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⋆𐙚 | 𝐬𝐡𝐞/𝐡𝐞𝐫 𐙚 ₊ 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭 | 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬 ᡣ𐭩

⋆𐙚 | ─ 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 | 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭 & 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞

⋆𐙚 ─ 𝐣𝐣𝐤 | 𝐦𝐡𝐚 | 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐤𝐲𝐮𝐮

⋆𐙚 ─ 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 | 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫

─── 𝜗ৎ 𝐤𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐚𝐚 | 𝟐𝟎𝐬 | 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐝

⋆𐙚 | 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐨 𝐤𝐚𝐦𝐨, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚

𝐌.𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒

⋆𐙚 | 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐬: the way you look at me (ryomen sukuna), mean it (choso kamo), wrong number...or not (satoru gojo)

#𝐤𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐚𝐚 writes #bl4ckprincess #𝐤𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐚𝐚'𝐬 navi

three seconds too long

part one: rivals

synopsis: you and suguru geto have spent three years trying to outdo each other. somewhere between top exam scores, late-night study sessions, and arguments neither of you wanted to end, the line between rivalry and something far more dangerous begins to blur.

pairings: suguru geto x reader

contains: academic rivals to lovers, slow burn, mutual pining, emotional tension, yearning, reader insert, eventual romance

a/n: omgg new seriess, im very excited because i never write for geto and I KNOW he's top tier when it comes to yearning 😭

masterlist | part 2 |

you and geto were never subtle about it.

not enemies. not friends.

something far more complicated—

two people who understand each other too well and pretend they don't

everyone else called it a rivalry because that was easier than naming the tension that followed you both into every room. easier than explaining why your conversations always felt like they were one breath away from becoming something else. easier than admitting neither of you seemed capable of leaving the other alone.

three years ago, the first time you met suguru geto, he looked at you for exactly three seconds too long.

not enough for anyone else to notice—

just enough for you.

he stood at the back of the lecture hall, leaning against the wall with that unreadable calm he wore like armor. the instructor listed the top incoming students, the room buzzing with whispers.

your name had barely been spoken before someone murmured,

"thats the one who placed first."

then quieter:

"thought geto would've taken it."

you didn't look at him right away. that would've been too obvious. you set your bag down, pretended not to hear the murmurs— until curiosity won.

you glanced over.

he was already watching.

calm. assessing.

like he was trying to figure out what, exactly, you were.

his stare didn't break when you caught him.

if anything, it sharpened.

you raised a brow.

he smiled—barely—and looked away first.

it should've ended there.

instead, it started everything.

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚

after that, geto was everywhere.

a few rows away in lectures.

lingering after assessments.

watching whenever things turned competitive.

always across from you during partnered work, even though neither of you ever chose the other.

you noticed things before you meant to.

the way he rested his cheek on his fist when bored.

the way his voice dropped when he was irritated.

the effortless confidence he carried, like the world rarely surprised him.

you wanted to be the exception.

it started small— a correction during a debate.

he countered.

you corrected him again.

the room went silent as the two of you argued with perfect politeness and razor-sharp precision.

"your logic only works in theory."

"and yours only works under perfect conditions."

"better than relying on assumptions."

"they're called predictions."

"they're called excuses."

someone laughed quietly.

you expected irritation.

instead, geto smiled—sharp, interested.

that was the moment you realized he enjoyed this.

enojyed you— not romantically, not personally, but intellectually.

you challenged him.

and suguru geto was not used to being challenged.

from there, it escalated.

if you topped an exam, he beat your next score.

if he mastered a technique first, you stayed late until you surpassed him.

you recognized his footsteps.

he recognized your handwriting.

it became routine.

predictable.

dangerous.

"you're staring again."

the words slipped out one afternoon as sunlight filtered through the half-empty classroom.

geto sat two seats away, chin in hand, watching you write.

he didn't deny it.

he didn't even look embarrassed.

"you tap your pen when you're frustrated," he said.

you froze.

he noticed.

of course he did.

"there it is again."

"you're insufferable."

"and yet," he murmured, gathering his papers, "you keep talking to me."

"you hated how easily he said things like that— how they lingered long after the conversation ended.

because he wasn't wrong.

you did keep talking to him.

even when you told yourself not to.

rivalry shifted into something quieter.

he saved you seats without acknowledging it.

he slid his notes toward you when you missed part of a lecture.

he waited outside classrooms like it was a coincidence.

and you let him.

your arguements changed too.

less hostile.

more familiar.

comforting almost.

you knew exactly how he’d react before he did.

knew the slight narrowing of his eyes meant he disagreed with something.

knew the quieter his voice became, the more genuinely invested he was in the conversation.

and he knew you too.

far too well.

"you're tired."

you looked up sharply.

geto stood beside your desk, unreadable as always.

"i'm fine."

"you've rewritten the same sentence four times."

your grip tightened.

he noticed that too.

"why are you paying attention to me?"

the question came out softer than you meant.

he hesitated—just a fraction.

then,

"because you're distracting."

your chest tightened at how simply he said it.

before you could respond, he reached over, took your pen gently, and circled the mistake you'd missed.

his sleeve brushed your arm.

you went still.

he noticed.

the air shifted—subtle, but unmistakable.

his fingers lingered near yours for a second too long before he stepped back like nothing happened.

"you missed that formula too."

"...i hate you."

his smile softened.

"no," he said quietly.

"you don't."

husband!nanami headcannons

husband!nanami x reader

contains: FLUFF, FLUFF, FLUFFYY, sexy husband nanami

husband!nanami who carefully threads his fingers through yours the moment a crowd forms, like his body chooses you before his mind even catches up.

husband!nanami who wakes before the sun just to brew your coffee exactly the way you prefer, quietly setting it beside you so it's the first comfort you feel.

husband!nanami who steps through the door, loosens his tie with a sigh, and immediately scans the room for you—his real sense of home.

husband!nanami who notices your favorite snacks running low long before you do, and restocks them without saying a word.

husband!nanami who insists he doesn't want a pet, then ends up carrying the cat around like its royalty

husband!nanami who reads beside you in quiet companionship, believing that sharing silence with you is its own kind of peace.

husband!nanami who leans down every morning to press a soft kiss to your forehead before leaving for work, no matter how rushed he is.

husband!nanami who rests a steady hand on your thigh while driving, a silent reminder that he's right there with you.

husband!nanami who quietly murmurs "text me when you arrive" every time you head out, not out of worry—out of love.

husband!nanami who can read your exhaustion the moment he sees you, even before you speak a single word.

husband!nanami who pulls you into his chest without hesitation on the days everything feels heavy, holding you until your breathing steadies.

husband!nanami who learns your habits so well that he starts doing small tasks for you before you even think to ask.

husband!nanami who may intimidate everyone else, but with you, he is impossibly gentle—soft hands, soft voice, soft heart.

Quota of frat culture

synopsis: everyone on campus seems to have an opinion about Satoru Gojo. frat president. genius. untouchable. you just think he’s irritating. but between late-night study sessions and quiet moments away from the noise, you start to see a different side of him, one no one else seems to notice.

pairings: frat!gojo x uniterested!reader

wc: 1.7k

a/n: communication skills are actually beating his ass right now 😭, but if i had gojo, sukuna, and higuruma wanting me yall genuinely couldn't tell me shit LMFAOO

also i got the images from pinterest—if anyone knows the artists, pls let me know so i can give them proper credit 🩷

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

chapter 8

the classroom is louder than usual.

not chaotic.

just buzzing.

presentation days always are.

note cards are being flipped through.

laptops open everywhere.

people rehearsing under their breath, checking slides for the thousandth time.

nervous energy thick in the air before the professor even walks in.

gojo barely registers any of it.

his eyes find you instantly.

of course, they do.

you're across the room instead of next to him.

sitting with your roommate by the windows, one leg crossed over the other, scrolling through something on your laptop like you've got all the time in the world.

focused.

calm.

like today is nothing special.

his jaw ticks once before he forces himself to look away.

fine.

whatever.

it's not like you have to sit together anymore.

the project's done.

technically.

your presentation got moved to thursday instead of today.

which means there's no reason to talk unless one of you decides to make one.

neither of you do.

he drops into his seat with a dull thud, tossing his bag to the floor.

geto glances over.

then follows his gaze immediately.

"...ah," he says.

gojo doesn't look at him.

"don't."

"i didn't say anything."

"you were about to."

geto smirks, opening his laptop.

"you've been very defensive lately."

"gojo's always defensive," shoko says as she sits beside him.

then she spots you.

her eyebrows rise.

"...oh."

he regrets showing up today.

"you're both insufferable."

"you looked over there before you even sat down," shoko says.

"because i can see."

"mhm."

he ignores her, leaning back as the room shifts around him.

his phone ends up in his hand without him noticing.

blank screen.

no notifactions.

his thumb taps once against the side before he locks it again.

then—

your laugh cuts through the noise.

soft.

quick.

still enough to pull his attention like a magnet.

you're smiling at something your roommate said, head tilted, easy and unguarded.

not the stiff politeness you've been giving him lately.

something twists low in his chest.

he looks away fast.

too late.

geto sees.

shoko sees.

"...wow," shoko mutters.

"gojo," geto says, already entertained, "you're staring again."

"am not."

"you literally froze," shoko says.

"you don't pay this much attention to our chapter meetings, bruh," geto states.

he slouches deeper in his seat.

"you two think everything is romantic."

"normally i'd agree," shoko says. "but this is painful to witness."

he's about to snap back when movement catches his eye.

you.

walking toward him.

his spine straightens before he can stop it.

small.

instinctive.

you stop beside his desk, expression neutral.

distant.

"we present thursday, right?" you ask.

his brain blanks for half a second because you spoke first.

then he recovers.

"...yeah."

you nod.

"okay. i already submitted the final version, but i wanted to make sure you saw the professor's email."

"i saw it."

a pause.

you adjust your bag on your shoulder.

"alright."

that's it.

no teasing.

no warmth.

just business.

you start to turn away.

and before he can think—

"you nervous?"

it slips out too casually.

you pause.

look back at him.

"not really."

"seriously?" he leans back, trying to sound normal. "you're usually a little intense about grades."

your brow lifts.

"and you're usually louder."

shoko chokes on her drink.

geto outright laughs.

gojo just stares at you.

because there it is.

finally.

a reaction.

except it's not playful.

it's sharp.

clean.

deserved.

you don't wait for him to respond.

you just nod once and head back to your seat.

he watches you go before catching himself.

again.

"...oh, you're done for," shoko says.

"gojo has never fumbled this badly," geto adds.

he drags his gaze away from your side of the room.

"can you both shut up forever?"

"no really," shoko says, still laughing, "what did you do?"

"nothing."

too fast.

geto grins.

"which means he definitely did something."

"gojo being emotionally unavailable?" shoko gasps. "shocking."

he flips them off without enthusiasm.

but his eyes drift back toward you anyway.

and somehow—

that feels worse than before.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

gojo used to leave the parties early.

make one appearance.

vanish upstairs halfway through the night without telling anyone where he was going.

no one questioned it.

that was just him.

hard to keep interested.

harder to keep in one place.

people still gravitated toward him anyway.

they always did.

but lately—

he's been staying.

lingering downstairs instead of hiding in his room.

letting himself get pulled into conversations he normally would've ignored.

showing up to parties he would've blown off a month ago.

and if anyone asked why, he'd blame boredom.

easier than admitting the truth.

because the second he steps inside tonight, his eyes automatically search for you.

music shakes the walls.

someone yells from the kitchen.

the living room is already packed, loud, sweaty, half-drunk.

normally, he'd hate it.

tonight, he barely registers any of it.

because then he sees you.

across the room.

curled sideways on a couch, legs tucked under you, drink dangling loosely from your fingers while your friend talks with wild hand gestures.

you look comfortable here now.

the thought hits him strangely.

the first few times you came around, you hated it, you hovered at the edges.

careful.

watching everything before deciding where to stand.

now you laugh openly.

move through the house like you belong in it.

and somehow—

he notices every shift.

"...there he is."

nanami appears beside him, holding a drink he clearly despises.

"thought you said you weren't coming."

gojo tears his gaze away from you.

"i considered it."

"and yet you're here."

"tragic for both of us."

nanami hums, unimpressed.

before he can respond, an arm hooks around his shoulders.

"you finally decided to socialize?" shoko asks.

"using that word generously."

she follows his gaze.

then stops.

"...oh."

he knows that tone.

he sighs.

"don't."

"i didnt say anything."

"you were about to."

"you're becoming disturbingly easy to read," she says.

"shoko..."

she laughs, but lets it go.

for about thirty seconds.

then—

"you know she's here basically every weekend now, right?"

his eyes flick toward you again before he can stop them.

"okay?"

shoko watched him.

"nothing. just interesting."

he ignores her.

or tries to.

but people keep stopping him.

a guy from another frat starts rambling about an internship.

someone asks about their calculus 2 homework

a girl touched his arm while laughing at something he didn't hear.

he responds vaguely.

barely listening.

because every few seconds, his attention drifts back to you anyway.

annoying.

you look happier tonight.

lighter than you did in class.

your head tips back when you laugh.

sukuna drops onto the couch beside you, sprawling like he owns the place.

you don't even react anymore.

just shift to make room.

that shouldn't bother him.

it does.

sukuna leans in to say something near your ear.

you wrinkle your nose and shove his shoulder lightly.

he grins.

you roll your eyes.

easy.

comfortable.

gojo's jaw tightens.

"...wow," shoko mutters.

he doesn't look away.

"what."

"you're glaring."

"i'm literally standing here."

"mhm."

she sips her drink.

"this is getting humiliating for you."

before he can respond, another guy approaches your couch.

gojo recognizes him vaguely.

political science major, hiromi higuruma.

one of those polished, networking- obsessed types.

higuruma says something to you.

you smile politely.

he keeps talking.

too long.

too interested.

gojo watched him lean an arm behind you on the couch.

your roommate looks entertained.

something sharp twists in gojo's chest.

immediate.

"...oh, he's down bad," shoko whispers.

"go away."

she grins.

higuruma says something else.

you laugh softly.

and that's when gojo stops thinking.

one second he's standing there.

the next—

he's moving.

he hears shoko laugh behind him.

doesn't stop.

doesn't slow.

he cuts through the crowd until he reaches the couch.

your eyes lift instantly.

shock flickers across your face before smoothing out.

there it is again.

that careful distance.

he hates it.

"gojo," your roommate says knowingly.

he ignores the tone.

he drops onto the arm of the couch beside you like it's his seat.

close enough that his knee brushes yours.

higuruma notices.

good.

"gojo," higuruma says slowly.

gojo smiles.

all teeth.

"man, do i know you?"

higuruma hesitates.

"... microecon lecture."

"right." he says it like he barely remembers. "you were talking about consulting or something."

your eyes narrow at the blatant interruption.

he feels it.

higuruma laughs awkwardly.

"yeah, uh—"

"you bothering her?" gojo asks lightly.

too lightly.

the conversation around the couch goes quiet.

higuruma blinks.

"what?"

"gojo," you say sharply.

warning.

he ignores it.

"seemed real committed over here."

"i was literally just talking to her."

"mhm."

silence stretches.

and suddenly—

he realizes how this looks.

your friends staring.

higuruma confused.

sukuna amused.

from the outside—

it looks possessive.

territorial.

his stomach drops.

you stand before the moment can get worse.

"sorry," you tell higuruma politely. "i'm gonna grab another drink."

then you look at gojo.

steady.

"can i talk to you for a second?"

quiet.

controlled.

worse than anger.

he follows.

the second you're outside, you turn fully.

arms crossed.

"what the fuck was that?"

he opens his mouth.

nothing comes out.

because he genuinely doesn't know.

you stare at him.

then shake your head.

"you don't get to do that."

the words land clean.

sharp.

his brows pull together.

"... do what?"

"act like that."

"i wasn't acting like anything."

you laugh once.

flat.

"satoru."

you sound tired.

tired of trying to figure him out.

and somehow that's worse than if you yelled.

"you don't get to kiss me, tell me it's not a big thing, then act possessive the second someone else talks to me."

possessive.

the word hits too hard.

he wants to deny it.

should deny it.

but he can't.

not convincingly.

your expression shifts.

quieter now.

more disappointed than angry.

"...right." you murmur.

like his silence answered everything.

you step past him.

"wait—"

it slips out.

instinctive.

you pause.

don't turn.

and for one awful second—

he almost says it.

almost tells you the truth.

because the idea of you walking away again feels unbearable.

his chest tightens.

"i just..."

the words stick.

you wait.

the moment stretches.

one sentence away from changing everything.

panic hits.

hard.

his jaw locks.

"...forget it."

silence.

your shoulders tense.

then you nod once.

small. "okay."

and this time—

when you walk away—

he lets you.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

taglist: @superstaargirl, @ddaenggorlll, @superfragalisticexpialidocious, @nyjafushigiro, @eepynataly, @emluvsgetou

jjk men sending goodmorning texts

synopsis: jjk men telling you good morning

a/n: finally done with this HORRIBLE semester 😫

satoru gojo

suguru geto

choso kamo

toji fushiguro

ryomen sukuna

kento nanami

jjk men being pervs 18+ pt. 1

synopsis: finding out the jjk men have been stealing/keeping your underwear

contains: PERVY JJK MEN (i love them), suggestive themes, panty stealing/underwear theft, possessiveness, voyeuristic behavior, invasion of privacy, embarrassment, non-consensual implications

a/n: ayee something a bit spicy because i made a 92 on my first final 😛

content warning divider creds: @cafekitsune

satoru gojo

you don't intend to snoop through his things.

not at first.

it starts with something tiny—your favorite ring, maybe, or that watermelon lip balm you swear you had when you walked in. something that should've been easy to spot.

gojo, naturally, is useless.

he's sprawled across the bed like it's his throne—which, irritatingly, it kind of is, he's watching you with that lazy, too amused expression that never bodes well.

"you're tearing the place apart," he murmurs.

you don't look at him, already kneeling by his dresser, pulling open a drawer.

"then help me, i know you're stealing my stuff gojo"

"i could help."

he stays exactly where he is.

you let out a sharp breath and start digging through the drawer yourself—shirts, random junk, things that are unmistakably him—until your finger brushes something softer. smaller.

you freeze.

just for a second.

then you pull it out.

and the moment your brain registers what you're holding, your stomach sinks.

everything clicks.

not just this.

not just today.

all of it.

the missing things. the way he never actually helps you look. the way he watches—really watches—every time you start getting annoyed.

you turn your head.

slowly.

and he's already staring at you.

smirking.

not startled. not confused.

just... waiting.

like he's been waiting for you to catch up.

"satoru."

"hmm?"

you hold the pink lace thong between two fingers, your grip a little tighter than before.

"...you wanna tell me why this was in your drawer?"

a pause.

then—

"you went through my stuff?"

you just look at him.

because now you understand.

"... how many?"

that finally gets something out of him.

not denial.

not even a joke to dodge it.

his smirk shifts, barely, but enough to tell him you've hit the mark.

"enough," he says lightly.

your stomach twists. "you've been taking them?"

"taking is dramatic."

you let out a short, disbelieving laugh. "then what do you call it?"

he pushes up onto his elbows, eyes flicking to the item in your hand, then back to your face—slow, deliberate, assessing.

"collecting," he says.

like it's the most reasonable thing in the world.

heat crawls up your neck. "you're unbelievable."

"you say that like you didn't notice."

that stops you cold.

because he's right.

some part of you did notice.

the patterns. the way he always seemed a little too entertained. a little too focused on you when you were searching.

you just didn't want to admit it.

didn't want it to be true.

but now it is.

and he's still watching you.

still tracking every flicker of embarrassment, every shift in your breathing, every bit of tension curling tight in your chest.

like this—

this was exactly what he wanted.

suguru geto

you don't call him out immediately.

you watch.

that's the only reason you notice it at all.

a pattern.

little things disappearing, reappearing, shifting just enough to make you doubt yourself, but not enough to ignore. you feel it every time.

and suguru—

suguru is always nearby when it happens.

quiet. attentive.

too composed.

so you wait.

and when you finally speak, it isn't an accusation.

it's a test.

"you've been in my room."

he doesn't even lift his head.

"have i?"

the tone is light. effortless.

like the answer doesn't matter.

you step closer. "yes."

that gets his eyes on you.

there's a softness there— but it doesn't settle anything inside you.

if anything, it tightens the knot in your chest.

"... half of my underwear is missing."

a pause.

brief.

measured.

"are they?"

your breath stutters.

"you know they are."

he studies you for a moment, gaze tracing your features like he's reading something you haven't said aloud.

like he understands exactly where your mind is going.

"and that bothers you?"

the question hits wrong.

not mocking.

not evasive.

sincere.

like he genuinely wants to hear your answer.

"...shouldn't it?"

he hums under his breath, thoughtful.

then he sets aside whatever he was holding, giving you his full attention.

that alone feels deliberate.

"if something of yours ends up with me," he says slowly, "it isn't lost."

your pulse jumps.

"...then what is it?"

another pause.

he doesn't look away.

"kept."

the word lands between you.

warm.

unsettling.

final.

and the worst part?

he doesn't look the slightest bit remorseful.

choso kamo

you usually don't go in his room.

it's not forbidden—he's never said that—but it feels...personal in a way that keeps you lingering at the threshold.

today is different.

you're looking for him. or for something of his. you're not even sure anymore.

the room is quiet. undisturbed.

you walk in anyway.

"cho?"

silence.

your eyes drift, settling on the dresser.

you don't think about it.

not really.

your body just moves— hand reaching out, sliding the drawer open with a casual curiosity that evaporates the moment you see what's inside.

your breath stutters.

"...oh."

you see your red lacy thong staring back at you.

you don't touch anything.

you don't have to.

you recognize every piece.

"i was looking for—"

"i know."

his voice comes from behind you.

he isn't startled.

he's just...still.

watching you.

quiet.

your throat feels tight. "...those are mine."

"yes."

no hesitation.

no attempt to lie.

just the truth, offered plainly.

you swallow. "...why?"

for a moment, he doesn't answer.

his gaze drops—not away, not in avoidance—but just below your eyes, like he can't quite meet them right away.

not out of guilt.

something gentler.

heavier.

"...i—i'm sorry."

the words are soft.

careful.

you blink. "choso—"

"i shouldn't have taken them."

he steps closer, slow and deliberate, like he's approaching something fragile.

like he's trying not to make this worse.

"i know that."

your chest tightens.

there's no defensiveness in his voice. no excuses.

just acknowledgment.

and something else beneath it.

"...then why did you?"

that's what makes him pause.

not being caught.

not the confrontation.

that question.

his fingers flex at his sides before he stills them.

"...because they're yours."

it's simple.

too simple.

you stare at him.

"that doesn't—choso, that doesn't make it okay."

"i know."

soft. immediate.

he lifts his gaze then, finally meeting yours, and something in his eyes makes your breath catch, steady, earnest, almost pleading.

"i wasn't trying to disrespect you."

you hand tightens on the edge of the drawer.

"... it feels like it."

that hits him.

you see it.

a flicker across his expression—small, but real.

not shame.

hurt.

"i...i didn't think of it like that."

honest.

completely.

his steps closer again, careful, like he's giving you room even as he closes the distance.

"i just... wanted something of yours."

your pluse jumps.

the room feels smaller.

quieter.

"...you could've just asked cho."

another pause.

longer this time.

"... i didn't think you would say yes."

there's not bitterness in it.

no self-pity.

just quiet certainty.

and somehow, that makes it harder to breathe.

his hand moves then—slow deliberate—reaching past you to close the drawer, as if he's removing the evidence, removing the weight of it.

"...i'll return them," he says softly.

then, after a moment—

"if you want me to."

not defensive.

not assuming.

just waiting.

for you.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

i also wrote half of this on my phone pls don't judge 😓

Quota of frat culture

pairings: frat!gojo x uniterested!reader

wc: 2.3k

a/n: yall finals are next week, pray for me 💔, butttt that means maybe back to a consistent posting schedule 🤗🤗

also i got the images from pinterest—if anyone knows the artists, pls let me know so i can give them proper credit 🩷

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

chapter 7

the classroom feels muted today.

not silent—just subdued.

everyone's already tucked into their groups, voices low, papers scattered, laptops humming.

last workday before presentations.

final edits.

it should feel productive.

ordinary.

it doesn't.

he catches it the moment he steps inside.

not the atmosphere.

you.

of course it's you.

you're already in your spot, notebook open, pen moving steadily,

focused.

actually focused.

his eyes stick to you for a beat.

you don't look up.

that's new.

his jaw shifts before he forces himself forward, walking over like it's routine. like nothing's changed.

like last night didn't happen.

like you didn't walk away.

like he didn't let you.

he drops into the seat beside you, leaning back, stretching his legs out like always.

"we done, or are you still tweaking it?" he asks, voice light. casual.

empty.

there's always something under his tone.

not today.

you don't pause your writing.

"almost."

short.

clean.

he glances at you.

waiting for the usual follow-up.

it never comes.

"...lemme see," he says, leaning in a little—same habit, same expectation, like you'll just angle the page toward him.

you do.

without a word.

no teasing.

no "ask nicer."

nothing.

just the paper sliding into his space.

his fingers hesitate on the edge.

that's...different.

he reads anyway, forcing himself to focus on the assignment.

it's good.

of course it is.

you've always been—

he cuts the thought off.

"this part," he taps near the middle, "you could tighten the wording."

you nod.

"okay."

no debate.

no spark.

no anything.

his brows pinch, barely.

"...you're just agreeing?"

you shrug, finally giving him a glance.

"is it wrong?"

"no."

"then it's fine."

you take the paper back.

just like that.

conversation closed.

he leans back again, slower this time, eyes lingering on you.

you're already writing.

calm.

unbothered.

like he's not right there.

his fingers tap once against the desk.

then stop.

this is ridiculous.

it shouldn't feel like this.

"...you finish the slides? i did some on my own time," he tries

you nod.

"i already finished them, i'll send them."

"well i did some citations—"

"don't worry about it, i did them too."

"oh."

a pause.

everything's done

nothing left to adjust.

nothing left to talk about.

and somehow, that feels worse.

he exhales, dragging a hand through his hair.

"so we're just...done?" he asks.

you look at him again.

same steady, distant expression.

"for the project? yeah."

no hesitation.

no hidden meaning.

just the assignment.

he stares a second too long.

"...right."

of course that's all you meant.

what else would you mean?

you turn back to your notes.

and he—

he's got nothing.

no opening.

no reaction to work with.

no excuse to keep talking; that doesn't sound forced.

so he doesn't.

for once—

he doesn't push

he leans back in his chair, his jaw tightening as his fingers tap once against the desk before falling still.

this shouldn't feel different.

it's the same setup as always.

same class.

same seat.

same you.

and somehow—

it isn't.

his eyes flick toward you again.

quick.

casual.

like it's nothing.

like he's not checking.

you don't react.

or maybe you do—

and just choose not to show it.

his tongue presses against the inside of his cheek.

irritated.

at you.

at this.

at the way the whole conversation just collapsed.

"...whatever," he mutters, barely audible.

too low for you to catch.

he looks away after that.

forces his attention to the front.

like he's over it.

like it doesn't get to him.

like none of this matters.

and this time—

he doesn't make another attempt.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

chairs scrape the floor the second the professor dismisses the room.

voices rise again.

zippers. footsteps. movement everywhere.

he doesn't hurry.

he never does.

he gathers his things slowly, like he's got all the time in the world.

like he's not paying attention to you packing up right beside him.

you're quick about it.

efficient.

no lingering.

of course.

his eyes flick over once—

you're already on your feet.

"i'll send the final doc," you say, not meeting his eyes.

same tone.

same distance.

he gives a short nod.

"yeah."

you don't wait for anything else.

you just turn.

and leave.

his fingers tighten around his bag strap.

he exhales through his nose.

fine.

it's fine.

it's—

"you heading out already?"

the voice cuts in—easy, familiar, amused.

he knows it before he even turns.

sukuna.

obviously.

his gaze shifts.

you pause mid-step, turning slightly.

and this time—

you actually look up.

"yeah," you say, adjusting your bag. "i've got stuff to do."

not warm.

but not the coldness you gave gojo either.

just...normal.

and somehow, that hits worse.

sukuna steps closer, hand in his pockets, expression lazy as ever.

"walk with me," he says like it's nothing.

not a question.

you hesitate.

barely.

but gojo sees it.

catches that tiny pause like it matters.

like it should matter.

"...sure," you say.

and that's it.

no tension.

no second-guessing.

just easy.

you fall into step beside sukuna like it's natural.

like it doesn't cost you anything.

like you're not thinking twice.

gojo's jaw shifts.

small.

almost invisible.

he watches the two of you head toward the door.

sukuna says something low—probably a joke.

you let out a quiet breath.

not quite a laugh.

close enough.

gojo's grip tightens on his bag.

just a little.

he looks away.

then back.

like he didn't mean to.

like it doesn't matter.

it shouldn't.

you can talk to whoever you want.

walk with whoever you want.

leave with whoever you want.

it has nothing to do with him.

he knows that.

he does.

...so why does it feel like it does?

the door opens.

you step out first.

sukuna follows.

it swings shut behind him.

and just like that—

you're gone again.

he stands there a moment too long.

then slings there a moment too long.

"...whatever." he mutters.

same word.

different weight.

and this time—

it doesn't land like he believes it.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

the hallway empties behind you.

your footsteps echo softly against the tile—steady, unhurried.

sukuna walks beside you like it's the most natural thing in the world.

hands in his pockets.

easy pace.

like he's got nowhere else he needs to be.

"so," he says after a moment, glancing down at you, "you always this quiet after class, or am i just lucky?"

you let out a small breath.

"you're not that special."

he smirks.

"never said i was."

a moment passes.

not uncomfortable.

just there.

when you reach the dorm building, he pushes the door open with his shoulder, holding it without making a production out of it.

you step inside first.

"thanks," you mutter.

he shrugs, letting the door swing shut behind him as he falls back into step beside you.

"that project finally done?" he asks.

"yeah."

"about time. you looked like you hated it."

"i didn't hate it."

"no?" he glances over again. "just hated the company, then?"

you shoot him a look.

he grins.

you look away first.

"...something like that."

it slips out easier than you expect.

quieter, too.

he hums under his breath, like he caught more than you meant to give.

but he doesn't push.

he just walks with you the rest of the way.

when you reach your door, you slow, pulling out your key.

"this is me," you say.

"figured."

you glance at him, hand on the handle.

"you didn't have to walk me."

"i know."

a small pause.

"...see you around."

casual.

but real.

you nod once.

"yeah. see you."

you slip inside, the door closing softly behind you.

and just like that—

he's gone.

your dorm is quieter than the rest of campus.

door closed.

music low.

just enough to fill the room without demanding attention.

you drop you bag by your desk, kicking your shoes off as you move further inside.

your roommate's already sprawled across her bed, phone in hand.

she looks up the moment you walk in.

"you look like someone just humbled you in broad daylight," she says.

you blink.

"...i went to class."

"mhm." her eyes narrow. "and?"

you shrug, settling at your desk and flipping open you notebook like that's suddenly urgent.

"and nothing."

a pause.

she watches you a little too closely.

"...didn't you have work on your project with gojo today?"

you pen pauses.

barely.

then keeps moving.

"yeah. we're done."

"okay..." she drags out, suspicious. "and?"

"and what."

"and how was it?"

"fine."

too fast.

too flat.

you hear it.

she definitely hears it.

"...right," she mutters, sitting up. "so what actually happened?"

"nothing happened."

you underline something pointless.

once.

twice.

"we finished the project. that's it."

another pause.

"you didn't even talk?"

you exhale quietly.

"we talked."

"and?"

you shrug again.

"and it was normal."

the word lands wrong.

you feel it.

she feels it.

"normal," she repeats. "rightttt that's not how you were talking about him before."

your grip tightens around you pen.

"well, that was before."

quiet.

not defensive.

just final.

your roommate tilts her head, studying you now.

"...did something happen at that party?"

you don't answer right away.

your eyes stay on the page, even though you're not actually reading.

"no."

not a lie.

not the truth either.

she doesn't push immediately.

just watches.

waits.

"...you like him," she says finally.

you let out a small breath, shaking your head.

"no."

too quick.

again.

"you did," she corrects softly.

that one hits.

you don't respond.

and that's enough.

her expression softens.

"so what, he said something stupid?"

you let out a humorless laugh.

"he didn't say anything."

"oh..."

yeah.

exactly.

you close your notebook with a little too much force.

"it doesn't matter," you say, getting up to grab your charger. "we're done with the project. i don't have to deal with him like that anymore."

practical.

clean.

easy.

you plug your phone in, glance at the screen, set it down.

your roommate watches you the whole time.

"you sure about that?" she asks.

you pause.

just a second.

then shrug.

"yeah."

you move on.

start doing something else.

anything else.

converstation over.

on the surface

but later—

when you're alone for a moment—

you pick up your phone again.

your thumb hovers over his contact.

just for a second.

long enough to notice the name.

plain.

no emoji.

no nickname.

you must've changed it.

you don't remember doing that.

you stare at it a moment longer.

then lock your phone.

set it down.

and this time—

you don't pick it back up.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

the house is quieter than usual.

not empty.

just—

late.

most people have either gone home or crashed somewhere upstairs, the music long dead, whatever noise is left fading into a distant hum.

he shouldn't still be here.

he never stays this long.

but he is.

leaning against the kitchen counter, cup abandoned somewhere he can't remember leaving it.

his phone sits in his hand, screen black.

he hasn't checked it in a while.

doesn't want to.

easier that way.

he exhales through his nose, eyes drifting across the room without really landing on anything.

it's all the same.

same house.

same chaos.

same everything.

and somehow—

it feels wrong.

his jaw tightens.

annoying.

he drags a hand through his hair and pushes off the counter, moving without any real intention, steps slow as he heads down the hall.

he doesn't have a reason.

not one he'll admit.

just—

restless.

a door creaks upstairs.

someone laughs.

he ignores it.

keeps walking until he reaches the back door, hand pausing on the handle for half a second before he pushes it open.

cool air hits him immediately.

quieter out here.

better.

he steps outside, letting the door fall shut behind him.

same spot.

same railing.

same place you stood last night.

he leans against it without thinking.

then freezes.

his grip tightens on the metal.

...right.

he exhales again, slower.

this is stupid.

it doesn't mean anything.

it was just—

a conversation.

a question.

he shifts his shoulder like he can shake it off.

like it's that simple.

"...why do you care?"

the words hit him again.

clear.

sharp.

unwelcome.

his jaw sets.

he stares out into the dark like it'll help.

it shouldn't be sticking like this.

it was a simple question.

he's handled worse.

answered harder.

so why—

his tongue presses against his cheek.

because—

the thought comes fast.

too fast.

he goes still.

completely.

"...because you—"

it slips out under his breath before he can stop it.

quiet.

unfinished.

he cuts himself off immediately, jaw clenching as he pushes away from the railing.

"yeah. no," he mutters.

like that settles anything.

like that shuts it down.

he runs a hand through his hair again, sharper this time, pacing a few steps before stopping.

this is why exactly why he avoids things like this.

pointless.

messy.

unnecessary.

he doesn't need it.

doesn't want it.

and yet—

you keep showing up anyway.

in his head.

in his space.

in conversations he never finished.

his exhale comes out rougher.

he tips his head back, staring up at nothing for a moment before letting it drop again.

"... fuck. i should've just said it," he mutters.

barely audible.

like he didn't mean to let it slip.

but it's the closest he's come.

and it lingers.

longer than he expects.

his gaze flicks toward the door.

just a second.

like he's waiting for it to open.

like you might walk out again.

you don't.

of course you don't.

his jaw tightens.

"whatever."

automatic.

familiar.

easy.

but it doesn't land the same.

not tonight.

he pushes off the railing and heads back inside without looking back.

like he's done with it.

like he's moving on.

like it doesn't matter.

but the door shuts harder than it needs to.

and the quiet doesn't follow him in.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

taglist: @superstaargirl, @ddaenggorlll, @superfragalisticexpialidocious, @nyjafushigiro, @eepynataly

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk fanfic #slow burn #slow burn romance #tension #mutual pining #almost confession #miscommunication #unresolved tension #yearning #gojo is confused #gojo is in denial #gojo can’t communicate #𝐤𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐚𝐚 writes

jjk men carrying you to bed without waking you

synopsis: you try to stay awake for them… you don’t quite make it.

contains: fluff,fluff, FLUFFF, they’re soft for you idc

a/n: ik, ik i haven't been posting, but trust i got like 5 things sitting in my drafts 🩷

satoru gojo

he sees it instanly.

the tv is still on, murmuring to an empty room— except you're there, curled up small on the couch, blanket slipping, phone barely hanging on between your fingers.

gojo stops in the doorway.

"...you waited for me?"

it's the softest he's sounded all night.

he shuts off the tv with a flick, then kneels beside you, brushing you hair gently away from your face. you don't wake—just lean into his familiar touch.

he huffs a quiet laugh.

"could'nt fall asleep without me, huh?"

he lifts you with practiced ease, arms wrapping around you as you instinctively curl into his chest. something in him melts at the way you fit there.

when he sets you down, he doesn't step away.

not right away.

he presses a slow kiss to your forehead.

"next time," he murmurs, tucking the blanket around you, "just call. i'll come home."

suguru geto

the apartment is still when he walks in.

too still.

geto toes off his shoe, expecting to find you asleep in your room, only to spot you curled up on the couch instead, the lamp beside you casting a gentle glow over your face.

he stops in his tracks.

you must've been waiting for him.

his expression softens immediately, something tender and a little guilty settling behind his eyes.

"hey..." he murmurs, knowing you won't wake.

he kneels beside you, brushing a loose strand of hair from your cheek. his fingers linger, slow and careful, like he's afraid to disturb you.

then he gathers you into his arms.

you stir faintly, your hand curling weakly into his shirt before relaxing again.

"i've got you," he whispers.

by the time he settles you into bed, his movements are practiced, quiet, full of care. he pulls the blanket up around you, adjusts your pillow, the leans down to a soft kiss to your forehead.

"don't wait up next time," he says, though the small smile tugging at his mouth gives him away.

he knows you will.

choso kamo

he tries not to make a sound.

really tries.

but when choso steps inside and sees you asleep on the couch, he stops completely.

you look so small like that.

curled up, clearly waiting for him.

his brows knit together, worry softening his expression.

"...you stayed up for me?" he whispers to no one.

he approaches with slow, cautious steps, unsure if he should wake you. but the peaceful look on your face keeps him still.

so he doesn't.

he gathers you into his arms instead, lifting you with tenderness he rarely shows out loud. he notices everything—the steady rhythm of yor breathing, the way you head naturally finds his chest, the warmth of you settling into him.

you shift, pressin closer.

he freezes.

then lets out a quiet breath.

"...you're okay," he murmurs, almost to himself.

when he lays you down, he tucks the blanket around you with careful precision. adjusts it. checks again.

his hand rests on your shoulder,

not moving.

just guarding you in the quiet.

toji fushiguro

/p>

the tv's still buzzing when he comes in.

figures.

toji barely gives it a second look—until he spots you.

out a cold on the couch, blanket slipping off, clearly having tried. to stay awake for him.

he lets out a low breath.

"dumbass."

but it's soft. almost fond.

he nudges your leg lightly. nothing.

"...really?"

he hesitates for a moment, then bends down and lifts you—careful, steady, nothing like the rough edge he shows everyone else. one arm under your knees, the other bracing you back.

you curl into him instinctively.

he goes still.

"...yeah. thought so."

he carries you to bed, sets you down, and pulls the blanket over you. it's quick, almost careless—but he lingers anyway, eyes tracing your face in the dim light.

"...don't wait up."

a pause.

"...unless you want to."

ryomen sukuna

he catches it the second he walks in.

of course he does.

you're sprawled across the couch, fast asleep, clearly having tried to wait him out. he stops, eyes narrowing just a fraction as he takes in.

"...you really passed out waiting for me?"

his voice is flat, unreadable.

a low scoff follows.

"pathetic."

and yet—

he moves toward you anyway.

he stands over you for a moment, gaze lingering, then slips his arms beneath you and lifts you with effortless control. the motion is smooth, deliberate—too careful for someone who pretends not to care.

you shift, your face brushing faintly against him.

he goes still.

"...annoying," he mutters, though his grip only settles more firmly around you.

when he sets you down, his voice stays sharp, but his movements betray him. the blanket is pulled up, smoothed out, adjusted with precise care.

his fingers hook under your chin, tilting your face enough for him to look you over.

"don't start making this routine brat."

but he doesn't turn away.

not yet.

kento nanami

nanami gets home later than planned.

much later.

he loosens his tie as he steps inside, ready to apologize—until he sees you asleep on the couch.

waiting.

he exhales, the sound soft and weighted.

"aw honey... you should've gone to bed."

it's barely spoken,

he sets his briefcase down, rolls his sleeves up, and approaches with quiet care. his hand brushes your arm, gentle and warm.

you don't wake.

so he lifts you.

slowly. steadily. like he's afraid to disturb the moment. you lean into him without thinking, and his hold shifts to support you fully.

"i'm sorry," he murmurs, voice low.

when he lays you down, he moves with practiced gentleness—blanket pulled up, pillow adjusted, everything made comfortable.

he pauses beside you.

then leans in and presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

"next time," he says quietly, "don't wait up."

another breath.

"but i'm grateful you did."

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

stay like this

synopsis: nanami carries the world all day. you give him somewhere to put it down

contains: fluff, fluff, FLUFF, nanami needing you

a/n: im so so so sorry about my lazy ass posting schedule, im telling yall school is kicking my black ass 💔💔💔

nanami doesn't announce himself when he comes in.

the door shuts with a muted click, his shoes placed neatly by the entryway out of habit.

but the rest of him is... different.

looser at the edges.

moving like the day drained more from him than he intended to give.

you catch it right away.

"rough day?" you murmur, curled into the corner of the couch, blanket pooled around your legs.

theres a moment of silence.

fabric shifting.

the slow, tired slide of a tie being pulled free.

"...something like that."

his voice is lower than usual—scraped down, worn thin.

you finally look over.

his shoulders sit too tightly beneath his dress shirt, sleeves pushed up just enough to show the tension in his forearms. his expression is composed, as always, but there's weight behind it tonight. something he hasn't shaken off yet.

you don't pry.

you never do.

you just pat the space beside you.

nanami pauses.

not long, just long enough to take in the quiet offer, the way you're not asking him for anything he doesn't have.

then he crosses the room.

the couch dips under his weight.

for a moment, he stays there, close, but not touching. hands on his knees, posture still too proper, like he hasn't fully stepped out of the world he came from.

you let the silence breathe.

let him arrive in his own time.

and then—

carefully, almost like he's testing the idea.

his shoulder leans into yours.

it's small.

tenative.

like he's unsure whether he's allowed to want this.

your breath softens, but you don't make it a moment. you simply shift, angling toward him, letting the blanket fall over his lap as well.

that's all he needs.

the tension in him loosens— first barely, then more.

a slow, heavy exhale leaves him, the kind that sounds like something finally slipping out of his grip.

"stay like this." he murmurs

it isn't really a request.

and it isn't an order.

it's something gentler.

something that feels like a need.

your hand finds his before you even think about it, fingers brushing his knuckles before slipping into his palm.

warm. steady.

his grip tightens right away.

not enough to hurt—just enough to anchor himself.

likde he'd been waiting for that touch.

you let your thumb drift over his skin, tracing slow, absent shapes across his knuckles.

back and forth.

the rhythm is soft. soothing.

and little by little, you feel him ease.

his shoulder leans more firmly into yours, the tension in his posture loosening in small, gradual shifts, like he's finally letting the day fall away.

minutes pass.

maybe more.

time moves differently when he's like this.

slower. quieter.

safer.

"...inefficient," he murmurs eventually, voice low, stripped of it's usual edge.

you hum, tilting your head. "yeah?"

"the entire day."

there's frustration there—not sharp, not loud.

just heavy.

you shift closer, nudging your shoulder against his.

"you did what you could."

another pause.

then softer—

"and that's enough."

he goes still.

completely.

like the words hit somewhere he wasn't prepared for.

for a moment, you think he'll pull away, slip back behind that composed exterior he shows everyone else.

but he doesn't.

instead,

his head lowers.

slow. intentional.

until it rests against you.

it's light. almost unsure.

but it's there.

and he stays.

your breath catches for a heartbeat. before settling, your hand adjusting in his, thumb continuing that same quiet pattern.

he exhales, softer this time.

less burdened.

"... i see."

not quite in agreement.

not quite acceptance.

but close.

closer than he usually lets himself get.

silence settles again, but it feels different now—warmer, fuller.

his fingers loosen just enough to lace with yours, the hold more natural, less guarded.

and then, eventually—

his shifts.

just a little.

enough to lift his head, enough to look at you.

his expression is still composed.

but the edges have softened.

his free hand rises, slow and deliberate, like he's choosing every movement instead of bracing through it.

his fingers brush your cheek.

gentle.

steady.

grounding.

and before you can fully register it.

he leans in.

presses a quiet, lingering kiss to your forehead.

soft.

unhurried.

certain.

the kind of kiss that speaks for him when he won't.

when he pulls back, his hand lingers, thumb brushing once across your skin.

"...thank you."

barely a whisper.

but this time—

you hear it.

and you feel the way he stays close, leaning into you again, like he's already decided—

this is where he rests.

bl4ckprincess

he's never been subtle 18+

contains: pervy roommate!katsuki, panty stealing/sniffing, voyeurism themes, suggestive content, creepy but hot, sexual tension, slight dubcon vibes, reader playing along, no explicit smut

a/n: should i make a part 2 😏

he's never been subtle.

katsuki never pretends to be.

it starts small—at least, that's what you tell yourself. clothing out of place. things are going missing. your red lace pair of underwear folded differently than you left them, or the cute pink bra with bows nowhere to be found.

you blame your forgetfulness.

you blame the shared washing machine.

you blame anything but him.

until one night

you're supposed to be asleep.

the hallway light is off, the apartment is still, except for the soft hum of the AC—yet there's a sound.

quiet.

intentional.

your door easing open just enough for someone to slip inside.

your hearts jumps.

you stay still.

barely breathing.

you feel him before you see him. the familiar presence, the heat—katsuki.

he pauses.

like he's looking at you.

trying to make sure you're asleep.

then you hear the faint slide of your dresser drawer opening.

slow. controlled.

fabric shifting.

another pause.

and then—

a sharp inhale.

your stomach twists.

because you know that sound

and you know exactly what he's holding.

you can barely see it—

the faint glint of the rhinestones

your VS thong.

you almost sit up. almost call him out. almost ask him why he's in your room in the middle of the night.

but you don't.

because there's something worse than him being here.

the way your thighs press together.

it's the way your breath goes shallow.

it's the way you goes completly still,

just to see how far he'll go.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

the next day, he doesn't even bother pretending

that's the part that gets you.

you catch him—

not by accident, not by luck—you set it up.

a trap.

laundry day, you leave a realll pretty pair out. not hidden. placed just carelessly enough to look like you forgot. like your easy.

and then you wait.

it doesn't take long.

you're in your room, door cracked, pretending to scroll when you hear his footsteps.

heavy.

familiar.

completely unbothered.

he doesn't knock.

of course, he doesn't.

katsuki fills the doorway like it's his, eyes landing on you first...then sliding, slow and unmistakable, toward your dresser.

to them.

your pulse jumps.

"real subtle", you mutter.

he snorts, pushing off the frame and stepping inside. "didn't think i had to be."

your stomach tightens.

"don't play dumb," you say, sitting up straighter. "my stuff's been disappearing for weeks."

silence.

not defensive. not surprised

just...still.

then he opens the drawer like it's routine.

your breath stumbles. "katsuki."

he doesn't answer.

his fingers move through the fabric—slow, deliberate.

like he's choosing.

like he's done it before.

"you gonna stop me?" he asks, voice low roughened at the edges.

you don't

that's the problem.

your body betrays you before your brain can catch up—heat pooling low, thighs pressing together as he pulls a pair out between his fingers. holds them up. examines them.

"thought so," he mutters.

heat rushes to your face. "you're sick."

he finally looks at you—sharp red eyes, heavy-lidded, knowing.

"yeah?" he says. "then why'd you leave them out?"

that hits.

hard.

because you did.

becuase some part of you wanted to see what he'd do. wanted to catch him.

your breath stutters when he steps closer.

too close.

"answer me," he says, quieter now, which somehow makes it worse. "was it for me?"

you don't even realize you're backing up until your legs hit the mattress.

"i didn't—"

"don't lie." his hand lands beside your head, caging you in. the other still holding them— your underwear—like proof. like a weapon.

your heart is pounding so loud you're sure he can hear it.

"you knew," he continues, voice dipping. "knew i've been in here. knew i take 'em."

your mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

because he's right.

and he knows it.

a slow, dangerous smirk pulls at his mouth.

"and you didn't stop me," he adds.

your fingers curl into the sheets.

"didn't even say a word."

he leans in just enough that you feel the warmth of his breath.

"shit, you didn't even lock your door tonight."

your stomach flips.

"you're insane," you whisper.

"maybe." his gaze drops—brief, heavy—before dragging back up to yours. "but you're not telling me to leave."

silence stretches.

thick.

you should shove him away, tell him to get out, end this—

instead, your voice comes out softer than you intend.

"...what do you even do with them?"

his expression shifts—darkens, sharpens.

his grip tightens slightly on the fabric in his hand.

"do you really wanna know?" he asks.

you hesitate.

just a moment.

then—

"yeah."

barely a word.

but enough.

his smirk returns, sharper this time.

"careful," he murmurs, leaning in until your breath catches. "keep asking things like that, and i'm gonna think you don't mind."

your thighs tense before you can stop yourself.

and he notices.

of course he does.

a low, satisified exhale slips out of him, like he's just confirmed something.

"yeah," he mutters. "that's what i thought."

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

a/n: got the images from pinterest—if anyone knows the artists, pls let me know so i can give them proper credit 🩷

content warning divider creds: @cafekitsune

he's never been subtle 18+

contains: pervy roommate!katsuki, panty stealing/sniffing, voyeurism themes, suggestive content, creepy but hot, sexual tension, slight dubcon vibes, reader playing along, no explicit smut

a/n: should i make a part 2 😏

he's never been subtle.

katsuki never pretends to be.

you blame your forgetfulness.

you blame the shared washing machine.

you blame anything but him.

until one night

you're supposed to be asleep.

the hallway light is off, the apartment is still, except for the soft hum of the AC—yet there's a sound.

quiet.

intentional.

your door easing open just enough for someone to slip inside.

your hearts jumps.

you stay still.

barely breathing.

you feel him before you see him. the familiar presence, the heat—katsuki.

he pauses.

like he's looking at you.

trying to make sure you're asleep.

then you hear the faint slide of your dresser drawer opening.

slow. controlled.

fabric shifting.

another pause.

and then—

a sharp inhale.

your stomach twists.

because you know that sound

and you know exactly what he's holding.

you can barely see it—

the faint glint of the rhinestones

your VS thong.

you almost sit up. almost call him out. almost ask him why he's in your room in the middle of the night.

but you don't.

because there's something worse than him being here.

the way your thighs press together.

it's the way your breath goes shallow.

it's the way you goes completly still,

just to see how far he'll go.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

the next day, he doesn't even bother pretending

that's the part that gets you.

you catch him—

not by accident, not by luck—you set it up.

a trap.

laundry day, you leave a realll pretty pair out. not hidden. placed just carelessly enough to look like you forgot. like your easy.

and then you wait.

it doesn't take long.

you're in your room, door cracked, pretending to scroll when you hear his footsteps.

heavy.

familiar.

completely unbothered.

he doesn't knock.

of course, he doesn't.

katsuki fills the doorway like it's his, eyes landing on you first...then sliding, slow and unmistakable, toward your dresser.

to them.

your pulse jumps.

"real subtle", you mutter.

he snorts, pushing off the frame and stepping inside. "didn't think i had to be."

your stomach tightens.

"don't play dumb," you say, sitting up straighter. "my stuff's been disappearing for weeks."

silence.

not defensive. not surprised

just...still.

then he opens the drawer like it's routine.

your breath stumbles. "katsuki."

he doesn't answer.

his fingers move through the fabric—slow, deliberate.

like he's choosing.

like he's done it before.

"you gonna stop me?" he asks, voice low roughened at the edges.

you don't

that's the problem.

your body betrays you before your brain can catch up—heat pooling low, thighs pressing together as he pulls a pair out between his fingers. holds them up. examines them.

"thought so," he mutters.

heat rushes to your face. "you're sick."

he finally looks at you—sharp red eyes, heavy-lidded, knowing.

"yeah?" he says. "then why'd you leave them out?"

that hits.

hard.

because you did.

becuase some part of you wanted to see what he'd do. wanted to catch him.

your breath stutters when he steps closer.

too close.

"answer me," he says, quieter now, which somehow makes it worse. "was it for me?"

you don't even realize you're backing up until your legs hit the mattress.

"i didn't—"

"don't lie." his hand lands beside your head, caging you in. the other still holding them— your underwear—like proof. like a weapon.

your heart is pounding so loud you're sure he can hear it.

"you knew," he continues, voice dipping. "knew i've been in here. knew i take 'em."

your mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

because he's right.

and he knows it.

a slow, dangerous smirk pulls at his mouth.

"and you didn't stop me," he adds.

your fingers curl into the sheets.

"didn't even say a word."

he leans in just enough that you feel the warmth of his breath.

"shit, you didn't even lock your door tonight."

your stomach flips.

"you're insane," you whisper.

"maybe." his gaze drops—brief, heavy—before dragging back up to yours. "but you're not telling me to leave."

silence stretches.

thick.

you should shove him away, tell him to get out, end this—

instead, your voice comes out softer than you intend.

"...what do you even do with them?"

his expression shifts—darkens, sharpens.

his grip tightens slightly on the fabric in his hand.

"do you really wanna know?" he asks.

you hesitate.

just a moment.

then—

"yeah."

barely a word.

but enough.

his smirk returns, sharper this time.

"careful," he murmurs, leaning in until your breath catches. "keep asking things like that, and i'm gonna think you don't mind."

your thighs tense before you can stop yourself.

and he notices.

of course he does.

a low, satisified exhale slips out of him, like he's just confirmed something.

"yeah," he mutters. "that's what i thought."

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

a/n: got the images from pinterest—if anyone knows the artists, pls let me know so i can give them proper credit 🩷

content warning divider creds: @cafekitsune

Quota of frat culture

pairings: frat!gojo x uninterested!reader

wc: 1.3k

a/n: my heart was actually hurting as i wrote this 💔

also i got the images from pinterest—if anyone knows the artists, pls let me know so i can give them proper credit 🩷

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

chapter 6

he's posted up at the edge of the room, drink in hand, pretending he's just scanning the crowd.

not that he wants to be here.

he never does.

the bass thuds against his ribs, the laughter grates on his nerves, the whole place feels too loud, too bright, too much.

and still, he notices you.

of course he notices you.

how could he not?

you're weaving through the crowd, your roommate tugging you along, smiling at someone else, just... existing in his line of sight.

he should look away.

he tells himself to look away.

but his eyes don't listen.

and it irritates him.

because he hates paying attention like this.

hates the way it makes him feel.

hates that the room doesn't fade into nothing like it usually does.

he taps the rim of his cup, pretending the motion matters.

he shouldn't be thinking about the number you gave him.

and yet... he is.

he doesn't move toward you.

doesn't even pretend he might.

he just watches—jaw tight, expression unreadable—acting like it's nothing.

even though it isn't.

then his phone buzzes.

he doesn't want to look.

doesn't want to deal with anything else tonight.

but he checks anyway.

it's his father.

his jaw tightens.

he swipes to answer, forcing on a smile that feels more like armor than expression.

"yes," he says, voice flat.

the voice on the other end launched immediately—sharp, critical, relentless.

"gojo, are you even taking this seriously? you can't coast through being president. you need to prepare. you need to lead. this fraternity—this school—this is training for the company. you will take over, and you are not ready if you keep avoiding responsibility."

he exhales slowly.

he hates this.

hates the tone.

hates the expectation.

hates the way his life feels prewritten.

" I know what i'm doing."

"don't lie to me. you're wasting time. you're not ready."

the words hit him, but not the way his father thinks they do.

he's not intimidated.

he's irritated.

and angry.

because he never asked for any of this.

never wanted the title.

never wanted the future they carved out for him.

never wanted to be molded into someone else's idea of a successor.

and yet here he is.

mask still on.

eyes drifting back to you.

because now you're here.

and sukuna is here.

even with his father's voice drilling into his ear, all he can think about is you.

he ends the call without responding, letting the line cut off mid-sentence.

silence follows.

just the bass.

just the noise.

he exhales through his nose, slow and controlled.

this is exactly why he never stays long.

never has.

never will.

his gaze lifts—

automacially

finding you again.

like it always does.

except,

you're not where you were.

that registers instantly.

his eyes sweep the room once.

twice.

nothing.

and something in his chest pulls—sharp, unwelcome, irritating.

you left.

of course you did.

you said you didn't want to be here anyway.

he looks away.

jaw tightening just a fraction.

it doesn't matter.

it really doesn't

you can leave whenever you want.

it has nothing to do with you.

he knows that.

he does.

...so why is he still looking?

his grip tightens around his cup before he sets it down—harder than necessary.

this is stupid.

he exhales sharply through his nose.

turns toward the hallway.

not thinking about it.

he's not.

he's just—

making sure you didn't disappear.

that's all.

the hallway is quieter.

still loud, but muted— like the party is happening behind glass now.

he slows.

listens.

a door creaks somewhere down the hall.

then shuts.

he glances toward the sound.

he hesitaites, just for a second.

he knows it's stupid.

but he goes anyway.

pushes the door open—

and there you are.

outside.

cooler air, softer noise, and a little space to breathe.

you're leaning against the railing, shoulders tense, like you're trying to shake off the chaos you just escaped.

he pauses in the doorway.

watches you for a half a second longer than he should.

then steps out, letting the door fall shut behind him.

the sound is quieter this time.

contained.

you turn at it.

your eyes meet his.

and for a moment—

neither of you speak.

no crowd.

no music.

no distractions.

just this.

he slips his hands into his pockets, something to do, something to keep himself grounded.

"...you left."

simple.

but heavier than he intended.

you blink at him.

like that wasn't the line you expected him to open with.

"...yeah"

your voice sounds different out here—quieter, less guarded—but not soft.

not for him.

a moment passes.

he nods once.

like that settles something.

like it shouldn't bother him.

"...party wasn't your thing," he says.

you let out a small breath. "yeah i already said that."

"yeah"

another pause.

you shift your weight against the railing.

"why are you out here?"

he doesn't answer immediately. his jaw tightens.

"needed air"

"oh."

you don't push, at least not there.

but you don't drop it either.

you just shift slightly.

"...and you were gone."

your breath stutters.

barely.

"okay?..."

he exhales, frustration edging his voice—at you, at himself, at the whole situation.

"you just—left."

"i told you i didn't want to be there."

"yeah, i heard you."

"then why does it matter?" you straighten a little, not backing down. "why do you care?"

it lands

hard,

quiet.

no crowd to hide behind.

no noise to blur it.

just the question.

and him.

he goes still.

comepletely.

for a second—

he almost answers.

you can see it.

the shift in his shoulders.

the way his gaze locks onto yours, steady, unguarded in a way he never lets himself be.

he steps closer.

not much,

just enough.

"because—"

it's low.

your chest tightens.

this is it.

this is where hr finally—

he stops.

jaw tightening.

something shutters behind his eyes.

and just like that—

its gone.

he lets out a short breath, shaking his head.

"...forget it."

your expression drops.

barely, but enough.

"no, say it."

he doesn't

of course he doesn't

instead, he leans back, putting space between you again, like the distance will be safer.

like the distance will fix anything.

"it's nothing"

the same line.

the same wall.

and somehow, it hits worse this time.

your fingers curl against the railing.

"right."

you look away first.

and that, that's what gets him.

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