from his boots and back hoisted into the air clumsily.
megumi’s brown boots recede from your vision and in their place appears his hand. for some reason, you stare.
well, no, not for some reason. megumi’s hands have always caught your eye. not in like a creepy, hand fetish kinky sort of way, but rather, because they look so contradictory to megumi as a whole. fushiguro megumi looks ot be anything but gentle, or careful, but his hands are exactly that. lithe fingers, soft nails, a considerate touch.
your eyes stray to his hands more than you would like. when he leans over to your desk and raps his knuckles on your table, signalling you to pay attention, you can’t help but think about how it would feel if those knuckles were trailing the skin of your cheek. when he waves you over, fingers swaying lightly, you can’t help but envision how his fingers would feel wrapped around your own. when he flicks yuuji’s forehead, fingers jutting out and retracting so fast you almost miss the movement, your mind can’t help but conjure up an image of megumi flicking those fingers in areas he maybe shouldn’t be flicking them in (okay so maybe you’re a little hand-kink-fetish-y but you blame it on the cursed energy constantly surrounding the school—hormones and feelings and pretty dark-haired boys have nothing to do with it).
megumi snaps his fingers in front of your face, and unfolds his hand. you grunt unintelligibly as you push yourself up and curl your fingers into your own. megumi pulls you up swiftly, and you only get to revel in the feel of his warm hand in yours before he yanks it away.
“why are you making a face like that?” megumi raises an eyebrow as you dust off your uniform, flicking away strands of wet grass and random clods of dirt.
“like what?”
“like the face todo makes when itadori runs away from him.”
“i am not making such a mopey face!”
“i’m literally looking at it right now. your face is all mushed up and your lips are pursed all weird.”
“fushiguro, you—!” you shove at his shoulder, and he catches your hand and does that weird curve of his lips that’s somewhere between a smirk and a smile, and your heart catapults in your chest, and oh no.
oh no is all you can think as megumi brings your hands down, letting go slowly.
oh no is all you can think as you start walking to school, warm digits brushing against your side.
oh no is all you can think as fushiguro megumi leads his way to the school and walks his way into your heart.
ii. his frown is pretty.
fushiguro megumi looks pretty when he smiles, but he looks prettier still when he frowns.
that’s what makes him special, you think, because he can make even a frown look as pretty as a smile.
maybe it’s that he’s always frowning a little, and maybe it’s because you like him, but his frown is just so pretty to you.
sometimes, you do things on purpose to make him frown.
when you hop on to yuuji’s back as yuuji jumps from tree to tree. a test of endurance, he calls it. megumi is on standby with nue in case the two of you fall and he frowns as you jump up onto yuuji and his arms come up under your legs. part of you hopes megumi is frowning because part of him is uncomfortable with yuuji carrying you like this (maybe jealous?), but part of you knows it is probably because the two of you are doing “dangerously stupid dumb shit,” as he put it. still, once you make it through in one piece, megumi tugs you a little farther away from yuuji and closer to him, and your heart does its catapulting again.
when gojo-sensei clowns around with you. which is almost always. you are the one who indulges him from time (he buys icecream after!!), and megumi hates it. gojo-sensei is always prattling on about something or the other, an arm swung around your shoulders as he guides you to the nearest konbini. he keeps on looking back though, and smirking, and you’re 99% sure it’s megumi because gojo-sensei loves to press his buttons. (you look behind once, quickly, and all you see are shadows like wild black strands.)
when you’re on missions and you always volunteer to go headfirst into danger, though megumi wants you to standby as support. it’s not that he knows you’re not capable (the incident when you moved into the dorms proves you more than fully competent). it’s that you know he only protects the people he cares about. and somewhere along the way, you had fallen into that category (the thought makes you warm). so you know why he wants you to stay behind. but you also make sure he knows why you can’t. because you also want to protect the people you love, and he is very securely in that list. and when you tell him this, not in those exact words, and he frowns and looks away, his nose red, tells you to stay near and stay safe, you think that’s when you realize how much you like fushiguro megumi.
iii. his eyelashes are pretty.
class with gojo-sensei is, quite frankly, a nightmare.
he’s all over the place, a twenty-eight year old bundle of boundless energy and annoying jokes. by the time class ends, you are too mentally exhausted with the chore of sifting important information from his rambling to think about anything other than the long, warm nap you’re going to take in the afternoon sun.
swinging the classroom door shut behind you, you yawn loudly as yuuji and nobara rumble past you. the latter is dragging the former down the hall, excitedly chattering about her next shopping conquests while yuuji throws out a confused or surprised “huh????” every two minutes.
you slog along behind them and just before they take a left to the exit, nobara elbows yuuji and both turn around and grin largely, holding their thumbs up.
you make your own “huh????” face and nobara snorts as yuuji clamps a hand over his mouth and they run off to the exit together, both chortling over something that will no doubt land you in trouble later on.
eyebrows twitching, feeling like an extremely large burden has settled itself on your shoulders, you trudge on, clueless to the hesitant footsteps that follow you.
having slept only four hours the night before (catching up to the attack on titan manga takes work!), your vision blurs as sleep-induced tears line your eyes. deciding to just push open the first door you see, you reason it should be fine since megumi is nowhere to be seen, nobara and yuuji are off planning your demise, gojo-sensei’s room is far away, and only first-years reside on this floor, so fuck it.
you ram your shoulder into the first door to your right, and the moment it swings open, you take two, three steps forward and promptly collapse on the bed.
and then you’re dead asleep, unaware of the the actual owner of the room standing behind you, red blanketing his cheeks.
when you wake up, the first thing you think is, oh my god wtf why does my bed smell so nice?
you’re lying on your front, hair covering your eyes so that all you can see is dark black and the white of the bed covers. and eyelashes, fluttering softly. they look pretty. and fluttery.
and wait, why can you see eyelashes? why are there eyelashes in your room?? eyelashes that definitely, probably aren’t yours??
you press two fingers to your eye roughly, wincing as you almost jab your eye, but no, yeah, your eyelashes are. right. there.
so what the hell are eyelashes doing near your bed??
if this is some weird sort of curse with pretty eyelashes, that is just wrong and it will die for daring to have eyelashes longer than yours.
you inch back slowly, lifting a hand to push your hair out of the way, careful not to disturb whatever thing is on your bed.
that thing, as your vision becomes unobstructed, turns out to be the prettiest human being you have ever laid eyes on.
fushiguro megumi’s head is somehow slanted across your bed, resting on one arm as the other dangles somewhere below the bed—in what looks to be a very uncomfortable position which means you should probably wake him (but not before taking a picture)—and he is sound asleep.
before you can melt into mush at the sight before you, a thought occurs.
what the hell is fushiguro megumi doing in your room??
a picture of two dogs catches your eye, and shock drums in your heart as you slowly observe your surroundings.
this is…not your room at all. this is megumi’s room! megumi’s bed??? megumi’s smell????
you feel like a fangirl embarrassingly, but you have quite literally died and gone to heaven.
you lie back down slowly, on your side, and close your eyes as you breathe in the clean, nice smell imbued in the bed covers. megumi’s smell.
megumi smells like the word “breeze.” he smells like cool mist and sun-soaked almonds and the faintest hints of wildflowers.
wistfully, you sigh and open your eyes.
megumi’s sleeping face greets you and a smile traces a path across your cheeks, unbidden.
megumi looks so soft. his eyelashes flutter against his cheekbones as he breathes quietly, and your heart thumps in quick succession.
the same softness you see in megumi’s face swirls up inside you. you want to hug him or see him smile or just curl your fingers in his.
you want to kiss that space where his eyelashes meet his cheek so badly.
and maybe it’s because you’re still drowsy from sleep, or drowsy on affection, but you place a hand near megumi’s, and lean forward and press a kiss as soft as the boy in front of you. one to his left cheekbone, and one to his right.
just as you’re drawing back, those eyelashes flit against skin and megumi’s eyes open.
he slides his eyes open so smoothly it’s like they’ve been open all this time.
navy blue pools.
your mind is blank, so blank, and all you can think is pretty, so pretty, i want to just hold him, i like him too much, i want to kiss him, he’s so cute, i wish we could stay like this.
“stay pretty.”
the minute you realize what you’ve said, your face burns and the alarm system in your brain is ringing so loud you’re sure everyone within a twenty-mile radius can hear.
oh god, if gojo-sensei walks in, you will literally throw yourself off a roof.
“i will.” megumi nods, almost automatically, and then his face catches on fire.
and now there are two fools caught on fire staring at each other, and the room is burning.
neither of you know what to say, but maybe neither of you need to say anything. your nose is a centimeter from megumi’s and you don’t know which of you shifts forward but then you’re pressed against each other. and his mouth is on yours and his eyelashes are gliding against your skin and his hand is on yours. and you really are on fire in this cool, dusky, mist-scented room.
every press of megumi’s mouth to yours overwrites your brain with thoughts of i like you, i like you, i like you, i like you, i like you.
you pull apart, and megumi’s expression is as soft as it was in sleep, something you didn’t think you’d see while he was awake.
and as you stare at this soft, pretty, dark-haired, quietly loud boy in front of you, you can only think of one thing to say.
“i like you.”
megumi’s expression doesn’t waver.
“me too.”
“you like yourself too?”
“shut up, (l/n). you know that’s not what i meant.” he frowns that pretty cross between a pout and a scowl, and you smile as you lean forward to kiss it away.
fushiguro megumi is prettiest when he is kissing you.
//
bonus:
kugisaki nobara is nothing if not observant.
“that’s what you like to think, though. i don’t think that’s true.” yuuji is instantly smacked, and he whines as nobara marches him along to (name)’s room.
the room is empty, and the bed doesn’t look like it’s been slept in. or made. the covers are haphazardly thrown off and a whirlwind of objects makes its presence known in the room.
“must be from this morning when (l/n) was late.”
“when is (l/n) not late? c’mon, let’s ask megumi if he knows where they are.”
nobara marches yuuji down the hall again, and he follows obediently as she slams megumi’s door open. nobara shrieks, loud, and yuuji slides into her in his haste to see what’s wrong.
when yuuji sees what she’s looking at, his own shocked scream fills the hallway.
megumi’s hand is on your face, and yours are curled around the collar of his uniform, and your lips are dark.
“i knew it!! god, i told you, yuuji, i have an eye for these things!”
“fushiguro, are you DEFILING (l/n)????!!!!”
“i’ll kill you, itadori.”
“kugisaki, if you were rooting for me, why did you come in?!”
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