rain ! 19, asian, any pronouns. certified satosugu enthusiast, aka suguru’s #1 fan !!
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Content: Avenger!Bucky, gender neutral reader, petnames ‘sweetheart’ and ‘doll’ used, rivals to lovers, canon typical violence/injuries, some explicit language, romantic/sexual tension, suggestiveness
Synopsis: You’re a SHIELD agent with the night off… until a certain super soldier shows up at your door.
A/N: It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything and this is my first time writing for Bucky, so please enjoy! <3 And ty to my pookie Moony for moral support :3
— — —
You’re off duty. It’s a quiet night, a rare moment of peace where New York or any other place on the planet isn’t facing some impending danger.
So here you are in your quaint Brooklyn flat, rather than your designated room in the Avengers Tower in order to maintain this temporary peace all to yourself. No ongoing missions, no super enhanced roommates, no interfering AI (though you know JARVIS means well).
Curled up on the sofa, there’s some mediocre action movie playing on the TV screen as you nurse a bowl of your chosen snack. The last few weeks have been rough—tactical work on the field always is.
Your body can feel the exertion taking a toll on your limbs now as you sink further into the couch cushions with a sigh. Honestly, you’re tempted to doze off right here and now when suddenly, something proves that your peace is indeed temporary.
A knock sounds at the door.
You stir, a frown on your lips as you glance at the source of the noise. You hadn’t been expecting anyone, certainly not at this hour. You mutter, “Who the hell…”
You set aside your bowl on the coffee tabble and reach for your handgun you had placed aside. (What? One can never be too careful in this sort of profession.)
Not bothering to turn the TV off, you creep towards the front door and peek through the eyehole for a person—only to be met with the sight of something even worse.
It’s Bucky.
James Buchanan Barnes, the formidable Winter Soldier turned redeemed Avenger, a force to be reckoned with in the throes of combat. Though, you know him as something else entirely.
A pain in the ass.
You don’t even remember how it started. Ever since you joined the team, he’s been on your nerves. From criticizing your performance during missions to making teasing comments when you’re minding your own business in the Tower.
(It doesn’t help that he looks damn good when doing it, but hey, no one heard that from you.)
With an exasperated sigh, you unlock the door and swing it open, fixing him with an unamused expression. “What the hell are you doing here, Bucky?”
He looks a little worse for wear. You remember that he had been assigned a long mission a while ago, which it seems like he had finally wrapped up considering the fact that he’s still clad in his gear. His metal arm is definitely dirty, but it still gleams somewhat due to the hallway light from above. His hair is messy and there’s a few cuts on his face.
(He still looks good. Unsurprisingly.)
“Hey, sweetheart,” Bucky simply greets, a ghost of a smirk curling on his lips as he leans on your doorframe. You’re tempted to shut the door right in his stupid handsome face... but then you notice he’s clutching his side with his flesh arm and— shit, he’s bleeding. “You gonna let me in or what?”
You blink hard in disbelief. Disbelief that one: he had come to you out of all people after getting injured apparently, and two: that he had gotten injured in the first place. Now you know he isn’t invincible, but it still takes you by surprise.
“There better be a good explanation for this,” you grumble under your breath, swinging the door open wider to make way for him.
Bucky eyes the gun still in your hand. “Hope you aren’t looking to put me out of my misery and using that on me,” he remarks dryly as he makes his way inside, still clutching the bloody side of his abdomen.
You roll your eyes and shut the door promptly, but not without casting a surveying glance outside just to ensure that he hadn’t been followed. You doubt it ‘cause it’s Bucky, but again, one can’t be too careful.
Bucky makes his way to your sofa, and you internally cringe knowing all the grime and dirt he’s going to leave on it.
He’s only been in your apartment once.
A few months ago, when he had insisted on walking you home himself after a night out with the rest of the team drinking. Vaguely, you remembered through your headache the following morning of him helping you into your apartment and tucking you into bed.
(He hadn’t brought it up afterwards, so you didn’t too.)
“Do not sit your filthy ass on my couch, Barnes,” you stop him before he can do such a thing, and he turns to offer you a glare. His icy gaze is enough for you to feel the chills, but you point to another door.
“Bathroom,” you inform, “I have first aid in there.”
With a grunt, the super soldier trudges over to the door. Before you follow him, you toss the handgun back on the coffee table. He’s taking in the appearance of your bathroom when you join him inside. He meets your eyes in the mirror, and you can tell he’s about to say something.
Before he can though, you forcefully make him sit down on to the toilet seat, to which he blinks up at you with that same icy stare.
“Care to tell me why you’re here?” you pry with a slight frown. You can feel his eyes lingering on you whilst you open a cabinet for the required items for first aid.
“The end of the mission just went differently than expected,” Bucky says curtly with a shrug. However, with the movement of his shoulders causes a strained hiss of pain emit from him.
You set aside some of the things—alcohol, wipes, some gauze—to meet his awaiting stare. “That’s not what I meant, Bucky,” you reply in a quiet tone, your brows coming to a furrow.
He blinks at you real slow.
“I meant.. why did you come here?” you ask more firmly, shaking your head, “I’m sure you can get patched up at the Tower. Or hell, maybe even a hospital nearby.”
Bucky is silent for a few heartbeats. “You were closer. Saved me the trouble,” he clarifies. He then adds, “Unless you want me to leave.”
For some reason, that last part irks you. You heave out a sigh. “No, you’re already here. As funny as it would be, I don’t think the team would appreciate you dying out on a street after I sent you away.”
His lips twitch into something of amusement. “Don’t know. I think Stark would find that pretty funny too.”
You almost laugh. You match his amused expression before tapping at his right arm that’s still applying pressure to whatever wound he has. “Lemme see.”
He gingerly moves his arm out of the way, but it’s hard to determine what the wound is with the gear still on. “Yeah, you’re gonna have to take this off, Barnes,” you comment, narrowing your eyes at the blood staining the material.
Bucky huffs but he begins tugging and removing the straps and buckles and whatnot. It’s a struggle considering the fact that he’s tired and injured—but touching him feels too awkward, too intimate.
Eventually, he removes the top part of his suit off with a grunt and— oh, he’s shirtless.
You try not to stare. Obviously it’s not the first time you’ve seen him shirtless. After some missions, days in the training room, in your dreams… but he can’t ever know that.
“That bad?”
His voice abruptly stirs you out of your staring. You can see the injury now—it looks like a bullet grazed his side just barely. You hum in acknowledgment, “Unfortunately, you’ll live.”
A hoarse chuckle leaves Bucky then. “You don’t sound so thrilled now, doll.”
You grab the bottle of isopropyl alcohol and some of the gauze you had placed near the sink to dab at the wound. He grits his teeth at the sting, but other than that, he doesn’t move.
“Oh trust me, I am beyond elated,” you retort, voice dripping with sarcasm. You try to focus on completing first aid, rather than the fact that you’re touching him—his bare skin.
Surprisingly, he doesn’t say anything in return. But honestly, you wish he would because you can feel his eyes burning into you. It’s almost unnerving. He lets you finish in silence.
The quiet that fills the space of the bathroom is heavy but not uncomfortable. It’s just the sound of you cleaning and patching up his injury and his soft breathing.
When you’re finished, you sigh. Your eyes flicker upwards to his face, your lips flitting into a small frown to see his face still bruised and cut. Without another word, you start tending to that too.
Bucky blinks in brief surprise. “You don’t have to,” he says lowly, but he doesn’t protest any further nor move away from your touch.
A particular cut on his cheek makes him wince when you go over it, and absentmindedly, you grasp his chin to tilt his head back your way. He blinks hard again.
“Stay still,” you chide, pursing your lips in concentration. He does just that.
Finally, you’re done. When you pause in your ministrations, your breath nearly catches in your throat as your eyes meet his. It’s only now do you realize just how close the two of you are with you leaning in.
You can feel the warmth of his breath when he speaks. “Thanks,” he murmurs quietly into the very little space between you.
“I…” You don’t pull away, not yet. The stormy blue of his eyes up close like this is almost startling. And then you lean back. “Don’t mention it,” you brush off.
Bucky shifts on the toilet seat, eyes still watching you like a hawk as you fix and put away the first aid items away back in their place. “You gonna kick me out now?” he jests, something to ease the tension in the atmosphere. At least, you think that’s what he’s trying to do.
It works, at least. “I’m sure you can show yourself out the door,” you retaliate. You turn back to glance at him. “Unless you need me to hold your hand.”
He rolls his eyes and stands with a grunt. “I think I can manage.”
Oh, fuck, he’s still shirtless—you blatantly realize as he rises to his full height. Suddenly the bathroom feels much smaller than it actually is. If it had been another time, you might’ve laughed since he looks so out of place standing there.
“Well,” you clear your throat, suddenly feeling awkward, “Have a good night, Barnes.”
Bucky shifts on his weight, his combat boots shuffling on the tiles. “That’s it?” he gets out gruffly.
You quirk up a brow. “So you do want me to hold your hand?”
At that, he puffs out a chuckle, tilting his head in a way that makes his hair frame his face. “Lemme borrow a shirt, at the very least. I don’t think putting my gear on again will be any good.”
It’s your turn to roll your eyes now as you head out of the bathroom. But he does have a point, so you start your way to the bedroom.
“You owe me then. You’re going to stain one of my precious shirts,” you throw a teasing remark over your shoulder.
But he’s right on your heels, trailing after you. You didn’t think he’d been following so closely behind you, so you quickly look back ahead.
He hums aloud. “You’ll let me pay you back in some way.”
“Damn right.”
The two of you enter your bedroom and you make a beeline for one the dressers in search of a shirt that might fit him. Digging through the clothes, you’re still hyperaware of his presence standing by idly.
You fish out an old tee that he might manage to fit in and hold it out to him.
Bucky takes it into his hands with a tilt of his head. “You’re being awfully kind to me, sweetheart,” he tells you.
His comment prompts you to cross your arms. “Well, you did insist on me helping you out,” you argue with a soft shake of your head.
Bucky only stares. “You still could’ve turned me away.”
“Look, I already told you,” you say, exasperated, “I might not like you but I’m not just gonna not do anything when you show up bleeding in my apartment like it’s a patient room or something.”
“Yeah?”
The man still makes no move to put the shirt on, unrelenting in his stare. (Sam is totally right about his staring problem.) It’s unnerving. Dare you say you can feel a flurry of butterflies stirring in your stomach under the weight of it.
“Yeah,” you breathe out.
Bucky closes the distance between you ever so slightly. “Thank you,” he affirms, the fabric of the shirt twisting in his grip, “I mean it. Really.”
His genuine gratitude almost makes you take a step back. Instead, you swallow and nod. “You said that already.”
“I did,” he agrees. He takes another step closer. You don’t move back.
But you blink—uncertain, cautious. “You’re acting strange.” You decide to be blunt and confront him on his current antics. His behavior tonight has confused you too much.
It’s the usual back and forth banter that happens between you—but something felt different… too intimate. The way he had showed up at your door, the proximity in the bathroom, this current confrontation right where you’re standing.
“Only on nights like this,” comes Bucky’s reply as he comes to stand right in front of you. He’s not as close as he was when you were patching him up, but enough to where you can smell the lingering alcohol you had used on his wound.
You blink at him. “Nights when you’re injured?”
Bucky puffs out a laugh. It’s a soft sound. But his next words catch you off guard. “Nights when you make it hard to hold back.”
What?
Your surprise must be colored all over your face because you can see the faintest of smirks on his lips. It stirs up another set of butterflies within you.
“Bucky, what the hell are you talking about?” you manage to inquire, trying to steel your nerves. If he’s implying what you think he’s implying, your heart feels like it’s about to leap out of your throat.
“I…” He trails off, his look shifting into something more serious. You can feel the heat of his breath again… but when had he gotten closer? He then murmurs, “Just let me thank you.”
His right hand brushes against the length of your arm, and you can feel the goosebumps he leaves along your skin as he does so. But you don’t pull away. You can’t.
“Put the damn shirt on already, Barnes,” you whisper. You don't even realize that your voice is quieter than you would’ve liked—not with roar of your heartbeat in your ears.
Something cheeky comes across his expression. His smirk returns, and there’s a flicker of mirth in his blue eyes. “I don’t think you want that.”
He’s right though.
You don’t.
“No,” you voice out your agreement.
Against your better judgment, your own hand comes up to tenderly dust your fingertips over his chest. His bare skin is warm and smooth to touch, even with all the scarring both old and new.
Bucky’s breath stutters. It’s a barely audible sound, but you hear it.
What the hell are you doing? Bucky drives you crazy and annoys you to no end—and until now, you thought it had been the same for him. (Turns out you had been driving him crazy in a different way.) There’s a blooming sensation in your chest the longer you stare into Bucky’s eyes.
The words leave your lips before you can think twice.
“I want you to kiss me.”
The world seems to stop for just a moment.
Your lips part in order to say something, anything… maybe to take back the words you had just uttered—before Bucky leans in and kisses you silly.
A groan resonates from his chest as he does. The shirt drops from his metal hand since you can feel the coolness of it cup your cheek, angling your head into the kiss with need.
Your hand mirrors his, feeling the stubble under your palm whilst your other hand allows its fingers to tangle themselves into the threads of his hair.
It’s a blur of what happens next—both of your feet are shuffling against the carpet as you stumble back with his persistence, the back of your knees hitting the edge of the bed and allowing the two of you to fall onto the mattress.
Bucky presses open-mouthed kisses down your jawline, a hefty laugh sketched onto your skin there. “And here I was, under the impression that you didn’t like me, sweetheart.” He refers to your earlier words.
You want to retort, but you’re a little distracted with the way his weight settles on top of you. God, and he’s still fucking shirtless. You huff, but it’s a fond noise.
He pulls back ever so slightly to look down at you. “Thank you,” he says for the nth time that night. The look in his eyes is enough to make you melt into the bed, but in a pleasant way.
“For what?”
Bucky’s smile radiates charm. For being a man out of time, he’s still got it. “For patching me up. For letting me kiss you. For.. being here for me.”
His unfiltered fondness has your heart thudding faster against your ribcage. Saying “you’re welcome” doesn’t feel right. Doesn’t feel enough. Not for Bucky—not when he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing that matters right now. So you say the next best thing.
“Shut up, Barnes.”
And then your fingers are curling into the nape of his neck to pull him down towards you for another breathless kiss.
Hm. Maybe you can get used to having the night off.
Content: Avenger!Bucky, gender neutral reader, petnames ‘sweetheart’ and ‘doll’ used, rivals to lovers, canon typical violence/injuries, some explicit language, romantic/sexual tension, suggestiveness
Synopsis: You’re a SHIELD agent with the night off… until a certain super soldier shows up at your door.
A/N: It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything and this is my first time writing for Bucky, so please enjoy! <3 And ty to my pookie Moony for moral support :3
— — —
You’re off duty. It’s a quiet night, a rare moment of peace where New York or any other place on the planet isn’t facing some impending danger.
So here you are in your quaint Brooklyn flat, rather than your designated room in the Avengers Tower in order to maintain this temporary peace all to yourself. No ongoing missions, no super enhanced roommates, no interfering AI (though you know JARVIS means well).
Curled up on the sofa, there’s some mediocre action movie playing on the TV screen as you nurse a bowl of your chosen snack. The last few weeks have been rough—tactical work on the field always is.
Your body can feel the exertion taking a toll on your limbs now as you sink further into the couch cushions with a sigh. Honestly, you’re tempted to doze off right here and now when suddenly, something proves that your peace is indeed temporary.
A knock sounds at the door.
You stir, a frown on your lips as you glance at the source of the noise. You hadn’t been expecting anyone, certainly not at this hour. You mutter, “Who the hell…”
You set aside your bowl on the coffee tabble and reach for your handgun you had placed aside. (What? One can never be too careful in this sort of profession.)
Not bothering to turn the TV off, you creep towards the front door and peek through the eyehole for a person—only to be met with the sight of something even worse.
It’s Bucky.
James Buchanan Barnes, the formidable Winter Soldier turned redeemed Avenger, a force to be reckoned with in the throes of combat. Though, you know him as something else entirely.
A pain in the ass.
You don’t even remember how it started. Ever since you joined the team, he’s been on your nerves. From criticizing your performance during missions to making teasing comments when you’re minding your own business in the Tower.
(It doesn’t help that he looks damn good when doing it, but hey, no one heard that from you.)
With an exasperated sigh, you unlock the door and swing it open, fixing him with an unamused expression. “What the hell are you doing here, Bucky?”
He looks a little worse for wear. You remember that he had been assigned a long mission a while ago, which it seems like he had finally wrapped up considering the fact that he’s still clad in his gear. His metal arm is definitely dirty, but it still gleams somewhat due to the hallway light from above. His hair is messy and there’s a few cuts on his face.
(He still looks good. Unsurprisingly.)
“Hey, sweetheart,” Bucky simply greets, a ghost of a smirk curling on his lips as he leans on your doorframe. You’re tempted to shut the door right in his stupid handsome face... but then you notice he’s clutching his side with his flesh arm and— shit, he’s bleeding. “You gonna let me in or what?”
You blink hard in disbelief. Disbelief that one: he had come to you out of all people after getting injured apparently, and two: that he had gotten injured in the first place. Now you know he isn’t invincible, but it still takes you by surprise.
“There better be a good explanation for this,” you grumble under your breath, swinging the door open wider to make way for him.
Bucky eyes the gun still in your hand. “Hope you aren’t looking to put me out of my misery and using that on me,” he remarks dryly as he makes his way inside, still clutching the bloody side of his abdomen.
You roll your eyes and shut the door promptly, but not without casting a surveying glance outside just to ensure that he hadn’t been followed. You doubt it ‘cause it’s Bucky, but again, one can’t be too careful.
Bucky makes his way to your sofa, and you internally cringe knowing all the grime and dirt he’s going to leave on it.
He’s only been in your apartment once.
A few months ago, when he had insisted on walking you home himself after a night out with the rest of the team drinking. Vaguely, you remembered through your headache the following morning of him helping you into your apartment and tucking you into bed.
(He hadn’t brought it up afterwards, so you didn’t too.)
“Do not sit your filthy ass on my couch, Barnes,” you stop him before he can do such a thing, and he turns to offer you a glare. His icy gaze is enough for you to feel the chills, but you point to another door.
“Bathroom,” you inform, “I have first aid in there.”
With a grunt, the super soldier trudges over to the door. Before you follow him, you toss the handgun back on the coffee table. He’s taking in the appearance of your bathroom when you join him inside. He meets your eyes in the mirror, and you can tell he’s about to say something.
Before he can though, you forcefully make him sit down on to the toilet seat, to which he blinks up at you with that same icy stare.
“Care to tell me why you’re here?” you pry with a slight frown. You can feel his eyes lingering on you whilst you open a cabinet for the required items for first aid.
“The end of the mission just went differently than expected,” Bucky says curtly with a shrug. However, with the movement of his shoulders causes a strained hiss of pain emit from him.
You set aside some of the things—alcohol, wipes, some gauze—to meet his awaiting stare. “That’s not what I meant, Bucky,” you reply in a quiet tone, your brows coming to a furrow.
He blinks at you real slow.
“I meant.. why did you come here?” you ask more firmly, shaking your head, “I’m sure you can get patched up at the Tower. Or hell, maybe even a hospital nearby.”
Bucky is silent for a few heartbeats. “You were closer. Saved me the trouble,” he clarifies. He then adds, “Unless you want me to leave.”
For some reason, that last part irks you. You heave out a sigh. “No, you’re already here. As funny as it would be, I don’t think the team would appreciate you dying out on a street after I sent you away.”
His lips twitch into something of amusement. “Don’t know. I think Stark would find that pretty funny too.”
You almost laugh. You match his amused expression before tapping at his right arm that’s still applying pressure to whatever wound he has. “Lemme see.”
He gingerly moves his arm out of the way, but it’s hard to determine what the wound is with the gear still on. “Yeah, you’re gonna have to take this off, Barnes,” you comment, narrowing your eyes at the blood staining the material.
Bucky huffs but he begins tugging and removing the straps and buckles and whatnot. It’s a struggle considering the fact that he’s tired and injured—but touching him feels too awkward, too intimate.
Eventually, he removes the top part of his suit off with a grunt and— oh, he’s shirtless.
You try not to stare. Obviously it’s not the first time you’ve seen him shirtless. After some missions, days in the training room, in your dreams… but he can’t ever know that.
“That bad?”
His voice abruptly stirs you out of your staring. You can see the injury now—it looks like a bullet grazed his side just barely. You hum in acknowledgment, “Unfortunately, you’ll live.”
A hoarse chuckle leaves Bucky then. “You don’t sound so thrilled now, doll.”
You grab the bottle of isopropyl alcohol and some of the gauze you had placed near the sink to dab at the wound. He grits his teeth at the sting, but other than that, he doesn’t move.
“Oh trust me, I am beyond elated,” you retort, voice dripping with sarcasm. You try to focus on completing first aid, rather than the fact that you’re touching him—his bare skin.
Surprisingly, he doesn’t say anything in return. But honestly, you wish he would because you can feel his eyes burning into you. It’s almost unnerving. He lets you finish in silence.
The quiet that fills the space of the bathroom is heavy but not uncomfortable. It’s just the sound of you cleaning and patching up his injury and his soft breathing.
When you’re finished, you sigh. Your eyes flicker upwards to his face, your lips flitting into a small frown to see his face still bruised and cut. Without another word, you start tending to that too.
Bucky blinks in brief surprise. “You don’t have to,” he says lowly, but he doesn’t protest any further nor move away from your touch.
A particular cut on his cheek makes him wince when you go over it, and absentmindedly, you grasp his chin to tilt his head back your way. He blinks hard again.
“Stay still,” you chide, pursing your lips in concentration. He does just that.
Finally, you’re done. When you pause in your ministrations, your breath nearly catches in your throat as your eyes meet his. It’s only now do you realize just how close the two of you are with you leaning in.
You can feel the warmth of his breath when he speaks. “Thanks,” he murmurs quietly into the very little space between you.
“I…” You don’t pull away, not yet. The stormy blue of his eyes up close like this is almost startling. And then you lean back. “Don’t mention it,” you brush off.
Bucky shifts on the toilet seat, eyes still watching you like a hawk as you fix and put away the first aid items away back in their place. “You gonna kick me out now?” he jests, something to ease the tension in the atmosphere. At least, you think that’s what he’s trying to do.
It works, at least. “I’m sure you can show yourself out the door,” you retaliate. You turn back to glance at him. “Unless you need me to hold your hand.”
He rolls his eyes and stands with a grunt. “I think I can manage.”
Oh, fuck, he’s still shirtless—you blatantly realize as he rises to his full height. Suddenly the bathroom feels much smaller than it actually is. If it had been another time, you might’ve laughed since he looks so out of place standing there.
“Well,” you clear your throat, suddenly feeling awkward, “Have a good night, Barnes.”
Bucky shifts on his weight, his combat boots shuffling on the tiles. “That’s it?” he gets out gruffly.
You quirk up a brow. “So you do want me to hold your hand?”
At that, he puffs out a chuckle, tilting his head in a way that makes his hair frame his face. “Lemme borrow a shirt, at the very least. I don’t think putting my gear on again will be any good.”
It’s your turn to roll your eyes now as you head out of the bathroom. But he does have a point, so you start your way to the bedroom.
“You owe me then. You’re going to stain one of my precious shirts,” you throw a teasing remark over your shoulder.
But he’s right on your heels, trailing after you. You didn’t think he’d been following so closely behind you, so you quickly look back ahead.
He hums aloud. “You’ll let me pay you back in some way.”
“Damn right.”
The two of you enter your bedroom and you make a beeline for one the dressers in search of a shirt that might fit him. Digging through the clothes, you’re still hyperaware of his presence standing by idly.
You fish out an old tee that he might manage to fit in and hold it out to him.
Bucky takes it into his hands with a tilt of his head. “You’re being awfully kind to me, sweetheart,” he tells you.
His comment prompts you to cross your arms. “Well, you did insist on me helping you out,” you argue with a soft shake of your head.
Bucky only stares. “You still could’ve turned me away.”
“Look, I already told you,” you say, exasperated, “I might not like you but I’m not just gonna not do anything when you show up bleeding in my apartment like it’s a patient room or something.”
“Yeah?”
The man still makes no move to put the shirt on, unrelenting in his stare. (Sam is totally right about his staring problem.) It’s unnerving. Dare you say you can feel a flurry of butterflies stirring in your stomach under the weight of it.
“Yeah,” you breathe out.
Bucky closes the distance between you ever so slightly. “Thank you,” he affirms, the fabric of the shirt twisting in his grip, “I mean it. Really.”
His genuine gratitude almost makes you take a step back. Instead, you swallow and nod. “You said that already.”
“I did,” he agrees. He takes another step closer. You don’t move back.
But you blink—uncertain, cautious. “You’re acting strange.” You decide to be blunt and confront him on his current antics. His behavior tonight has confused you too much.
It’s the usual back and forth banter that happens between you—but something felt different… too intimate. The way he had showed up at your door, the proximity in the bathroom, this current confrontation right where you’re standing.
“Only on nights like this,” comes Bucky’s reply as he comes to stand right in front of you. He’s not as close as he was when you were patching him up, but enough to where you can smell the lingering alcohol you had used on his wound.
You blink at him. “Nights when you’re injured?”
Bucky puffs out a laugh. It’s a soft sound. But his next words catch you off guard. “Nights when you make it hard to hold back.”
What?
Your surprise must be colored all over your face because you can see the faintest of smirks on his lips. It stirs up another set of butterflies within you.
“Bucky, what the hell are you talking about?” you manage to inquire, trying to steel your nerves. If he’s implying what you think he’s implying, your heart feels like it’s about to leap out of your throat.
“I…” He trails off, his look shifting into something more serious. You can feel the heat of his breath again… but when had he gotten closer? He then murmurs, “Just let me thank you.”
His right hand brushes against the length of your arm, and you can feel the goosebumps he leaves along your skin as he does so. But you don’t pull away. You can’t.
“Put the damn shirt on already, Barnes,” you whisper. You don't even realize that your voice is quieter than you would’ve liked—not with roar of your heartbeat in your ears.
Something cheeky comes across his expression. His smirk returns, and there’s a flicker of mirth in his blue eyes. “I don’t think you want that.”
He’s right though.
You don’t.
“No,” you voice out your agreement.
Against your better judgment, your own hand comes up to tenderly dust your fingertips over his chest. His bare skin is warm and smooth to touch, even with all the scarring both old and new.
Bucky’s breath stutters. It’s a barely audible sound, but you hear it.
What the hell are you doing? Bucky drives you crazy and annoys you to no end—and until now, you thought it had been the same for him. (Turns out you had been driving him crazy in a different way.) There’s a blooming sensation in your chest the longer you stare into Bucky’s eyes.
The words leave your lips before you can think twice.
“I want you to kiss me.”
The world seems to stop for just a moment.
Your lips part in order to say something, anything… maybe to take back the words you had just uttered—before Bucky leans in and kisses you silly.
A groan resonates from his chest as he does. The shirt drops from his metal hand since you can feel the coolness of it cup your cheek, angling your head into the kiss with need.
Your hand mirrors his, feeling the stubble under your palm whilst your other hand allows its fingers to tangle themselves into the threads of his hair.
It’s a blur of what happens next—both of your feet are shuffling against the carpet as you stumble back with his persistence, the back of your knees hitting the edge of the bed and allowing the two of you to fall onto the mattress.
Bucky presses open-mouthed kisses down your jawline, a hefty laugh sketched onto your skin there. “And here I was, under the impression that you didn’t like me, sweetheart.” He refers to your earlier words.
You want to retort, but you’re a little distracted with the way his weight settles on top of you. God, and he’s still fucking shirtless. You huff, but it’s a fond noise.
He pulls back ever so slightly to look down at you. “Thank you,” he says for the nth time that night. The look in his eyes is enough to make you melt into the bed, but in a pleasant way.
“For what?”
Bucky’s smile radiates charm. For being a man out of time, he’s still got it. “For patching me up. For letting me kiss you. For.. being here for me.”
His unfiltered fondness has your heart thudding faster against your ribcage. Saying “you’re welcome” doesn’t feel right. Doesn’t feel enough. Not for Bucky—not when he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing that matters right now. So you say the next best thing.
“Shut up, Barnes.”
And then your fingers are curling into the nape of his neck to pull him down towards you for another breathless kiss.
Hm. Maybe you can get used to having the night off.
Gojo’s in the middle of an important meeting, but chatting with his wife and daughter is his only priority.
“Satoru, can you please get off of your damn phone?”
Holding up a finger to the frustrated CEO as if to say, “give me a minute,” Gojo laughed casually as he kept his phone pressed against his ear.
The thirteen sharply dressed businessmen seated at the conference table all had their eyes fixated on the chatty sorcerer, who was asked to attend a very important meeting regarding the recent appearance of a special grade curse lurking around the company’s headquarters.
“Really?” Gojo said enthusiastically, leaning back in his office chair, swerving from side to side just a bit. “And what else did you do? What’d you learn at preschool today?”
Some of the impatient men were less aggravated once they realized who he was talking to — his beloved daughter.
“You learned about the life cycle of a butterfly? Oh, that’s amazing . . . And you drew a picture of one? We’re just gonna have to hang it on the fridge then . . . Mommy packed you your favorite sandwich for lunch? Did you gobble it all up? Sounds like you had a fun day, muffin-”
“Satoru.”
The CEO called the sorcerer’s name again, but the man ignored him, grinning as he listened to his adorable daughter ramble on and on about her exciting day.
“Daddy’s gotta hang up soon, he’s in a very important meeting right now. Can you put mommy on the phone?”
As Gojo spoke sweetly to the young girl over the phone, he glared at the CEO, who sighed in utter defeat once the white-haired man still refused to get off of his phone.
“This is ridiculous, Gojo,” the older man grumbled. “It’s rude, unprofessional, and disrespectful to do this in the middle of a meeting!”
“Yeah?” Gojo raised his eyebrows. “If my daughter calls me, I’m going to answer. And you’re crazy if you think I’m not going to speak to my wife as well.”
“But we have a serious situation that needs to be discussed-”
“No, not really. This meeting is entirely unnecessary, considering I could just kill the curse and be done with it. My kid telling me about caterpillars matters more to me than anything you have to say right now, sir.”
For a moment, as the CEO sighed heavily in frustration, the big conference room was completely silent until Gojo suddenly spoke up.
“Hi baby,” Gojo beamed at the sound of your beautiful voice in his right ear. “Did you have a good day? I miss you . . . What? The store ran out of rice? You’re right, that is ridiculous. Want me to stop at a different store on the way home? . . . I know what kind, sweetheart . . . I’ll be home before dinner, I promise . . . No, I love you more and that’s not up for debate, sorry . . . Alright, I gotta hang up too . . . Okay . . . Bye, baby.”
Once Gojo hung up, the CEO sighed once again, but this time, with relief. But, as he started to speak, Gojo instantly got up from his chair.
“Hey, where are you going?” The CEO shouted, watching as Gojo headed straight for the door, smiling causally with his hands in his pockets.
“I’m going to kill that curse so I can go home. My wife needs more rice and my daughter wants to show me her butterfly picture, so I’m not staying here for a stupid meeting.”
The CEO’s protests were cut off by Gojo shutting the door behind him as he left the conference room.
And, this was, perhaps, the quickest amount of time in which Gojo had ever killed a special grade curse. After all, he missed his beautiful family, and he’d always make it home, no matter what.
thinking about gojo and his bad eating habits, so you start making food for him.
gojo satoru is in love with your cooking.
it starts out when you’re students. it doesn’t take a genius to take note of gojo’s appetite—consisting of junk food and sweets.
the first time you had seen him wolf down five burgers in one sitting was appalling. and there’s also the candy wrappers shoved into the depths of his pockets. (seriously, it seems like he has an endless supply of them, ready to offer you and suguru something like a lolipop or two.)
so you decide to start packing him real, actual meals. things like bento boxes and small snacks that you managed to make from your own hands.
and you had him completely enamored.
after a mission with suguru, he finds himself turning down his best friend’s offer for takeout at their usual place, instead opting to drag him along to you to try whatever dish you had assembled this time.
sure, he still has those candies from time to time—in order to stimulate his brain, he claims—but they’re nothing compared to whatever sweets you make in the kitchen for him.
brownies, cookies, cakes, etc.
and it continues into your adulthood. hell, you could even be considered the strongest sorcerer’s personal chef. (you’re way more than that, but you get the point.)
it’s not uncommon for him to boast about your cooking to others. “nanami, their bread rolls are to die for! trust me!” “my lovely students, guess who packed you all lunch todayyyy!” “they’re going to make you that dish you like so much, shoko.”
gojo praises you and your cooking so highly, it’s honestly very endearing. and if there’s anything that he loves, it’s coming home after a long day of teaching and slaying curses and eating the dinner you’ve made for him.
yeah, gojo satoru is in love with your cooking. and most of all, he’s in love with you.
contents. highschool!gojo, fluff, he’s so lovesick and everyone is just plain sick of it, obsessive behavior kinda, oblivious!reader
notes. a small drabble as i get back to writing! this is cute n all, but if a guy acted like this irl i would probably file a restraining order ngl. here's to the return of my lovesick!gojo series!!! *not proofread eek
“look at waka inoue's latest issue–!” satoru flips open his phone to display the raunchy image of the gravure idol in nothing but a tiny bikini, giving the effect that her breasts were basically spilling out of the fabric. he and the other second-years had just wrapped up a mission and, at satoru's relentless insistence, ended up celebrating at a nearby dessert shop. with a smug grin and eyes shut in self-satisfaction, the white haired boy remained oblivious to the looks of pure disgust his two friends were shooting his way.
“and you wonder why you’re less popular with girls.” suguru coughs under his breath.
satoru shoots him a glare. “what’s that supposed to mean? i’m plenty popular with the ladies thanks to this money maker,” satoru takes off his sunglasses, striking a pose for his friends.
they grimace.
“girls don’t want a guy whose wallpaper is a gravure model,” shoko deadpans. “especially not [name].”
that gets satoru's attention. he immediately perks up from his spot on the cafe booth.
“seriously?”
“seriously.” his two friends respond in unison.
suguru snickers behind his hand, and satoru swiftly kicks his feet under the table. the resulting loud thud earns them a chorus of glares from the other patrons, but satoru barely notices.
then, like music, your familiar scolding reaches his ears
“honestly, satoru, i’m not here to supervise you and you’re already making a scene–”
his lips are already curling into a grin, ready to greet you with some teasing remark, but then– he actually sees you.
and he thinks he's stopped breathing.
“are you trying to kill me?!” satoru practically chokes, cerulean eyes blown wide as they rake over you, taking in every detail. his jaw slackens, and he stares, openly and painfully shamelessly.
under his intense, and almost hungry gaze, you shift awkwardly, suddenly all too aware of the frilly dress hugging your fram. you tug your cardigan around yourself a little tighter. "...no?"
“then why are you wearing that?" his voice is sharp, almost accusing. "why do you look like that?"
you're not sure you get what he means. his behavior is strange– stranger than usual. but satoru isn't looking at you anymore. he's looking around you, surveying the dessert shop like he's assessing a battlefield.
was something wrong? was it ugly? you lower your gaze, fingers nervously smoothing over the lace of your dress. the style was trendy... you're nearly certain.
“cute, right? i picked it out myself.” shoko says, smug and satisfied as she pulls you down into the booth beside her.
satoru clicks his tongue. "a little too cute," he mutters darkly, arms crossing as his fingers dig into his sleeves. his jaw tightens, knee bouncing underneath the table. never mind his racing heart!
he glares at the rest of the shop as if daring anyone to look at you for a second too long.
"i don't want all these normies seeing you like this."
“you freak.”
suguru, ever the angel changes the subject, steps in before satoru can dig himself an even deeper hole. “i think you look great [name], but you didn’t have to go out of your way to dress up right after your mission.”
“i wanted to dress up! it’s fun to wear something other than the uniform—“
“cursed technique reversal: red..” gojo murmurs under his breath, his eyes flickering across the room.
shoko groans, suguru sighs, and you—still blissfully unaware—blink in confusion.
thinking about teen satosugu asking you to be their valentine...
to you, valentine’s day is just like any other day at jujutsu high.
except—you run into geto in the hallway, to which he hastily tries to hide what seems to be a heart-shaped box of chocolates behind his back.
“hi, suguru!” you greet, trying to hide a knowing smile from crossing your lips as he straightens his posture.
when he averts his gaze away from you, he clears his throat. “hey.. didn’t think i was going to run into you this early,” he says a bit awkwardly.
“are those for satoru?” you bluntly ask him, obviously referring to the chocolates he’s trying to conceal from your sight.
this time, you don’t fight the grin curling onto your mouth as, in a rare moment, suguru is stumbling over his words for some sort of explanation. “uhh. well, um, i- it’s for—”
you merely hum and pat him on the shoulder. “don’t worry, i won’t tell him.” you start to take your leave before geto can get any words in. “i’ll see you in class later!”
fast forward at the classroom, you then encounter gojo… who has an arm wrapped around a bouquet of flowers. in his hand is his flip phone, pressed against his ear. “what do you mean it’s not gonna work? it’s perfect!” he says to whoever’s on the other line.
he hasn’t seen you yet as he sets the arrangement down on one of the desks, and the white-haired boy appears to be a mix of giddy and proud.
your eyes glint with curiosity as you quietly enter the room, addressing him teasingly, “ooohh, flowers for suguru?” you tease.
satoru whirls around in surprise to stare at you, wide-eyed. “wh— i didn’t-”
you hear footsteps behind you, and a familiar sigh. “i told you it wasn’t gonna work, satoru,” geto announces, phone in hand. the black-haired sorcerer peers over you to give gojo a pointed look.
now you’re starting to get a little confused. if suguru knew about the flowers then…
you walk to stand between the two boys, squinting your eyes. “what’re.. what were you trying to do exactly?” you try asking.
a chuckle leaves the both of them. “trying to.. surprise you?” gojo clears up, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.
you blink at geto. “but i thought you said those chocolates were for satoru!” you say to him with a soft shake of your head.
geto has a slight smirk on his lips. “i didn’t say anything. you were the one who assumed.”
you then glance to satoru. “those flowers are for—” oh. oh. you fall quiet when you realize he had placed the bouquet on your desk.
“happy valentine’s day!!” satoru then decides to cheer, scooping up said bouquet back into his grasp to hold it out to you, while suguru does the same with the box of chocolates.
suguru is still wearing that sly smirk, amused. “it was supposed to be a surprise, like satoru said. but i just had to run into you first.”
you graciously accept their offerings, your heart racing in your chest. “i— thank you. you guys are so sweet.” the gifts feel light in your arms, but they mean the world to you.
gojo and geto shuffle a bit closer. “will you be our valentine?” satoru is the one to ask, blue eyes pleading.
and how can you deny that? you laugh, nodding. “of course. you’re so silly— what makes you think i’d say no?”
geto grins. “just making sure.”
you then chew on your lip lower in contemplation. you hadn’t exactly prepared any proper gifts for them in return. (though you’re sure you can share the chocolates with gojo happily.)
your eyes then light up and you laugh again. “hey, i got something for you two,” you tell them, your eyes gleaming with slight mischief.
gojo beams. “really?”
geto simply raises a brow. “yeah?”
“mhm, mhm. c’mere.” you gesture for them to lean in close to you as best as you can since your arms are still occupied with the flowers and chocolates.
when they do as instructed, you giggle— before placing a kiss on geto’s cheek, then gojo’s, your heart beating faster than it ever has before.
and when you pull back, the faces of the strongest sorcerers are as red as tomatoes.
mm, maybe valentine’s day isn’t just another day after all.
thinking about teen satosugu asking you to be their valentine...
to you, valentine’s day is just like any other day at jujutsu high.
except—you run into geto in the hallway, to which he hastily tries to hide what seems to be a heart-shaped box of chocolates behind his back.
“hi, suguru!” you greet, trying to hide a knowing smile from crossing your lips as he straightens his posture.
when he averts his gaze away from you, he clears his throat. “hey.. didn’t think i was going to run into you this early,” he says a bit awkwardly.
“are those for satoru?” you bluntly ask him, obviously referring to the chocolates he’s trying to conceal from your sight.
this time, you don’t fight the grin curling onto your mouth as, in a rare moment, suguru is stumbling over his words for some sort of explanation. “uhh. well, um, i- it’s for—”
you merely hum and pat him on the shoulder. “don’t worry, i won’t tell him.” you start to take your leave before geto can get any words in. “i’ll see you in class later!”
fast forward at the classroom, you then encounter gojo… who has an arm wrapped around a bouquet of flowers. in his hand is his flip phone, pressed against his ear. “what do you mean it’s not gonna work? it’s perfect!” he says to whoever’s on the other line.
he hasn’t seen you yet as he sets the arrangement down on one of the desks, and the white-haired boy appears to be a mix of giddy and proud.
your eyes glint with curiosity as you quietly enter the room, addressing him teasingly, “ooohh, flowers for suguru?” you tease.
satoru whirls around in surprise to stare at you, wide-eyed. “wh— i didn’t-”
you hear footsteps behind you, and a familiar sigh. “i told you it wasn’t gonna work, satoru,” geto announces, phone in hand. the black-haired sorcerer peers over you to give gojo a pointed look.
now you’re starting to get a little confused. if suguru knew about the flowers then…
you walk to stand between the two boys, squinting your eyes. “what’re.. what were you trying to do exactly?” you try asking.
a chuckle leaves the both of them. “trying to.. surprise you?” gojo clears up, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.
you blink at geto. “but i thought you said those chocolates were for satoru!” you say to him with a soft shake of your head.
geto has a slight smirk on his lips. “i didn’t say anything. you were the one who assumed.”
you then glance to satoru. “those flowers are for—” oh. oh. you fall quiet when you realize he had placed the bouquet on your desk.
“happy valentine’s day!!” satoru then decides to cheer, scooping up said bouquet back into his grasp to hold it out to you, while suguru does the same with the box of chocolates.
suguru is still wearing that sly smirk, amused. “it was supposed to be a surprise, like satoru said. but i just had to run into you first.”
you graciously accept their offerings, your heart racing in your chest. “i— thank you. you guys are so sweet.” the gifts feel light in your arms, but they mean the world to you.
gojo and geto shuffle a bit closer. “will you be our valentine?” satoru is the one to ask, blue eyes pleading.
and how can you deny that? you laugh, nodding. “of course. you’re so silly— what makes you think i’d say no?”
geto grins. “just making sure.”
you then chew on your lip lower in contemplation. you hadn’t exactly prepared any proper gifts for them in return. (though you’re sure you can share the chocolates with gojo happily.)
your eyes then light up and you laugh again. “hey, i got something for you two,” you tell them, your eyes gleaming with slight mischief.
gojo beams. “really?”
geto simply raises a brow. “yeah?”
“mhm, mhm. c’mere.” you gesture for them to lean in close to you as best as you can since your arms are still occupied with the flowers and chocolates.
when they do as instructed, you giggle— before placing a kiss on geto’s cheek, then gojo’s, your heart beating faster than it ever has before.
and when you pull back, the faces of the strongest sorcerers are as red as tomatoes.
mm, maybe valentine’s day isn’t just another day after all.
thinking about clingy teen satosugu who only get even clingier when they suddenly get hit with a curse that turns them into… dogs?
a pair of wolves, to be exact. it’s so blatantly obvious on who’s who—there’s one wolf with fur as white as the first winter’s snow and uncanny blue eyes. the other is the color as dark as night with a pair of warm purple hues that strike into your soul.
they sit at yaga’s side like loyal lapdogs—only to perk up immediately to run and tackle you to the floor as soon as you set foot in the classroom.
“what the—?!” you splutter in surprise, unable to escape their wrath of licks descending upon your face as you look to yaga for help.
the principal simply crosses his arms and shakes his head. “satoru and suguru got hit with a curse.” and that’s it to his entire explanation, as it’s very obvious what happened to them.
when you finally manage to shove their muzzles away from your face, you groan in disbelief. “how long are they going to be stuck like this?”
“no clue.”
so just like that, you’re suddenly a caretaker for two oversized puppies who can’t seem to leave you alone—because apparently they absolutely refuse to hang out with anyone else.
they follow you literally everywhere on campus like a pair of lost puppies— you find it funny and even almost endearing out of all things.
coincidentally, this is after the night you had discovered them sharing your bed after you returned early from a solo mission. they had merely scampered out of your room after that—leaving you unable to ask them why they were in your bed in the first place.
and you certainly can’t ask them now.
“i thought you started smoking again?”
shoko shakes her head at your question, the faintest of smirks ghosting over her lips. “i did. but i think this is a better way to spend my time.” and then she nods to the two wolves sitting in front of you both.
you’re out on one of the training fields with shoko and your classmates-turned-dogs to test their… abilities. they lack any cursed energy, so it’s safe to assume that they can’t use their techniques.
“bet if you threw a stick, they’d fetch it for you,” a rare snicker comes from shoko along with her suggestion.
to which you simply roll your eyes at, but you find yourself grabbing a lengthy stick anyways. you’re unaware of how satoru’s and suguru’s eyes follow the item in your hand like moths to a flame as you hand it to shoko.
your short-haired friend flings the stick, but the boys don’t even dare to flinch. it’s quiet, save for the occasional thumping of their tails on the floor.
“see?” you shoot shoko a pointed look. she merely shrugs. when you walk over to pick the stick back up, you throw your friend a question over your shoulder, “did you know satoru and suguru were sneaking in my room at night while i’ve been gone?”
it’s news to her, but she doesn’t appear to be surprised in the slightest. “nope. sounds like something they’d do though.”
you grab the stick off the grass, turning to look at her and your classmates-turned-dogs. your gaze lingers on the canines for a moment. they’re obviously smarter than normal dogs, but you’re not sure about the extent of how well they can understand you in these forms.
“well.. i think they were kinda cute actually,” you confess, dragging your gaze back to shoko with a laugh, “you should’ve seen them, being all cuddly.”
a grim line settles on shoko’s lips at the image. “pass.”
you laugh again before turning and throwing the stick as hard as you can across the field. you watch it land several feet away, and then—
gojo and geto race past you, nothing but blurs of fur as they race each other to reach the piece of wood you had tossed. it’s hard to see who gets there first, because they start wrestling for the damn thing.
shoko simply snorts. “told ya.”
later on, with nighttime making its approach, the boys follow you into your dorm, seemingly determined to still accompany you. you hadn’t been sure on what to feed them since dog food seemed rather crude, settling to share your dinner with them.
and here you are, slipping into bed. just the night before, you had seen them all cozy under your blanket. in all actuality, you wouldn’t have minded sharing the bed with them. (depsite how cramped it would’ve been.) it’s just that now… they’re wolves.
suguru is beside you, circling in place in an effort to get comfortable on the blanket, whilst satoru opts for plopping his fluffy self riiiiight on your stomach. you emit an ‘oof!’ at his ministrations, but the white canine merely fixes you with a puppy-dog stare and you don’t go to protest.
“comfy, you two?” you hum out an inquiry, to which they snuggle into you further.
geto tucks himself closely by your side, burying himself under your arm as his silky fur tickles your skin. and gojo wiggles his chin on your abdomen, sky blue eyes already starting to flutter sleepily.
when you doze off, you dream of wolves and sticks.
and when you wake, it’s not the morning light trickling into the space of your room that stirs you from your slumber. rather, it’s the sound of gentle breathing and— heavy weight atop you.
it’s satoru and suguru, still in their spots from when they had fallen asleep, except— they’re humans again.
gojo’s body is draped over yours, one of his lanky legs dangling off the small mattress hilariously, his head lying just below your chest with his arms laxly wrapped around your abdomen. and geto is hugging your side, the air of his steady breaths hot on the skin of your neck. his long hair is messy, brushing against the underside of your chin.
oh.
oh shit.
what the hell are you supposed to do now? you obviously can’t move, not with all three of your bodies so intimately entangled with each other. you decide to risk it, trying to calm your racing heart and gingerly attempting to sit up.
you’re halfway there, when geto suddenly grumbles and yanks you back down to the pillows again. “s’too early to move,” he says in a hazy mumble.
aaaaand there goes your heart again. before you can reply, you here gojo groan sleepily, and he then manages to get out a groggy “good morning.”
“…good morning,” you follow up, now hyperaware of their touch, “i see that you’re not dogs anymore…”
satoru blinks owlishly, seeming to finally notice your… predicament. but he also seems more irked by where geto is, so crawls up to be on your other side, planting his face right into your neck too.
“a wonderful observation,” suguru murmurs in a small snicker.
it’s quiet for a few moments, and it’s obvious that they aren’t planning to move from their spots any time soon. (you think you can get used to it.)
you decide it’s the perfect time to ask: “care to tell me why you were in my bed the other night?”
gojo mumbles something, but you can see the tips of his ears flush a pretty pink. suguru is the one who speaks up again after a moment. “…we missed you.”
“..oh.” your face feels warm at the simple confession, and an airy laugh breezes out of you at how— adorable their reasoning is. “well.. i missed you guys too.”
satoru hums an acknowledgment at that. there’s silence again for a while, before he breaks it. “you think we’re cute?”
oh— so they were able to understand you as dogs. you groan, moving an arm to cover your eyes out of slight embarrassment. “shut up. you two were the ones who sneaking into my room.”
“that was suguru’s idea-”
“you snuck in on your own, satoru.”
“you used their shampoo!”
“you stole their shirts first!”
“i can still kick you off this bed.”
“i’d like to see you try.”
you groan once more—albeit a fond sound—still trapped between them, “i wish you two were dogs again.”
thinking about clingy teen satosugu who only get even clingier when they suddenly get hit with a curse that turns them into… dogs?
a pair of wolves, to be exact. it’s so blatantly obvious on who’s who—there’s one wolf with fur as white as the first winter’s snow and uncanny blue eyes. the other is the color as dark as night with a pair of warm purple hues that strike into your soul.
they sit at yaga’s side like loyal lapdogs—only to perk up immediately to run and tackle you to the floor as soon as you set foot in the classroom.
“what the—?!” you splutter in surprise, unable to escape their wrath of licks descending upon your face as you look to yaga for help.
the teacher simply crosses his arms and shakes his head. “satoru and suguru got hit with a curse.” and that’s it to his entire explanation, as it’s very obvious what happened to them.
when you finally manage to shove their muzzles away from your face, you groan in disbelief. “how long are they going to be stuck like this?”
“no clue.”
so just like that, you’re suddenly a caretaker for two oversized puppies who can’t seem to leave you alone—because apparently they absolutely refuse to hang out with anyone else.
they follow you literally everywhere on campus like a pair of lost puppies— you find it funny and even almost endearing out of all things.
coincidentally, this is after the night you had discovered them sharing your bed after you returned early from a solo mission. they had merely scampered out of your room after that—leaving you unable to ask them why they were in your bed in the first place.
and you certainly can’t ask them now.
“i thought you started smoking again?”
shoko shakes her head at your question, the faintest of smirks ghosting over her lips. “i did. but i think this is a better way to spend my time.” and then she nods to the two wolves sitting in front of you both.
you’re out on one of the training fields with shoko and your classmates-turned-dogs to test their… abilities. they lack any cursed energy, so it’s safe to assume that they can’t use their techniques.
“bet if you threw a stick, they’d fetch it for you,” a rare snicker comes from shoko along with her suggestion.
to which you simply roll your eyes at, but you find yourself grabbing a lengthy stick anyways. you’re unaware of how satoru’s and suguru’s eyes follow the item in your hand like moths to a flame as you hand it to shoko.
your short-haired friend flings the stick, but the boys don’t even dare to flinch. it’s quiet, save for the occasional thumping of their tails on the floor.
“see?” you shoot shoko a pointed look. she merely shrugs. when you walk over to pick the stick back up, you throw your friend a question over your shoulder, “did you know satoru and suguru were sneaking in my room at night while i’ve been gone?”
it’s news to her, but she doesn’t appear to be surprised in the slightest. “nope. sounds like something they’d do though.”
you grab the stick off the grass, turning to look at her and your classmates-turned-dogs. your gaze lingers on the canines for a moment. they’re obviously smarter than normal dogs, but you’re not sure about the extent of how well they can understand you in these forms.
“well.. i think they were kinda cute actually,” you confess, dragging your gaze back to shoko with a laugh, “you should’ve seen them, being all cuddly.”
a grim line settles on shoko’s lips at the image. “pass.”
you laugh again before turning and throwing the stick as hard as you can across the field. you watch it land several feet away, and then—
gojo and geto race past you, nothing but blurs of fur as they race each other to reach the piece of wood you had tossed. it’s hard to see who gets there first, because they start wrestling for the damn thing.
shoko simply snorts. “told ya.”
later on, with nighttime making its approach, the boys follow you into your dorm, seemingly determined to still accompany you. you hadn’t been sure on what to feed them since dog food seemed rather crude, settling to share your dinner with them.
and here you are, slipping into bed. just the night before, you had seen them all cozy under your blanket. in all actuality, you wouldn’t have minded sharing the bed with them. (depsite how cramped it would’ve been.) it’s just that now… they’re wolves.
suguru is beside you, circling in place in an effort to get comfortable on the blanket, whilst satoru opts for plopping his fluffy self riiiiight on your stomach. you emit an ‘oof!’ at his ministrations, but the white canine merely fixes you with a puppy-dog stare and you don’t go to protest.
“comfy, you two?” you hum out an inquiry, to which they snuggle into you further.
geto tucks himself closely by your side, burying himself under your arm as his silky fur tickles your skin. and gojo wiggles his chin on your abdomen, sky blue eyes already starting to flutter sleepily.
when you doze off, you dream of wolves and sticks.
and when you wake, it’s not the morning light trickling into the space of your room that stirs you from your slumber. rather, it’s the sound of gentle breathing and— heavy weight atop you.
it’s satoru and suguru, still in their spots from when they had fallen asleep, except— they’re humans again.
gojo’s body is draped over yours, one of his lanky legs dangling off the small mattress hilariously, his head lying just below your chest with his arms laxly wrapped around your abdomen. and geto is hugging your side, the air of his steady breaths hot on the skin of your neck. his long hair is messy, brushing against the underside of your chin.
oh.
oh shit.
what the hell are you supposed to do now? you obviously can’t move, not with all three of your bodies so intimately entangled with each other. you decide to risk it, trying to calm your racing heart and gingerly attempting to sit up.
you’re halfway there, when geto suddenly grumbles and yanks you back down to the pillows again. “s’too early to move,” he says in a hazy mumble.
aaaaand there goes your heart again. before you can reply, you hear gojo groan sleepily, and he then manages to get out a groggy “good morning.”
“…good morning,” you follow up, now hyperaware of their touch, “i see that you’re not dogs anymore…”
satoru blinks owlishly, seeming to finally notice your… predicament. but he also seems more irked by where geto is, so crawls up to be on your other side, planting his face right into your neck too.
“a wonderful observation,” suguru murmurs in a small snicker.
it’s quiet for a few moments, and it’s obvious that they aren’t planning to move from their spots any time soon. (you think you can get used to it.)
you decide it’s the perfect time to ask: “care to tell me why you were in my bed the other night?”
gojo mumbles something, but you can see the tips of his ears flush a pretty pink. suguru is the one who speaks up again after a moment. “…we missed you.”
“..oh.” your face feels warm at the simple confession, and an airy laugh breezes out of you at how— adorable their reasoning is. “well.. i missed you guys too.”
satoru hums an acknowledgment at that. there’s silence again for a while, before he breaks it. “you think we’re cute?”
oh— so they were able to understand you as dogs. you groan, moving an arm to cover your eyes out of slight embarrassment. “shut up. you two were the ones who sneaking into my room.”
“that was suguru’s idea-”
“you snuck in on your own, satoru.”
“you used their shampoo!”
“you stole their shirts first!”
“i can still kick you off this bed.”
“i’d like to see you try.”
you groan once more—albeit a fond sound—still trapped between them, “i wish you two were dogs again.”
sometimes i find myself thinking about this blog and reread your posts bc they're just that good. i love your writing and how you characterize the casts are just soooo akdhskhdjsnd
alas, i hope you're doing well. pls get all the rest you need and stay hydrated.
with love 🪷
im sorry for not getting back to you for so long!! i’ll be honest, i kept this in my ask box to reread it every now and then because your words are soso kind,,, thank you so much anon, from the bottom of my heart <333
i always worry about mischaracterizing the characters in my stories; the last thing i want to do is make them ooc… and i want to make them and their words n actions believable alongside the reader if that makes sense lmao
these past few months have been pretty hectic for me with classes and life in general but i hope to get around writing more often this year !!!!!
the same for you anon, please take care of yourself and i hope you are blessed with many good things :3
the final conclusion of this post, where your boyfriend gojo satoru always starts floating because of his powers whenever you kiss him…
some time in your second or third year, satoru got ahold of his powers and no longer floats up into the air after you bestow him a kiss on the lips. it’s a funny endeavor that you’ll miss, but it did make your make out sessions a whole lot easier.
it’s years later.
he’s older now—you both are; your seemingly carefree high school days are long behind you now, but the two of you still find yourselves at jujutsu high as teachers.
gojo satoru couldn’t ask for a better partner than you to help him navigate his dream in supporting a new generation of sorcerers, and he gets along with his students very well (so he says).
your life is far from perfect… plagued by dangerous curses, riddled with the higher ups’ stupidity, getting through every day not knowing what could happen next—but it’s enough for you, especially with satoru at your side.
but it seems like it’s not quite enough for satoru.
it’s some time past midnight.
even after all this time, gojo still craves those stupid, overly sweet candies and late night snack runs. old habits die hard apparently.
he claims that it keeps your love life spontaneous, and who are you to deny him?
“‘toru…” you groan, rubbing at your eyes groggily as he tugs you along.
you’re clad in one of gojo’s hoodies that thrown over you in his haste, and it’s much too big on you with your hands that are drowning in the arm sleeves. (but for the record, you look like the epitome of perfection in your boyfriend’s eyes like this.)
but the snowy-haired man pays little attention to your weak protests, his boyish laugh being carried on the evening breeze.
it’s a fond sound you’ll never tire of as he says, “come on, sweetheart! i promise i’ll get you whatever you want.”
he always does.
and after you’ve secured snacks and whatever gojo had been craving for, you’re back outside. but you only take a few steps when it strikes you that this place seems somewhat… familiar.
the artificial light glows strongly from the convenience store, paired with the glistening moonlight pouring down from the night sky. it’s simple and pretty, but you’re distracted by the way it highlights satoru’s eyes.
this is the very same place where you and satoru had your first kiss.
it’s been a while since you’ve both been here—life is like that. the lights and windows have been altered in appearance, and the building itself has aged… but it’s obvious that it’s still the same place.
“satoru?” you sputter out, surprised.
he merely grins at you, his head tilting to the side bashfully with his snowy bangs falling over his eyes. “i never forgot about this store,” he confesses, glancing at it briefly.
your gaze softens, following his gaze. “me either.”
gojo grabs ahold of one of your hands, his thumb gently tracing over the lines of your knuckles as he meets your stare again. “you know, i think i fell in love with you that night you kissed me here,” he tells you, followed by a quiet chuckle.
his words cause a flurry of butterflies to erupt in your stomach. he always manages to do that, even after all this time. “yeah?” you hum softly.
satoru nods. “mhm.” after a moment, he continues. “so i… i think it’s rather fitting that i do this here too.”
you blink at him. “..do what?”
with his free hand, gojo digs into his jacket pocket for something. there’s a permanent smile sketched onto his lips as he finds it, and then—
he slowly sinks down on to one knee.
there’s a ring held delicately in his fingers, glistening in the dark. your breath catches.
you hadn’t expected for him to propose to you like this—way past your bedtime next to the convenience store with a grocery bag full of candies in your hands but now that you think about it… it’s very gojo satoru for you.
at the look of bewilderment painted over your face, satoru laughs.
“well…” and he utters your name with a tenderness that you and only you know, “will you marry me?”
a wobbly laugh leaves you then, your heart caught in your throat. “—!? yes! yes, satoru, i’ll marry you.”
gojo slips the ring onto your finger with ease, like it had always belonged there. you immediately pull him up to his feet as the two of you eye how the gemstone glimmers against your skin.
when your eyes meet his crystalline blue ones, it feels like the stars are under your feet, meeting him halfway in a passionate kiss.
you’ve kissed him probably more than millions of times in this lifetime—through the good and the bad; some are somber, some are silly.
and tonight?
you’re— oh, you’re floating.
sure enough, satoru’s feet are off the floor due to his powers for old times’ sake, dragging you up with him in his arms, and it makes you giggle against his lips.
“‘toru?!!”
but gojo seems just as surprised and amused by this circumstance just as you are. you can feel the puff of his laughter, the kind of laughter that makes his shoulders shake.
“guess you still sweep me off my feet,” satoru cheekily remarks.
to which you only respond with a fond roll of your eyes—and another kiss that steals his breath away and keeps you both in the air.
oh, well—soon, he’ll be your husband that occasionally floats when you kiss him.
the final conclusion of this post, where your boyfriend gojo satoru always starts floating because of his powers whenever you kiss him…
some time in your second or third year, satoru got ahold of his powers and no longer floats up into the air after you bestow him a kiss on the lips. it’s a funny endeavor that you’ll miss, but it did make your make out sessions a whole lot easier.
it’s years later.
he’s older now—you both are; your seemingly carefree high school days are long behind you now, but the two of you still find yourselves at jujutsu high as teachers.
gojo satoru couldn’t ask for a better partner than you to help him navigate his dream in supporting a new generation of sorcerers, and he gets along with his students very well (so he says).
your life is far from perfect… plagued by dangerous curses, riddled with the higher ups’ stupidity, getting through every day not knowing what could happen next—but it’s enough for you, especially with satoru at your side.
but it seems like it’s not quite enough for satoru.
it’s some time past midnight.
even after all this time, gojo still craves those stupid, overly sweet candies and late night snack runs. old habits die hard apparently.
he claims that it keeps your love life spontaneous, and who are you to deny him?
“‘toru…” you groan, rubbing at your eyes groggily as he tugs you along.
you’re clad in one of gojo’s hoodies that thrown over you in his haste, and it’s much too big on you with your hands that are drowning in the arm sleeves. (but for the record, you look like the epitome of perfection in your boyfriend’s eyes like this.)
but the snowy-haired man pays little attention to your weak protests, his boyish laugh being carried on the evening breeze.
it’s a fond sound you’ll never tire of as he says, “come on, sweetheart! i promise i’ll get you whatever you want.”
he always does.
and after you’ve secured snacks and whatever gojo had been craving for, you’re back outside. but you only take a few steps when it strikes you that this place seems somewhat… familiar.
the artificial light glows strongly from the convenience store, paired with the glistening moonlight pouring down from the night sky. it’s simple and pretty, but you’re distracted by the way it highlights satoru’s eyes.
this is the very same place where you and satoru had your first kiss.
it’s been a while since you’ve both been here—life is like that. the lights and windows have been altered in appearance, and the building itself has aged… but it’s obvious that it’s still the same place.
“satoru?” you sputter out, surprised.
he merely grins at you, his head tilting to the side bashfully with his snowy bangs falling over his eyes. “i never forgot about this store,” he confesses, glancing at it briefly.
your gaze softens, following his gaze. “me either.”
gojo grabs ahold of one of your hands, his thumb gently tracing over the lines of your knuckles as he meets your stare again. “you know, i think i fell in love with you that night you kissed me here,” he tells you, followed by a quiet chuckle.
his words cause a flurry of butterflies to erupt in your stomach. he always manages to do that, even after all this time. “yeah?” you hum softly.
satoru nods. “mhm.” after a moment, he continues. “so i… i think it’s rather fitting that i do this here too.”
you blink at him. “..do what?”
with his free hand, gojo digs into his jacket pocket for something. there’s a permanent smile sketched onto his lips as he finds it, and then—
he slowly sinks down on to one knee.
there’s a ring held delicately in his fingers, glistening in the dark. your breath catches.
you hadn’t expected for him to propose to you like this—way past your bedtime next to the convenience store with a grocery bag full of candies in your hands but now that you think about it… it’s very gojo satoru for you.
at the look of bewilderment painted over your face, satoru laughs.
“well…” and he utters your name with a tenderness that you and only you know, “will you marry me?”
a wobbly laugh leaves you then, your heart caught in your throat. “—!? yes! yes, satoru, i’ll marry you.”
gojo slips the ring onto your finger with ease, like it had always belonged there. you immediately pull him up to his feet as the two of you eye how the gemstone glimmers against your skin.
when your eyes meet his crystalline blue ones, it feels like the stars are under your feet, meeting him halfway in a passionate kiss.
you’ve kissed him probably more than millions of times in this lifetime—through the good and the bad; some are somber, some are silly.
and tonight?
you’re— oh, you’re floating.
sure enough, satoru’s feet are off the floor due to his powers for old times’ sake, dragging you up with him in his arms, and it makes you giggle against his lips.
“‘toru?!!”
but gojo seems just as surprised and amused by this circumstance just as you are. you can feel the puff of his laughter, the kind of laughter that makes his shoulders shake.
“guess you still sweep me off my feet,” satoru cheekily remarks.
to which you only respond with a fond roll of your eyes—and another kiss that steals his breath away and keeps you both in the air.
oh, well—soon, he’ll be your husband that occasionally floats when you kiss him.
